The rain had not stopped.
But this wasn't ordinary rain—it was a storm flowing in reverse, rising continuously from the ground toward the sky.
The rainwater gathered thickly into a dense curtain in the heavens, steadily pressing downward.
Initially just a thin veil, it had now thickened imnsely as more rain accumulated. Had the artificial sun not still provided its feeble glow, one might mistake the planet for the belly of so vast cosmic beast.
Even amidst this bizarre, upward-flowing rain, people continued to move restlessly.
"The planet's energy reserves are rapidly depleting. It seems the Stellaron powering this world has vanished completely," reported Unkyō to Mitsutake, whose eyes narrowed in concern at the screen before her.
Since the storm began, the planet had been forced to run solely on ergency reserves, now dwindling dangerously.
Fortunately, many residents had evacuated imdiately after Serus's downfall; otherwise, the remaining energy wouldn't have lasted even until now.
"How many people are left on the planet?" Mitsutake asked gravely.
"About twenty-five thousand. They couldn't secure dical facilities elsewhere, so they're stuck here." Unkyō glanced worriedly at her datapad. "At the current rate of consumption, we'll last at most ten more days."
Mitsutake's brows furrowed deeply. "Can't we produce more energy sohow?"
Ten days wouldn't be enough to break through the curtain above. The reverse rainfall was more than just water—it held so mysterious force rendering all attacks useless. One of their comrades had tried forcing her way through, only to lose consciousness instantly. Had others not pulled her back, she'd have plumted from tens of thousands of ters above.
"Impossible," Unkyō replied softly. "There are no additional energy-production modules. This planet always relied entirely on the Stellaron. Even the treatnts for Entropy Loss Syndro probably depended on it."
She pulled up footage from the outskirts of the city, a specific area standing out starkly—a football-field-sized patch of land still untouched. Everywhere else had turned muddy, the ground itself drawn upward into the sky. Yet here, grass remained lush and green, utterly frozen in ti.
At the center was Titania. Around her, grass and trees had twisted grotesquely into human-like forms. Several artificial beings knelt reverently around her, as though welcoming a deity.
Titania reached forward toward a brilliantly shining golden Stellaron—though blocked by a towering crimson-armored figure.
Hotaru stood defiantly, like the boundary between humanity and divinity, preventing Titania's apotheosis.
This was the scene captured at the exact mont the world had been frozen. Mitsutake and Unkyō both recognized the dark-red figure well—Hotaru, who had returned from the void to ensure they were never enslaved again.
Mitsutake stared at the scene uncertainly. "Can the Stellaron really heal?"
Stellarons were known as cancers of the cosmos, infamous for causing countless civilizations to collapse. Even the Antimatter Legion pursued them relentlessly. To suggest they could heal seed absurd.
"Yes—but those healed form a connection with the Stellaron," Unkyō replied quietly.
"How do you know this?" Mitsutake asked curiously.
Unkyō's answer instantly silenced her. "Because of what happened to Sora—and us."
A somber hush fell over them both. Ever since they recovered Sora from the battlefield's edge, he had remained unconscious.
"If Titania touches the Stellaron, everyone connected to it will transform into her clones." Unkyō's voice held barely concealed anger. She hated the thought that Sora, rely healed of Entropy Loss Syndro, could lose himself entirely.
It reminded her painfully of their own fate—genetically engineered by Titania herself. Despite generations of genetic divergence, their origin remained undeniable, a destiny from which they couldn't escape.
Fortunately, Titania's attempt to claim the Stellaron had been paused completely.
Unkyō spoke gratefully: "Hotaru gave everything she had. She combined her mory power with Sora's field, completely halting ti there."
Indeed, the field halting Titania's ascension combined Sora's [Heavy Acceleration] and Hotaru's power of Rembrance—revealing Hotaru as a Pathstrider of Rembrance, a revelation that deeply surprised them both. No wonder she'd managed to claw her way back from the void itself.
But Mitsutake didn't linger on that fact, her gaze instead rising again toward the thickening veil of rain overhead. It trapped them here, along with any hope for their future.
Perhaps they would soon vanish with the planet altogether.
"How long has it been raining now?" Mitsutake asked quietly, contemplating the countdown to their end.
Sensing Mitsutake's heavy mood, Unkyō answered gently. "Five days, since it began."
Five days since their future started ticking downward toward zero.
After discussing a few more details, Unkyō stepped outside, imdiately noticing footprints just beyond the door—clearly belonging to a man.
Could it be…?
---
"It feels just like being trapped in the nutrient fluid of an insect egg," soone murmured, gazing upward at the dense curtain of rain.
"So what does that make us? Extra vitamins for the unhatched larvae?"
"Haha, you've got a better sense of humor than ."
Two n chatted lightly, though their laughter failed to dispel the oppressive gloom filling the makeshift gathering place.
To maximize energy efficiency, all remaining survivors had been relocated into a handful of communal hubs, each containing thousands of people managed efficiently by the Iron Cavalry, their allies, and robot assistants.
Usually, thousands gathered would an endless noise—but now, only tense silence spread through the crowd. Everyone knew the truth. Days ago, a strange chant had broadcasted directly into their minds, announcing its sender's identity:
Larva of Propagation: Titanironia.
Propagation—a word that sent chills down their spines. A nascent Aeon was growing here.
Initially, panic ensued. So cursed, others tried to take their own lives rather than join the Swarm, but the Iron Cavalry prevented every suicide attempt.
People accused and attacked their guardians, demanding explanations. The guards' only response was blunt:
"You can all die after we're gone. Until then, shut up and stay alive."
No one knew why these soldiers refused to abandon hope, despite an obvious, hopeless situation. A new Aeon was about to ascend; ordinary people couldn't possibly resist.
Yet curiosity kept them alive—what exactly was motivating their protectors?
One other thing kept morale from utterly collapsing: Robin's singing, unfailingly perford each day.
"Speaking of, it's about ti—why isn't Robin here yet today?"
Everyone waited anxiously. Robin's songs, full of hope and clarity, were their only respite from despair.
"Oh, there she is!"
Eyes brightened as Robin entered. Her singing montarily drove away their grief, harmonizing her hope into the hearts of all present. Even amid certain doom, Robin refused to yield to despair.
None understood why she persisted.
The rise of an Aeon always ant cataclysmic upheaval. When Nanook, Aeon of Destruction, awakened, he'd personally set fire to his holand. Propagation's ascension would surely bring similar devastation.
Everyone realized now—they were rely kindling for the Aeon's birth.
Yet Robin's unwavering hope, carried by her songs, inspired stubborn resilience. Even as despair lood vast as the Void itself, they continued to endure.
"Why?" soone whispered, gazing at Robin on stage. "Do we actually have soone who can oppose an Aeon?"
Only another Aeon could challenge an Aeon's power. And now, the curtain of rain isolated them entirely, cutting off access to other Paths. They'd beco nutrients for Titanironia's birth.
"Even Xipe, Aeon of Harmony, probably can't influence things here anymore. Every bit of power Robin uses diminishes what's left."
Still, Robin shared her hope, preserving their spirits until now.
"Could it be that the one who once swung a sword against Nanook is actually here?"
People recalled that cosmic headline—soone had dared to strike at the Aeon of Destruction himself. Although Nanook had survived unhard, he'd paused his march of devastation. Even now, the swordsman's identity remained legendary speculation.
If that swordsman were here, perhaps escape wasn't impossible…
But that was wishful thinking. Had that hero truly been present, they'd have intervened during the Hotaru incident.
Thus, the speculation remained nothing more than a comforting fantasy.
Robin's performance ended, and she prepared to leave for the next venue.
She bowed deeply to the audience, urging warmly, "Everyone, please don't give up. Believe that a turning point will surely co!"
Straightening, Robin stumbled from exhaustion. Just as her strength failed, soone supported her gently.
"You need to take care of yourself, too, even while encouraging others."
The familiar voice stunned her montarily—shouldn't he still be unconscious?
Turning, Robin saw a pale but warm face smiling softly at her.
"I woke up."
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