This was a magnificent "light burst."

An "arc of light," roughly equivalent to a quarter of a solar rune ring, disintegrated in the sky, then transformed into a dozen or so larger luminous structures. For a brief period after the initial disintegration, they continued to climb and move across the sky along the trajectory of Anomaly 001 as if each luminous structure still possessed residual power and navigational functions. But after only a moment, their movements showed clear signs of being out of control.

The luminous structures began to fall apart. Large and small luminous bodies, like a fleet scattered in a storm, streaked across the sky, leaving behind bright lines that gradually receded. From these larger luminous bodies split countless smaller sources of light—compared to the large fragments, they were as insignificant as fireflies, falling from the sky with flickering and a series of tiny explosions.

Light rained down, pouring and cascading from the clouds. From the eastern border to the western archipelago, the light burst illuminated the night sky, causing the entire sea to shimmer with a strong and eerie golden sunlight.

The larger fragments, however, fell relatively slowly. While continuously scattering luminous debris, they followed their respective trajectories toward the entire world. Most of the falling objects descended toward the southwestern sea, while a few smaller fragments fell toward the central and northern regions.

It was now the eighteenth hour after "nightfall." The Boundless Sea was briefly illuminated by another major disintegration of the sun. Because the falling objects were at a lower altitude, just a quarter of the runic light arc was enough to illuminate the sky. Thus, this "meteor shower," representing the approach of the apocalypse, brought a nearly hour-long "daylight" to the world—and in this brief daylight, the entire world fell silent.

Duncan stood at the window of the antique shop's second floor. He opened the narrow window at the end of the corridor, letting all the wind and sound into the house—the neighborhood was silent. The sounds of carriages and people seemed to have completely disappeared from the city, but in fact, there were many people outside.

Men, women, and children came out of their houses, or leaned out of their windows, staring at the streaks of light falling from the sky. Groups of people gathered on the streets, including even hastily assembled law enforcement officers and guardian squads.

Everyone seemed to be gripped by the neck, holding the same posture, heads tilted back, all frozen in that falling sunlight.

The only sounds between heaven and earth were the roaring and whistling of the luminous bodies as they passed through the clouds, and the occasional chimes from distant churches.

A whistle sounded, suddenly breaking the silence in the neighborhood. The crowd gathered on the street awoke from their stupor and began to return home in an orderly fashion.

The black-robed priest left with his record slate. In the sanctuary, only the crackling brazier accompanied the tall and silent figure of Freym.

In the lamplight, the figure of this Fire-Passing Pope was like a stone statue standing in the light and shadow. His rock-like face showed no emotional fluctuations, as if all his attention was focused on the "record slate" in his hand.

The teachings of the Holy Book involuntarily surfaced in his mind—

Inside the sanctuary, the brazier burned brightly. A priest in a long black robe stood beside the brazier, reporting the latest situation to the Pope: "...The patrol fleet in the southwestern sea has noticed the direction of several major luminous bodies falling and is dispatching high-speed ships to search..."

Freym withdrew his gaze from the window and continued to carve the last few symbols on the ritual stone slab with a steady hand.

"A Deep Sea demon attack has occurred in the port of Messara. It is temporarily impossible to determine whether this is a demon invasion caused by the night or whether there are surviving Annihilation cultists taking advantage of the chaos..."

Even at the end of the world, one should carefully record until the last moment. The final breath of civilization should end with the scribe's knife and pen.

Before closing the window, Duncan heard some other sounds—children asking their parents what was happening, asking why they couldn't continue going to school, why they couldn't go out to find their friends. Some were muttering curses, some were sighing, some were crying softly.

"I can only say that her mental state is like a living person, and she is far from 'recovered,'" Helena's voice trembled in the flames, sounding a little distorted as it reached Freym's ears. "But it is clearly unrealistic for her to lie in bed and recuperate now."

And finally, from outside the window came the sound of horns from the docks and church bells—it seemed that warships had received orders and were preparing to leave port.

The night had returned, and Prande was once again shrouded in darkness.

"There are currently no reports of falling objects directly landing near the city-states. It seems that all the solar fragments have fallen into the sea this time... There are also no reports of ships at sea encountering falling objects."

The black-robed priest bowed and took the slate, seeing the year and month written on it in deep carvings, as well as a record of the solar fragment falling.

"The World Wound has reappeared in the sky... In the past eighteen hours, three city-states have reported a significant increase in supernatural intrusions within their cities... They do not need reinforcements for the time being, but they hope that the nearest fleet can approach them..."

Listening to the priest's reports one by one, Freym nodded gently, then handed over the grayish-white stone slab he had just finished carving: "I have recorded everything—send this to the archives."

The whole world returned to darkness once more.

After an unknown amount of time, the Senjin Pope seemed to suddenly sense something, turned his head, and looked at the brazier: "Helena, has your condition recovered?"

Then, after another unknown amount of time, the sky began to gradually darken—the last luminous bodies also crossed the highest point between the clouds. They had paused briefly in the sky, seemingly still trying to fulfill their original command to illuminate the world, but soon lost power and fell into the sea like the other fragments, gradually dimming in brilliant trails.

"I have already heard from Rune," Freym said. "A very... surprising development."

"Are you referring to the Goddess descending upon me, or the 'Captain's' plan?"

"...Both," Freym hesitated slightly and said slowly, "Of course, the latter is more shocking."

The voice in the brazier was silent for a few seconds.

"Freym."

"I'm listening."

"...Are you still recording history?"

"Yes, I have been leaving records of history as required by the Holy Book."

"If the world ends and we do not survive, will those stone slabs you have carved be picked up and understood by new beings someday in the future?"

"...If there really is such a day, it would mean that the Captain's plan has failed, the gods have failed, and even the Age of Fire has failed," Freym quietly gazed at the flames flickering in the brazier. "No one will ever understand those histories again, because on that day, even the concept of 'history' itself will have died out."

"...But you are still constantly leaving records and guarding the totem of Fire-Passing."

"Because recording history is inherently meaningful. Even if there are no successors, 'history' itself at least proves that we were still a civilization until our demise—just as the Mad Poet Pullman described in his last verses:

"Time gives me life, I give time memories."

"...I didn't expect you to understand poetry."

"Poetry is part of history."

"...Is that so?" The voice from the brazier paused slightly, then continued, "Then please help me record something now—when you next pray to the Ever-Burning Ember, you must carve it on a stone slab."

Freym immediately took a piece of parchment from the side and picked up his pen: "Speak."

"...On January 21, 1902 of the New City-State Calendar, the 'Sea Song' is crossing the six-nautical-mile boundary at the end of the Eternal Veil. They are the vanguard of the civilized world."

"Sea Song, January 21, 1902... Good, I have recorded it."

...

The fog seemed to have turned into some strange entity, no longer a flowing, gentle air current. The steamship struggled to move forward in this fog that seemed to fill the entire world, each step seemingly pressed against a thick wall, entangled, crushed, and bound by invisible forces.

And in this dense mass of fog, the boundaries of all things in the world were disappearing imperceptibly—the sea near the ship's side had unknowingly turned into some grayish-white, illusory thing. The sky above could no longer see tangible clouds. A hazy, muddled sky light enveloped everything. Only very occasionally could the lookout see seawater surging through the gaps in the fog.

Those seas were as distant and illusory as a mirage.

The white vanguard exploration ship, flying the flag of the Deep Sea Church, floated in the fog. Although the steam core was roaring non-stop, due to the lack of any reference points and the fog itself constantly changing, the crew on board could not determine whether the ship was really still moving forward—or whether it had long been trapped in place by this strange "sea."

"We have lost all contact with the Cathedral Ark. We can currently only weakly sense the signal from the temporary lighthouse," a church sailor in a dark blue cloak came to the bridge to report to the captain of the Sea Song. "The steam core is running at full power. We are still maintaining our course."

"Mm."

The captain of the Sea Song nodded gently. She was a stern-faced lady who seemed unsmiling. After listening to the sailor's report, she turned her gaze to the priest beside her: "Can you hear it more clearly in this direction?"

The captain asked an elderly priest in a loose robe. The wrinkles on his face were already deeply furrowed, his eye sockets were sunken, and his back was hunched. From his age to his health, he seemed completely unfit to make such a long voyage, but he was sitting closest to the captain, holding a delicate brass censer in one hand and a sea-breathed wood-carved amulet in the other.

The old priest listened intently, as if listening to a signal beyond human perception. Everyone around him quieted down, as if afraid of disturbing the old man's task.

After a long time, the old priest finally slowly raised his head.

He heard a sound, the echo of dying. He smelled a scent, the stench of rot—he felt guidance, the Goddess's soft whisper.

"This way," the old priest raised his hand, pointing in a direction in the fog, "She is here."

(End of Chapter)