The serene atmosphere of the sanctuary was abruptly disturbed by quick, urgent steps echoing through its halls. A middle-aged priest, his dark blue robe edged with golden trim, hurried along the lengthy corridor. The silent, watchful eyes of ancient saints, immortalized in the murals lining the walls, followed him as he made his way to the prayer rooms entrance. Yet, before his hand could rap on the door, a serene female voice from within beckoned, Come in.

Upon entering, the priest found Helena, a figure of devotion, standing before the statue of the Storm Goddess. Clad in a modest garment befitting her priestly role, her wrists adorned with beads of sea-blue crystals, she seemed engrossed in prayer until moments before. Ignoring the sound of the door, she remained fixated on the statue, shrouded in its veil, and quietly inquired, What is the situation outside now?

The evening lingers unnaturally; the sun is static, holding its usual brightness and shape, the priest quickly responded, his head bowed in deference. The city-state remains calm; the uncertain circumstances have prompted most residents to stay indoors, awaiting further guidance. The Ark ships report no issues, and we have four teams of engineers ready at the steam boilers.

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Helena gave a slight nod, her mind evidently weaving through thoughts, before she abruptly questioned, And the other Arks?

Communications were established a few minutes ago; all is as it should be on the Arks. However, the Academy Ark has detected unusual, repetitive signals emanating from the suns directiondistinct from any weve encountered before. When converted into sound, these signals manifest as sharp, brief disturbances

Acknowledging this with a hum, Helena fell silent, her attention returning to the goddesss statue. She seemed to momentarily lose awareness of the priests presence, immersed in her contemplation, until she finally murmured to herself, A prolonged twilight

Elsewhere, Taran El, an elven scholar, scrutinized the data that had been recently handed to him. The lengthy strip of paper tape, filled with intricate curves and perplexing perforationsproducts of mechanical recordingrepresented the anomaly named Vision 001-Sun, a vision that had persisted over their world for ages.

After a considerable time, he set the tape aside, wearily rubbing his temples without uttering a word.

A composed voice interrupted his silence: Tell me about the situation, Taran.

Raising his eyes, Taran saw Ted Lir, the Truth Keeper, standing near the bookshelf. Dressed in the academys robe, which concealed snug soft armor and armed buckles, Ted appeared tranquil yet carried the intense gaze of a warrior poised for combat.

The sun exhibits a subtle flicker, imperceptible to our eyes, akin not to a deliberate signal but to the erratic behavior of a malfunctioning light bulb, Taran El explained, pausing to wet his parched lips and shifting aside the documents before him. Additionally, recent observations reveal its not anchored in place on the horizon as it appears but is inching alongso sluggishly that it escapes naked eye detection.

Ted Lir absorbed this in silence for a moment before inquiring, How slow?

At its current pace, it will descend below the horizon in roughly seventy-two hours, Taran El disclosed, fumbling for a cup of water beside him. In his urgency, he nearly toppled it but managed to secure a grasp, hastily consuming two sips of the now tepid tea. His complexion showed a slight improvement as he continued, Yet, the extended dusk spanning seventy-two hours isnt the crux of our worries; its the aftermath, Ted. You grasp the gravity of what follows dusk.

The night that outlasts the dusk, Ted Lir remarked, his face clouding over with a grave realization of his colleagues insinuation. Should the suns descent maintain this rate, have we any estimate on the duration of the night that will ensue?

Taran El remained silent, placing the cup down and fixing his gaze upon the papers as if they held the secrets to the worlds fate or the key to unraveling an adversarys plot. Eventually, he offered a rueful smile and a helpless shrug to Ted.

Ill ensure the Truth Guardians are on alert, Ted Lir said after a pause, offering a subtle nod of acknowledgment. Weve established protocols for enduring extended periods of darkness. The luminous object that fell near Wind Harbor will serve as a beacon of hope through the night; that location will fare better than most.

Indeed, Wind Harbor might withstand the ordeal, but other city-states, perhaps not so much, Taran El mused, breaking the silence that had settled between them. Unlike past events when the suns light was extinguished and time seemed to leap forward, were now facing a gradual diminution of the sun, a vision affecting all city-states It leaves one to ponder their readiness for an extended night.

Each city-state has devised its extreme survival strategies, yet the feasibility of such plans remains to be seen All we can do is hope for their safety and pray the Four Gods offer their protection, Ted Lir spoke with a resonant depth to his voice. He then picked up a hefty tome, its pages believed to hold countless wonders, seemingly on the verge of conjuring a portal to depart. However, he paused, closed the book, and sighed deeply before turning towards the door.

Taran watched the Truth Keepers departing back with the solemnity of observing a warrior marching into the fray. Only when Teds figure vanished beyond the doorway did he allow his gaze to drift back to the documents he had momentarily set aside, contemplating the uncertain future that lay ahead.

On a page towards the back of a hefty tome, a hand unsteady with urgency scrawled a crucial observation.

According to our current calculations the sunset will persist for seventy-two hours

Beyond the expansive floor-to-ceiling window, the golden sunsets grandeur bathed the compact city-states rooftops below, casting an otherworldly glow over the urban expanse. It was then that the clear sound of a bell cut through the air.

The bell rang with a persistent urgency, its rhythm steady yet insistent as if beckoning to all within earshot to pay attention to its warning before the night descended.

Deep in the hallowed halls of Pland Cathedral, Archbishop Valentine was in the midst of a serious discussion with Governor Dante Wayne on the appropriate response to the lingering solar vision when the bells call reached them. Valentine paused, his attention captured by the sound.

Seated across from Valentine, Governor Dante instantly noticed the shift: Whats the matter?

With a slight gesture for patience, Valentine hesitated before he revealed, Its the Swift Bell.

The Swift Bell? Dantes face showed recognition mixed with concern. His ties to Vanna had afforded him a deep understanding of the churchs inner workings, and he was well aware of the gravity the Swift Bell symbolized, So, we must

Yet, Valentine interrupted with a shake of his head: No, lets proceed with our discussion, Governor.

Youre choosing to ignore the summon of the Swift Bell?

Ignore it, Valentine commanded softly, his voice tinged with the weight of remembrance and decision, That is an edict.

The bells tolls continued to resonate, not just within the confines of every city-state and church or aboard each ship, but also within the hearts of every cleric devoted to the Four Gods. Its urgent call echoed, yet after a momentary halt, the clergy resumed their vital duties with increased fervoroffering solace to the faithful seeking guidance, upholding the sanctity of their holy relics and sites, and imparting blessings upon warriors bracing for a night that could stretch indefinitely.

The sound of the bell, reminiscent of a whispering wind or distant ocean waves, reached the farthest corners of existence, yet no priest heeded its summons any longer

A final congregation of ascetic monks stood vigilant in an ancient plaza, far removed from their own, shrouded in darkness and enveloped by chaos.

Massive columns loomed over this space, where erratic streams of light danced across a somber sky, and at the plazas heart stood an ancient pyramid tomb, simple yet imposing. Amidst the desolation of this forsaken assembly ground, the tomb guardian emerged. Wrapped in bandages, it existed in a liminal state between life and death, its presence a silent testament to the unheeded call that echoed across dimensions.

In a break from the past thousands of years, the place was empty of the saints who used to keep watch. The guardian of the tomb, holding a pen and paper, looked around but found no one to hear the mysterious messages that were coming from inside the tomb.

A group of ascetics stayed away from the center of the square, their bodies marked with symbols that showed they were protected by the Four Gods. They were hidden from the world by magicspells had closed off their sight and hearing. This separation let them feel what was happening with the tomb through godly means, making sure they didnt directly interact with the tombs guardian or listen to his strange announcements.

When the guardian moved closer, his shadow grew into a dark figure, stretching out like dark, moving mud with every step. He approached the ascetics with a piece of paper that had eyes moving on it as if they just appeared from nowhere. Opening his twisted, decaying mouth, he spoke to the ascetics, who watched carefully without responding.

His voice, a dreadful mix of countless cursed, evil words, had the force to go through the heart and break the spirit with each sound.

But the ascetics didnt move, standing like statues, safe from the tombs reach, quietly watching the guardian without a word.

They stayed still, unable to speak or start talking, but they knew they couldnt leave their post.

The strange, moving shadows around the guardian started to disappear. After a long silence, he looked down at the paper he was holding. Lost in thought, he then turned around and walked back to the tomb.

From inside the tomb, deep, echoing sounds mixed with the guardians voice as he started to chant quietly over and over

The evening has come