Once upon a time, in a land far away lived one of the best storytellers that the twelve magical lands had ever seen. Every tale coming out of his mouth was better than the previous one, and no one could better bewitch both children and adults.

Every magical creature, good or bad, went to hear his wonderous stories at least once in their lives, but most went as many times as they could afford. After all, storytime was one moment when being good or bad didn't actually matter. They were united in the magical tapestry that the storyteller wove so skillfully.

His audience consisted of both boys and girls. Yet, they never complained that the stories were too 'girly' or two 'boyish'. He always found the perfect balance to appeal to both.

Although his stories were as diverse as beautiful, he was known as the Winter Storyteller because his winter tales had more magic and beauty than others. It was as if winter was feeding him all those adventures and misadventures.

One day, Winter Storyteller woke up with yet another story he was eager to tell to all those hungry ears that awaited him on the city square. He bundled up in warm clothing and set out to do what he did the best, tell stories. It was something he enjoyed as much as his audience did because the wonder and joy on their faces was all the payment he ever needed.

As he settled down next to the roaring fire in the center of the gathering, Winter Storyteller cleared his throat and slowly started the audience on yet another miraculous adventure.

"Once upon a time in the land of eternal snow, there lived a happy little snowman, Snowflake. He always wore a tall black hat with a small holly branch on top to put him in the Christmas spirit, coupled with a red Christmas scarf. His rosy cheeks that Frost painted on his face never failed to show their glow," Winter Storyteller said, changing his voice as he slowly got into the story. "He always had presents for everyone and was happy to share Christmas joy with his fellow beings by always choosing just the right gifts for everyone."

The audience could already see the happy snowman in their mind's eye as Winter Storytellers' voice, tones, and nuances held more power than the words themselves ever could.

"However, one day, something horrible happened," he said.

He used one of his most intense tones that never failed to put his audience at the edge of their seats.

This time, Winter Storyteller opened and closed his mouth as if he was trying to voice the most complicated words ever invented. Yet, nothing came out. They were there, at the tip of his tongue, yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't share them with his fateful audience.

The crowd was patient at first, thinking it was another of his ways to create suspense. Yet, when Winter Storyteller failed to do anything but open and close his mouth for another few minutes, they started becoming restless.

"What was it? What happened to the good old Snowflake?" the audience wanted to know.

"You have to tell us! We need to know!" they yelled.

The poor Winter Storyteller held his throat, trying to show that he had lost his voice. Thus, he couldn't continue the tale of the happy snowman. It formed in his mind perfectly, but it refused to flow out of his mouth at his command.

"What is he doing?" people started asking each other.

"He has gone insane!" others exclaimed as the poor guy continued to flail around his hands in a vain attempt of pantomime that would explain his predicament.

Before he knew what was happening, those same people that clung to his every word turned on him. They said the cruelest things that pierced the poor man's heart.

Unsure of how to deal with the angry mob that his fateful listeners had become, Winter Storyteller did the one thing he could think of, he ran.

Once inside the safety of his home, he locked and barricaded his door for the first time ever. After all, as the most beloved figure in the village, he rarely had to worry about doing so. However, this time his magic had failed him, and he was faced with a situation he wasn't sure how to deal with.

"If I try to explain using my hands, they'll put me in an asylum. If I write it down, they'll be too angry to read what I have to say. What else is there for me to do but leave until I find my voice again?" Winter Storyteller thought.

So, he gathered up the few essential things he would need for his trip and set off on an adventure that would hopefully help him get his voice back.

The first stop on his journey to recovery was visiting the village Seer. She was bound to give him some clue on how to find himself again as he knew that she couldn't travel the journey with him, just point him in the right direction.

"After all, what is any storyteller without his voice?" Winter Storyteller mused as he traversed between his and her house. "Who am I even? It feels like a part of me has been extinguished. There is somehow less of me there than before. If nothing is driving us forward, no goal, no calling, what should we do then?"

"I've been expecting you, Winter Storyteller, without a voice," the blind old Seer said the moment he entered her garden.

She sat on a rocking chair, swaying gently as her blind eyes turned towards him.

He tried to say something, to ask her about his fate, about his curse, but no sounds came out of his mouth. What was worse was that he knew that she couldn't see him. Thus, using his hands to demonstrate his predicament was useless.

"Do not fret, my dear friend. I already know what troubles you. A Winter Storyteller without a voice is a fate worse than death for a storyteller whose whole life revolved around creating magic with his voice," she said, turning towards him. "The good news is that there is a way for you to get back what has been lost. The bad news is that you would have to go through four difficult challenges to regain your right to the stories."

"Why?" he thought.

"Because you have attempted to tell a tale that hasn't yet been finished. It is still unfolding, and the ending is uncertain. Those challenges will lead you to its ending. You might even influence the unfolding events," the Seer said as if she could read his mind. "You should have known better than to tell a tale that hasn't been fully formed. Now, you'll have to pay the price."

The Winter Storyteller lowered his head in embarrassment. He was far too eager to share the incredible story with someone. So much so that Winter Storyteller failed to follow the one rule of storytelling that kept the stories enchanting, for every tale he ever told was based on actual events. It was based on the lives lived in one of the parts of the kingdom.

"Where am I to go?" he thought, believing she could either read his mind or accurately predict his thoughts.

"You are to visit the Three Trolls and ask them to take you on a journey across their bridge and onto the White land of Gen. There awaits your second challenge," the Seer said.

"Thank you," he thought.

"Thank me when and if you come back alive from your quests. Oh, and say hello to the snowman for me," the Seer said as she waved him off.