The witch’s curse on his sword could not be broken. The sword had to be destroyed, so he made a packing list for a journey to the Mourning Tower. “Water? Check. Food? Check. Caution? I think not.” He braved blizzards, torrential winds, and frog stampedes before scaling this volcano. His body ached, his joints were weary. All this to lose the sword he loved. Epic reached the peak and peered down into the lava below. He grabbed for Summit to drop it in, but it wasn’t there. “I knew I forgot something.”