Chapter 1 The Beginning

As the fleet sailed further north, the surrounding temperature grew colder, as if "cold" had become a "property" of the entire sea ahead. No matter how fierce the flames, or how much cold-weather clothing, they could only slightly delay the invasion of the cold, unable to truly bring warmth.

In the midst of this cold and endless night, the Deep Sea Embers ships delivered the last batch of documents to the Flamekeepers' Church Ark—they sailed from the night, docked next to the Flamekeepers' Ark for several hours, and then returned to the depths of the night.

Freyam stood on the high tower of the Church Ark, watching the blurring silhouettes on the distant sea. The distant whistle echoed in the night sky, eventually dissolving into the wind.

"This may be the last time we see the rest of the civilized world," the tall, Senjin Pope turned his head and said to the priestess standing beside him. "After this, the Sanctuary will remain in the north—the Ark is the archive, and the archive is the Ark."

"We are all prepared for this," the priestess said calmly. "We will stop in that eternal ice, watching the last flicker of fire beyond the night, until the end of this long night… It is an honor to follow you here, Your Eminence."

Freyam was silent for a moment, then spoke softly, "Yes, it is my honor as well."

At the end of his vision, far in front of the Ark fleet, a vague white silhouette quietly appeared on the sea.

It was the frozen sea in the far north of the frigid sea, the coldest place in the world, where everything froze and reached eternity in the ice—it was the final destination of the Flamekeepers.

At the same time, in Frost City, Tirian was standing on the high balcony of the administrative hall, quietly watching the countless lights and the densely packed roofs in the distant streets.

The shard of the sun had left the city-state. Many days ago, the tugboat took the huge luminous geometric object to a place that needed it more. Now the entire city was lit by artificial lights. Bright streetlights and the lights of thousands of homes converged into rivers in the night, outlining every contour of the city, and continuing the order and tranquility of the civilized world.

People seemed to be gradually adapting to this long night.

The new curfew system was implemented smoothly. After the initial tension and chaos, factories and markets had resumed operation in an orderly manner. Residents reduced the number of times they left their homes, but within the permitted time frame, everyone was still trying to maintain their daily lives. There had also been several attempts by rats in the sewers to sabotage the city, but they were quickly subdued by the combined forces of the Guardians and the constables.

Now, the "Sunlight Fleet" towing the sun shard was cruising the vast sea between the city-states. The large convoy of freighters traveling with the Sunlight Fleet was coming and going in the night, and had restored 60 to 70 percent of the bulk logistics transportation between the city-states. The periodic arrival of "sunlight" also greatly reduced the pressure on various cities facing the night. Although twisted and mutated events were increasing everywhere, at least the Guardians now had a chance to breathe—

They faced challenges more severe than ever before, but at least it was no longer a desperate and endless darkness.

Sometimes, Tirian even felt that all of this could continue to operate for a long time—a new balance had been established. Civilization had shown amazing adaptability in this long night. People were now accustomed to this long night. The City-State Union, the curfew system, the new night watch order, the patrolling sunlight… These things seemed to be enough to keep the whole world going like this, even if not forever, it could last for a very long time.

But whenever he thought this way, he would soon wake up suddenly and realize that all of this was just an illusion brought about by the temporary peace, or even an illusion brought about by this night.

This world was sliding towards its end, and the speed of the slide was even faster than anyone imagined.

Because he knew about the "decay" of the gods, and the slow and unstoppable disintegration that was taking place in the cornerstones of the world. Because of his father's influence, he knew many things.

But… what would others think? The administrators of other city-states, the managers of the churches, the Guardians and constables, and the ordinary people living in the cities… would they also have that illusion of peace, and have they inadvertently fallen into that illusory tranquility?

“…Maybe it’s not a bad thing,” Tirian murmured to himself.

Aiden's voice came from beside him, "Huh? What's not a bad thing?"

"Nothing, just talking to myself," Tirian withdrew his gaze from the lights of the distant streets and turned to look at Aiden's shiny bald head. "Where were we?"

"About the production adjustments for several factories in the lower city," Aiden paused for a moment, quickly reacted, and continued, "The Coordinating Committee believes that there is a slight shortage of oil production capacity now. Although the current problem is not big, the gap will become serious as time goes by…"

"I see, I've already read this report at noon today. Tell the Coordinating Committee that the City Hall will give a reply before tomorrow morning," Tirian waved his hand. "What else is there?"

"Um…" Aiden hesitated, and said with a slightly hesitant tone, "Also, the Great Smelter reported something… strange."

"Something strange?" Tirian frowned slightly, showing some dissatisfaction. "Don't be so hesitant. Is that how you report things?"

Aiden quickly coughed twice, adjusted his posture and expression, and said, "A department reported that they haven't had any job assignments for a while. The head of the department thinks… something is a little strange."

Tirian frowned even more. He suddenly felt a little uneasy, feeling that some information was slipping away from his mind: "…A department? What does 'a department' mean? What department is it?"

"I don't know. The contents of the report are a bit chaotic. It was sent to my office, but I can't find out who sent it. Many of the words on it are not clear…"

Aiden explained, and the more he explained, the more confused he looked. His voice slowed down little by little, and in the end, it was like a stuck clockwork doll, almost squeezing out one word at a time: "…Only remember…they…are responsible for…burning…"

Aiden stopped and stood there, looking at Tirian with a somewhat blank expression.

After another two or three seconds, he seemed to suddenly wake up and trembled visibly. Then, he said with a normal expression and smooth and natural tone, "...The production capacity of the Boiling Gold Mine has returned to the level before 'Nightfall'. Now the excess ore is being loaded onto ships. The next time the Sunlight Fleet passes by, they will be delivered according to the order..."

Tirian, however, did not seem to be listening to these reports about the Boiling Gold Mine at all. The moment Aiden spoke again, he stared at him, his eyes almost frightening, so that Aiden hesitated and stopped halfway, revealing an uneasy look in the face of the heavy and inexplicable pressure: "Um… is there something wrong with what I said?"

"Aiden," Tirian was still staring at the subordinate who had followed him for a century, his tone particularly solemn. "Do you remember what you were reporting just now?"

Aiden was stunned and looked at Tirian cautiously: "Um… the production capacity of the Boiling Gold Mine, the production adjustments of several factories in the lower city, the Coordinating Committee's warning about the shortage of oil? Earlier we were talking about the Flamekeepers fleet going to the north…"

He hesitated and stopped, because Tirian's expression was obviously even more wrong.

"The Great Smelter," Tirian said solemnly. "Do you remember a report that a certain department of the Great Smelter sent to you?"

Aiden's eyes were blank: "...What report?"

Tirian did not speak. He just raised his head and looked towards the edge of the upper city, towards… a certain cemetery.

A swirling wind passed through the night, swept through the streets, and blew into the depths of the cemetery. The wind was wrapped in gray and white dust, and Agatha's figure condensed from the dust.

Today, she had changed out of the black dress that represented the bishop, and put on the light armor and combat jacket that she wore when she was a gatekeeper. The faint green flames jumped in the cracked wounds on her cheeks and arms, like a broken puppet. She rushed here from the Death Cathedral in the upper city, but as soon as she entered the cemetery, the anxious death priestess saw a scene that she did not expect.

The tall, bandage-covered cemetery keeper "Duncan" was standing on the path next to the mortuary table, helping a trembling figure climb out of a nearby coffin. The figure was obviously a corpse not long ago—his neck was bent at a strange angle, and his head drooped on one shoulder. He climbed off the platform stiffly and slowly, and his joints made unsettling cracking sounds from time to time.

The tall and burly gravedigger "Duncan," who looked gloomy and terrifying, helped the corpse climb off the platform, and calmly instructed: "...Yes, it's normal to have a headache. Maybe it will be better when you get back… The neck must be fixed, insert a wooden frame or fire tongs. Keep a good mood, just think of it as getting drunk and losing your way for a night. Your family won't complain—they will accept you back calmly, anyway, there will be no shortage of people like you."

As he spoke, the sound of a coffin lid opening came from another mortuary platform. An old man with white hair sat up from inside, looking around blankly: "Why am I sleeping here? I feel chest tightness…"

"Wait a minute, I'll help you down," Duncan immediately walked over there again. "Don't come down by yourself, you might break your leg and it might not heal… Breathe, chest tightness is normal, you've been holding it in for a long time… Yes, keep breathing, take a deep breath—"

Duncan suddenly stopped, turned his head, and looked at the gatekeeper lady who was standing somewhat blankly on the path.

"Oh, you're here," he greeted calmly.

"...Mr. Duncan," Agatha stared dumbfounded at the scene. "What are you doing?"

"It seems that your perception has not been completely corrected," Duncan said lightly, then turned his head and returned to his "work." "As you can see, I am sending my temporary 'lodgers' back."

(End of this chapter)