Mona Port, the far north of the unknown world. A hundred years ago, Mercury's Sanskrit chant swallowed up the last rays of the sun, and Mona Port fell into eternal night, and no grass grew. The white-haired old man used an ink pen to outline ancient and complex patterns on the young man's body, accompanied by vague and strange words. The ancient spell was tightly entwined in the ice-condensed air, gradually melting the dark gray ice moss that snaked here. The pale aurora gradually rose over the north, illuminating the island that had just fallen into darkness and eternal silence. The voice of prayer gradually resounded throughout the nine days, and the gods in the eternal night gave the barren land a false and cold light.