All Roland knew was the mist. It curled around his ankles like tendrils of a sentient creature. It was cold, and heavy, making it hard for Roland to breathe.

Suddenly out of the darkness, Roland saw the outline of a figure that seemed to glow through the blanket of fog. A dull, golden glow that seemed to turn the whiteness around her into something shimmering and valuable. And her hair. Her long, yellow hair that wound around her like a vine.

She spoke without moving her lips, her words echoing off the inside of Roland’s mind. “You must come,” she said in a voice that seemed celestial. “You will know the way.” She smiled almost imperceptibly through the haze. “You have always known the way.”

Roland awoke without the memory of falling asleep, holding on only to the fading remnants of his dreams and that long, golden hair. His right hand curled around his friend’s plea as though he were afraid to let it go.

But his left hand.

He opened his left hand to find a slight silver key.