"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 me and awaits me, they are all still waiting for me in the light. I can't afford to drop the ball at such a critical moment, 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 moment his foot landed, the surroundings began to twist and transform.
The Nether Realm's sea of flower and moonlight faded. He seemed to step into a narrow passageway constructed from memories and echoes.
Countless familiar voices rang in his ears—encouragement 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 memory, 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 firmer. 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 moment, Mydei's roar, filled with fighting spirit and boldness, thundered like a war drum, making the passageway tremble slightly. "Show me 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.
"Become a hero who protects tomorrow, together with me!" 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 become true Deliverer. We can definitely do it."
"Advance, Lord Phaethon..." Castorice's gentle, sorrow-tinged voice seemed to whisper directly in his ear, yet also came 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 me, Castorice." Phaethon replied softly, his steps never faltering.
Just then, an ethereal, familiar voice, melodic like a ballad, gently interposed, as if piercing through layers of time 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?* Something deep within, a memory almost forgotten, seemed stirred. A wave of warmth accompanied by immense 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 home 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, became 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 me 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 exclaimed 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 seemed 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 bewilderment 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 seemed to have gained a cunning intelligence lately. They deliberately avoided the timing of the Judgment 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 submerged 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.