Deep Sea Embers

Duncan had come to the realization that his plan might indeed verge on insanity—even the Black Sun seemed to require a moment to process his last declaration…

However, Duncan was sincere. Following the Black Sun’s contemplative “Ah,” Duncan’s expression became even more grave. He restated firmly, “I intend to detonate the ‘World’s Creation’—when I use ‘detonate,’ I mean it in a figurative sense. I plan to unlock its power, specifically the aspects that were not fully released during the Great Annihilation.”

After a while, the Black Sun finally regained its composure, and its deep, resonant voice, now tinged with a hint of static, inquired, “…When did you conceive this plan?”

“Before I arrived here to meet you,” Duncan replied with a calm demeanor, “though at that time, my direction was only vaguely outlined, and the concept wasn’t fully formed.”

He paused, then added, “I have always possessed a sort of… ‘intuition,’ likely stemming from the ‘knowledge’ left behind by the civilization that created me. There are numerous mechanisms I do not fully understand, yet my instincts guide my actions and suggest the correct path forward. Motivated by this intuition, I believe that the ‘World’s Creation’ can aid me in tackling a major challenge I face—the problem of the initial driving force.”

“It wasn’t until I met you here and saw the ‘letter’ you brought that I confirmed the validity of this direction, or rather… this letter seems to act as a reminder, pointing me toward the correct path.”

Upon realizing that Duncan’s proposal was not a product of madness but a thought-out, calculated strategy, the turmoil on The Black Sun’s surface eased slightly, and it adopted a serious tone: “What do you mean by ‘the problem of the initial driving force’?”

“Fundamentally, it’s akin to the ‘Big Bang,’ the event that initiated our universe,” Duncan explained. “This is a metaphorical description. Picture it as a simultaneous explosion of information, matter, and energy. If we view the entire universe as a vast, complex mathematical device, then the initial burst of this device is that ‘explosion’ where everything began.”

“In the outer regions of order, I conducted preliminary experiments that verified the hypothesis of indestructible information, and demonstrated that ‘assigning’ values in a state of chaotic information could indeed reshape reality. Yet, I also faced a challenge: this ‘mathematical device’ of the universe maintains ‘integrity,’ where all its informational parameters must perfectly interlock. I cannot reconstruct the universe piece by piece, step by step—although I might have an endlessly long time to prepare, once the process begins, all tasks must be performed simultaneously.”

“Therefore, I require such a massive explosion, in an infinitely brief yet infinitely extensive ‘instant,’ to achieve the synchronous assignment and ‘activation’ of all information. If this is not accomplished, the new universe will disintegrate and gradually dissolve into the void—much like the current Boundless Sea.”

“And this requires an immense amount of energy, an extraordinarily vast amount… comparable even to that of a Great Annihilation.”

Duncan looked up solemnly at the massive, pallid eye surrounded by flesh and fire: “You see, my plan is quite rational and meticulously thought out…”

As the tentacles encircling the Black Sun trembled, the voice emitted a tone of growing concern, “I’m starting to feel a bit scared when you mention the term rational. I do, however, see the necessity of this plan. Indeed, such a vast amount of energy can only be sourced from the ‘World’s Creation.’ But how do we ensure that this process unfolds as you envision? How can we take control of the ‘World’s Creation’? How do we initiate it, guide it, and prevent it from spiraling out of control?”

The ancient deity bombarded Duncan with a flurry of questions, revealing deep seated concerns about the feasibility of Duncan’s plan. These worries were justified.

Positioned perilously close to the ‘World’s Creation,’ this entity understood the nature and terror of the rift more profoundly than anyone else in this world. Having observed the solidified Great Annihilation in the sky for millennia, it struggled to reconcile that catastrophic force with the possibility of a ‘new world.’

Yet Duncan, undisturbed by the Black Sun’s skepticism, had clearly pondered these issues extensively. He collected his thoughts and began calmly, “Everything is information.”

The Black Sun maintained its silence, attentively awaiting Duncan’s further explanation.

“The ‘World’s Creation’ operates on the same principle,” Duncan continued.

A faint pulsation of flames from the Black Sun suggested it was piecing together Duncan’s theory.

“After encountering the chaotic state known as the ‘information sea,’ I truly grasped the concept that ‘everything is information,'” Duncan confidently asserted, ensuring that The Black Sun was following his logic. “The ‘World’s Creation’ is the crystallized form of the ‘Great Annihilation’ itself. Yet, the Great Annihilation is also a manifestation of information. From the most basic logical perspective, the ‘World’s Creation’ is indistinguishable from the myriad things of this world.”

“As long as it is governed by ‘information,’ nothing is truly ‘out of control.’ It exists, thus it can be controlled. If it were uncontrollable, then even its ‘loss of control’ would be a controllable type, unless the principle of ‘everything is information’ fails to apply,” Duncan elucidated.”

“You seem very confident, and resolute,” The Black Sun remarked, its tentacles extending as it spoke with a deep, soothing tremor.

Duncan responded not with words but with a gentle nod of affirmation.

He held a steadfast belief: nothing could hinder the ‘World’s Creation’ from ushering in the dawn of a new world—not even the ‘World’s Creation’ itself.

“And there’s another factor that bolsters my confidence,” Duncan added abruptly.

“You mean… the appearance of that cube?” The Black Sun quickly interjected.

“Exactly,” Duncan affirmed with another subtle nod. “It traversed the rift of the ‘World’s Creation’ to reach ‘this side.’ A letter, no matter how meticulously crafted or perfectly safeguarded, that it can cross the divide between the old world and the new world to arrive here is nearly miraculous. Thus, its ‘delivery window’ must have been meticulously chosen, likely situated at the point where the two worlds are most intimately connected…”

Duncan’s voice trailed off as his gaze drifted into the distance, piercing through the dazzling yet deceptive corona of the Black Sun, peering into a much farther realm of time and space.

In the collapsed remnants of the old world, where all knowledge converged at an “end point,” a new world burst into existence through a monumental explosion at a “starting point.”

This convergence and explosion, relative yet originating, resembled the two ends of an hourglass. At their intersection—a point that served as both an end and a beginning—lay the “singularity,” also the site of the ‘World’s Creation.’

From a distant future, a letter traveled through the only “aperture” to the opposite end of the hourglass. This letter was a message of homecoming and a beacon for the night’s navigation.

“I will come for you,” Duncan declared slowly, his gaze shifting from the horizon to focus intently on the Black Sun. “I will fulfill the promise to consume you, reserve a place for you in the new world, and then—it will be done.”

The corona of the Black Sun pulsed slowly, and from its layered flesh emerged a gentle, deep tremor: “I will light a lighthouse for you in the night sky; you must navigate towards the brightest direction.”

“Okay, see you then.”

“See you then.”

…

The night stretched on endlessly, with fog enveloping the city-state and dense clouds hanging so low they seemed almost touchable. A piercing cold pervaded the world, and although the gas lamps along the road still glowed brightly, the flames within the lampshades appeared frozen, emitting no heat.

Wrapped tightly in her coat, Heidi wasn’t entirely sure why she needed such heavy clothing. Yet, an innate instinct urged her to “keep warm,” even though she could barely remember what “cold” felt like.

She moved swiftly through the lamp-lit streets, showing her pass at the sheriff’s post as she went, her steps quickening towards home.

Along the way, Heidi noticed more pedestrians than usual—some heading to factories, others out shopping. It was a stark contrast to the early days of this prolonged night, indicating that the citizens were gradually adapting to the darkness.

Yet, the city remained unnervingly quiet compared to the days when “everything was as usual.”

Heidi ignored the other pedestrians weaving through the mist and kept her gaze down, rushing forward. Occasionally, she heard chaotic sounds from nearby streets—shouts of conflict or screams of terror. At times, she even glimpsed armed church guards clashing with frantic pedestrians in the fog, but she quickly averted her eyes and dismissed these disturbances.

Passing a street lamp, Heidi caught sight of a flyer on the lamp post from the corner of her eye. The flyer, bearing simple yet ominous messages—”Waves, death, the temperature of fire—if you see and understand these words, please immediately seek shelter in XX district or XX district. Do not panic, stay calm, people are still protecting you”—was printed with crooked, barely legible symbols.

She had noticed similar graffiti around her home recently.

Yet, it seemed unimportant.

Turning her head away, Heidi walked through the cold fog, continuing her journey home.

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