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Anatoly

Kitezh, like the strange flora of undersea vents, learns to do without the sun. Deep in the dark and icy lake, they learn reliance on a new power source: faith.

Faith brings illumination in the shape of strange, glowing fish, and food in a similar fashion. It is through faith that they deny the need for warmth and air. Faith even provides wine casks, half-buried in the silt.

Like everyone, Anatoly pauses to bow his head at the hourly tolling bells (from time-eaten towers that tremble not). His prayer is simple and frightening: that their faith is not misplaced.

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