"This is both for Amphoreus, which must be saved, and... so that Polyxia can see the dawn of Okhema."
"Rest assured, Castorice." Phaethon’s gaze was firm, his tone filled with unwavering resolve. "I will give my all, and will not succumb here. Because Sister Cyrene, Phainon, Mydei, and everyone in Okhema who cares for and awaits , they are all still waiting for in the light. I can’t afford to drop the ball at such a critical mont, right?" He chuckled again, trying to lighten the weight of parting.
He took a deep breath of the Nether Realm’s cold, fragrant air, and then, toward the blurred boundary between life and death, resolutely took the first step.
The mont his foot landed, the surroundings began to twist and transform.
The Nether Realm’s sea of flower and moonlight faded. He seed to step into a narrow passageway constructed from mories and echoes.
Countless familiar voices rang in his ears—encouragent and calls from the past, the source of his determination and strength.
"Little Snowy! Head high, chest out!" Countless crisp, lively voices overlapped. It was the sound of the Tribbies from the depths of mory, brimming with boundless energy and trust. "Walk towards tomorrow with us!"
Phaethon could almost see them holding hands, guiding his way. His steps involuntarily grew firr. He responded clearly, "Don’t worry, Teacher Tribbie! I know my future is not tomorrow!"
"That’s right, Phaethon." Next, a cool, rational voice spoke—Aglaea.
"Maintain your direction, do not deviate. Towards where the dawn rises... advance." A wisp of golden thread appeared at Phaethon’s feet, illuminating the path ahead.
"Rest assured, Lady Aglaea," Phaethon’s gaze followed the golden thread as he pledged solemnly, "I will not fail Castorice’s expectations, nor will I lose my way!"
"Forward! Phaethon!" In the next mont, Mydei’s roar, filled with fighting spirit and boldness, thundered like a war drum, making the passageway tremble slightly. "Show your courage!"
Phaethon felt a surge of powerful strength rise within him. He shouted back, "The long arms of calamity only hinder the cowardly! But I am no weakling! Mydei!"
"Brother!" A young voice, filled with firm conviction, rang out—Phainon.
"Beco a hero who protects tomorrow, together with !" His figure, sharp as a blade of light, appeared ahead, brimming with hope and power.
A warm, confident smile curled at the corner of Phaethon’s mouth. He responded, "Mm... Phainon, together... let’s beco true Deliverer. We can definitely do it."
"Advance, Lord Phaethon..." Castorice’s gentle, sorrow-tinged voice seed to whisper directly in his ear, yet also ca from all around the passageway,
"Do not look back. The path behind... is no longer passable... The future lies before you." Illusory violet-blue petals drifted down around him, carrying blessings and farewell.
"Mm... Leave it to , Castorice." Phaethon replied softly, his steps never faltering.
Just then, an ethereal, familiar voice, lodic like a ballad, gently interposed, as if piercing through layers of ti and space:
"All of this... is proof that you, Asterion, have lived, and loved this world. ♪"
"So... advance. Do not stop. Do not fail all that once walked alongside you. ♪"
Phaethon’s eyes widened sharply, his steps instinctively pausing for a beat.
*That voice... Is that... Big Cyrene? Or... Elysia?* Sothing deep within, a mory almost forgotten, seed stirred. A wave of warmth accompanied by imnse doubt washed over him.
"Phaethon! Over here!" Before he could ponder further, Cyrene’s clear, urgent call pierced through from the very front of the passageway, utterly real! "Grab my hand... Let’s go ho together!"
Phaethon felt his hand grasped tightly by a small, warm, and soft hand!
The sensation was so real, completely different from the cold of the Nether Realm, brimming with the aura of life.
All doubts vanished before this tangible touch. A powerful pulling force, mixed with Cyrene’s call, beca the sole coordinate guiding his final direction.
"I’m back... the mortal world."
Phaethon whispered, as if making a vow. Then, with unwavering resolve and belief, he took his final step in the Nether Realm, his voice rising sharply:
"Let continue... my『Deliverer』!"
...
The blinding light gradually faded. The familiar aura of the world of the living rushed over him.
Phaethon squinted slightly, adjusting to the light. Before him, Cyrene’s face broke into a relieved smile.
"Phaethon! You’re finally back! It’s been three days since you entered the Nether Realm!" Cyrene exclaid excitedly, still holding his hand tightly.
Phaethon slowly turned his head. Behind him, a stabilized Infinity Gate, flowing with strange, luminous light, was operating gently.
Through that bizarre and fantastical portal, he could vaguely make out the scene of the Nether Realm’s sea of flower, the blurred figures of Castorice and Polyxia embracing. They seed to be looking this way too, quietly seeing him off.
The solid ground beneath his feet, Cyrene’s real smile before him, and the now-stable gate behind him—all told him this was no illusion.
"I... did it?" Though a trace of bewildernt and that enormous question about the "Elysia" voice still lingered in Phaethon’s heart.
But this... perhaps this was growth? He was no longer the youth who would fall into confusion from huge doubts.
He had learned to carry unanswered questions and, with determined shoulders, bear the responsibility and keep moving forward.
Because ahead lay a mission he must complete, a world waiting for him to protect.
...
Castrum Kremnos, frontline against the Black Tide.
The Black Tide spawns seed to have gained a cunning intelligence lately. They deliberately avoided the timing of the Judgnt of Shamash’s strikes, waiting for the terrifying divine weapon to withdraw into the Infinity Gate, accumulating kinetic energy for the next blow high above, before surging towards Castrum Kremnos once more.
And because of this... countless Black Tide spawns had nearly subrged the entire city.
*Drip... Drip-drip...*
It began to rain.
At first, just sporadic raindrops, striking rust-stained armor with dull thuds.
As the rain grew heavier, the sound intertwined with the low, distant roar of the Black Tide’s advance, mixed with the lingering scents of rust and blood on the battlefield, pressing down heavily on every breath.
In the mud, a battle-scarred veteran of Castrum Kremnos whirled around abruptly.
User Comments
0 comments from readers