Phaethon's voice was calm as a deep, still pool. "The reason I say the path of salvation I've chosen is the best path Amphoreus could have is because this path can not only completely end this desperate recurrence of Amphoreus, but can also... save everyone from those ten million recurrences."
"End the recurrence and save everyone from over ten million lifetimes? Just through... that 'Preservation' you mentioned?"
Phainon's brow furrowed tightly. It wasn't that he doubted Phaethon's ability, but the goal itself had already surpassed the limits of his understanding.
Even the path of salvation he knew, the one of Khaslana, was limited to influencing the current or future cycles—it could never reach into the past, already annihilated in the dust of time.
Saving over ten million cycles? This sounded less like a miracle and more like a fairy tale.
Yet, facing his brother's question, a bitter smile had somehow appeared on Phaethon's face.
Then...
"Yes! Through that 'Preservation' I firmly believe in!" His voice regained a trace of near-paranoid certainty.
"Only 'Preservation' can both end all of Amphoreus's tragedies and save everyone in Amphoreus! Not a single one left behind!"
Then, he held nothing back.
He laid out the entire plan, the one that came at the cost of his own existence.
His plan, his choice, and... the unavoidable sacrifice.
He spoke, now holding nothing back from Cyrene and Phainon.
And when Phaethon, in that casual tone, described the plan that would require his own life to complete—
Like a lightning bolt splitting the fog, Cyrene suddenly understood where that faint, lingering sense of wrongness surrounding Phaethon had come from!
It wasn't because of his Path of Preservation, so foreign to Amphoreus, nor his overly paranoid ideals, but rather...
From beginning to end, there was simply no... joy in Phaethon's eyes about fulfilling this grand duty of "saving the world."
Phaethon was about to end Amphoreus's tragedy. He was about to complete the great deed of "salvation/Deliverance."
But Phaethon was not happy.
Because, for this "success" to arrive...
He was going to die.
Realizing this, Cyrene's heart felt as if an ice spike had pierced straight through it, leaving only endless cold.
...
He was so selfish—he only loved the few people he cared about.
Yet, he was also so selfless—he, only loved the few people he cared about.
...
Phaethon's voice continued to echo beneath the shattered sky, carrying an almost cruel calmness as he enumerated the "merits" of his mad plan:
"See? What a... 'perfect' plan." He spread his hands as if displaying a meticulously crafted work, yet his tone held not a trace of joy, only cold statement.
"Destruction won't get the Lord Ravager it so desires. Erudition won't get the outcome it craves from its calculations. The aloof Aeons... none of them will have their way."
His gaze refocused on Phainon and Cyrene, presenting them with an undeniable choice. His tone was light, yet it carried immense weight:
"Besides, using one insignificant individual... to exchange for the continued existence of over ten million recurrences, of billions upon billions of lives..."
Phaethon paused, as if that "individual" had nothing to do with him, the corner of his mouth twisting into a faint arc. "Even a fool... would know what to choose in this situation, right?"
Phainon opened his mouth, his chest heaving violently. Countless words of rebuttal, dissuasion, even anger surged to his lips, trying to tear apart this cruel logic.
However, before he could speak, he was interrupted by Phaethon's words, thick with self-mockery.
"'The savior sacrifices himself to save all he loves'... Hah. Familiar? Phainon, isn't that your favorite ending from hero stories?" Phaethon let out a soft laugh, the sound brimming with bitterness.
"Whew... they say reality isn't a novel. Even in the most cliché novel, this kind of ending would probably be criticized as rushed and hackneyed, right?"
His gaze seemed to lose focus, staring into the empty distance as if conversing with some invisible presence:
"I suppose only someone... whose mind is already completely empty, who can't squeeze out a single decent plotline anymore, yet stubbornly refuses to put down their pen..."
Phaethon's voice grew softer and softer, carrying a profound sense of powerlessness. "...would use this... as the ending to a story."
This incredibly sharp self-mockery was more heartbreaking than any impassioned defense.
He belittled his struggle across over ten million recurrences and his ultimate sacrifice as a stale trope even third-rate novels would disdain.
Finally, Phaethon pulled his gaze back, refocusing on Phainon and Cyrene, and posed the question that struck at the core:
"But, Phainon, and Cyrene..." He stared into those two pairs of eyes, asking solemnly.
"Ask yourselves honestly—"
"If you were in my position today, if such an incredibly tempting possibility—one where sacrificing yourself could save everything and end all tragedy—were placed before you..."
He leaned forward slightly, asking word by word:
"Would you... truly choose not to take it?"
Cyrene and Phainon fell completely silent.
Any words lost their power at this moment.
They wanted to say "no." They wanted to persuade Phaethon not to do this.
But... reason, emotion, responsibility, selfishness... everything clashed violently in their minds, unable to immediately give them a negative answer.
"Ha..."
Phaethon looked at their pained expressions, twisted by intense inner struggle, and let out a soft laugh—whether of understanding or sorrow was unclear.
"The result is obvious."
He slowly straightened his body. The amber light around him, which had slightly receded, began to flow and surge once more, more powerful, more resolute than before.
He looked down at the two silent figures below and asked one final question. His voice was not loud, but it was Phaethon's ultimate ultimatum:
"So..."
"Are you still going to stop me now?"