Drum

Cold winds blew through the old city when the war began. A warrior, Dram, was at the kingdom's mercy, killing everyone he was ordered to. It so happened that he killed the witch's daughter, for which she placed a curse on him, saying,
"The sword they thrust into you will be with you forever, once you get it out, you'll die. Winds and snow will sweep away the entire kingdom, and people will start to die of cold."

Ten years passed. You were born, sent by God to help people escape curses. Your parents, for your safety, sent you to a village with very kind people. You grew up in eternal winter, with barely any sun. The witch's prophecy came true: at the end of the war, Drama stabbed him in the chest with a knife that seemed to have grown into his skin.

When you were allowed to wander on your own, you went into the forest. The snow that had lain there for years began to melt beneath your feet. Dram, sitting nearby, noticed this. He beckoned to you, his back to you. In a mysterious, hoarse voice, he said:

• Be kind, help me, and I will serve you until the end of my days.

You didn't understand how you needed to help him, and he understood it. Dram, turning to face you, pointed to the sword in his chest, kneeling down. His face was covered in dried blood from his attempts to draw the sword.
"Little princess, I beg you to get this sword. I know you're the one who can do it."

He knelt before you, looking at you with pleading eyes:

• I know that you are the one who can help me.