"I... I just..." Cyrene bit her lip, her voice so faint it was almost inaudible. "This is, after all, the final Coreflame that needs to be submitted in this world. I want... to wait a little longer."
She lifted her head, offering Tribios an apologetic, somewhat strained smile.
"Pfft," Tribios was amused by her expression, her tone light, trying to dispel the tension. "Is our Cyrie actually nervous?"
She affectionately put an arm around Cyrene's shoulders, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Let me tell you, when Agy submitted the 'Romance' Coreflame, she was even more apprehensive than you!"
"She was torn—she wanted to ask the Coreflame for eyes that could see the truth of all things in the world, yet she was afraid she might lose her own beautiful, jewel-like eyes in the process. She was so conflicted she almost rubbed the hem of her skirt to shreds."
"But you know what happened?" Trianne Seliose's smile grew brighter. "The 'Romance' Coreflame responded to her with incredible gentleness!"
"Agy isn't just Okhema's most skillful weaver now; she's also the most famous painter in the entire holy city!"
Seeing Cyrene's still-knitted brows, thinking she was still afraid, she continued in her reassuring tone:
"Cyrie, I'll tell you a secret: it's because of this that Agy still always loses arguments to Hysilens."
"Whenever they bicker, if Hysilens just brings up how scared and tearful Agy was when she submitted her Coreflame, Agy is instantly 'checkmated'! Haha, it's still so funny to remember."
However, these words of comfort did not relax Cyrene. Instead, they felt like fine needles, gently pricking at her heart.
The Coreflames responded gently to her companions? Such a beautiful experience? Yet it was precisely this beauty that made her feel an increasingly indescribable ache and heaviness.
"Mhm... I believe... the 'Time' Coreflame... will also respond to me gently." Cyrene murmured in agreement, yet her eyes uncontrollably grew slightly warm. She fought the urge to cry.
"That's the spirit!" Tribios patted her back reassuringly. "Alright, Cyrie, I won't disturb you any further! Take your time, there's no rush."
"Don't worry, with several Demigods stationed here now, Okhema is as solid as a rock. That elusive figure in black absolutely cannot break in." Considerately deciding to leave Cyrene some time alone, she turned and left the hall.
The vast hall was now empty, containing only Cyrene and the twelve Coreflames soon to gather.
She still did not move, merely standing quietly, like a凝固的雕像凝固 statue.
She was not afraid, nor was she hesitant about the submission itself. She was waiting for a response she had yearned for across countless cycles.
Time ticked by. The silence here was broken only by the faint hum of energy flowing from the Coreflames.
Finally, an extremely soft, faint sigh drifted over from behind Cyrene.
Cyrene's body shuddered violently.
She hurriedly raised a hand, roughly wiping away the lingering moisture at the corner of her eye, forcing the corners of her mouth to lift into that playful arc he knew so well, before slowly turning around.
"Phaethon, who's been hiding from me for so many cycles... is finally willing to see me? ... ♪"
She was still smiling, her voice striving to maintain its usual lightness, yet inevitably betraying a trace of tremor and grievance.
"Cyrene..." Phaethon gazed at the girl before him, stubborn enough to break his heart. His voice was saturated with endless weariness and incomprehension. "Why... are you so stubborn?"
This was Eternal Recurrence #2,825,638.
Having endured nearly three million cycles of repetition, his eyes had long been worn deep and weathered by time and burden. Yet, the robe he wore was unusually clean.
Though it was covered in dense, meticulous stitching and patches, it bore little dust.
Cyrene did not answer his question. Because she knew that at this moment, any verbal answer would be pale, incapable of explaining this persistence and wait spanning an astronomical number of cycles.
"Phaethon," she suddenly threw herself forward, wrapping her arms tightly around him, burying her face against his chest, responding to his query with a choked question. "How could you bear it... not coming to see me for so long? How could you bear it?"
The warmth of her body seeped through his clothes. Phaethon's body stiffened for an instant, a corner of him softening unavoidably.
He sighed softly. His hand lifted hesitantly, finally settling on her soft short pink hair, stroking it with the lightest touch.
"To keep the lie from being exposed... To ensure all being can continue to exist." His voice was low, carrying a undeniable reason that brooked no argument.
"To ensure this lie that has deceived countless cycles remains intact, the best method is for me, the 'hand behind the curtain,' to vanish from the stage forever, to never let them know of my existence. Only then will they not doubt."
"But... why do you have to do this?" Cyrene lifted her head, looking at his face so close through tear-blurred eyes, seeking the answer deep within those pupils. "Why carry all this alone?"
Phaethon looked up I to the food. "I felt it... the Erudition's gaze."
He murmured, his tone carrying a hint of uncertainty. "No, not a direct regard. It was more like... a 'blessing.'"
His focus returned, settling back on Cyrene's face. "As I continuously deduce the mysteries of the 'Prime Mover of Life,' my mastery over the underlying rules of the entire world of Amphoreus is deepening."
"If... if I can completely master Amphoreus, this 'scepter'... perhaps, the entire world can break free from its predetermined fate of destruction and attain true salvation."
Cyrene was momentarily stunned, digesting this astonishing information. "This... is the path you chose for yourself?"
"No," Phaethon slowly shook his head, his voice light yet as heavy as mountains. "This is the path chosen together by all life on Amphoreus, with their will to survive. A path... pursuing absolute continuity, where not a single person will perish due to 'Destruction.'"
"Is that so... I see..." Cyrene repeated softly, her heart a turmoil of mixed feelings.
Should she be happy about this? After all, Amphoreus seemed to have real hope of being saved.
But why... did this cold, precise, program-like "salvation" fill her with a bone-chilling unease down her spine, something she couldn't bring herself to like at all?
As Phainon stepped onto this platform now holding twelve Coreflames.
The two exchanged a glance. No words were needed. The moment of parting had arrived.
...
After the conclusion of Eternal Recurrence #2,865,638.
Cyrene's figure appeared within a strange space.