Long, long ago, in what now is seen as an age of myth, when great dragons still soared above the canopy, There lived a hero who — though he later came to be revered as the Firethief — was at that time still in his youth, and as reckless as a Halberd-Crest Bird. Born strong, brave, and boastful, he would roam the woods, challenging passersby to duels, Yet he was easily defeated by a half-human hero, the follower of a great warrior, who with cunning footwork lured him into a mire. Seeing the young man in such a sorry state, the archer could not help but laugh; Of habit so stern and taciturn, you would not have thought that he would tease others so. Half of shame, half of annoyance, the young man made up his mind; He would follow these oddballs, if only to cover up the shame of defeat. "Hey! You aren't seriously thinking of taking on that... Uh, whatever it is, without me, are you?" "Listen up, you lot! I am Yupanqui, and it is I that is destined to shake the very foundations of the... Wait, I haven't finished!" Many years later, whenever he thought back upon that journey, he couldn't help laughing at how awkwardly childish he used to be. More than once did his failure to heed advice land him in great danger; more than once did his boisterousness earn him the quiet artisan's annoyance. Though it is true that countless enemies fell to the swings of his greatsword, on balance, his contributions were still outweighed by the trouble he caused. Despite this, the companions who journeyed by the warrior's side tolerated his youthful ignorance. When his vision was taken by the fire of delirium, it seemed to him that he heard the silent priest's words once more... "One day, you will understand why you embarked on this verdant path." "By past fuel, and present flame, life marches ever on." "We will answer to the fire for all our deeds. This is your path, and yours alone."

That was the age when the banners of all the tribes had returned to the corroded ruins of the Cinder City, when oaths had long since faded away. Having gradually fallen into delirium, the human king now babbled of his crazed obsessions, his eyes reflecting naught but fear. Though still given to lament how the grand vision he had once held — of humans and dragons coexisting — was now beyond reach, Yet the aging hero could not bring himself to rebel against his only surviving friend of old. In the end, he thought, the color would thus fade from all verdant paths. In this way, passion is just like fire — despite regret and unwillingness, once extinguished, it is gone. Just as there was no such thing as a flame that could itself be rekindled, so there would never be a path that was his, and his alone. And thus, the disheartened old man silently accepted the idle position of ordnance officer for the Grand Alliance, Resolving never to interfere with his old friend's orders again, waiting only for the day that he would return to the Sacred Flame... Until, having saved the dragons from the shadow of the sword, alone at night came the scarlet-eyed youth to pay a visit to the ordnance officer's abode, With that zeal, at once both strange and familiar, he pleaded with the old hero to break the chains of the broken oath. Steadfast and taciturn, the old man did not answer him directly, only glancing at the dusty greatsword beside him. In his eyes, over the long years glazed dull with gloom, a spark of fiery brilliance flashed up once more.