Respected Prophet!
First, please allow your most loyal subordinate, Habaron, to express his respect to you.
Secondly, I have another very sad piece of information to report to you, and I write these words with exceptional sorrow:
Lord Turs has passed away.
This is a sad thing that makes us all sad, and I didn't want to believe it at first.
I even got into an argument with the friend who told me the news, and almost physically assaulted him.
Lord Turs has been seeking me out for a long time, willing to listen to my troubles and complaints, and to offer me guidance.
He was like a kind elder to me. Although I had never seen my father, I felt that Lord Turs was like my father.
Lord Turs even tried to match me with the widow of one of my comrades, although it didn't work out in the end and she decided to raise the child alone, I was still happy.
I don't want to admit that such a kind and gentle person would pass away due to illness; I really don't want to admit it.
But in the end, I still went to the central square to attend Lord Turs' farewell ceremony and presented him with a bouquet of flowers.
Lord Turs did not appear to be in pain; he lay peacefully in the coffin as if asleep, with a smile on his lips.
That seemed to be a happy smile, one I'd only ever seen on Lord Tours' face before, when he talked about his daughter. Perhaps...
Please forgive me for saying something somewhat inappropriate, but I truly believe that perhaps Lord Tulls saw his daughter in his final moments, and they were finally reunited.
I believe he didn't experience any pain in his final moments.
Today, witnessed by Her Majesty Alice, we bid farewell to Lord Turs' remains, cremating him according to his wishes and then scattering his ashes in the lake of his hometown.
We said goodbye to him completely.
But please rest assured, although we have lost an elder, we will not stop moving forward.
Rather, we will continue to move forward, even if it's just for you and him.
Our Prophet, we miss you dearly.
We know you must be busy with some very important things right now, and although we can't help you, we sincerely hope you can take better care of your health.
Please come back safely!
Last but not least, I have one more request that might seem presumptuous.
If you know all this, please do not forget the soul of Lord Turs.
Please have mercy and continue to guide his soul to its peaceful rest.
Your loyal warrior, Habaron once again pays his respects.
Pausing before the candlelight, the one-armed Habaron sighed, put down his pen, and set the completed letter aside to dry.
After ten years of repeated practice, his handwriting has improved a lot compared to the past; if you don't look closely, it even looks very neat.
With constant guidance, Habaron also learned how to use formal written language and was able to write some simple letters.
Among those who accepted Tulls were many former illiterate people like him, or semi-literate people who could only write their own names.
They learned to read and write, skills that were once reserved for nobles and merchants, and some of the more gifted even acquired some vocabulary.
One thing that always comforts Habaron is that thankfully he lost his left hand instead of his right, otherwise he would have had to start practicing writing with his left hand from scratch, which would have been terrible.
Learning something once is already painful enough; not having to go through it a second time is truly a blessing in disguise.
With a sigh, Habaron skillfully used his one arm to put the letter into an envelope and seal it. He then used the wooden hook in his left hand to open a drawer and put the newly written letter into a pile of similar envelopes.
Habaron wrote many, many envelopes like these.
However, all these letters are left here and have not been given to the Prophet.
It wasn't out of shyness; he wasn't a delicate man capable of understanding such emotions. He always directly conveyed his admiration to the Prophet.
There's only one reason why Habaron didn't send them out...
The Prophet has not appeared for a long time.
Looking out the window from Baron, the night sky is pitch black.
After returning from the city of nobles, the prophet never appeared at the Prophet's Council again, and no one knows where he went.
The master left alone, without taking a single guard with him.
"My Lord Prophet, where have you gone?"
...
...
Respected Prophet!
Your most loyal subordinate, Habaron, once again expresses his respect to you.
I am writing to you today to ask for your help.
Her Majesty Alice has not appeared before us for a long time. She seems to be feeling guilty about Lord Turs' departure and has been staying at the top of the tower.
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We have never blamed Your Majesty; everyone knows this was inevitable, but Your Majesty alone cannot accept it.
In order to make Her Majesty Alice understand our thoughts, we spontaneously organized three large prayer meetings, hoping to convey our feelings to her.
Frankly speaking, our attempt did not yield satisfactory results, and His Majesty has not responded to us.
Just three days ago, all the residents of Sky City experienced unusually violent turbulence and intense weightlessness... Although I'm reluctant to admit it, I still have to tell you—
The Sky City has landed.
More accurately, it fell.
Fortunately, thanks to Her Majesty Alice's protection, no one was injured in the incident; aside from being frightened, no one was hurt.
We appear to be on an island, surrounded by ocean.
Thanks to Her Majesty Alice, we were not thrown directly into the sea.
Our soldiers have seen a lot and have already started hunting on the island. Some of our brothers who used to live by the water are also starting to catch fish, which should be enough to maintain the supply of materials.
Please don't worry about us; we won't be stopped by such difficulties.
Moreover, there is something very unusual.
It's summer now, and the island we landed on is full of plants from hot climates, but this morning the weather suddenly changed.
It's snowing.
Although the temperature hasn't dropped drastically yet, bigger problems are likely to arise soon, so we gave most of the clothes to the women and children.
My Lord Prophet, I don't know how things are on your end, please take good care of yourself...
"Please be sure to... cough cough cough."
The black blood coughed up splattered onto the paper, blurring the writing behind it.
He raised his hand to wipe the corner of his mouth, looked up at the ruins gradually covered with snow, and wrote his last words with trembling hands.
"Please return safely."
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