A post-apocalyptic fairy tale. Bombs destroyed all the major cities of the world almost two centuries ago. The bombs opened rifts. Magic and myst flowed into the world. Electronic devices no longer work. Only simple mechanical devices. Man learned to farm again, in curving rows that myst can't gather in. For decades, the myst has gained strength slowly. Destroyed people, fields, villages a little at a time. Because the myst is scattered, unfocused. When the myst finds its champion, will man survive?