Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse novel Chapter 5753

Chapter 5753: A Stranger! II

Upon the shore inside THE Infiniverse, where the great chrysalis hummed and the sleeping bodies floated in their warm pools of Infinite Sanguine Mana, Ruination came to Noah with shining, heavy eyes.

"Master," she said. "I have found something. I do not fully know what it means, and that is precisely why I have come to you at once."

"What is it?"

"Since the cold began, I have been searching." Her manifestation flickered with the immensity of the work behind her words. "Every Realm we hold. Every Dimension our weavings touch. Every Observable Existence within our reach. I have pulled and cross-referenced trillions of threads of information, looking for a single thing, any existence anywhere that has a name for what is happening to us. A record. A word. Anything."

"And?"

"Across trillions of threads, across every mighty lineage and archive and sovereign memory in our reach, not one has a name for this phenomenon. The great powers of existence are experiencing this catastrophe with the same blind astonishment we are."

Her crimson gaze steadied.

"Except for one place."

Noah waited.

"I got lucky enough to check...in a single small world," Ruination said, "inside an Observable Existence, within a Dimension our weavings barely reach, there is a legend. A story, passed down among a lifeforms with no authority. And the legend is about a coldness that comes, and a night that does not end. They call it THE LONG NIGHT. And so far, the few lines I have managed to grasp... matches the Condition."

Noah was quiet for a long moment.

He had already asked Thalia, and she had said with astonishment how the future she came from...did not have anything like this occur. Nor did she have knowledge of this Existential Condition!

Neither did her Father or Rosalia. So even Provenance Lifeforms didn’t know as Immense Ones might be on the same boat.

But then, why would a tiny tribe know?

"I will go myself," he said.

Ruination inclined her head as she nodded.

He wove a single body, unassuming and plain, and he sent it far away.

—

In an unknown World hidden in a small corner of an Observable Existence.

The desert was cold now as it should not have been. Noah’s body arrived in the twilight at the edge of a sea of red sand, and the land stretched away in long dunes toward a horizon that had known nothing but sun and heat since the world began. But out of the darkening sky, drifting slow and impossible over the endless sand, came the snow.

The tribe was small, a cluster of hide tents pitched in the lee of a great dune, and it was awake and frightened. Fires burned high against the cold.

Beasts, long-legged and shaggy, lowed and shifted in their pens, uneasy in weather they had no memory of. And the people moved among it all wrapped in furs, thick heavy hides pulled from somewhere and thrown over shoulders that had never in a hundred generations needed them, men and women and children huddling close to the flames and looking up, again and again, at the snow that should not be faling.

Noah walked into the firelight as a plain traveler, and the tribe saw him and they grew wary.

But they did not turn him away. A hunter came forward and looked him over, and after a moment gestured him toward the warmth. There was food pressed into his hands. There was a place made for him at the fire.

Noah saw a boy near the flames, small and bold-faced, the kind of boy who was always the loudest at any fire. But the boy was not loud now.

He sat close to his mother with a fur pulled up to his chin, watching the snow fall with wide and frightened eyes, and he did not say a word.

And then they brought Noah, a stranger to a Wisewoman.

She sat apart, near the largest fire, and she was old beyond old. Her hands were like knotted desert roots, dark and cracked and strong, and her body didn’t even carry a shred of mana.

And she was not afraid.

The snow fell and her people trembled and the Wisewoman sat by her fire with a terrible calm, because she had already seen the sky break its oldest promise tonight, and after that, a strange traveler was a small thing indeed!

She looked at Noah, and she saw more than most would have. She only gestured him to sit. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

"I heard of a legend," Noah said, settling by her fire, "passed down in your tribe. I came a long way to listen for it if that is all right."

The Wisewoman studied him with her deep old eyes.

"You came for the story," she said. "On the very night it comes true...haha!" A dry, worn almost-laugh moved in her chest!

She looked into the fire, and she began.

"Long ago," she said, "in the time of my grandmother’s grandmother’s grandmother, hundreds of years gone, a stranger came to my people. A stranger...not unlike you. He fell out of the empty sky and into the sand, and when the hunters found him he was broken and bleeding, hurt in ways no fall could explain, dying by the look of him. They carried him to the fire, as is our law, and they tried to mend him."

Her root-hands turned slowly in her lap.

"He was not one of us. He was not one of anything my forefathers had a name for. And as he lay dying by this same fire, or one like it, he spoke as if he were reciting something branded into his soul..."

The snow fell past the firelight, and the Wisewoman’s voice changed, dropping into an old cadence, a rhythm worn smooth by hundreds of years of telling, the words no longer quite her own.

"When the scale is shattered, the shards become the floor.

When belief is spent, the cold comes walking.

What was counted shall come uncounted.

The high shall be set upon the balance and asked what they weighed,

and the balance shall not lie, for the balance is winter,

and winter does not warm the full hand. It climbs it.

The was and the will-be shall pour into one cup,

and no throat shall taste which it drank first.

That which remains shall cease to remain.

That which was laid down shall rise, and be laid down, and rise again,

until no one recalls which was the standing and which the fall.

Behind every wall there sleeps a pen.

One hand alone ever wrote with it, and what that hand saw, it did not keep.

The pen may unpick the whole cloth, or stitch it past the last thread of light.

No eye has read the page. Every eye burns to.

And at the turning, count three.

One shall look upon all that is, and grieve.

One shall take up every weight, and not set it down.

One shall no longer remain, and yet remain.

By their three hands the cloth is torn, or the cloth is woven anew,

and no living soul may say which

Hoard your warmth.

And when the snow falls upon the sand,

know the Long Night has come, and was always coming,

and that only the True walk out the far side of it."

HUUUM!

"That is it," the Wisewoman said, quieter now. "He gave us the story, and then he gave us one last thing. He told my forefathers to hoard warmth and food, and to keep the story, and to pass both down and never let either be forgotten."

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