Deep Sea Embers

In a world blanketed by fog, wanderers roamed aimlessly outside the boiler where deep roars echoed from the harbor’s fog-enshrouded facilities. The core of cold steam hummed vacantly as it merged into eerie mirages. The once-thriving sanctuary of flames had vanished, and with it, the distinction between “normal” and “abnormal” blurred into oblivion. As minds and the world itself deteriorated, sanity ironically became synonymous with madness and contamination. Those labeled insane had gathered within high walls, constructing their final stronghold, watching anxiously as the world outside succumbed to dArkness.

“We will prepare ample supplies for the Bright Star,” Helena declared from a high platform atop the boiler room, addressing Vanna and Lucretia who stood beside her. “You can move to the western dock—it’s one of the few external channels we currently control.”

“Can this ‘lighthouse’ still provide supplies?” Lucretia asked the Pope in astonishment. “Do you really have that many resources?”

“Yes, we’re not short on materials, which might surprise you,” Helena responded with a smile. “In fact, the ‘operation’ of the entire world continues, including the production and transport of major supplies, even ‘commercial activities’ within the city-states… Every fortnight, a cargo ship loaded with supplies arrives from the border base, refueling this lighthouse and more. Those engulfed in trance handle the exchanges as usual, while we ‘awakened ones’ use old permits dug up from files to move some of the materials to other storages. Likewise, we can utilize many of the facilities here.”

She turned, her gaze sweeping over the vast platform outside the boiler.

“Yes, this world is still functioning, every part… operating in a trance along old trajectories, like a massive ship internally collapsing but still drifting on its original course in the ocean under inertia. Us awakeners on board are powerless to fix the ship, but at least we can ‘sail’ with it before it capsizes.”

Vanna and Lucretia stood speechless for a moment, unsure how to respond.

The world had become unrecognizable to them.

However, Helena appeared unconcerned, simply waving her hand and continuing, “Thank you for informing me about the events at the world’s end. Now those of us waiting on the Ark finally understand what’s happening outside; our wait now has a purpose, no longer just a desperate struggle to survive. Is the Vanished still sailing at the world’s end?”

“Yes, Captain and Alice are at the world’s end, still advancing further,” Vanna whispered. “They are preparing for the new world. When everything is ready… you can ‘blink your eyes.'”

“Good, then I won’t delay your journey any longer,” Helena’s avatar turned, softly exhaling. “I’ll arrange the supplies, and someone will escort you two back to the dock…”

She suddenly stopped, gazing intensely into Vanna’s eyes for a long moment before speaking.

“Vanna, safe travels – we’ll meet again in the new world.”

Vanna solemnly nodded: “Yes, Your Holiness, we’ll meet again in the new world.”

…

The howling wind had unknowingly ceased, leaving only the sheer, extreme “cold” on this icy plain—a cold that penetrated flesh and bone, freezing the soul. Amidst this icy wind, the Flame Bearers, who had long forgotten the warmth of “fire,” continued their journey.

The living dead trudged across the ice plain, their chest lanterns casting a faintly twinkling line deep into the ice.

Frem stood on a hastily erected platform, gazing into the distance where the imposing silhouette of the Ark silently stood far away. Its lights painted a twinkling “mountain” in the night, while lights from the lanterns flowed endlessly between that “mountain” and the ice beneath his feet, weaving back and forth tirelessly.

After the icebreaking device had become completely unusable, the Flame Bearers resorted to using the explosives they had carried on the ship to break through the next segment of ice. After the explosives were depleted, the Ark continued with its powerful drive and sturdy armor to break open another path, until finally, its power system shut down completely. Although the steam core still howled vacantly and air flowed through the pipes, the giant ship remained stuck in the ice, halted just short of its destination.

Fortunately, the distance to the final “focal point” was not far, and they were already within the influence range of the focal point. At this moment, civilization’s last “archive” was being established on this ice plain.

Footsteps echoed from the side as a veiled priestess approached the platform where Frem stood. She stopped beside him and bowed slightly. “Another eleven have ‘awakened.’ They’ve been settled in the camp and are currently undergoing psychological comforting and counseling,” she reported.

Frem nodded slightly in acknowledgment. “How are they doing?”

“Better than the last batch,” the priestess answered. “We find that continuously conveying hints and reminders to those in a ‘trance’ state is useful. When they ‘awaken,’ most of them almost immediately recognize that this is still a controlled ‘situation’ and seek help from the nearest contact person. We can share these experiences with the city-states.”

Frem nodded again, his gaze returning to the construction site of the archive.

The engineering machinery, transported from the Ark, was actively engaged on the ice plain. A cluster of buildings, crude and somewhat unattractive, began to emerge.

Compared to the majestic Ark and onboard cathedral, these buildings, resembling rough factories, lacked aesthetic appeal. Their sole design goal was to construct as sturdy a storage space as possible in the shortest time, given the unfamiliar environment.

“Does this really make sense?” A soft murmur came from beside him.

Frem turned his head to look at the priestess beside him.

“Sorry, Your Holiness, I am not wavering, I just…” the priestess shook her head, struggling for words, “I just thought about recent events—more and more people are ‘awakening’ from their ‘trance,’ many with their last memories dating back to the day we set sail. Many have asked me what has happened along the way, so many questions…”

“I understand what you’re trying to say, Delice,” Frem interrupted softly, his gaze still fixed on the construction site. “Many believe that as long as people survive, it’s as if everything is preserved because civilization is created by people, and people can recreate civilization countless times… I understand, yes, and I couldn’t agree more. As the Pope of the Flame Bearers, I understand better than many how civilization is established and continued.”

He paused, his voice still soft. “A civilization without people is meaningless, but Delice, there’s also the other half of that saying—people without civilization are similarly so. Civilization isn’t just the cold stones and books, not just the mute sculptures, scores, and crafts; those are merely the carriers and forms of civilization, not the abstract civilization itself. All of these points are correct, but—

“Civilization needs carriers, needs evidence.

“It’s foolish to cling to ‘carriers’ while abandoning ‘essence,’ and it’s equally foolish to recognize the essence but think carriers are unnecessary. Without carriers and evidence, even the most brilliant memories will erode over time, eroding before people have a chance to rebuild civilization. And even without considering this… Delice, we also need to leave some evidence, so that many years later, future generations can understand what happened to this world. The significance of artifacts and archaeology lies in this ‘informing.'”

The veiled priestess, Delice, faced Frem’s gaze squarely. Her once bright eyes, which had turned murky and dim days ago, now held a firm resolve.

“I understand, and I will also tell others your teachings…”

Frem nodded.

A thin “fog” had unknowingly appeared around them.

Delice looked up in surprise at the white fog fluttering around.

Since entering the ice plain, they hadn’t encountered “fog” for a long time.

Though the eternal curtain’s majestic fog wall was visible on the horizon, unlike other border seas, this ice plain almost never saw fog.

“The weather has changed…” She raised her hand, touching the insubstantial fog, “Is there fog on the ice plain now?”

Frem frowned, looking up at the sky, observing the flowing, drifting wisps of white, finally realizing.

“No, this isn’t fog,” he suddenly declared, his voice filled with surprise. “…this is cloud!”

“Cloud?” The priestess paused, as if recalling what “cloud” meant after a moment of thought, then her eyes widened in astonishment. “The clouds have fallen from the sky?”

“…The altitude of the clouds has lowered,” Frem spoke gravely, but he quickly realized this explanation didn’t make much difference and added, “It’s not so much that they’re ‘falling,’ it’s more like…”

He paused, and Delice had already understood his meaning. The priestess blinked, her tone tinged with unease, “The sky itself is lowering…”