In a quiet, mist-covered valley nestled deep within the Carpathian hills, lay the small rural village of Liskowice, where ancient traditions still whispered through the wind and the past was never far away. There lived a young and radiant woman named Zuzanna, whose kindness and beauty were known across the countryside.


Many had sought her hand, but her heart remained untouched—except by brave and spirited Jakub, a shepherd’s son with fire in his eyes and courage in his soul.

Yet Zuzanna, bound by the promise made to her ancestors, had sworn to marry only the one who could find and restore the long-lost fibula of her great-great-great-grandmother—a jewel of legend, said to hold the blessing of long life and enduring love.

The fibula had been broken and scattered long ago during a time of war and upheaval, its pieces lost across forests, ruins, and forgotten paths. It was said that only the pure of heart and steadfast of spirit could gather them once more—and so, Jakub’s quest began:


It is a mythical land featured in folklore and literature, often depicted as a magical, faraway place by the sea with golden chains, talking animals, and enchanted forests.

Carved entirely from a single rock, this monumental 8th-century structure in Ellora, India, showcases extraordinary Dravidian architecture with intricate sculptures of deities, animals, and mythical scenes. It was commissioned by the Rashtrakuta king Krishna I and remains one of the world’s largest and most awe-inspiring monolithic religious edifices.

Located in a remote and heavily secured area, this specialized training camp is reserved for top-tier operatives who undergo intense physical, psychological, and tactical preparation far exceeding conventional military standards. The program is designed to push the limits of endurance and precision, preparing participants for the most complex and high-risk covert operations.

This golden-hued blossom, known to turn its crowned face toward the chariot of Helios, stands tall upon a stout green stalk, echoing the sun's journey across the firmament.

On the eve when the sun lingers longest in the sky, folk venture into the heart of the forest, seeking a secret flame said to appear but once each turning of the year. It is whispered that whoever finds this fleeting light shall gain wisdom untold, the language of beasts, and fortune beyond measure.

Born of ancient fire,
clear tear of the sleeping earth—
stars caught in still stone.

Golden waves I raise,
though no ocean stirs my ground—
I feed without voice.

What am I?

Only when the fateful errand thou fulfill, shall the boon be thine to claim.

Three or more I gather near,
soft and aged, a taste sincere.
Slice or cube, a savory feat—
what treasure have I made complete?


Spread with bounty, rich and wide,
where friends and kin come side by side.
Feasts and laughter, stories told,
what gathering place does this behold?


A thousand thousand heartbeats long, this task unfolds its tale over six hundred thousand seconds.

Choose, the knight must: gather all three hundred ten relics within the legendary realm, or toil with steadfast heart until five squared steps taken.

I crackle and dance in the night’s embrace,
my flames reach high, yet leave no trace.
Gather close, warmth you’ll find—
what am I, that burns but is not confined?



Beneath the earth, in shadow deep,
Where silent secrets darkly keep,
Locked within, the brave may find,
Trials grim that test the mind.


King of beasts with golden mane,
Roaring loud across the plain.
Majestic, proud, in sunlight’s glow—
Who am I that rules below?

This historic church stands as a serene example of Byzantine architecture, adorned with intricate frescoes and iconography that tell sacred stories from centuries past. Nestled in a quiet village, its stone walls and domed roof evoke a deep sense of spirituality and timeless devotion. Visitors often come to admire its craftsmanship and to find a moment of peaceful reflection within its ancient, hallowed halls.

Locked tight with secrets old,
Filled with treasures gleaming gold.

Gathered piece by piece I grow,
From scattered parts my worth will show.
Not a single item stands alone,
Together, I am fully known.


The helm of a brave knight, scarred by battle and honor, can echo louder in politic halls than the softest reason or law. Its silent gleam stirs hearts and shifts the winds of politic speech, where courage becomes argument and steel shapes the will of rulers.

Jacub’s great-great-grandfather once ventured into the midsummer night, seeking the mythical fern flower said to bloom only for the pure of heart. Instead, beneath the moonlit meadow thick with blooming platantheras, he unearthed a long-lost fibula glinting like a buried whisper of time. Though he never found the flower, the relic he carried back to village told a story older than legend—woven with fate, roots, and forgotten kings.

I stand where soldiers’ echoes climb,
A gate of stone, a mark of time.
Not built to guard, but to acclaim,
Each carved name speaks of war and fame.

Time to collect all of them together! The Golden torch will show the path!