In the heart of the Sunken Valley, where a perpetual gloom clung to the jagged rocks, the people of Emberfall lived in cold and quiet despair. Their great Eternal Flame, which had once warmed their halls and fueled their forges, had been snuffed out by a howling, century-long storm. Hope was a forgotten ember.All except one.During the last violent squall, a single, determined spark from the great fire had been carried by the wind, finding refuge in a small, sheltered crevice in the highest cliff. It was no bigger than a pebble, a tiny, flickering tongue of orange and blue.