Like many of his kind, Grimmyr is unable to return home.

Ulka knew the warmth of family for less than an hour. Her first cries were a wail of grief for her parents, slaughtered alongside the rest of her hold in a brutal raid by rival orcs. The murderers left the orphaned child untouched among the corpses, prey for wolves or the elements to take, chortling and sporting among each other for their cruelty. Empty Hand scouts found the babe not long after, screaming in defiance at the heavens, as if daring the gods themselves to answer for their sins.

Yoon was only eight when she learned of fire; the power to command and control flames awoke within her, as it had within her grandmother, and her grandmother's grandmother before her. Fire was a good friend to have, for Yoon was on a journey across Tian Xia, fleeing her old home of Minkai and heading down the coast to Hwanggot, the land her parents had left decades ago. Her flame kept her warm at night and protected her from monsters and bandits, and she had friends she met along the road to teach her survival and point her toward the next village or inn.

Veerkea’s life began at sea. Literally, of course: like almost all ijtikris, she hatched from a free-floating egg, grew as an instinct-driven larva for two years, and metamorphosed into her adult, squid-like body before clambering to shore, drawing her first breath of air, and searching for other ijtikris to adopt as her family. Yet, ijtikris hadn’t ruled the planet Iji since ancient times, when the technologically superior Veskarium conquered, annexed, and renamed the world Vesk-2, the first of many conquests. So, when young Veerkea first peeked her upper eyes above the waves, she instead spotted and reflexively bonded to a vesk squadron performing amphibious landing drills along the beach. The vesk gave her a name and a hearty welcome, delighted in teaching her Vesk profanity for the afternoon, and then transported her to the nearest settlement on the isle of Ijahi for proper adoption, but Veerkea vehemently and violently protested being separated from her new family. Impressed by her outburst’s ferocity and considering this a sign the god Damoritosh’s favor, the local commander allowed the new unit to remain together.

In Kiutu, a quiet village on the eastern coast of Terwa Lake, young children often grow up listening to tales of the ruins that are visible on an opposing shore, separated from the hamlet by only a shallow inlet. Some stories tell of draconic monsters who haunt and terrorize those who step foot beyond the threshold of the buried temple, and others of the shadowy, winged figures that come to Kiutu in the night to drag misbehaving children to the ruins; whatever the story, the folklore surrounding ancient Bloodsalt carries with it a strong culture of fear and ominousness among Kiutu’s people. Most children grow tired of hearing such tales as they grow into their adolescence, brushing them off as fantasy, though the ruins always remain taboo. But Ija and her peers always accepted that she was a peculiar child, and the young girl never truly outgrew her youthful curiosity.

Korakai’s earliest memory is of roiling seas. When he was but an egg, his family left the tengu homeland of Kwanlai, first trekking west to the port city of Goka before boarding a ship to the Inner Sea in search for a better life. Like many immigrants from Tian Xia, they headed for Absalom; however, where they eventually settled was not the City at the Center of the World, but the nearby Isle of Erran.