The crimson light churned violently. The scenes of death grew sharper, more tragic, as if determined to etch every detail deep into Phaethon's soul.
「I will make you understand! Why journeys are called great, why epics are called magnificent! It is because all things must ultimately pass away!」
「Only when placed beneath Strife can civilization truly grow!」
「Life is born hating suffering! But only suffering tempers the will, only loss can make one truly stand unyielding!」
The voice struck like a heavy hammer, blow after blow against Phaethon's mental defenses:
「Ask yourself! In this Trial of 'Strife,' use that composure and rationality you're so proud of to truly think—」
「Can you truly achieve a perfect salvation? Can you guarantee that on the path you choose, these people you care for, this world you love...」
「That not a single one will die? Can you truly bear the consequences... of losing even one?」
「Is your confidence not just another form of arrogance and self-deception?」
This Trial did not entangle itself with combat or destruction. Instead, it aimed with precision at the deepest, softest spot in Phaethon's heart—a vulnerability he himself was unwilling to touch lightly.
The fear of being unable to protect everyone, and the doubt over whether he could protect anyone at all.
It used the cruelest "possibilities" to pry at the cracks beneath his calm exterior, dragging him into the mire of self-doubt.
...
Vortex of Genesis.
After a prolonged wait, Mydei's deep, powerful voice broke the silence. His brow was tightly furrowed over his bronze-skinned face, his gaze fixed intently on the seemingly stagnant vortex of light.
"Aglaea, forgive my bluntness," he said. "But this Trial... has gone on far too long. This is anything but normal."
Aglaea's peerlessly beautiful face was already etched with deep concern. Her eyes, which could usually perceive the workings of the world, were now shadowed. Hearing Mydei's words, she pursed her lips slightly but did not answer directly. Instead, she turned a hopeful gaze to the petite figure beside her.
"Teacher," Aglaea's voice carried a barely perceptible tremor, "the Heart's feedback... What is your insight?"
Trinnon's eyes were closed, her small palm gently extended as if listening to a rhythm beyond normal comprehension. Her frown deepened.
"The Heart's flow... is chaotic and elusive. Within the Trial... I can only catch fragmented whispers?"
Aglaea's heart sank. "Whispers? Is it Phaethon's voice?"
"I don't know... It's hard to hear... The interference is too strong, like listening to an echo from a distant mountain through a storm..."
Trinnon's small body suddenly shuddered violently. Her tone changed abruptly, filled with unprecedented alarm!
"...! Little Phaethon's 'voice'... it's been cut off!"
Aglaea's face instantly turned pale. She closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, they held only a resolute, icy calm. She looked at Mydei, her voice steady yet carrying undeniable weight.
"We've... reached that point after all. Mydeimos," she called him by name, her tone grave. "Prepare yourself."
Mydei's burly frame stiffened. He gave a firm, heavy nod, a steely will burning in his eyes. "I understand, Aglaea."
He stepped forward, his gaze like a torch fixed on the now-silent Heart. His voice was ironclad.
"I will force my way into the Trial. No matter what it has become inside, I will pull Phaethon out of there!"
But then, his tone carried a note of warning as he looked at Aglaea.
"But that is all. I will not, and absolutely will not, accept the Divine Authority of Strife on behalf of Castrum Kremnos at this moment."
Aglaea met Mydei's gaze, showing no surprise, only offering a solemn, acknowledging nod. "Of course. The situation is critical. Retrieving Phaethon safely would be good enough. I would not dare to ask for more at such a time."
...
Phaethon's eyes snapped open on a soft bed. His chest heaved violently, as if he had just struggled to the surface from deep water.
A lingering, stubborn crimson afterimage seemed imprinted on his retinas. The faint echoes of clashing metal and desperate screams still whispered at the edges of his hearing.
"Little Phaethon! You're finally awake!"
A cry full of delight exploded beside his ear.
Immediately, before he could fully regain his senses, a warm, forceful embrace enveloped him tightly. It carried a familiar, comforting scent of faint flowers, but also squeezed the breath from him slightly.
Phaethon's consciousness was still hazy, freshly wrenched from the intense Trial. His brain processed information a beat too slow. Muddled, he muttered instinctively, "Cyrene... why are you... hugging me so tight...?"
From above his head came Cyrene's voice, light and playful with obvious mischief:
"Of course it's because—our little Phaethon has come back from the Trial, all sweet, soft, and adorable~ ♪ Of course your big sister has to give you a proper celebratory hug!"
"...???"
The words struck like lightning, instantly scattering all the fog and residual crimson from Phaethon's mind!
His eyes flew wide open, all confusion and daze replaced by utter shock!
It was almost a reflex. He bolted upright from the bed, his movement so fast it stirred the air, instinctively looking down at his own body—
"Hahahaha—!" Seeing his panicked, alarmed expression, Cyrene finally couldn't hold back her gleeful laughter, tears of mirth almost springing to her eyes. "Sorry, sorry! You just looked so adorably dazed, I couldn't resist teasing you a little! Silly little Phaethon, you're still the same as always! ♪"
Phaethon: "..."
He let out a long, slow exhale of relief, only then feeling a wave of exasperation wash over him. He shot a reproachful glance at Cyrene, who was still shaking with laughter. For that one second, his heart rate had nearly hit two hundred.
"Brother! You're finally awake! How do you feel?" A steady voice full of genuine concern came from the other side. Phainon's tall frame approached, clear relief on his face.
Despite Phaethon's own insistence that he was fine, under Cyrene's persistent demands, he remained lying down.
He gave his head a slight shake. His formidable physical constitution and mental resilience quickly began dispelling the last vestiges of discomfort. The last trace of haziness vanished from his eyes, replaced by their usual clarity and composure.
"Cyrene, Phainon," his voice was still slightly hoarse from waking but was steadying. "How long was I unconscious?" That was his first clear question upon waking.