Winter has come to the Russian Land. Its forests and fields were covered with snow, its endless expanses turned white. From the prince to the last serf, everyone put on fur coats, lit the stoves. And in the middle of the white snow, a huge gray wolf rushes, and a good fellow sits on his back with a treasure sword. At noon their path lies to the warm sea, to Buyan Island, to the great oak. There, where Kashcheev’s death is preserved in a stone egg. Prince Ivan and the Gray Wolf must hurry. Trouble is brewing at sunrise. Clouds are already gathering in the Kashcheev Kingdom, already gathering into a terrible fist of the horde. An old man wearing an iron crown sits on an iron throne. Soon the king of the undead will fall on Rus'. Heck. Hake. Heck.