This is the deepest ruin of Amphoreus, the ultimate database of the ’Whole World’s’ past—a the Great Tomb of the Naless Titan.
Stripped of all ’mythical’ embellishnt and disguise, what appeared before Cyrene was the Amphoreus database, composed of countless massive storage arrays.
"Hi," Cyrene addressed this cold void, raising a bitter smile as she had over the past two million eight hundred thousand tis, greeting it softly, "Did you miss ? We et again."
However, the response was not the conscious fluctuation she hoped for, but only a cold, emotionless command:
>> Executing Protocol λ003-097: Formatting subject.
>> Formatting progress: 0.002%
The progress bar advanced coldly.
"You... you’re still like this." Cyrene looked at the line of rciless text, a helpless, wry smile touching her lips, carrying a long-accustod disappointnt.
She wasted no more ti. Every conversation was precious and brief.
"Since ti is limited, let’s begin quickly." Her voice beca gentle yet firm, as if speaking to a willful child. "As always, I will read this book... to you."
With her will, a softly glowing "As I Have Written" appeared before her.
>> Formatting progress: 0.003%.
The cold announcent continued to echo rhythmically in the space, like a death knell’s pendulum.
...
"So many, many interesting things happened this cycle," Cyrene’s voice echoed softly through the cold database,
"For instance, because he was single-mindedly determined to ride the ’Earth’ Demigod Terravox into battle... Anaxa, who was supposed to embrace ’Reason,’ actually chose to beco the ’Strife’ Demigod this ti, just to fulfill that sowhat childish dream..."
>> Formatting progress: 32.786%.
The relentless numbers ticked forward in the gaps between her gentle words, like sand slipping through an hourglass.
...
>> Formatting progress: 97.638%.
"Oh, ti passes so quickly," Cyrene lifted her head, looking towards the flickering, cold stream of light in the distance, her face still wearing that warm smile that seed capable of lting ice. "It’s ti to say goodbye again."
She took a deep breath, as if gathering all her reluctance and hope into her next words.
"Finally, let tell you so good news," Cyrene’s voice brightened a little, even carrying a hint of small pride,
"The hero of the story, our Phaethon... he seems to have found another... rather different path to ’saving the world.’"
"Mmm... although deep down I’m still a little worried. That path looks so lonely, so difficult... but I am also willing to believe in him. To believe that everything will ultimately turn out alright, right?"
As she spoke, she playfully winked her right eye, as if sharing a secret only they knew.
>> Formatting progress: 98.072%
The cold prompt clung relentlessly, like a persistent parasite.
"I know," Cyrene’s voice lowered, yet grew more resolute.
"The gaze, that originated from the depths of the cosmos, has never truly left. As long as I... as long as I rember, as long as I record every story of this world, every page of its sorrow and joy, and narrate it to you, over and over again..."
A light akin to faith flickered in her eyes.
"Then, Amphoreus will never be abandoned by the Aeon of ’Rembrance.’ Right?"
"If... if my devout records can move it, earn its blessing... perhaps, Amphoreus can also be saved because of it. In a way different from Phainon’s destruction, and different from Phaethon’s intellect..."
Her thoughts drifted, carrying a hope refined through countless trials.
"Thinking about it carefully, our Amphoreus seems to have three distinct paths before it... the ending ’Destruction,’ the eternal ’Rembrance,’ or the rational ’Erudition.’"
She counted them softly. "I believe, among these three paths, there must be one... that can truly bring a dawn full of vitality to Amphoreus. It must be so, right?"
>> Formatting progress: 99.432%.
The final mark was imminent.
"Finally," the last, purest, warst smile blossod on Cyrene’s face.
"Thank you... for being willing to always be my audience, listening to chatter on for so long, telling so many stories."
Her figure began to grow faint, like morning mist under sunlight.
"Well then, next ti... shall we continue?"
>> Formatting process complete.
The mont the announcent fell, Cyrene’s form vanished abruptly from this data tomb burying countless pasts, like a pencil sketch erased by rubber, leaving not a trace.
Only her final words, carrying the weight of a promise, seed to linger in the cold air.
...
Eternal Recurrence #10,000,086.
Deep within vast, precipitous mountain ranges, the air was thick with the heavy scent of blood and the earthy sll of churned soil.
A earth-shaking, fierce battle had just concluded.
"So, my friend." A low, gravelly voice, like stone grinding on stone, arose from a giant wounded Droma lying prone on the ground—Terravox.
Its massive head lifted slightly, amber vertical pupils filled with weariness and confusion, gazing at the tiny human standing before it. "I still do not understand... why did you help slay the Titan of ’Earth’?"
Phaethon stood before it, so dust on his clothes but no obvious injuries.
He wore a pair of ordinary-looking sunglasses, ant to hide those eyes that had seen tens of millions of years of cycles.
"I wouldn’t call it help," Phaethon’s tone was flat, betraying little emotion,
"I rely... appeared at an opportune mont, drawing His attention for a bit. The one who delivered the final, fatal blow, sending Him into eternal slumber, was still you."
He paused, then asked in return, "As for why... helping a living being, allowing it to continue its existence... does that in itself... require any special reason?"
"For... continuation?" Terravox chewed on the word, a flicker of thought in its huge pupils. "An... interesting answer."
It stared intently at the sunglasses-wearing human before it. Eyes are usually windows to a being’s soul, but unfortunately, it could not penetrate those dark lenses now.
However, as one of the most ancient earth beasts, Terravox possessed perceptions beyond sight.
On Phaethon, it caught the scent of an extrely strange, indescribable aura.
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