Year two of the Firefolk Era, winter.
The north wind swept up snow, sealing the mountains and cutting off the roads. In Lost Path Valley on the fringes of the Nine Provinces, wind and snow cut like knives, having swallowed untold travelers over the past century. Legend held that a Homeforgetting Miasma haunted this place: anyone who entered lost all sense of direction, was hopelessly lost within three days, and finally became dry bones beneath the snow.
Yet that night, the wind and snow in the valley abruptly ceased.
A band of displaced people huddled in a rocky cave, their clothes ragged, their breathing faint. They were refugees who had fled the wars in the Western Territories, more than thirty people, young and old. They had gone seven days without food and no longer knew where they were. The youngest child curled in his mother's arms, his fingers black with frostbite, murmuring, "Mother... I can't see home anymore..."
Just then—
A crimson light slowly flowed along the horizon, like a river, like a ribbon, like brocade woven from sparks.
"What is that?" An old man raised his head, his voice trembling.
"It's... the Starfire River," a boy said hoarsely. He had once heard the village night watchman say: "All who lose their way need only look up at the Starfire River, and the fire will guide them home."
Before his words had faded, the river of fire seemed to respond, sending out a slender tributary, fine as a silken thread, which descended from the sky and gently settled upon a broken stele at the valley's entrance.
Two words were carved into the stele: "Homeward Journey."
Firelight flowed, illuminating the inscription, and a phantom road appeared—piercing the wind and snow, crossing mountain ridges, passing through settlements, and finally ending before a