‘Where is Adri?’ ‘Hiding, somewhere in the darkness.’ ‘I am Darkness!’ Come forth, come hither. It is finally time. Fairy tales, and spit and blood and bone and venom. Promises of revenge, the smell of fear, the ever long hunt. And the stories. Oh, the old stories. The serpent and the Dragon. The tantric and the horseman. There was time, once. All the time in the world, for the world. Yet you still claw at illegitimate hope; the blade saint, the demigod, the hammer of numen, the paladins of light. Stop. Look. The skies are black, the rivers red. For the last time, the sun sets. The dark master rises. Gaze into his hypnotic coils, for it is here. The end of the beginning. The beginning of the end. Myths of Old brings the long running Tantric Trilogy to a well drawn close. Dark, dystopian fantasy at its very darkest.