The next day.
The embers of the campfire had cooled completely in the dawn's faint light, leaving only charred marks and a lingering haze of smoke in the air.
Aedes Elysiae, this once paradise surrounded by golden waves of wheat, was now just broken walls and a deathly silence. The base of the central village statue was scorched black, as if voicing a silent accusation.
Phaethon carried a simple pack containing that precious half-bag of white flour and a small pouch of plump wheat seeds—the last tangible remnants of the "past" he had scavenged from the corner of his devastated home's kitchen.
Cyrene had also packed her relatively light priestess's belongings. Her pink hair was slightly disheveled in the cool morning breeze, the grief on her face replaced by a stubborn, almost defiant calm.
She took one last look at the village center, now nearly reduced to scorched earth, then turned to Phaethon and Phainon with her familiar lilt. "We... should set off now. ♪"
Phainon's gear was the simplest: just a relatively intact steel longsword salvaged from the blacksmith's ruins, and nothing more. He nodded firmly. "Yeah, let's go!"
The trio set off silently on the road leading out of the village. But the ground beneath their feet was no longer soft, covered instead by a thin layer of black ash, and the wheat fields by the roadside were withered and charred.
They chose the small path leading into the unknown. Cyrene occasionally hummed a soft, ancient, soothing hymn. The sound was light, but enough to dispel the suffocating feeling brought by the deathly silence.
After walking for nearly half the morning, the sun rose higher, dispersing the morning chill and gradually pulling everyone out of their sorrow.
"Let's rest here for a while, have some water," she said, walking to a small stream, crouching down, and scooping up the cool water to wash her face.
Phainon set down his longsword and stretched his stiff shoulders. Phaethon took off his pack and placed the half-bag of flour and the wheat seeds on a relatively clean rock.
He opened the flour bag; the fine, snow-white powder inside looked beautiful in the sunlight.
"Phaethon, you brought this?" Phainon walked over, looking at the half-bag of flour, his tone complex. It reminded him of home, of his mother kneading dough, and of that final dinner they would never have again.
"Yeah," Phaethon's voice was low. "We need to bring something to fill our stomachs on the road. Let's rest and eat something."
As soon as Phaethon reached the stream, a prompt from his golden finger appeared in his mind.
[Domyou want to access 'Mother' Folder?]
Phaethon hesitated for a moment, then selected 'Yes'.
Instantly, his fingers became slender and dexterous. He quickly adjusted the water-to-flour ratio and began kneading. Without yeast, he could only make the simplest unleavened flatbread.
Phaethon divided the dough into three small portions, found a few relatively flat stones, rekindled a small fire, and began baking the flatbread on them.
Soon, the simple baked bread emitted a faint, scorched aroma of grain. The scent of food felt particularly precious and comforting at this moment.
The three sat around the small fire. "Phaethon? I didn't know you were so capable~ Quite a handy young man, aren't you? ♪" Cyrene said, as if discovering something new.
Phaethon just smiled wryly and distributed the wheat cakes. "Cyrene, don't tease me. Is 'handy' really used to describe a guy?"
Phainon ate quickly, as if detecting something in the taste of the bread. After finishing his share, he wiped his mouth, his gaze turning downstream, where the outline of a proper road was faintly visible.
(Phainon: *This taste... could it be? Ah~ It tastes like Mom's!*)
"Cyrene, Phaethon," Phainon spoke, his voice steady and firm, "I plan to follow this road to the nearest city-state. I need power, the sooner the better."
Phaethon and Cyrene stopped chewing and looked at him. The moment of parting had finally come.
Phaethon swallowed his last bite of bread, stood up, and brushed the crumbs from his hands. He walked to his pack, picked up the heavy pouch of wheat seeds, untied the string, and without hesitation, separated about one-third of them, carefully wrapping them in a clean cloth.
"Here." Phaethon handed the small cloth bundle to Phainon.
Phainon was taken aback. "This is... wheat seeds?"
"Yeah," Phaethon nodded, his gaze calm. "Seeds from Aedes Elysiae. Take them, Phainon. Wherever you go." Then his tone turned slightly tsundere. "Hmph, if you lose them by the next time we meet, you'll have to call me 'big brother'."
Phainon looked at the small bundle in his hand, feeling the plump, hard grains, then looked up at Phaethon's face, trying to look aloof but unable to hide his concern. A warm current mixed with sorrow welled up in his heart.
He clenched the bundle tightly and nodded heavily. "I will, brother! You take care of yourself and Cyrene too." He turned to Cyrene and said solemnly, "Cyrene, I leave Phaethon in your care."
Cyrene stood up, walked to Phainon, and gently hugged him, like an older sister embracing a younger brother about to journey far. "Go on, little white. Go become stronger. We will be fine. Janus will guide your path, and Georios will guard your safety." Her blessing was gentle yet full of strength.
Phainon took a deep breath and gave one last, deep look at the two most important people before him. Without further hesitation, he turned, slung the steel longsword over his back, and strode purposefully towards the post road.
The golden morning light fell on his straight back, as if cloaking him in burning armor. His figure grew smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing into the faint dust raised by the main road.
For a moment, only the crackle of the campfire and the gurgle of the stream remained in the clearing. The melancholy of parting hung in the air.
Cyrene sighed softly, walked to Phaethon's side, and looked at his hand still holding the remaining seeds. "Little Phaethon, we should be on our way too. The road to Janusopolis is still long."
Phaethon carefully returned the seeds to his pack and shouldered it again. The half-bag of flour rested securely on the other side. He took one last look in the direction Phainon had disappeared, his expression complex but ultimately settling into a quiet determination.
"Yeah, let's go, Cyrene," he said, his voice having returned to its usual tone.
...
A city of indescribable grandeur, like a creation from myth, stood silently at the edge of a perilous cliff.
Its walls were built from massive, perfectly cut white stone blocks, reflecting a cold, holy light under the intense sun, resembling a fortress carved from ice.
The city was built into the mountain, with layered structures rising upwards. At the highest point stood several spires piercing the clouds, their tips gleaming with golden light in the sunlight.
Inside the city, one could vaguely make out wide streets, massive plazas, and countless buildings of uniform style yet imposing grandeur. An aura of ancient, solemn, light-filled, and sacred power washed over them, even from this distance.
This was the Sanctuary of Amphoreus! The central hub of faith for the Three Titans of Fate! Behold! The convergence point of the Three Fates: Janus, who presides over gates and paths; Talanton, who upholds law and justice; and Oronyx, who supports the ages and the night sky!
(Author: It's getting me pumped! Though I'm not sure where the hype is coming from...
Golden Finger: Lunatic, get out of my observation range!)
"We've... arrived." Cyrene's voice sounded ethereal in the wind, carrying a sense of relief and a barely detectable anticipation.
She smoothed her wind-tousled pink hair, gazing at the colossal city on the cliff, complex lights shimmering in her eyes.
A new starting point? Or the edge of another great vortex?
"Yeah, we're here," Phaethon responded softly, his gaze firmly locked on the gleaming "Ivory Sanctuary" upon the plateau.