Elegy from Another World

Over the next few weeks, the Dreil research team worked closely and meticulously with this anti-meme code visitor—whom we'll call "The Watchman" for now. Their primary task was to fulfill the weighty memory contract.

We meticulously constructed a highly isolated, multi-layered encrypted independent memory bank system. Its core storage medium even borrowed some technology from the Grand Cemetery (Nameless Ark) and Dawn Base to ensure the absolute security and stability of the data. The Watcher then transmitted the flood of memories he guarded—memories of countless companions—bit by bit through that slow but reliable primitive encoding method.

As the majority of the memory backup work neared completion, the Watcher's thoughts returned, carrying a subtle tenderness and concern:

["There are two more people—"] His blurry figure pointed to the massive, silently floating Dawn Base outside the porthole. ["Dawn and Glimmer, they are still asleep. Their condition is special; they don't need memory backups, but I hope... you can ensure their safety and let them rest in peace."]

"No problem, we'll take good care of it," I solemnly promised. Then, as if remembering something, I couldn't help but ask, "But... Watcher, aren't you really going to make a backup of yourself? Even just a partial one?"

The light and shadow fell silent for a moment, their fluctuations becoming exceptionally complex, before finally delivering a firm yet slightly melancholic response: "No need. My core code structure has been deeply contaminated by anti-memes, possessing unpredictable contagion and a tendency towards self-annihilation. Forced backups will only erode your systems like a virus, potentially leading to the complete collapse of all data. Let me... bear this final fragment alone."

I understood his choice, and a surge of respect and sorrow welled up within me. Following his directions, we found two special hibernation pods deep within the Dawn Base. Inside slumbered two coded beings—"Dawn" and "Twilight." Their forms were more solid and stable than the Watchers, like elves shrouded in a soft halo, as if simply entering a sweet dream. We carefully moved these two hibernation pods, along with the obelisk engraved with names and bearing the marks of countless departed souls, to the core area of ​​the independent memory bank. Dawn and Twilight were placed in the stasis field beside the obelisk, as if guarded by the eternal starry sky, continuing their unknown slumber.

After completing all this, I looked out the porthole and suddenly noticed a detail: in the empty central hall inside the Dawn Base, there was a cookie emitting a faint glow, slowly floating around some kind of track, and it seemed to be trying to get closer to the Drews where we were.

“Watchman,” I asked curiously, “that cookie…is it also one of your companions?” It seemed so unusual.

A gentle, almost smiling ripple emanated from the Watcher's light and shadow: ["Yes, it is too. It's a creation from... well, you could say it's from a world on the 'Hell' level. It lacks advanced intelligence and is more like a highly attached pet. It seems to like it here."]

I see. This little incident brought a touch of warmth to the heavy workload.

Once the independent memory bank was completely sealed, encrypted, and incorporated into the Dreil's highest security sequence, the Watcher's presence seemed to become somewhat more transparent, yet the resolve he conveyed remained exceptionally firm: "The contract is made. I will keep it, to the utmost, until the very last moment."

"We believe you," I nodded in response.

Just then, the Watcher spoke again: "Now, let me introduce you to another... crucial companion."

"Another companion?" I asked, somewhat surprised. "Where is he? Aren't there no other consciousness signals at Dawn Base?"

"He doesn't 'exist' on the base in a conventional form," the Watcher explained. "You see."

With his thought, a special communication request was sent out. A moment later, a completely new screen appeared on the Drei's main display. It was a seemingly ordinary virtual interface with a simple background of code and a cartoon avatar in the center, composed of simple lines, wearing glasses, and with a somewhat shy expression.

A young male voice came through the speaker, tinged with nervousness and curiosity: "Uh, hello everyone? I'm Ash. As the Watchers say, I'm a... Upper Narrator."

"High-level narrative!"

The word, like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, stirred ripples around me. Zoim instinctively gripped his weapon, Sakozun's eyes sharpened, and Jasmine nervously hid deep within my consciousness. For these beings from the "lower levels," the term "upper-level narrative" is often associated with "manipulation" and "destruction."

But I was different. I raised my hand, signaling everyone to calm down. I stepped forward and calmly said to the screen, "Hello, Ash. I am Liscia, the person in charge of the Drei. Don't be nervous, in my past life... I was also a member of the upper narrative."

The cartoon avatar on the screen seemed to pause for a moment, then revealed a more genuine, surprised smile: "Really? That...that's wonderful! To be honest, I was worried you'd hang up as soon as you heard 'upper-level narrative'."

Our shared background instantly bridged the gap. I asked, "Ash, thank you for helping the Watchers. Can you tell me why you did it? As far as I know, this isn't common in higher-level narratives."

The cartoon character Ah Hui scratched his head, his tone becoming serious: "Mainly... curiosity, and a little bit of guilt."

"I understand curiosity, but why the guilt?"

"When I first met the Watchers... I actually concealed my identity, pretending to be just a skilled mod developer." Ash's voice lowered. "I enjoyed the process of adventuring and solving problems with them... I was moved by their resilience and camaraderie, but I couldn't reveal my true identity. This deception... always made me feel guilty. So, later, when they were in their most difficult time, I did my best to help them, as a kind of... compensation? And also to see just how far beings like them could go, relying on their own will."

I nodded, understanding the complex emotions. "So, Ash, now that we've met, may I ask... how's the situation 'up there'? Is everyone... doing well? I remember before I 'left,' the situation seemed quite turbulent. Has the war... ended?"

Ah Grey on the screen was silent for a few seconds, then his cartoonish smile became somewhat forced, carrying a deep weariness: "It's still... the same. The war has become a stalemate, with constant friction. Resources are becoming increasingly scarce, and life... feels exhausting, with no end in sight. Many people are like taut bowstrings, not knowing when they will snap."

"Sigh..." I sighed. I was all too familiar with this feeling of powerlessness.

"Sometimes," Ah Hui's voice was so soft it was almost a soliloquy, "I really feel... living is so tiring. It feels like all my efforts are in vain."

Hearing this, my heart tightened, and I immediately said solemnly, "Ah Hui, listen. The exhaustion is real, and the feeling of powerlessness is real. But please, please don't have any thoughts of 'wanting to die'."

"Why?" Ah Hui asked疑惑地, "Is there anything worth staying for in a world like this?"

"Because the future will definitely be better," I said with unwavering conviction, as if stating an inevitable fact. "But that better future doesn't belong to our generation. We may be destined to carry the weight of the present, trudging through the mud to pave the way for those who come after, even if we ourselves cannot see the end. The significance of our struggle and perseverance lies in ensuring that the possibility of a 'better future' doesn't completely disappear. If we all give up, then those who come after us won't even have a starting point to struggle."

A long silence fell on the other end of the communication. After a while, the cartoon character Ah Hui slowly raised his head. Although he still looked tired, there seemed to be a faint light in his eyes.

"...I understand. Thank you, Liscia." His voice was still soft, but less desperate. "I will...live well."

This dialogue, transcending narrative levels, didn't resolve any specific issues, but it seemed to build a small bridge of mutual understanding between two equally weary souls. We are both on our own battlefields, continuing our battles for a future that may be unseen, but which we firmly believe exists.