Faith can be a strong thing, a powerful thing, when it is held to tightly. Even the faith of one, alone and unaided, can make all the difference in the world when through the doubting of others and the weathering of the years, its bearer refuses to let it go. And so it is that, unbroken still through the passing of the seasons, an old man's will holds strong into the winter of a life spent searching. Those he would call his family humour him and love him, sharing maybe more even than he in the delights and beauty of the quiet world of Magic around them, yet until now dismissing, even them, this greatest of his dreamings. Around them those who rule these last few unvanquished lands about their small surviving corner of the world scorn and hunt down with misplaced savagery and hatred the very beliefs which make them who they are. And about those lands an ancient darkness waits to swallow all; silent, vast and terrible; but will wait little longer. And against them all one man, and one man's desperate faith. But what to do when suddenly a lifetime's dreamings become maybe, just maybe, more than dreams? And which way to turn then when out of those dreamings there is suddenly nowhere left to hide; when the only place left to go is through nightmare blacker even than the terror in which you are already caught? What to believe in, and how to believe, when believing means risking all you have, and all those you love... And would those others, on your word, dare to risk it too? Welcome to Azhera, the forgotten land. Welcome to the story of the Heart of Magic. Welcome to the Núminway Chronicles.