Jane arrived at a cracked stone plaza, where the ground still pulsed with echoes of celebration. She knelt and laid her hands flat.
2025.07.21
在那個時間如灰燼般崩解、空氣中閃爍著被遺忘溫度的世界裡，珍四處流浪。她被稱作餘燼的尋覓者——最後仍能追蹤逝去火光的人。那火並非木柴或火焰，而是記憶、熱情與靈魂的餘燼。
她的指尖閃著微光，會對曾燃燒過的故事殘跡產生反應。村莊早已寂靜，歌聲被風吞沒，手勢埋於石中——珍能感應那潛伏其下的微光。她不復原過去，只將它們烙進心中，再繼續前行。某個黃昏，珍來到裂開的石頭廣場，地面仍微微脈動著慶典的回聲。她跪下，雙掌貼地。微弱的嗡鳴升起，紅金色光點從塵中浮現。她彷彿聽見一場被遺忘的慶典：舞者、樂聲、一名追逐火光的孩童。她閉上眼睛。
那片靜默中，珍流下淚來——不是悲傷，而是因為能在場的重量。她的任務不是重寫或復甦，而是記得，確保即使是最微弱的餘燼也不會全然消失。
當她起身，那股暖意仍然停留片刻，足以讓風把它帶走。
In a realm where time crumbled like ash and the air shimmered with forgotten warmth, Jane wandered. She was known as the Ember Seeker—one of the last who could trace the remnants of lost fires, not of wood or flame, but of memory, passion, and spirit.
Her fingertips glowed faintly, reacting to places where stories once burned bright. Villages that had collapsed into silence, songs swallowed by wind, gestures buried in stone—Jane sensed their flickers beneath the surface. She did not restore them; she simply bore witness, kindling their warmth in her heart before moving on.
One dusk, Jane arrived at a cracked stone plaza, where the ground still pulsed with echoes of celebration. She knelt and laid her hands flat. A soft hum bloomed, faint reds and golds rising from the dust like breath. The laughter of a forgotten festival brushed her ears. Dancers. Music. A child chasing sparks. She closed her eyes.
In that stillness, Jane wept—not from sorrow, but from the gravity of being present. Her work was not to rewrite or revive, but to remember, to ensure that even the most fragile embers were never entirely lost.
And when she stood, the warmth lingered just long enough for the wind to carry it forward.
