"After the War of Dusk, the sky was empty, and the earth was chaotic."
"To make all things under heaven understandable, the Order, Ena, was born."
"This was the first day."
"He gathered nebulae to make a feather quill and created a great piano with black and white keys."
"When the white keys were struck, the sun rose. When the black keys were struck, the moon rose."
"Thus, day and night came into being. This was the second day."
Everyone followed the road covered by a red carpet as they moved forward. The interior of the Grand Theater was fantastical enough to be called surreal.
The road broke apart into blocks that spiraled upward through the dark sky, picture frames flashed with light, and strange puppets knelt everywhere.
"Why did you suddenly start telling a mythology story? What does a mythology story have to do with Penacony's history? I could casually make up even more stuff like this for you."
Nero didn't quite understand what was going on with Sunday and complained.
This guy had said earlier that history was a mirror, only to start telling a mythology story right away. A mythology story had nothing to do with Penacony's history...
Putting aside how much of the mythology story was made up, it was hard to say whether the planet of Penacony had even taken shape that long ago. So when it came to Penacony, what exactly could anyone see from a mythology story?
Nero wasn't someone who had never learned, "Use bronze as a mirror to straighten your clothes; use history as a mirror to understand the rise and fall of states; use people as a mirror to understand gains and losses." He understood what the saying meant, but...
He really didn't understand what great principles could be learned from a history that began with the Big Bang, or what effect it could have on the historical problems of a planet that might not even have formed at the time.
Although Sunday acted like a normal person, the kid sometimes really wondered if there was something wrong with his head.
If he wanted to talk about serious matters, then talk about serious matters. Telling a mythology story at a time like this couldn't solve anything.
Perhaps Nero's complaint was too sharp, because it directly left Sunday silent.
He actually wanted to say that he was only telling the mythology story as an introduction.
After walking around the theater without finding a normal path, the members of the Astral Express then climbed into a picture frame.
That picture frame was very suspicious. It was glowing, and there were even puppets kneeling around it. It practically had "Come this way" written all over its face.
"This is the first play, 'Begging for Praise.'"
After everyone passed through the picture frame, this information naturally surfaced in their minds. The place before them looked absurd and bizarre.
Broken roads twisted together and danced through the air, while strange light made the shadows begin to dance.
"You are guests who have come from far away. I ultimately do not wish for us to come to blows. So before everything becomes irreversible, I have arranged three plays."
"Where should the story begin? Let us begin when Penacony was still a frontier prison."
Sunday's voice rang out again.
But in the next moment, he heard Nero muttering again, "It would be even better if you hadn't locked Mr. Yang up while saying all this. Are you really not going to add an apology at the end? At least admit that your actions contradict your words."
"True." Stelle nodded.
She remembered when they had faced Aemdo on the Xianzhou.
That guy had made it clear that he had no intention of threatening them, but at the same time, he had sincerely apologized for the fact that he had been forced to threaten them in order to achieve his goal.
In fact, Sunday already counted as someone who was extremely strict with himself, but compared to Aemdo's almost pathological self-restraint, he was still a little lacking.
After all, the latter still demanded that all his actions be elegant, proper, and courteous even when he had gone mad and become a Omen Falcorez.
For ordinary people, Sunday's current behavior was already far from normal, while Aemdo was even more so. If this Omen Falcorez were to come back to life, Mr. Sunday would also feel that this guy was abnormal.
But there was nothing that could be done about it. After all, from an ordinary person's perspective, there were almost no people connected to Beauty who could be called normal.
And next, everyone operated the dream mechanisms here while navigating the maze and listening to Sunday tell his story.
But none of this was a problem for Nero, because he could fly.
"In Amber Era 2147, the prisoner Hanunou started a massive war and emerged victorious. The Corporation called it the Frontier War, while the people of Asdana called it the War of Independence."
"Mr. Hanunou was a great man. But we should not shy away from saying that although he could bring freedom to the prisoners, he did not know how to give them true freedom."
"Three Nameless remained here, attempting to convey the teachings of the Trailblaze to the frontier prison, but unfortunately, it was useless."
"Asdana was once again swept up in war, and this time, the enemy came from within. A prisoner remained a prisoner until death, knowing only how to fight for freedom, but not how to live for freedom."
"Look, their sentences had ended long ago, and the Corporation's jailers had already been driven away. Yet these prisoners were still prisoners, because what imprisoned them was not something external, but their own hearts."
"Freedom exists everywhere, except within a weak soul. It cannot help anyone, only those who believe that it exists."
As Sunday narrated, a strange puppet called "Voice of the Past" appeared before everyone.
Its divine body was made of the same yellow metal, its lower body was coated in black fuel, and a candle flame burned inside its head, which was imprisoned in a birdcage.
Voice of the Past shouted, "Prisoners! I command you to learn freedom, and teach your brothers, to live and..."
Bang!
Voice of the Past didn't manage to finish speaking. A black, heavy giant shadow struck from the side. It flew away like a baseball hit by a home run, then fell from the high platform and plunged into the endless abyss.
"N-Nero... what are you doing?" March looked strangely at the boy beside her.
Nero casually set Black Cutter aside, then clapped his little hands. "I hit it away."
"Uh... I know you hit it away, but it... seemed like it still had something to say. Wasn't that... a little too disrespectful?" March said.
"It's fine. I don't want to listen." Nero put his hands on his hips and spoke with a magnanimous look, as if he were saying that he had forgiven the other party for having a habit of talking too much.
Perhaps it was just her imagination, but March felt as if she could hear Sunday sighing.
After that sigh, Sunday remained silent for a long time before speaking again. "That concludes the first act. Amid the blazing flames of war, the frontier prison gradually became a place of exile."
Himeko summarized it for the kids. "This is probably the history of Penacony's founding. With the help of outsiders, the prisoners finally attained freedom and established a place of exile in the universe."
"It's just that compared to the physical prison, Sunday seems to place more emphasis on expressing the spiritual predicament of the people."
"This play is a little too literary for me..." March said.
"Yeah, I know." Stelle nodded. "Compared to this, you'd definitely rather watch the Xianzhou's plays."
"...Ha, a-anyway, we're at the exit. Let's go!" March said.
Thus, everyone moved forward and entered the second picture frame.