"Phaethon, you..." Aglaea's voice was as flat as ever, yet the complex emotions contained within it—worry, scrutiny, and even a trace of rare... disapproval—were conveyed with perfect clarity.
She seemed on the verge of saying more.
"Miss Aglaea," Phaethon turned, a nearly formulaic, placid smile on his face, cutting her off. "My mind is already made up."
"But this is... after all... unorthodox." Aglaea finally spoke the words, her hollow eyes fixed on Phaethon. "Your close ties to the Chrysos Heirs are a fact witnessed by all in the Holy City. For you to take control of the Council of Elders... public doubt, backlash from the Council's remaining factions... these will become tremendous liabilities."
"Being lawful and compliant is enough." Phaethon let out a soft laugh, the laughter sounded somewhat abrupt in the silent corridor. "This is what I can do for the Flame Chase Journey right now." He lifted his gaze, sharp as a blade. "Precisely because I am *not* a Chrysos Heir, I am the best candidate to fill this power vacuum and stabilize the situation in Okhema."
"If I control the Council, first, I can resolve internal strife, remove the greatest obstacle to the launch of the Flame Chase Journey, and ensure Okhema's strength is no longer consumed by infighting. Second, I can minimize the impact of this upheaval—as long as my ascension is through 'lawful and compliant' means, the fig leaf of procedural justice will be enough to placate most, preventing Okhema from descending into large-scale chaos. Third..."
Phaethon's voice paused slightly. His gaze fell upon Aglaea's perfect, yet lifeless face, his tone carrying a rare firmness. "...This is also for you, Miss Aglaea."
Aglaea's mind, which usually operated with the precision of a machine, seemed to stutter for a moment at this sudden statement.
Deep within her calm, unrippled eyes, it was as if a tiny pebble had been dropped, stirring a faint, almost imperceptible ripple.
"For... me?" For the first time, her voice held a tone that could be called "perplexed."
"Yes." Phaethon nodded gently. "I sought out Teacher Tribbie... to learn a bit about your past." He adjusted his lapels again, a gesture that seemed habitual for him at major turning points. "That mountain of never-ending, crushing administrative duties... those cold compromises you had to make to maintain the Holy City's surface stability... They've ground you down, day after day, like a millstone. If not for this excessive burden... your humanity shouldn't have... eroded to this extent."
Phaethon gave his appearance one final check, like an actor about to take the stage.
Then, he turned towards the long corridor leading to the eagerly awaiting assembly ground, faintly lit by the dawn.
"And, Miss Aglaea," Phaethon stopped at the corridor's entrance, not looking back. "Please, abandon that notion... the one where you plan to vanish before me at some moment and entrust your power to me."
Aglaea's body stiffened almost imperceptibly! The ripples in her eyes instantly contracted.
Her voice trembled for the first time with a distinctly "human" quality: "Phaethon, you... since when...? I never told anyone..." This plan was her deepest secret, the final destination she had chosen for herself.
"I guessed." Phaethon's voice remained calm, yet filled with understanding that saw through everything. "After you learned of my abilities, you made this preparation. After all... using your own life to build a long stairway of hope for everyone sounds exactly like something you would do—a devotion that leaves no path of retreat."
He turned his head slightly, his profile appearing profound against the backlight. "All your tests, trials, even your deliberate efforts to have me befriend the Chrysos Heirs... were to ensure one thing: that after inheriting your 'romantic' authority, I would, like you, choose to safeguard the 'Flame Chase Journey.' You needed a qualified 'successor.'"
Phaethon's hand pressed against the heavy, cold door leading to the assembly ground.
"But I dislike that kind of ending." His voice was not loud, yet it seared itself into Aglaea's consciousness like a brand.
The door was slowly pushed open. The roaring tide of noise and the icy morning wind instantly flooded into the corridor.
"In the ending I have chosen... all you need to do next is ensure those Council dregs focus on their work."
As his final words fell, the heavy door slammed shut behind Phaethon, sealing Aglaea and the surging tempest within her heart behind it, in that realm of silence and gloom.
The heavy stone door closed behind him, shutting out Aglaea's form and the corridor's stillness.
...
What greeted Phaethon was a morning wind as sharp as a blade, and a roaring, tidal wave of noise—a cacophony of confusion, fear, and murmurs.
Tens of thousands of eyes, like dense stars, focused on the figure steadily walking towards the center of the high platform.
Phaethon came to a halt at the cliff's edge, churning clouds at his feet.
He did not speak immediately, merely standing there quietly, allowing the impeccably arranged "Savior" uniform—tended to by Aglaea's own hands—to become the sole focal point in the dim light of dawn.
The harmless, amiable smile he usually wore was gone, replaced by a solemnity as still as a deep pool.
The clamor of the assembly gradually quieted, leaving only the howling wind.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was not booming, yet it clearly pierced through the cold breeze, reaching every ear, carrying a peculiar, soothing power that calmed the restless spirit.
"Citizens of Okhema," his gaze slowly swept over every face below—faces filled with bewilderment, terror, or expectation. "We stand here, upon the cliff named 'Dawncloud,' above a fathomless sea of clouds. And our world has long been struggling on the brink of an unseen abyss."
He paused slightly.
"Last night, a great upheaval occurred in the Holy City. The Chief of the Council of Elders, Caenis, has fallen by my sword."
Before his words even finished, a massive wave of shock erupted below! Fear, disbelief, secret glee... countless emotions exploded among the crowd.
Phaethon raised his hand. No dramatic gesture, just a simple, downward pressing motion.
He waited patiently for the disturbance to subside before continuing. There was not a trace of triumph on his face, only gravity.
"Please, quiet, my fellow citizens. This is not a victory worth celebration, but a necessary... cutting out of a festering wound!" His voice suddenly rose, carrying a metallic, penetrating force. "Do you know what the Council Elder we revered, feared, and even once followed—Caenis—what was she?"