"
Sunday, July 8th.
On the stormy sea, an ancient three-masted sailboat was heaving with the waves.
Its speed is not fast, and its size is not large enough. In this disaster scene where the sky and the sea are integrated, it is like a dead leaf separated from the tree.
However, no matter how fierce the hurricane was and how terrifying the waves were, it sailed safely without tilting.
Alger Wilson stood on the empty deck, looking at the huge waves surrounding mountains and peaks, wondering what he was thinking.
"It's Monday again..." he whispered silently.
That was a day that belonged to the Mother Earth, the beginning of a new round of prosperity and decline.
But for Alger, it had another meaning, and it belonged to a mysterious existence that was always shrouded in gray mist.
At least I haven't turned into a madman yet... He looked away and laughed to himself.
At this time, one of his only crew members came closer and asked casually:
"Captain, what's the latest order?"
Alger looked around and replied calmly:
"The Hunt for an Aurora 'Listener'."
…
The storm has dissipated, the fog has filled the air, and you are on a strange sailing ship that has artillery positions but still does not conform to the trend of the times.
An eight or nine-year-old boy with soft yellow hair looked at the undisciplined pirates around him with fear, watching them enjoying large barrels of beer, watching them swinging around with the help of ropes, watching them taunting each other, and even waving Fighting with fists.
He turned to look at the man in black robe standing in the shadow, and said in a low voice:
"Father, where are we going?"
Five days ago, he met his father, the self-proclaimed adventurer's father, for the first time in his memory.
If the oil painting left by his mother hadn't proved the other person's identity, and if the orphanage hadn't opened its door to him, he would never have been willing to leave his hometown and follow this near-stranger relative.
The man standing in the shadow lowered his head, looked at his son, and replied kindly:
"Jack, let me take you to a sacred place, the 'sanctuary' where the Creator once lived."
"Is that the kingdom of God? Only by receiving gifts can we mortals enter..." Little Jack was taught well by his mother and had enough common sense. At this time, he was surprised and afraid.
The man standing in the shadows has a face with lines that are so profound that it is unforgettable. It is like a stone sculpture completed by the best master.
He put his hands to his ears, pretending to be listening, and answered in an almost sleepy tone:
"Jack, 'mortal' is a wrong concept. The Creator created this world. He is everywhere. He exists in the body of every living thing. Therefore, everything has divinity. If divinity is rich enough to a certain extent, it can become Angels, the seven false gods now are just more powerful angels.”
"Look, I can hear the teachings of the Creator now. Oh, what an extraordinary revelation it is! Life is just a spiritual journey. When the spirit is strong enough and tenacious enough, we can find our own divinity. , and become one with more divinity..."
Little Jack couldn't understand this complicated description, shook his head, and asked another question that he hadn't had time to ask before:
"Father, I heard from my mother that after the Creator created this world, he separated into all things and has no actual existence. So why is there still His 'sanctuary'?"
As a child of seven or eight years old, his logic is clear enough.
The man with the carved lines on his face was startled for a moment and tilted his head a little more, as if he heard more whispers.
Suddenly, he lay down and knelt on the deck, with blue-black things protruding from his exposed skin. He covered his head with both hands, his face was abnormally distorted, and he shouted in extreme pain:
"They're lying!"
.
