Her fingertip unconsciously tapped her chin. "But the exact wording of the prophecy was: 'All shall bid farewell to one, and that person alone will witness the miracle'"
"...But could this 'one'... perhaps refer to blood-related, identical twins being considered as 'one person' in some mystical sense? After all, prophecy are often full of metaphor."
Phaethon's hand, which had been selecting a longsword, paused. He shot a precise, exasperated glare towards Cyrene, who was poking Trianne's cheeks. "What brother? Who told you that?"
His tone carried a hint of stiffness and rejection. "Whatever you want to do with my brother is your business."
"He chose his own path, he walks it. But don't try to pin any 'Savior' label on me. I'm not interested."
"But Little Little Whitey!" Trianne, seizing the moment Cyrene was distracted, finally broke free from her "clutches" like a slippery little fish.
She darted in front of Phaethon, tilting her head back to look up at him, her deep blue eyes filled with pure curiosity and conviction. "Little Little Cyrene told me!"
"She said you have half of a 'Savior' card too! An Oracle Card! Right? So you and your brother together make the complete 'one'!"
Phaethon looked down at the lively, utterly well-meaning face so close to his.
The retort about the absurd nickname "Little Little Whitey" died in his throat, ultimately swallowed back as a nearly inaudible sigh.
He simply picked Trianne up and settled her on his lap.
(His ahoge: Heh! I'm up again!)
He once again directed his "death glare" at the instigator, Cyrene, the meaning in his eyes clear: *You just wait.*
Cyrene, receiving his look, wasn't frightened in the slightest. Instead, she stuck her tongue out at him playfully.
She silently thought to herself: *Sorry about that, little Phaethon~ But if you keep everything bottled up inside forever, you'll never make good friends, you know? ♪*
Having successfully achieved her goal, Cyrene was satisfied. Her sly gaze, like a searchlight, slowly shifted towards the last target in the room—
The purple-haired girl who had been as quiet as a little quail since entering, trying to make herself small in the corner, her hands tightly clasped on her knees as if afraid of touching something she shouldn't: Castorice.
A smile filled with "inquisitiveness" and "playfulness" curled at the corner of Cyrene's lips.
Castorice: *...I have a bad feeling about this...*
Before Cyrene's "malicious intent" could fully envelop her, Castorice moved first.
"Lord Phaethon," Castorice's voice was soft, carrying a barely perceptible tremor. She took a deep breath. "Might I request... that you step outside to speak with me?"
Phaethon's gaze moved from the quietly snuggling Trianne on his lap to Castorice's face. Her eyes were unusually determined, even carrying a hint of grim resolve.
(*What's with this girl? She looks like she's marching to her doom...*)
He frowned slightly. After a brief moment of hesitation, he nodded and gently set Trianne down beside him.
Seeing Phaethon agree, the tension in Castorice's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. She turned silently and walked out first towards the moonlit courtyard beyond the door.
Inside, Cyrene's gaze dimmed slightly as Castorice left, but then she turned her attention to Tribbie.
"Lady Tribios..."
"Little Cyrene, you can call me Teacher Tribbie," Tribbie responded gently.
"Yes, Teacher Tribbie," Cyrene quickly corrected herself. "I've heard you were the former Holy Maiden of Janusopolis. Regarding the spell 'Oronyx Prayer'..."
"I'm sorry," Tribbie shook her head gently, dashing Cyrene's hope. "We don't know that spell either. However..."
...
The door closed behind them, muffling the sounds from inside.
Phaethon's tall figure stood under the eaves, the moonlight outlining his hard, cold profile.
He looked at the purple-haired girl carefully twisting her fingers before him. "What is it?" His tone was as flat and direct as ever.
Castorice flinched almost imperceptibly, as if pricked by his blunt tone.
She forced herself to look up and meet Phaethon's gaze. Her voice still held a polite formality, but she tried to convey her own insistence:
"Lord Phaethon... I... I wish to know, why... why did you have to kill those soldiers? Even if..." Her words faltered. Her fingers twisted tighter, the knuckles turning white.
Phaethon's brow instantly furrowed into a deep scowl. "Stop! Stop! Stop! You're not about to say I shouldn't have killed them, are you?"
Castorice, intimidated by his suddenly intensified aura, felt her breath catch. But the urgency and insistence in her eyes didn't fade; instead, it grew stronger:
"Not exactly, it's just... Lord Phaethon! Life is the most precious thing! Once it's lost, it..."
"Precious?" Phaethon's voice dropped low. "Have you considered that if I hadn't killed them, I might be the one dead?"
"Or the people I need to protect? The moment they drew their weapons, I had no intention of leaving any of them alive."
He took half a step forward, his tall figure casting a shadow over Castorice in the moonlight.
"You think that facing a group of people who want you dead, they still deserve leniency? You really are a bit naive."
Castorice was forced back a small step by his presence, her face appearing paler in the moonlight. But her gaze only grew more determined and bright.
She straightened her spine. Her voice was soft, but each word was clear: "Lord Phaethon, you may have misunderstood. I know you had to act against them in that situation! But aside from killing them,"
"There were many other methods you could have used to neutralize the threat! Knocking them out, restraining them, even crippling them to render them immobile would have been acceptable!"
"What I want to know is, among all those options, why did you choose to bring 'Death' to them?"
Phaethon stared into her unyielding eyes, shining with a near-stubborn light, and finally understood the true question in Castorice's heart.
Finally, he let out a long sigh. That sigh seemed to contain a measure of understanding, mixed with a touch of helplessness.
But when he spoke again, his tone held a rock-like firmness:
"Your conviction, I see it. It's pure, and also very... idealistic."
He paused. "But you must understand, I do not kill for sport. I killed them because in that moment, they chose to do evil, chose to raise their weapons against the innocent or the weak!"
"One must take responsibility for their mistakes! Pay the price! That is my ironclad rule! One of the principles I live by!" His words echoed in the quiet courtyard.
He slowed his speech, looking at Castorice. "I respect your belief—that life's value is above all else."
"Although," the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch almost imperceptibly, with a hint of wryness, "this might make you seem... overly merciful, even 'Saintly' in some people's eyes."
"I will not try to refute this conviction you hold in your heart."
"But, Castorice, I equally hope that you can respect my stance."
"People can make any choice they want. But every choice comes with corresponding responsibility and consequences."
"When they choose to commit evil, choose to rob others of their lives or peace, they have already placed their own lives on the scales."
"Paying with their lives is the ultimate price they bear. It is the inevitable result of the choice they made."