Phaethon met her gaze, filled with hope and entreaty. His voice was as steady as a mountain, carrying a promise that brooked no doubt:
"Do not worry, Castorice. My 'Deliverance' was never about saving a cold, abstract symbol of a world."
"It is about ensuring that every person—whether it's you or me, Aglaea or Anaxa, an ordinary citizen of Amphoreus, or even a Deliverer—can live in the world we have saved with our own hands."
He paused, his gaze turning toward the distance, as if already seeing the future that must be realized:
"As I said from the very beginning: *That which is heavier than the fate of the world, is the fate of every single person in this world.*"
...
Eternal Recurrence #12,398.
"Littler Snowy!" Instructor Trianne's voice held an undeniable charge. "You absolutely must bring that lost Snowy back, safe and sound!"
"I will, Instructor Trianne," Phaethon pledged solemnly, his figure vanishing into the glow of the Eternal Recurrence.
...
Eternal Recurrence #46,645.
"That unruly student of mine has walked such an obstinate path?" Professor Anaxagoras's voice was pained and authoritative.
"correcting of Aedes Elysia, just as you corrected his miscalculated problems countless times before, go and thoroughly correct the 'wrong answer' he is writing now!"
"Rest assured, Professor," Phaethon replied, the ghost of a nostalgic smile touching his lips. "After correcting it, I will personally bring him before you to receive your scolding."
...
Eternal Recurrence #71,243.
"Phaethon," Lady Aglaea's voice was gentle yet firm. "Take that golden garment 'Romance' so carefully wove for him. That honor and warmth should have been his, it should not be tainted by darkness."
"Understood, Lady Aglaea," Phaethon nodded. "I will not let him drown in that lonely amethyst-black again, or... in his terrible 'yellow-top, purple-bottom' aesthetic sense."
...
Eternal Recurrence #80,023.
(Countless expectations and gazes, more eloquent than words.)
...
Eternal Recurrence #95,575.
(Convictions accumulated, will tempered like metal and stone.)
...
Eternal Recurrence #108,641.
The voices of the Chrysos Heirs, transcending the boundaries of time, space, and cycles, thundered in Phaethon's ears just before he stepped into the next journey:
"Deliverer—! Please, take all the hopes of this cycle with you, and save the next Amphoreus... and that lost Phainon!" *(In unison)*
"If a black sun rises to devour the light—then cut it down without hesitation!" *(In unison)*
"If a comrade trudges alone through the blizzard—warm him with your own heart!" *(In unison)*
"If this world must finally fall—then turn our stories, our laughter, our tears and hopes into a ballad, and sing it for the next dawn!!!" *(The chorus reaches its peak!)*
Phaethon walked between the endless cycles, his gaze always fixed on the direction of dawn.
The expression on his face was no longer one of heavy burden, but of understanding and resolve:
" 'Deliverance' is not just the result. It is also the process itself!"
"Phainon! Lygus! Iron Tomb! Nanook!!!"
"When the people of Amphoreus, time and again, choose hope, choose mutual aid, choose to believe in tomorrow even in utter despair—"
"Then that so-called 'destined' fate of destruction... has already been shattered!!!"
A familiar yet unfamiliar, light sigh echoed behind Phaethon.
"As expected... this is a romance story unlike any before. Asterion. ♪"
Phaethon did not turn around. He merely offered a light chuckle before continuing to walk forward.
...
Somewhere.
Lygus and "Cyrene" were quietly observing the report transmitted by the scepter.
>>> Eternal Recurrence #108,641: Brief Report
[Destruction] Equation Calculation Progress: 99.89% (Status: Stalled for unknown reasons)
[Unknown Equation] Calculation Progress: 60.12% (Status: Calculating stably…)
The cold stream of data-light reflected on "Cyrene's" face, the string that had been pulled taut within her relaxing slightly.
Although the progress of "Destruction" had reached a terrifying level, its crucial stall and the steady calculation speed of the other equation undoubtedly meant variables remained, and hope was not yet extinguished.
However, Lygus beside her showed not the slightest ripple.
It displayed no annoyance or regret over the stall of the [Destruction] equation or the progress of the other. It merely stated, in its constant, emotionless "voice":
"Lady Cyrene, allow me to remind you of an ancient adage: *The last part of a journey of one hundred miles is often the hardest and most crucial.*"
Its "gaze" seemed to penetrate the data, looking into a deeper void. "A mere one hundred thousand calculations is less than one percent of the prophecy…"
"This grand calculation may have begun due to the will you poured into it. But its final conclusion may not necessarily be the curtain fall you hope for."
"Cyrene" turned to Lygus, trying to read any hidden information or intent from its expressionless face. But beneath that calm lay a fathomless void. She could discern nothing.
Lygus offered no further explanation—no smugness, no threat, no hint.
It merely extended an invitation to "Cyrene" with an almost elegant demeanor, like a host inviting a guest to continue watching an unfinished play:
"Lady Cyrene, if you find this puzzling... perhaps you should continue watching with me. The answer may lie in the trajectory that follows."
"Why did scepter δ-me13 seek to solve the *Prime Mover of Life*? And why was it discarded by that Aeon? And now... why has that gaze turned back this way once more?"
"It... has glanced this way again?" "Cyrene's" expression grew somewhat grave.
...
Eternal Recurrence #108,642.
Castrum Kremnos Colosseum.
At this moment, the arena that should have been roaring with a crowd was empty. Only two figures stood in the center of the massive circular grounds, as if the entire world had narrowed to just the two of them.
"Such conduct... is truly ugly, Deliverer!"
Mydei 108642 stood with his back to Phainon, his low voice shattering the dead silence. His majestic frame was like a mountain, emanating the unquestionable authority of a monarch.
"Deliverer..." Phainon repeated the title softly. Those somber blue eyes seemed to stir with a faint, subtle ripple at the familiar address.
"Even after one hundred and eight thousand, six hundred and forty-two cycles... Mydei... your address for me has never changed."