So—
"Good night, Miss Castorice." He bid her a polite but swift farewell. Before the words had fully left his mouth, his figure had already shifted like a ghost, flashing to his own doorway.
A soft *click*. The door opened and closed. He had disappeared behind it, his movements so fast they left only an afterimage.
In the corridor, only Castorice remained, the moonlight outlining her slightly bewildered figure.
She tilted her head, looking at the firmly shut door, a large question mark slowly appearing on her face: O_O? What was that about?
…
Inside the Room
Cut off from the outside world, Phaethon leaned back against the door and let out a long sigh.
His burning gaze fell upon the small mountain of crystals on his bed, which still emitted a mysterious purple glow in the dim light. A near-fanatical smile bloomed on his face once more.
"Phew... alright, finally, no one to disturb us." He rubbed his hands together, his eyes shining with excitement and anticipation. "OK, let's do this! Brothers!"
He walked to the bedside and carefully picked up the topmost Memory Shard...
Triyu (A clear, steady child's voice, filled with resolve, as if recording a final message): "...I have flown to the forefront of the Black Tide. The intelligence... has been sent back... Do not grieve for me... Our sacrifice... is worth it..." (The voice fades, accompanied by the dull thud of metal piercing flesh and a suppressed grunt, finally falling silent).
The excitement on Phaethon's face instantly froze. His fingers trembled slightly.
He was silent for a few seconds before speaking in a somewhat strained whisper: "...Log. New folder. Name: 'Triyu'."
He put down Triyu's shard and picked up the next one.
Trishou (A slightly tired but determined child's voice): "...The refugees... have been safely evacuated... Those noble lackeys... Hah... The dagger... is a bit cold... Remember... hold onto hope... We... never..." (The voice cuts off, leaving only faint, labored breaths, which eventually stop).
Phaethon took a deep breath, feeling a weight on his chest: "...Log. Name: 'Trishou'." His voice was hoarser than before.
Next...
Trimì (A voice as gentle as water, with a maternal radiance, yet tainted by a heavy scent of blood): "...Child... don't be afraid... You're home now... Look... Mother is waiting for you... But... my... hair braid... seems... dirty now... What a pity..." (The voice grows softer, carrying a trace of regret, ultimately drowned out by a chilling sound of surging blood).
Phaethon's breathing grew heavy. His eyes felt hot, beyond his control.
He clutched the shard tightly, his knuckles white. His lips moved a few times, but no sound came out immediately: "...Tri... mì..." He practically had to force the name out through gritted teeth.
And the next...
**Triding** (An abnormally calm child's voice, even carrying a sense of relief): "...If... scalding blood must be spilled... to ignite... numb hearts... to make... them... unite... Then why not let us... be the ones to bleed it?..."
This calm declaration hit Phaethon's heart like a sledgehammer. Then, the voices within the shard began to switch, like countless overlapping echoes, filled with the complex emotions of farewell and reunion, intertwining and reverberating in the small room:
"goodbye, Tridang!" (A bright, cheerful child's voice)
"goodbye, Triguan!" (A calm, collected child's voice)
"See you tomorrow, Trishen!" (A hopeful young voice that knew there was no tomorrow)
"At the end of the west wind, Triwan!" (A voice as distant as the wind)
"Look! Mother is waving! See you tomorrow, Trixiao!" (An innocent, childish voice full of joy)
"So... everyone is waiting for us at the end of the west wine! See you tomorrow, Trimò!" (An utterly exhausted voice, yet warm with laughter)
...
The relentless tide of "goodbyes" and "see you tomorrows," saturated with endless sacrifice and finality, crashed against Phaethon's nerves.
His body hunched over slightly. He pressed his hands hard against his face. A scalding drop of liquid surged from between his fingers and fell onto the cold Memory Shard.
"Don't worry, Trianne... I swear! I will never... never let 'us'... lose a single one ever again! Not a single one!"
Phaethon's vow was resolute, carrying the lingering warmth of blood and tears.
However, right at this peak of pathos and determination—
"Σ(ŎдŎ|||)ﾉﾉ Wait!"
The grief and resolve on Phaethon's face were instantly replaced by utter astonishment and horror!
What... what did I just say?!
"Never let '*us*' lose a single one ever again"?
"Us"?
Where did that "us" come from?!
System!
[I'm here.]
What's going on? What is this?
[You mean this? After watching nine hundred and ninety-seven similar fragments, isn't it normal to pick up some verbal tics?]
System! I'm not joking!
[Host, neither am I. Your current state is the result of watching nine hundred and ninety-seven very similar 'scene' in a row. When you're dazed, you'll habitually start doing things very similar to those 'scene.']
Really?
[Really, I assure you, those nine hundred and ninety-seven soul imprint fragments won't affect anything.]
[And who told you to go and create several hundred very similar folders in one go like that? And watch each one intently, like you're watching clips?]
[You binged several hundred episodes of an anime and picked up a speech pattern, and you blame me?]
(System: Slander! This is slander, I tell you!)
[Alright, just consciously control yourself a bit, and you won't say *us* anymore.]
...
After a night of conscious adjustment and self-suggestion, and after casually speaking a few sentences in the morning without the bizarre "us" tic reappearing, Phaethon's tense nerves finally relaxed completely.
Although the process was a bit terrifying... to master this power, to change Trianne's fate... it was all worth it!
But...
Phaethon looked at the prompt the system had popped up in his mind—[Detected associable entries eligible for consolidation — Treyu, Trishou, Trimì, Triding, Trimò, Triwan, Trixiao...
Tribios (997/1000) Can be archived upon meeting conditions!]
What's this? Turned into a collectible card game?
Forget it, never mind. Even though 997/1000 is genuinely uncomfortable to look at, there's no way I'm going to try and complete this set.
He pushed open his door. The morning sunlight and the faint sound of conversation from downstairs poured in together.
Downstairs in the main hall, Cyrene was talking spiritedly with Evelyn, showing no signs of the exhaustion that had nearly broken her last night.
It seemed sufficient rest and the soothing spells had worked remarkably well.
"Little Phaethon~! Over here!" Cyrene, sharp-eyed, spotted him at the top of the stairs immediately and waved enthusiastically.
"Morning, Cyrene." Phaethon descended the stairs, his gaze turning to Evelyn with a touch of well-measured surprise. "Miss Evelyn? So early? What brings you here?"