“She stood at the edge of Pushpa Ghati — the Flower Valley — and watched the sunrise paint the ancient homeland of the Pari-jan in shades of gold and rose. The valley was breathtaking: a hidden bowl of green nestled between mountain peaks, its floor carpeted with wildflowers that no one had planted and everyone had forgotten. Rivers of crystal water threaded through meadows where the grass grew waist-high and smelled of honey and crushed mint. The protective spell that had concealed the valley for millennia shimmered overhead like a dome of liquid glass, bending the light into rainbows that danced across the flower beds.”