[ WP ] The Earth does not rotate . One side always faces the sun and is in continual daylight . The other side is in eternal night . Cultures on both side develop around this .

They had hiked for what seemed like eternity. They were determined, though. These four had followed the stars, crossed the Great Ice River, tramped through the deserted wilds of the Waste. They lost five there, when the oil and candles stretched thin. Each had walked out during the small sparks, leaving behind their rations. Their darkness had ended, but the remaining explorers continued. 
 
 And now, it was getting warmer. They had seen people, many, many people. Different people, not all of them friendly, but not all of them bad. They traded, the women asking for the thick furs, and the men haggling over the guns. The travelers bartered for the gold they carried, the wooden and bone beads, the cured meat. These people could keep entire gardens of vegetables, something they found novel. So the weary men and women bought food to their heart's content with their bone trinkets, their metal plates, and their intricate sparking candles. 
 
 And now, at least, it seemed they were on the end of their journey. 
 
 `` Djouramun,'' one of the women breathed. She pointed to the sky, and the shaggy man with the thick beard lifted his head. Polaris shone like a beacon, but... it was fuzzy now. He took out a small circle of metal embedded with stones and a shifting metal rod in the middle, holding it up to the star and taking a reading. 
 
 `` Strange, is n't it, Ingrad?'' Djouramun said with a wide smile as he put it back in his pocket. `` Used to seeing it as bright as a magnesium flare. I guess we're getting close.'' 
 
 The other intrepid followers looked to each other, hefting frame packs. 
 
 `` Do you think they'll build with ice? Or will they build with stone?'' another woman, redheaded, asked. 
 
 `` I do n't know, Gilka,'' Djouramun admitted with a shrug. `` We have met so many who build with... that wood. They have not mastered the art of hammering and forging metal here, though. Yet there's enough gold to make a rich man faint. They're an odd sort. Who knows what we'll find.'' 
 
 They huffed along underneath the trees, so alien from their typical, flat land of sparse vegetation, snow-white expanses, and tall, imposing buildings breaking the monotony. When they'd reached the Teeth, the mountains had left them in awe. And then their hopes were dashed when they reached the Waste, which was even more desolate than their home-country. This was a good alternative; here, there were even birds in the shallow trees. 
 
 `` How much longer?'' a young boy whined, itching his backside. His clothes were woolen rather than skins, and he found it intolerably scratchy. He did n't know how anyone could wear something so uncomfortable for so long. He would've kept the skins, but they were so heavy and it was getting so warm. 
 
 `` Not much longer, Juna,'' Djouramun said, consulting an old, beaten notebook. He looked up at the sky, and the others did as well. The sky, so typically black as the deepest well, was now turning blue. It was a promising sign. 
 
 The moon passed overhead around the world once more. By then, the trees were higher than their heads by five to ten feet. The air was salty with brine, and the sky grew ever lighter. They had encountered no more people. 
 
 `` Do you think it's real?'' Juna asked, tilting his head as he stared at the sky. 
 
 `` What's real?'' Ingrad asked. 
 
 `` The... what is it - the thing that's supposed makes the sky light. Do you think it's real?'' Juna asked, his brow furrowed. He gripped an amulet made of bone in his hand, fastened around his neck -- the last piece of his grandfather before his darkness ended. 
 
 `` Look for yourself,'' Djouramun said, standing on a hill. 
 
 Juna ran, surprised at how light and springy his step was now that he no longer wore heavy boots. He stopped in his tracks as he stared at the horizon, spread out in a blanket with rumples and curves and then, finally, the glimmering water, so much water, far as his eye could see. 
 
 But then there it was, a light so bright he could not even stare at it. He lifted his arm to block his eyes, staring with awe and his eyes brimming with tears. Ingrad and Gilka walked up behind them, and the only sound was the birdsong of a whole forest. 
 
 `` We found it,'' Ingrad sobbed, putting her hands to her mouth, fighting tears. Gilka fell to her knees and kissed the very ground, pressing her forehead to it as she thanked every star she knew by name. 
 
 `` What do they call it, Djoura?'' Juna asked in an awestruck whisper, still staring. 
 
 Djouramun paused as he weighed the notebook in his hands, the rough skins bound by strips of leather and hours of work, so much more well-traveled than the man holding it. He finally said, `` The sun, Juna. They call it the sun.''
