Mountainous region.
The thick white snow and dangling icicles dress the area in a silvery cloak, a glaring expanse of white.
A group of Barbarians forms a long line, trudging slowly through the snow, one foot deep, the other shallow, panting heavily.
They are lost. Since the descent of the heavenly fire, all the Barbarians have scattered into the mountains like headless flies, running all over the hills, losing every bit of supplies, war beasts, and spoils.
All that's left is sheer terror.
The dangers of this world are beyond their imagination, those alien race members are nightmarishly powerful; even before meeting them, they've encountered the dreadful heavenly fire.
"Uncle Bamoer, can we still make it back?" a thirteen or fourteen-year-old boy who had fallen behind asked softly, sounding anxious and breathless.
