Deep Sea Embers C.795: The Body of Civilization

Late into the night, the “Vanished” and its crew found themselves navigating the fringes of the known world, enveloped in a persistent twilight. Above them, the sky melded into a perpetual haze of gray, casting a diffuse, eternal light that seemed to ignore the passage of time, cloaking everything in an unchanging glow as if day and night had ceased to exist.

Amidst this eerie atmosphere, Sailors, a being whose face was etched with the signs of many thoughts and emotions, sat contemplatively on the stern deck. He had been in this reflective state for what seemed like eternity, motionless as a statue.

Breaking the silence, Duncan approached Sailor, casting a glance at the mummified body nearby before posing a question, “Still lost in your collection of ‘last words’?”

“Not exactly,” Sailor shifted uncomfortably, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’m… just suddenly uncertain about what lies ahead.”

“The future?” Duncan queried, one eyebrow arching in curiosity.

“In my initial plans, I was supposed to have disappeared from this world already,” Sailor confessed after a brief pause, his tone serene yet deliberate. “I never envisaged a life beyond this mission. I hadn’t entertained any thoughts of what comes after – having roamed this world for countless years, the prospect of facing a future now seems… daunting.”

Duncan regarded him with a seriousness that belied the casualness of their conversation, “If you’re truly reluctant to continue, I can grant you the ‘eternal rest’ you seem to desire. It would be quick.”

At this, Sailor’s expression shifted subtly, betraying his internal conflict with a slight adjustment in posture, “No, that… might not be necessary after all…”

A faint smile graced Duncan’s face as he crossed his arms, gazing out at the mist-enshrouded sea. “Do you honestly still yearn for that ‘eternal rest’?”

This time, Sailor took even longer to respond, as if the question had unearthed a depth of contemplation he had not yet explored.

After what seemed an eternity, the preserved body unexpectedly stirred, its voice rasping, “This world remains as cold as ever to me.”

Duncan responded lightly, “But the world to come will be warmer. There, you might not have to remain as you are. Perhaps even in your state, you can still feel warmth.”

A trace of surprise flickered in Sailor’s eyes, “A new world?”

“Have you forgotten your own beliefs? The change we’re working towards will succeed – there will indeed be a new world, as you once assured,” Duncan said, locking eyes with him, “Do you still hold that belief?”

After a moment of reflection, Sailor nodded, “I do. I always have.”

“Then, wait and see it for yourself,” Duncan encouraged with a smile. “It promises to be a better place. The tale of the ‘Sea Song’ and many others deserve to be told by those who lived them. If you wish for these stories to endure, you should be the one to carry them forward.”

Listening to Duncan, Sailor seemed to come to a realization. Gradually, the deep lines of contemplation and concern on his face eased into a smile, albeit one that carried the weight of his experiences, “Alright, I’ve decided.”

He rose slowly, his gaze sweeping over the cold world around them, yet now with a semblance of peace, “I wish to witness this ‘new world’, Captain. Indeed, I am not ready to die.”

“Good,” Duncan replied, a smile of relief spreading across his face as he clapped Sailor on the shoulder, “Then let’s not die.”

Following a night of rest, the crew assembled on deck, with Alice taking her place at the helm at the stern – the doll, Miss, assuming a posture of grave determination before the dark wheel.

“Ease your tension,” Duncan said, standing next to Alice and speaking softly, “You’ve managed this once before. The ship is ready; just do as you did last time.”

With a nod, albeit a stiff one, Alice stepped forward, her expression resolute as she reached for the heavy steering wheel.

Before her fingers could graze it, Duncan and Vanna turned, their gaze drawn once again to the mist-covered ocean – a gentle farewell whispered by the waves amidst the islands.

Duncan offered a slight nod in that direction, murmuring a farewell meant only for his ears, “Goodbye, I’ll come to see you again.”

In the next instant, as Alice’s fingers touched the steering wheel of the “Vanished,” the navigational system of Navigator Three had assumed control, ready to chart a course into the unknown.

From the sky, a colossal illusion descended, its arrival shrouded in the strange, eternal twilight that bathed the world in a murky light. This grand vision, a fragmented echo of New Hope, unfurled across the sky, casting expansive shadows that enveloped both the “Vanished” and the “Bright Star,” as well as a significant swath of the surrounding sea. Amidst this surreal event, a voice, virtual and distorted as though it traveled across vast distances of time, resonated within the minds of all present:

“…Jump engine activated, New Hope will set sail… May we meet again at a distant destination. The future’s hope awaits us all…”

This voice, laden with static and distortion, gradually faded away, and with its departure, the fog that had veiled the sea began to lift. Beyond the rails of the “Vanished” and the “Bright Star,” the world itself seemed to drain of color and detail, reverting back to that all-too-familiar monotone of “gray-white.”

Hovering above the two ships, the ancient projection of New Hope lingered like a guardian figure, its wings outstretched protectively.

At the helm, Alice’s grip tightened on the wheel, her eyes wide as she peered into the distance. Invisible “threads” seemed to weave her, the ships, and the projection of New Hope into a singular narrative, her consciousness momentarily transcending her doll’s form to become the guiding will of their journey.

The way forward was clear, charting a course toward the very brink of the world.

Meanwhile, the Boundless Sea remained cloaked in the veil of an endless night, within which a new “order” for survival had begun to stir.

A radiant “sunlight,” slowly traversing the sea, was being towed by a robust tugboat, dragging a massive copy of the sun between city-states. This pale golden radiance emanated from the tugboat, extending its light tens of kilometers around. Within this glow, numerous cargo ships, both large and small, navigated the waters.

These fleets, voyaging between city-states under the shield of this moving sunlight, were propelled by potent steam cores through the perpetual darkness. Captains delivered essential supplies to cities in dire need, bringing with them the promise of hope that the sunlight symbolized. Each city would bask in this light for three to five days, the brief respite allowing defenders to regroup before the fleet, laden with new cargo, would embark once again, bringing sunlight and hope to the next destination.

This endeavor had become a widespread operation across the entire Boundless Sea, with increasing numbers of fleets transporting sunlight and supplies in this manner.

The Northern City-States Union had already sprung into action, and in the Central Sea, the new “Sunlight Route” centered around Pland had successfully completed its first long-distance material transport under the cover of darkness. In Pland, the White Oak, leading the charge and towing a fragment of the sun, pierced through the night’s encirclement, reconnecting cities that had been cut off from one another. Far away, in Wind Harbor, several fleets organized by the Church had embarked on their journeys into the night, destined for Mok and Lansa, breaching the nocturnal blockade.

As sunlight coursed through the night, these fleets, navigating a world on the brink of submersion, resembled ancient explorers venturing into uncharted territories, armed with axes and torches, combating the encroaching darkness. As civilization teetered on the edge of decline, these efforts sought to sustain the lifeblood of society.

Taran El stood atop the highest tower in Wind Harbor, his gaze lost in the diminishing pale golden glow on the horizon. He observed a massive glowing geometric shape, akin to a crystal crafted from light, being towed by a hefty tugboat into the darkness, with the silhouettes of numerous ships faintly discernible within the fading sunlight.

This was the inaugural cargo fleet from Wind Harbor, embarking on a seven-day journey through the long night. Protected by sunlight, they were to deliver supplies to Mok before proceeding to the Central Sea, integrating into the “Sunlight Route” established by Pland, thereby reconnecting the central and southern seas.

For the past year, the “sunlight” that had enveloped the city-state departed, and Wind Harbor, once shielded by this light, confronted the long night in its full extent for the first time. Darkness descended upon every street, with gas lamps flickering under the night sky, tracing the outlines of the city in Taran El’s view.

As footsteps approached from behind, Taran El, without needing to look, knew who had come.

“Truth be told, I feel a bit melancholic, Ted, do you understand this feeling?” he spoke casually, his voice tinged with sentiment, “For almost the entire past year, I’ve been engrossed in studying that piece of the sun, which had almost become a part of Wind Harbor – including myself, many of us never imagined it would leave.”

“It has transcended being merely a ‘research sample.’ Following the fall of Vision 001, it has become a lifeline for many city-states,” Ted, the Truth Keeper, joined Taran at the terrace’s edge, their eyes surveying the city swallowed by night, “…The Academy has issued orders, ‘survival’ is now the foremost mission for all city-states and their inhabitants, superseding all else.”

Taran El listened in silence, absorbing the gravity of Ted’s words. After a long pause, he finally exhaled a heavy sigh, breaking the silence: “Let’s take a walk along the docks.”