After tumbling down the hill like a small human avalanche for what seemed like an eternity, Wirt came to rest in a snowdrift at the very bottom. Somehow he managed not to hit any trees on his way down, and he strongly suspected it was because they were actually jumping out of his way in supernatural acts of cowardice. The other possible explanation was his uncanny luck, and Wirt knew better than to harbour such delusions.

It was a grim part of the wood he found himself in. When he got up on his feet and wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket, Wirt looked around properly and saw tall fat trunks of pines on every side, rising as high as his eyes could reach and blocking the sun with their wide shaggy arms locked in multiple handshakes. Leafless shrubs were clustering around and between the trees, the living barbwire cutting off half the paths and making the other half difficult to use. There was no sound of birds or animals, and the oppressive silence was disrupted only by Wirt's own ragged breathing. It looked like the Unknown, but it was the Unknown at its darkest.

"Well, I got all I asked for and then some, I suppose," he muttered, looking back at the slope he had come down from. It was almost a mountain when seen from below, a huge snowy monster peppered with giant trees. His route was traced by a shallow line that twisted unnaturally between the trunks and eventually disappeared in the distance above.

Wirt thought about Greg undoubtedly finding himself in the very same situation at the other side of the hill, sighed and made the first uncertain step back up the slope. He managed five before he lost his footing, slipped and fell backwards with a groan, burying his head in the snow again. The fairytale began, and it was a very wet and cold one.

As for Greg, he enjoyed every moment of rolling down the hill and actually thought it to be the best ride he had ever had. He laughed so hard that tears poured out of his eyes and mixed with the snow on his face, and then he made an angel, waving his arms like a madman. He felt like home and he was happy. Only when Greg was completely depleted of energy did he notice Wirt's absence by his side, but it seemed like a small disturbance in the proper course of events, and surely his brother would eventually come find him, because now that they were back in the Unknown nothing could possibly go wrong. Jason Funderburker, by the look of him, thought so as well.

Greg jumped to his feet, adjusted his hat and chose a direction at random – by spinning on the spot with his arm outstretched until he felt like he was about to fall. It was a wild but quiet place, and Greg was feeling safe among the massive pines and knee-deep snow. Neither the prospect of having to spend the night outside nor the possibility of meeting a hostile animal bothered him much at that point. Greg started trudging forward, away from the slope, entertaining Jason Funderburker with a sophisticated, albeit one-sided conversation:

"It's a good place to start, I think, because your expectations are really low at this point. Any fun thing we'll see next is bound to be better than this, right? I think I'm right, in any case. I hope you agree. But, seriously, Jason Funderburker, please don't think I'll be paying much attention to your complaints, you're not a pop star anymore and frankly I think you're not made for the life on the road in the first place, and, in fact…"

The monologue was interrupted by the sound of a branch creaking treacherously under the weight of a huge creature somewhere above his head. Greg craned his neck – more curious than afraid – and politely said hello to a long-eared owl who was staring at him intently, its yellow eyes glowing with intelligence. The owl said nothing, which meant that intelligence might have been there, but good manners definitely weren't.

Greg shrugged and continued his journey to a destination unknown, having to lift his legs with great difficulty to free his feet from sticky snow. The owl, he noticed, decided to follow him, heavily flying from tree to tree and shaking off small cascades of snow from the branches it landed on. Despite its looming presence, Greg kept on talking to Jason Funderburker, albeit in a more subdued tone.

"Yeah, so… about the Cloud City. Would be nice to check up on it, I guess, and see if they're still managing to keep the old North Wind locked up. Do you remember the Reception Committees, Jason Funderburker? I'd love to be on a Reception Committee one day. It sounds much better than some stupid marching band, and probably pays better. It's in the name, isn't it? I think it is. In any case…"

Greg stopped short when he saw that the owl flew ahead of him and landed on an old stump, crushing its perfect half-sphere of a snow cap. Its eyes fixed on Greg, as if silently urging him to come closer, and the boy made an uncertain step forward, still elated because of the return to the Unknown and thus caring little about fear. The owl let him come within five feet before finally announcing:

"You're going the wrong way."

It had a low, hollow, yet melodic female voice, and where it lacked friendliness, it made up for in persuasiveness.

"Wrong way to where, exactly?" Greg enquired. "And hello again, by the way. Good afternoon."

The Owl didn't pay attention to the not-so-subtle hint.

"There is danger in this place, and death, and suffering."

"You must have missed the news," he said amiably. "We disposed of the Beast, me and my brother Wirt. A few months ago, actually. And the Woodsman helped a bit. He was a strange fellow, though, so he can't really complain people don't trust him all that much. I even hit him on the head once with a…"

"I know that the Beast is destroyed, child," said the Owl. "But his legacy lives on, and it is of a great value to some, and of a great danger to the rest of us in the Unknown."

"What legacy are we talking about? Is it the creepy lantern?"

The Owl slowly blinked, and then her eyes focused on Greg once again.

"The Lantern of Souls was but one of the Beast's possessions. There are other artefacts – items of great power that he had collected over the years from all over the Unknown and beyond, lying, stealing, persuading the owners and keepers with his dark silver tongue. The Beast was a hoarder, though – he liked having them more than using them, for which these lands should be forever grateful. Now that he's gone, those artefacts are left without a master, and all the dangerous creatures of the world want to possess them."

"Uh-huh," was all that Greg could say to that. The forest around him had definitely became darker in an instant, and he started shivering as if only now realizing he had spent quite some time in the cold snow.

"There is an obstacle, however, for those evil creatures. The Beast's treasury can not be accessed just by anyone – only a corrupted soul whom he had touched can reach his artefacts. So those dark wizards, witches and monsters were waiting, and planning, and sniffing out the bits of truth within the swamp of gossip. But they could not find anyone suitable… until you arrived today."

Greg was fascinated, even if also unnerved, by the Owl's story up until this point. Then his involuntarily opened mouth just as involuntarily shut tight, and he looked at the Owl in utter disbelief.

"Er-r, me? Like, me me? I can safely say I am not corrupted, thank you very much! Jason Funderburker can vouch for me, we played poker many times and I never ever cheated, well, maybe apart from that time when he was about to win my…"

The Owl cut him off with that same low, patient voice which seemed a little hostile if only because it kept saying unpleasant truths.

"You and your brother have been seen by the wrong eyes when you travelled with the Ferryman. Luckily, the Guardians of the Unknown saw you first and charged me with finding you before someone else might."

"The Guardians?" Greg's face lit up with curiosity. "That sounds awesome! Who are they? Is Beatrice with you? By the way, are you, er-r, enchanted, too, just like she was?"

"No, I don't know of any Beatrice. And… yes, I was not always a bird."

The Owl gave off a quiet hoot full of longing and sadness. Greg shivered when he heard it and made a mental note not to throw rocks at anything with wings while in the Unknown, because clearly he might either hit some nice cursed lady, or get himself cursed by hitting one of the few real birds.

"Uh, sorry to hear that," was all he said.

"We have to go right now," said the Owl, taking off the stump and flapping her massive wings. "We haven't got a moment to lose."

"What about Wirt, though?" asked Greg, turning back to look at the massive hill. "He's a bit helpless, to be honest with you. And I think if anyone's corrupted, it has to be him. I'm telling you, if it wasn't for me, the Beast would still rule this place, and Wirt would be a stupid tree!"

"The Guardians must have sent someone to look after your brother," called the Owl from the branch she landed on – it belonged to a pine some way to the west of where Greg was originally heading. "Hurry! We must leave this place before the treasure hunters find you!"

"See, Jason Funderburker," said Greg to his frog as he hurried after the Owl, "I told you we'd have an adventure!"