Deep Sea Embers

Vanna stood atop the highest tower of the Storm Cathedral, her eyes scanning the horizon through a vast window. She surveyed the intricate rooftops of the church, the soft glow of lights nestled in the clouds, the slightly changed skyline of the city buildings, and the expansive stretch of the great sea in the distance.

Near the tower’s spiraling staircase, steam-powered pipes emitted a soft hiss as a copper incense burner dangled from a valve on the pipe, releasing wisps of fragrant smoke. Beside her, the elderly Archbishop Valentine stood silently, his pale eyes, clouded from halted blood circulation, focused on the distant horizon along with Vanna.

Breaking the silence, Vanna whispered, “I often stood here at dusk, watching every corner of Pland. The hiss of the steam pipes and the scent of the incense always brought peace.”

“It feels as if those days were not long ago,” Archbishop Valentine murmured in a low tone.

“Indeed, they seem almost recent,” Vanna agreed with a slight nod. “Those nights were filled with turmoil, darkness brought threats upon the people—from shadowy cultists to their summoned beasts. I was filled with determination, ready to confront any danger to our city-state.”

The old archbishop remained silent, his gaze drifting toward the church garden. In the misty night, distant roars and eerie sounds echoed, suggesting the presence of a massive creature hidden in the fog.

“Granny Tereni has started her feast again,” Valentine eventually spoke, his voice slow. “Every evening at this hour, she consumes herself, only to regenerate from the earth twenty-four hours later. Nearby, twelve nuns and twelve priests remain close to Granny Tereni, entering the small abbey by the garden at specific times—just as you used to during your daily walks.”

Vanna let out a faint sigh, her voice barely audible, “Will they venture beyond the church grounds?”

“I have ordered the garden sealed, although it’s not truly necessary,” Valentine explained. “Granny Tereni never leaves the garden, even when ‘alive.’ And the nuns and priests pose no threat—there are far more dangerous shadows lurking in the city.”

“We still need your strength if wanderers try to scale the shelter’s high walls,” Valentine countered, shaking his head. “Disorder can erupt at any time, anywhere in the city—sometimes when people suddenly ‘awake’ in their homes, other times when blind wanderers breach our security zones. We’ve formed a new Night Watch to patrol the streets, but there are always gaps they can’t fill. Your leadership as the inquisitor would be invaluable to them.”

He paused, then continued, “You may need to adjust to some of your former comrades. Several in the Night Watch have undergone… ‘changes,’ appearing less human. But in these times, possessing rationality and humanity is a rarity.”

“I don’t mind,” Vanna chuckled, shifting her arm slightly, “After all, it’s better than dealing with the ‘human factor’ on the Vanished, right? I’m ready to return to this work—you can make the arrangements.”

“That’s good to hear,” Valentine replied, smiling and nodding in approval. “I’ll notify the Night Watch during the next shift change to share this good news. Would you like to rest in your room for a bit? It’s still in excellent shape, and someone has been maintaining it.”

“Okay,” Vanna agreed, then paused, a hint of concern in her voice. “Is there anything I should be cautious about?”

“Don’t worry about the murmuring from your vanity table; it’s nothing coherent. And try not to gaze out the window for too long—it tends to grow eyes. That’s all you need to be aware of.”

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“…Honestly, the situation is quite… ‘mild,'” she remarked with a note of sarcasm.

Valentine gave a helpless shrug, but before he could continue, a sudden burst of light erupted from nowhere, cutting him off.

Both turned their eyes upward, startled, trying to locate the source of the light.

The clouds above glowed with a cold, pale light, a brilliance emanating from the World’s Creation—a phenomenon caused by the lowering clouds, revealing a “scar” that spanned the entire sky, now mostly hidden behind the clouds, only occasionally visible through the brightest, thinnest gaps.

Suddenly, between the clouds, a different glow emerged.

It wasn’t the usual cold, pale light, but a faint orange-yellow hue, blending with the light from the World’s Creation, briefly reminiscent of the long-lost… sunlight.

Vanna looked upward, searching for the origin of the World’s Creation. Through a gap in the lowering clouds, she spotted the vast “scar,” and to her surprise, the sun-like orange-yellow light was emanating from the edge of the World’s Creation.

It seemed as though a strong light source was bursting forth from “behind” the pale fissure, obscured by the cracks in the sky, allowing only a little residual light to diffuse from the edges of the cracks, thus faintly illuminating the sky.

Valentine, making the same connection, wore an expression of stunned confusion on his face, staring blankly at the sky. “What is that…”

Vanna remained silent, and just then, the orange-yellow light diffusing from behind the World’s Creation gradually dimmed and completely extinguished.

A moment later, the orange-yellow light flared up again, spreading across the sky. The invisible, powerful light source flickered on and off like a beacon in the night sky. This spectacle was visible to the entire world. Even the other dimensions could witness this scene.

At the world’s edge, at the “border node” where gods slumber, the dim, false sunlight once chased away the fog, shining over the Leviathan Queen’s palace, on the server matrix of Navigator Two, on the Ashen Isle of the Eternal Flame, and on the tombs of Bartok.

Deep in the abyssal sea, where the uncontrollably proliferating Navigator One slowly writhed at the ocean’s bottom, a vast swarm of nanomachines nearly filled every inch beneath the shattered lands. Among countless uncontrollable tentacles, the dim sunlight suddenly dispelled the darkness, illuminating the dark red core of Navigator One.

In the distant northern ice fields of the Boundless Sea, ice sculptures stood silently next to a massive archives building, the bearers frozen on the ice field, the tallest among them still maintaining a posture of looking southward before being frozen.

The faint and flickering “sunlight,” though obscured and diluted by the barrier known as the World’s Creation, still managed to cast a gleaming sheen over the frozen visages, deeply imprinting each rigid gaze.

This sunlight was toxic, lethal even for the creatures of the Boundless Sea; to them, bathing in this light was akin to drowning in the murmurs of subspace.

However, thanks to the mitigating effects of the World’s Creation, the lethal impact of this sunlight on the terrestrial world was significantly reduced. Although a trace of its toxic nature remained, it was largely negligible.

Moreover, this world was already profoundly distorted and warped. In the face of widespread disintegration, the menace posed by the Black Sun’s radiance was hardly more threatening than the ongoing collapse of the world itself.

Thus, the exiled sun began to shine unimpeded for the first time in ages. Long after those who had once cherished its light had faded into history, it now blazed fiercely amid the Great Annihilation.

The sunlight streamed through the transition channel, carving a luminous and distinct path against the stark gray-white backdrop.

Duncan sensed a subtle vibration beneath his feet; Alice was fine-tuning the transition mechanism, adjusting their trajectory based on the navigation signal emitted by the Black Sun.

Duncan narrowed his eyes, focusing on the light at the channel’s end—here, free from the obstruction of the World’s Creation, the sunlight spanned both time and space and appeared almost blinding.

“I will be your beacon in the night sky; you must steer towards the brightest light…”

The architects of a Dyson sphere, while not as technologically advanced as the “New Hope,” clearly knew how to assert their presence in the cosmos, capable of emitting a signal strong enough to guide starships.

“I see the light; we are heading towards you. This should shorten the journey of the Vanished,” Duncan communicated to the sunlight, aware that the Black Sun could hear him through this method, “How are you faring now?”

“The intense heat, it feels like I am simmering in flames—it’s painful, yet somehow satisfying,” replied the voice of the Black Sun, trembling within the beams, “This is the first time in ten thousand years that I’ve truly blazed; I thought I couldn’t bear it, but… it’s a good pain.”

“In the new world, you can exist peacefully with your own light without suffering from self-inflicted burns,” Duncan responded with a soft smile, “There will be a provision for such harmony.”

“…Is that really possible?”

“Yes, this is a unique, tailored opportunity for a new beginning,” Duncan explained calmly, “You could even request additional features—like altering your own sunlight to a shade of pink.”

“Ha, no need for that, but if it’s feasible, I do have another request…”

“What might that be?”

“Could you arrange a few more planets for me? Gas or rocky, either type would suffice. Observing the evolution of life on various planets could be quite fascinating.”

“Consider it noted—your wish will be granted after Alice gets her flat bottom pan.”

“That’s indeed a great honor.”