"

Sunday, July 8.

On the stormy sea, an old three-masted schooner rises and falls with the waves.

It wasn't fast or large enough, and it was like a dead leaf leaving a tree in the midst of a catastrophe that was one with the sea.

But no matter how wild the hurricane was and how terrible the waves were, it sailed safely and did not tilt.

Alger Wilson stood on the empty deck, looking out at the mountains and peaks around him, wondering what he was thinking.

"It's Monday again......" he whispered quietly.

It was a day that belonged to Mother Earth, the beginning of a new round of prosperity and decay.

But for Alger, it had another meaning, a mysterious being forever shrouded in gray mist.

At least I haven't turned crazy yet...... He withdrew his gaze and laughed to himself.

At this time, one of his few crew members approached and asked casually:

"Captain, what's the latest order?"

Alger looked around and replied in a tone without any ups and downs:

"Hunt down an Aurora 'listener'."

……

The storm cleared, the fog was filled, and there were artillery emplacements on strange galleons that were still out of step with the times.

A soft, obedient boy of eight or nine years of age watched with horror at the undisciplined pirates around him, as they enjoyed vats of beer, as they swung around with the help of ropes, as they taunted each other, and even punched each other.

He turned his head to look at the black-robed man standing in the shadows, and lowered his voice:

"Father, where are we going?"

Five days earlier, he had seen his father, a self-proclaimed adventurer's father, for the first time in his memory.

If it weren't for the oil painting left behind by his mother to prove the identity of the other party, and if it weren't for the fact that the orphanage was opening its doors for him, he would never have been willing to leave his hometown and follow this almost strange relative.

The man standing in the shadows lowered his head, looked at his son, and replied kindly:

"Jack, I'm taking you to a sacred place, the 'sanctuary' where the Creator once dwelt."

"Is that the kingdom of God? We mortals can only enter if we are gifted......" Little Jack was taught well by his mother and had enough common sense, and at this time he was surprised and frightened.

The man standing in the shadows has a face with deep lines that are hard to forget, like a stone sculpture made by the best of masters.

He put his hand to his ear, assumed a gesture of listening, and replied in an almost dreamlike tone:

"Jack, 'mortal' is a wrong concept, the Creator created this world, He is everywhere, He exists in the body of every living being, therefore, everything has divinity, and the divinity is rich enough to become angels, and the seven false gods now are just more powerful angels."

"You see, I can hear the teachings of the Creator right now, and what a revelation that is! Life is nothing but a spiritual journey, and when the spirit is strong enough and tenacious enough, we can find our own divinity and become one with more divinity......"

Little Jack didn't understand the complicated description, shook his head, and asked another question that he hadn't had time to ask before:

"Father, I heard my mother say that after the Creator created this world, he was divided into all things and did not actually exist, so why is there still His 'sanctuary'?"

As a seven or eight-year-old child, his logic is clear enough.

The man, whose face was carved like a carving, was stunned for a moment, and tilted his head a little more, as if hearing more whispers.

Suddenly, he fell to his stomach and fell to his knees on the deck, his bare skin highlighting one blue-black thing after another. He covered his head with his hands, his face contorted to the point of abnormality, and cried out in extreme pain:

"They're lying!"

.