About the book: 2014 / He was born somewhere, far, far away. In the interweaving of corridors, in a pile of crystals. He was alien to everything around him. Fresh, warm, alive... He slid forward, easily touching the frozen walls, skirting the sharp protrusions of ice spikes. He burst into the Hall of Gates, whose name has long been forgotten. He tugged at the heavy, dark blue cloaks of the Guardians. With a slight movement he touched the frozen masks. He carefully climbed into the slot of the warrior standing in front. He raised his head in bewilderment, not understanding where in this kingdom of cold the gust of warm and fresh wind came from. And the predatory slits of the mask blazed with a blue, cold light... Essa tilior... Hope is coming... Legends do not lie, ancient legends do not lie…