Once upon a time, in an age nearly forgotten, a woman, possessing a voice of unexpected depth and power, declared herself a spy amidst the frostbitten expanses of a Siberian hamlet. Witness to a celestial stone plummeting earthward, she mused aloud whether the quest for the Knights of the Round Table or the Holy Grail should commence or was over. Her conjectures led her to believe these relics might lie concealed within the vicinity of an airport near Washington DC, whispered to nestle close to the frozen Potomac River… or was it a bridge?

Yet, the lore suggested it lay shattered, scattered in a thousand pieces. In another twist of fate, a monarch, seeming to come straight from the pages of a fairy tale, stumbled upon whispers of a mystic force stretching the fabric of our cosmos that he failed to clearly understand. This discovery placed him alongside an enigmatic figure, cloaked in black, aboard the tail of a Boeing 727. This stranger, bound for France, was ensnared by the tale of a clergyman who, according to ancient parchment, uncovered a fortune that made him so rich that he ended up himself cursed. The clue this priest had? It was said that amidst murmurs of deceit near the ill-reputed city of Salem, a poor young woman claimed to be possessed, unearthed the legend of a witch, condemned for prophesying the crash of a metallic bird into the Atlantic, heralded by a peculiar sound, that seemed quite stressful.