Dawn Line

It took humans millions of years to learn not to be afraid of the dark. We build cities, light up lights, and turn night into a continuation of day. We take light as a natural gift, until one day the sun disappears from the sky. It wasn't a sunset, and it wasn't a solar eclipse. It was something more complete than darkness—absolute, endless nothingness. In the twentieth year after losing its light, mankind retreated underground and relied on the remaining warmth of the planet to survive. We have learned to feed ourselves with fungi, illuminate ourselves with fluorite, and comfort the next generation with the sunshine in our memories. The new generation has never seen daylight. They can only piece together the thing called "the sun" from textbooks and legends. But I always believe in one thing: Real light never comes from the sky. It comes from the moment when a person decides not to escape, from the body temperature of two people recognizing each other in the dark, and from the obsession of a civilization that still chooses to believe in tomorrow on the eve of its demise. When the sun is taken away, what we have to do is not wait for the dawn. We will be the dawn.