Chapter 814: Chapter 811: The End of the Sandstorm

The history books say that the “mad poet” Puman, who lived hundreds of years ago, was someone who touched upon forbidden truths yet by a stroke of luck, survived. There are also legends that describe how this eccentric poet would often get lost in Dreamscape, claiming to have traversed various timelines and visited all sorts of bizarre realms within his dreams.

This mad poet left behind countless chapters that astounded generations to come. His literary talent was dazzling; even in the early days of his career, his graceful yet profound verses had conquered even the most critical commentators in the City-State. However, at the end of his brief life, his poetry began to transform–his words increasingly depicted strange and grotesque things, filled with unsettling metaphors and the delirious ramblings of a madman that almost sounded prophetic. He incessantly tried to tell the world about things that did not exist in reality, even bordering on blasphemy, and thus he became a character that was both lamented and feared.

Those who once praised him withdrew; those who admired him began to regard him as a dangerous individual. The administrators of the Deep Sea Church attempted to engage with him but could not find anything substantial in his writings that carried the power to corrupt or blaspheme.

The final chapter of this talented yet insane poet is yet another mystery in the eyes of the world–some say he was imprisoned by the Church and eventually died quietly in an asylum on a secluded island. Others swear that he lived on, even until a certain winter in 1842. These people insist that they saw the poet that year: he was standing on the infamous cliff of Frost, strikingly similar to the portraits left in books, holding paper and pen for jotting down his verses.

And a so-called “Caretaker”, who claimed to have taken care of Puman in the last years of his life and witnessed the poor man’s ultimate fate, described it in his autobiography:

Puman ultimately got lost in his bizarre Dreamscape–this poet wandered through each of his dreams, drawing experiences to turn them into his lavish yet eerie verses. He finally sunk into a distant dream from which he did not wish to awake, and on a sunny morning, the poet disappeared from his bed, leaving behind only a short poem on his nightstand.

Fenna walked forward, to the spot where the eccentric man had last vanished. She bent down to pick up the crumpled scroll and pencil before the wind could whisk them away.

She furrowed her brow, seeming somewhat puzzled, and then she unfolded the paper, staring blankly at the sentence recorded on it–

“…I have seen it, the sunlight has retreated, in the night’s embrace, all things fall into tranquility… That ship sails in from the sky, the stars a curtain, bestowing upon the earthly realm the boon of eternal slumber… In silence, in stillness, in sleep, rest now, as the departed embrace the dead world…”

The wind picked up, causing the paper to flutter noisily. Fenna suddenly heard a voice near her ear–the voice of the crazy man who had just disappeared–but although the voice reached her, his figure was nowhere to be seen: “Look, look, do you see? That scene I saw… how beautiful it is, the curtain rising from the end of the sea, mirroring upon the entire world…”

Fenna looked towards the direction from where the voice came, but she only saw the swirling sand, spinning in place, caught up by the disorderly wind. Her brow furrowed tightly, her voice a bit hoarse: “Are you also trapped here?”

The voice, however, did not heed her question, continuing to mutter to itself, speaking some unclear words. After a while, its voice became clearer again–

“I have always been pursued, they chase me, like hounds that smell blood… I’ve fallen into various places, in every dream, there was always a crack for me to hide in. Hey, I eventually grew tired, letting them catch up isn’t so terrible after all… And so I was devoured by that hound called Truth, and then I saw distant matters, and then I arrived here…”

Fenna listened to the seemingly insane ramblings of the other party, realizing that communicating with him seemed to be a somewhat difficult task, but she still couldn’t help but ask again: “Do you know how to leave this place?”

“No, no, no, you cannot leave, my friend…” that voice spoke immediately, but then came an unintelligible babble, “…I’m in the basement, those robed people say it’s a safe place here, the iron cage can confine my spirit, to prevent them from escaping from my shell in the Dreamscape, the brazier can ward off those shadows that gather around because of the scent, so nothing devours me clean while I sleep…”

A series of vague noises mixed with the sandy winds, the voice blurred for a few seconds, then suddenly became clear again: “…hey, you know, you know, many years later… by that time I was already dead, many years later, a girl was also trapped in a similar cage, but the technology had matured by then, she walked out of the basement alive…”

“Ah, the poor girl, I saw her coronation, and then I saw her beheaded by those who crowned her… I’m hesitating whether or not to write this into my poetry… no, no, not anymore, the robed people told me not to write those dream-seen things into my poems anymore, they said doing so would make me establish more and more connections with things beyond this reality dimension, it’s not good… I can’t write much anymore, I have to save these precious sentences for more important matters…”

“Listen! Someone is knocking on the railing, there’s also the sound of keys clinking… ding-dang, ding-dang, ding-dang… The Caretaker is here, they have to make sure I’m still in the cage…”

Right at this moment, as the sandy winds rose, Fenna heard that familiar “ding-ding-ding” sound once again.

And that crazed voice kept rambling on to itself: “But am I here? They will see me lying quietly in bed, but I’m not there, not in that skin, I’m here, in this place covered in ashes… What are you doing here?

“You should leave, you do not belong here, your path lies ahead… give me my poetry back, and my pencil, those are mine, they shouldn’t be held in someone else’s hands… they will drag you deeper…”

Fenna subconsciously let go of the paper and pencil in her hands, only to see them turning into sandy winds in the blink of an eye, spiraling and vanishing into the air.

“Which way should I go?” she asked the voice bewildered, “I can’t remember where I came from, nor do I know where to go… Which way leads out of this city?”

“Where? Nowhere,” said the voice, it seemed to be quickly receding away, growing more and more indistinct and weaker, “This place is infinite… He confined Himself in a closed-loop dreamscape, I just saw it, outside the city is a desert, beyond the desert is the city, you can’t walk out, the more you go out the more you sink… But I should go now, I should go now, ah ha, waking up once again…”

Finally, the voice completely disappeared, vanishing into the increasingly chaotic sandy winds.

Fenna stood there, stunned, amidst the vast night sky, countless lights illuminated the city that was destroyed by being forgotten, her figure seemed to gradually fuse with those lights, in the light, she saw the vague shadows of carriages on the broken roads, bright shop windows emerged on the collapsed buildings, the sound of music came from afar, gradually drowning out the sound of the howling cold winds–and the prickling pain from those small wounds on her arms was transforming into a gentle touch.

She slowly closed her eyes, as if about to sleep peacefully in this bustling and warm world.

But the next second, her eyes snapped open once again.

Invisibly, it felt as though something had been shattered. Her willpower awoke furiously in the slowly but irresistibly sinking mire; the illusions flickering in the light receded, and immediately afterwards, she felt the bone-chilling cold wind of the night desert sweeping across her cheeks, sending sharp pangs of pain from the countless tiny wounds on her arms.

Yet, she smiled–the pain was a good thing, it was real.

She didn’t belong here, despite not remembering her own name or where she came from, but one thing she knew she had to remember: she did not belong to this place.

Only by doing so could she prevent herself from being “dissolved” here.

In this moment of clarity, Fenna also realized another thing: she had to find her “anchor point”.

She needed to quickly figure out who she was, understand where she came from.

It seemed she was gradually recalling some things and understanding the nature of this boundless desert. She realized she might have entered a strange world dominated by “forgetting,” and the only way to leave was to fight against “forgetting.”

No longer blindly walking “outside the city,” knowing the “infinite” nature of this city, she realized that simply breaking out wouldn’t really allow her to leave–there must be another method to escape.

She stopped at the illusory crossroads lit by faint lights, letting the wind and sand erode her body, calming her mind, attempting to find a way out through thought and perception.

She remembered the bits of information she saw and heard in the wind and sand–the text, conversations, and relics that seemed to correspond to various “times” and “events.” Those things appeared to be the diverse “anchor points” within this desert of oblivion.

She should also have her anchor point, something that could prove she had existed in a certain place, had lived in people’s memories, existed in… the world.

She half-closed her eyes and, after an indeterminate amount of time, finally felt a slight vibration stir within her heart.

In this boundless desert, she finally found a ripple related to herself–

Fenna suddenly opened her eyes, seeing a torn piece of paper flying past her.

She swiftly grasped it and read the words on the paper:

“…The border exploration fleet once again executed the ‘crossing’ operation, Homeloss and Brilliant Starship have crossed the Six Nautical Miles border… heading to the end of the world to search for…”

At the same time, she heard a familiar voice conversing near her ear, intermittent as though from a blurry moment in history–

“…any special news?”

“…a bulletin from the Deep Sea Church…”

“They’ll be safe, don’t worry so much, Heidi…”

“Because of that powerful captain?”

“Because of your father…”

“Father, and Fenna, they are doing something very grand…”

Fenna’s eyes widened suddenly as if her heart had relearned how to beat. Amidst an awakening as if reborn, she remembered her name, and–

“Homeloss… captain?”

She muttered to herself, looking at the piece of paper in her hand.

Then, a wisp of ethereal green flame appeared at the edge of her vision, and an authoritative, familiar voice nearly immediately appeared behind her:

“I am here.”