Episode 2-a. The City Where Night Never Comes, Tebris.
The sun rises from the east.
It journeys through a day long or short.
Until it finally hides behind the western mountains.
Thus, night falls.
But Tebris knows no darkness.
Eternal white night. That is the fate this city bears.
Citizens have long racked their brains to solve it.
Yet no one has succeeded.
Instead, they've accepted it as unsolvable and transformed the city into a haven of pleasure.
Thus was born the tourist city, Tebris.
Countless adventurers or ordinary tourists step into it.
Among them, you feel compelled to uncover the city's secret.
The eternal white night—blessing and curse of the city.
Racing blindly eastward, into that first landscape you encounter.
Uncover what the prophecy whispers: the trace of the fallen twilight star, Nasatya van Gregoryus.
To put it simply, I was following the prophecy that told me to head east after receiving three letters in Litera.
East.
The fallen twilight star.
The trace of Nasatya van Gregoryus.
Back then, my heart swelled at those scenes and landscapes, nodding along blindly before setting off on the journey again.
"Old man, so what's this fallen twilight star anyway?"
"What is it, you say."
"You're finally telling me now, but the letters said to find the fallen twilight star and the trace of Nasatya van Gregoryus."
Truth be told, I had no clue what "fallen twilight star" or "trace of Nasatya van Gregoryus" even meant.
So, on the rattling carriage, I turned to borrow the old man's wisdom.
"Hmm... If a star fell, maybe... find some meteorite iron and forge a sword or something?"
"...Horn, old man. You're only old in years and know nothing."
"Hey, you insolent brat. I've lived over a few hundred years and this is the first time I've heard the word Nasatya!"
But words like that weren't unknown to me because I was ignorant or because I couldn't remember the novel's contents.
If a dwarf who'd lived centuries was hearing it for the first time, it meant it was something so obscure even ancient documents barely mentioned it once or twice.
Maybe I should send a letter to Idrin then.
But to get a reply, I'd have to stay put in one place for a while, and I had no idea how to manage that.
With a deep sigh, I muttered to myself.
"Ah, if it's a prophet from ancient times who knows my name, why not just spell out exactly what it means?"
"This guy's conscience must be busted. He's the only one in history to get three letters, but instead of groveling in thanks, tsk tsk..."
Horn flicked a wooden stick at the back of my head, clicking his tongue about us youngsters.
And those three letters.
One was the prophecy I'd hoped for, and the other two were, well, from a certain woman.
As I thought about them briefly, I held the reins with one hand and pulled out the other two letters one by one to read them again.
Ain.
The bracelet broke.
So, as you said, I'll tell you what I want to do, my wish.
My wish is.
For you to be happy.
So I'll strive only for that.
Ain, continue your journey.
I'll start my journey for you too.
The first one I read was clearly from the current Asha, sent from the empire.
Ain.
I've surely become happy with what you've built.
So don't doubt yourself—keep moving forward.
You can do it.
...
Oh, and just so you know in advance, our child's name is Eleanor. Pretty, right?
Hehe.
Kidding.
The next one might have been from a future Asha, sent for my sake.
"Cough..."
The refined, gentle phrasing was one thing, but the playful tone laced with deeper affection differed from the first letter.
It seemed written out of worry that I might stumble on my path, to encourage me.
In conclusion, one each from past, present, and future—it sat well with me.
Like proof that my path so far hadn't been wrong.
I carefully folded the letters, tucked them back into my bosom, and whipped the reins with vigor.
That aside.
Was that postscript really just a joke?
"..."
Of course it was.
Even from the future, Asha wouldn't lie to me.
Yeah.
Anyway, our destination was the city of Tebris.
A massive hub between Saravati Duchy and Sillon Republic, teeming with transient crowds.
Tourists flocked endlessly, and goods flowed between the duchy and republic.
And.
"What's Tebris like?"
"A place where night never comes. An enigmatic city locked in endless white night for a hundred years."
People call it the city of blessing and curse where night never falls.
Of course, it hadn't always been that way.
At some point, about a hundred years ago, the phenomenon started suddenly in that area alone—day never breaking.
Soon, the eternally bright sky became permanent, and that's the most common tale.
So don't ask how that's possible with realistic or common-sense talk about the sun.
This world's full of unexplainable things if you nitpick each one.
Thus.
"How is that even possible? Right, Tori?"
"Yeah, Yaki. If night doesn't come, how do you sleep?"
"You can't."
"What?"
"You can't sleep there. No fatigue, no drowsiness—even lying down with eyes closed, sleep won't come."
To elaborate, the moment you enter Tebris vicinity, no night, no sleep.
Fatigue doesn't build up—you just don't feel it—but it still accumulates, so Tebris residents tend to have short lifespans.
Hence, a city without night is both blessing and curse.
Leave Tebris, and things return to normal, but telling ordinary folk to just up and leave? They have nowhere to go.
Besides, long-time residents couldn't step into the outside world.
That's why it markets itself as a pleasure and tourist spot for short-stay visitors.
"Why's that?"
"No idea. Probably ancient magic, but only a hundred years old, so maybe not."
And that's one divisive opinion among folks.
If ancient magic, it should've persisted for millennia, but its history is just a century.
So.
Tales like someone stumbling on a hidden ancient magic circle, activating it, and becoming its eternal sacrifice.
Or conspiracy theories pinning it on a grand mage rivaling ancients.
Or a god's bored whim, their time sense differing from ours, causing the mishap.
"Still, whenever something weird or wondrous happens ahead, just guess ancient magic—it's usually right."
"Yeess~"
Like in my words, most anomalies in this world boil down to ancient magic.
Just as blaming Britain covers most world history events, pinning oddities on ancient magic usually hits the mark here.
Though Tebris's hundred-year span makes ancient magic unlikely.
Even if not Britain, history rants often start with Britain-bashing—so let's just roll with it.
One more thing about Tebris.
"Oh, and it says whoever solves the hundred-year mystery and brings back the night gets massive rewards."
Posters on the city walls promise huge bounties, get-rich-quick chances, or national treasures to those who unveil the secret and restore night.
"Whoa! Tori, let's solve it then!"
"As if you could, Yaki? Know your place?"
"Of course! We're the chosen ones who got letters!"
"Hm, good point! Then the massive reward's ours!"
The kids giggled at my words, while Horn and Aberly smirked at the scene.
And I.
Wondered if the prophecy to head east, the fallen twilight star, the trace of Nasatya van Gregoryus.
Were something gained by solving Tebris's secret.
But.
More importantly right now.
Our carriage path through the forest saw plenty of traffic—many heading to Tebris, many coming from it.
"Haha... F-First, we gotta check if any inns are left when we arrive..."
"Ah."
As Aberly said, not sure if we'd snag lodging.
We needed to stay several days, and anxiety hit: only pricey rooms left, or none at all.
And our funds weren't endless.