Year ten of the Firefolk Era, the night of the spring equinox.
Across the Nine Provinces, the Starfire River surged in woven streams. Since the Crimson Gold Fire Vein had rekindled in the Ruin Abyss, the river's flowing light was no longer merely an interweaving of silver-white and crimson gold; it now held a soft, warm orange, like the first light of dawn, like a newborn hearth fire. That light neither dazzled nor flaunted itself, yet its warmth seeped deep into the bones, as though it could reach the coldest corners of the human heart. The people said, "This is Little Bean's fire. It's come back." They did not know its name or recognize its form, yet whenever they lit a lamp, an inexplicable peace settled over them, as though someone in the darkness were gently shielding them from the wind.
But Little Bean never returned.
The instant he leaped into the fissure, his body and spirit merged with the fire vein of the Ruin Abyss. His flesh became nourishment for the earth's veins, but his soul did not scatter. Deep within the earth, at the fire vein's core, the "Fire Spirit" left behind by the Ancient Civilization awoke. It had slept for a thousand years, like a forgotten heart, quietly awaiting the heartbeat that could wake it.
It was neither god nor ghost, but a spirit condensed from the collective faith of the Ancient Civilization a thousand years before, the crystallization of millions of people's reverence for fire, their dependence on it, their protection of it, and their sacrifices for it. They had used fire to cook, keep warm, drive away beasts, inscribe words, and send messages. Fire was their life, and their soul. When their civilization collapsed and fire was sealed away, their faith did not dissipate. It