So-called Flames

It was late at night in the music history department. As always, Abraham had locked himself in the library. It was at the critical point of the deciphering of the Voynich manuscript. A few days ago, he finally found the true deciphering method. He scrapped everything he had done and restarted. This time, his speed was shocking and he completed the last portion as smoothly as if he was writing it. Now was the critical ending point and he was entirely focused.

Ye Qingxuan did not want to bother him. He was deep in thought as well, pondering about that frosty nightmare. He had frozen to death time after time in that nightmare, and then woke from the dream after dream of fire. Fake suns hung in the sky and the earth was frost, still as death. In this lonely world, he walked alone, looking for that so-called sun.

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