Year eight of the Firefolk Era, the eve of the winter solstice.
Wind and snow descended on Sand-Speech Town once more, blanketing the slum alleys. Little Bean's clay lamp burned quietly beneath the eaves. Its bean-sized flame swayed faintly in the bitter wind, yet never went out. He slept beside it, his little face red with cold, his hands still tightly shielding its base.
The old beggar—the man people called "Mute Uncle"—had lived here for decades. He never spoke, only sat silently each night on the stone steps at the alley's entrance, draped in a tattered felt robe, gazing toward the Starfire River as though waiting for someone.
That night, the lamp's flame suddenly brightened.
The wind rocked Little Bean's lamp. Its flame leaned sideways, on the verge of going out.
Mute Uncle sprang to his feet, moving too quickly for an old man in his twilight years. He rushed forward in one stride and blocked the bitter wind with his body. A piece of old tinder had appeared in his hand; he laid it gently over the wick, then took a small lump of animal fat from inside his robe and carefully added it to the lamp's base.
The lamp steadied.
Little Bean startled awake and looked up at him. "Grandpa?"
Mute Uncle said nothing. He merely pushed the lamp gently back into Little Bean's hands, then crouched and traced two words in the snow with his rough fingers—
"Guardian Lamp."
Little Bean froze. "You're... a Lamp Guarder?"
Mute Uncle nodded, then shook his head. His gaze turned toward the river of stars in the heavens, as though piercing a hundred years of wind and snow.
That night, he dreamed of Wind and Snow Ridge.
Three snow statues sat in silence. Three Night Watchers stood before the Heartfire Abyss,