Divine Flame Crystal

Chapter 679 People who are afraid of death tend to have a higher survival rate

"Let it choose for itself." Kronos looked at the gray line where the sea and sky meet. "How's the wind?"

"North wind, even speed," the director replied briefly.

"Good wind." Kronos smiled, as if greeting the wind, "It will give you a push."

A low voice came from the control room: "Lift your nose slightly."

The entire ark seemed to hesitate for a moment, then actually—raised its nose. Its shadow retreated from the sea, and its sharp edges cut a clean gap in the clouds. When the hull passed through the gap, the echoes of the entire bay suddenly became an inch farther away, as if someone had quietly pressed down the surface of a drum.

"It's going up," the young worker said hoarsely. He gripped the railing, the veins on the back of his hand bulging like ropes. "It's really going up."

No one was talking about "fighting against whom" at the moment. Such talk was too loud, too loud, and too easily blown into the wrong ears. All they kept repeating were simple words like "stability," "redundancy," "disconnection," "rollback," and "restart."

"Record." The director suppressed his pounding heart. "Stabilize for forty breaths. The first leg of the test flight is complete. Prepare to land."

"clear."

The Ark slowly descended according to program, the light around its belly dimming until the steel wheels touched the track again, and the steam turned into white mist in the cold wind. Everyone exhaled at the same time, as if they had not just launched a huge ship into the air, but had just exhaled a longer breath.

"We'll have to try again at night." The director held the clipboard up to the light. "The wind is steadier at night. Also... some things aren't suitable for testing during the day."

"Likely?" Kronos asked.

The director stared at him for a moment, as if assessing the significance of his words. Then, he lowered his voice, "For example, the 'black stone' at the innermost part of its abdomen. You know, other places call it dark matter, but here we nicknamed it the 'black core.' It can give the 'Ark' a third form."

"What posture?"

"It's 'absent.'" The director's mouth twitched. "If a ship could be 'absent' at a certain moment, then perhaps the risks in the sky would be reduced."

Kronos looked at him, his eyes full of stars: "You are very smart."

"We're just afraid of death." The director smiled. "People who are afraid of death tend to have a higher survival rate."

As darkness closed in, only a few people remained on the dock. The Ark slid backward out of the shed for the second time, its lights shielded to prevent the fishing fires off the coast from noticing anything unusual. In the control room, the main control panel was covered with a black cloth, like a priest praying at an altar, except that beneath his hands lay rows of temperature and pressure charts instead of scrolls.

"Ignite the black core." He spat out four words.

The innermost ring was devoid of light, like a stone constantly devouring light, quietly sinking into the bowels of the ship. The moment the ignition was lit, everyone on deck felt as if a finger had been pressed against their vision, their vision instantly blacking out. After the darkness faded, the sound of the sea breeze took on a strange quality, as if it were coming from further away, circling back to our ears, no longer striking directly at our eardrums.

"Read the data!" the controller shouted.

"The curvature is at 1.6, pressing back towards 1.4."

"Constraint valve?"

"normal."

"Is the hull intact?"

"whole."

"Try a partial 'disengagement'."

The command known as "displace" was issued, and the Ark's shadow suddenly cast a thin shadow on the sea. For a moment, it seemed as if two Arks appeared, like the circle of light at the edge of the moon's shadow during a lunar eclipse. The Ark's shadow only existed for a moment before it was completely swallowed up by the Ark again.

There was silence on the deck, followed by a few very light laughs. The laughs were very short, as if they were afraid of disturbing some ancient and sensitive gods.

"Collect." The main control exhaled, "First night test passed, returning to port."

Kronos stood at the outermost edge, his hand caressing the railing, the cold, hard alloy beneath his palm. He slowly closed his eyes, memories from a time not of this world swirling in his mind—too much fire, too much light, too many "comers" looking down from the heavens with their cold gazes. A name crossed his mind, then he suppressed it. He couldn't let it ring again at this moment; he simply watched these craftsmen who spoke of no "gods," no "resentment," no "great" foreman, and a long-lost peace arose within him.

He turned, ready to leave, but saw a figure leaning against the windbreak on the other side of the deck, his collar open, a notebook stained with oil and dust tucked away in his arms. The figure looked up and met his gaze, a quiet, all-seeing look in his eyes.

"Old man," the visitor smiled and said in a hoarse voice, "you are not just here to take a look, are you?"

"Well, I'm here to record," Kronos said honestly, "every path leading upward."

“Up?” the man muttered. “We just don’t want to keep going down.”

He handed me the notebook. "This is for you. You don't have to put our names on it. If the sea breeze blows it away one day, don't be sad. We will write another one."

Kronos took it and pressed his thumb against the edge of the paper. On the first page were scribbled words: "If the world eventually sinks, please allow us to try to float it."

"You've already been trying." Kronos gave him a look that was brighter than usual, "and it's very well written."

The man laughed in the night, and his laughter was cut into pieces by the wind and fell on the sea like grains of salt.

……

Before sunrise the next day, the Ark's third test was underway. The goal was to maintain a static hover at altitude for three hundred breaths, with a rapid "leave and return" transition at the 30th breath. The control room was orderly, and everyone on deck knew their assigned steps. No one asked "why" or "what to do next." The larger issues were handled by the few people outside their group; they simply needed to accomplish the task of "getting up" with the tools at their disposal.

"Time." said the controller.

"Ten breaths."

"Twenty breaths."

"Twenty-nine breaths—"

"Leave your seat."

The black core swallowed the light and almost instantly spat it back out. The deck spun briefly, then everything returned to equilibrium. The timekeeper's voice trembled slightly: "Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two..."

"Very good." The bloodshot in the controller's eyes finally faded a little. "Call it a day."

As the ark descended, a streak of gold shone on the eastern edge of the clouds. Seabirds flew past the shadow of the ark, chirping as if bidding farewell to this huge and cautious ship.

Kronos didn't return to the factory with the ship. He walked along the reef where the tide had receded, his back silhouette cast on the ochre rocks, slender and long. He murmured to himself, "Remember this. 341st restart. The first time the 'Sky Ark' has been stably disengaged. Success."

He paused, looking up at the sky, which had not yet been shone by the sunlight. It was empty, as if nothing had happened, yet as if something was bound to happen sooner or later.

"Don't rush to name your enemies," he said to the people of the world in his heart, "and don't rush to write slogans on the wall. Tighten every screw, wipe every weld dry, and read every piece of data clearly. When the day comes, you just need to continue doing what you are doing, and leave the rest to me."

The wind blew in from the sea, carrying the smell of salt and iron. He buckled his cloak tightly and continued walking to the next shed, which had not yet woken up. This time, he was more like an old scribe, recording the deeds of those who did not speak, line by line, into time.

No one knew what he wrote. No one needed to know. As long as Fang Zhou repeatedly lifted the tip of his nose, the sky would be artificially raised an inch higher. Then, one night, when the heavens suddenly lit up, they waited for the moment of doom—perhaps before that, they had already practiced the "nose-lifting" movement to perfection, and the "leaving" movement to the point where they could perform it with their eyes closed.

He thought of a name that would arrive on this continent many years later, paused, and finally did not murmur aloud.

"It's still early," he said.

The ark in the distance slept peacefully in the morning mist, like a rock embedded in the mountain. We'll continue at night. In a small hut near the dock, several workers slept on their desks, their hands slumped over mushy porridge and unfinished cold tea. On the blackboard by the door, the day's schedule was written, the last line reading: "If the wind changes, switch to Plan B."