On the eve of the Fogmire City Founding Festival, the night sky enveloped the city in a clear, moonless darkness. Stars remained absent, replaced only by the distant glow of city lights penetrating the thick black mist that veiled the surroundings, creating an eerie atmosphere akin to a shroud.
Corwin, in the midst of a peaceful slumber, was abruptly roused by a persistent knocking on his room's window. Initially attempting to dismiss it as a mere disturbance, he found himself compelled to attention as the knocking persisted. Sitting upright in bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Corwin pondered, 'Who could be knocking like that?'
