The young Ember grew among the clouds. One unexpected night, he descended to a Shanghai beach, his memories slipping away. He struggled against the loss, even after he stopped remembering why.
Then the sun rose. Like a spark, a memory grew momentarily bright, and he held onto it, a wood-fire ember in a treasure jar. The sun. Follow it.
Over mountains and sand, navigating bandits and friends until his toes again touched sand, this time in France. That night, Ember rose, reuniting with his memories the higher he got. Once home, he was met by the Honorum Council, and he knew. His mission.
Am I ready?
Almost, they said and opened a small door into a treasure jar, an opening out of which shone a dying but familiar light.
Ember stepped forward.