"Partner!"
The Trailblazer was the first to rush over.
Her gaze swept over Phainon, confirming that this familiar figure was not another illusory dream.
She reached out her hand, her fingertips trembling slightly in mid-air, but ultimately stopped.
She looked into Phainon's eyes.
Those eyes, once burning with madness, were now clear as a pristine lake, devoid of any frenzy.
"I knew it, Partner… you would never abandon us!"
Dan Heng breathed a slight sigh of relief, his fingers, tightly gripping Cloud-Piercer, slowly relaxing.
He could feel that the aura of incinerating all things from Phainon had not vanished, but was instead extremely restrained.
It was no longer scorching, yet it was… even more terrifying than before.
Welt Yang and Himeko exchanged glances, seeing relief in each other's eyes.
Phainon looked at his companions from the Astral Express, a warm current flowing through his heart.
"No."
He shook his head gently, "It was you all who pulled me back from the abyss of oblivion."
Phainon's gaze turned to Welt Yang, "Mr. Welt Yang, thank you for being the first to remember me."
Welt Yang adjusted his glasses, his expression beneath the lenses complex and relieved.
"Just don't do anything misleading in the future. Phainon, the Astral Express will always keep a light on for every Trailblazer."
However.
Phainon did not directly answer Welt Yang's question.
He took a step forward, past the Astral Express crew, directly confronting the sacred and majestic "Fetus of Philosophy."
"Act one, curtain call." Phainon smiled, "Now, it's our turn to take the stage."
Before his words fell.
Behind the stage curtain, several figures silently emerged.
Anaxa, Cipher, Mydei, as well as Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon.
They stood quietly behind Phainon.
Phainon's gaze penetrated the sacred shell, directly locking onto Sunday, who was at the core.
"Mr. Sunday."
Phainon softly said, "You are so engrossed in weaving an everlasting beautiful dream for others."
"Then, please… also listen to the requiem from the deep sea."
Instantly!
The lights of the grand theater were extinguished!
The stage plunged into absolute darkness.
Immediately after, a faint blue glow rose from below, a cold light from ten thousand meters deep in the sea, ancient and unchanging.
Hysilens's figure slowly descended in the air, her eyes closed, elegantly drawing her violin bow.
There was no passionate melody, only a lingering, heartbreaking hum.
This song was the battlefield!
The sheet music transformed into a tangible blue tide, irresistibly enveloping the "Fetus of Philosophy."
Countless ethereal images of sea fish silently swam in the tide, their eyes all gazing at the sacred creation.
Sunday's will actually showed a flaw.
He saw it!
He saw the countless choices he had made for the "Harmony" philosophy.
All the distracting thoughts (miscellaneous thoughts) he had forcibly suppressed with "Order" were infinitely magnified by the song, ultimately transforming into a monstrous wave capable of drowning reason!
"Noise!"
Sunday suddenly broke free from the illusion, letting out a divine roar, "Without 'Order,' how can the weak be good?!"
"If dreams are indistinguishable from reality, how can they be called false?!"
Hearing this, Phainon shook his head and chuckled, "False?"
He slowly looked up, the deep-sea glow reflected in his eyes, "We all live in falsehood. But this does not prevent us from existing as reality!"
"If this is your assertion." Sunday's voice, trembling slightly, came through the divine body, "—Then prove it to me!"
Phainon nodded, "As you wish."
As soon as he finished speaking.
Mydei swung his arms and strode forward, "There is no word 'Order' in the dictionary of Castrum kremnos!"
The next moment, he crushed the crimson crystal in his palm.
In an instant, the blood-colored crystal cluster, like a living organism, spread wildly with a force of savage growth over the shell of the "Fetus of Philosophy," until it was completely enveloped!
Boom—!
A dull roar.
The indestructible "Order" shell showed dazzling cracks!
Seeing this, Anaxa snorted coldly, his gun already locked, bullets chambered, "The logical structure of dreams is full of loopholes."
The moment the bullets left the barrel, they disintegrated into an infinite number of formulas.
They precisely rushed into the cracks opened by the crystal cluster, frantically deconstructing the energy within the "Fetus of Philosophy."
Immediately after, a golden electric light, nimble as a cat, flashed by!
The flow of time was forcibly put into slow motion.
Cipher, like a child disassembling a toy, deftly fiddled with the nodes maintaining the divine body's operation.
When she lightly returned to her original position, she was already holding a large pile of shiny "parts," which she then discarded on the ground like trash.
Boom—!
The body of the "Fetus of Philosophy" became momentarily stiff, unable to move.
And the piano music never stopped.
The siren's song reached their climax.
The bow in her hand was covered with a surging, deep blue ocean current, transforming into a crystal-clear sharp blade.
Above the stage, a colossal deep-sea whale, vast enough to cover the sky, slowly emerged. It opened their enormous mouth, silently swallowing the divine body completely.
Hysilens returned to the spotlight with a dreamy dance, just as she finished the last note of the score.
Then, she bowed slightly, clearing a path for Phainon.
"By one hundred seven thousand three hundred thirty-six notes, I declare to you all, join the glorious chorus—return to paradise!"
Within the giant whale's belly, Sunday seemed unwilling to give up, and the light of order shone again, on the verge of breaking free.
Phainon slowly stepped forward, the Dawnbreaker and Invasion Dawn appearing simultaneously in his hands.
However, he did not charge.
He merely stood still, crossed his twin swords, and lightly slashed.
A black cross-slash tore through the deep sea, tore through the dream, and tore through the last remains of the "Fetus of Philosophy."
All was silent.
When everyone regained their senses, the tips of the two blades were already suspended before Sunday's brow.
Sunday stared into Phainon's eyes, feeling the terrifying resolve of his will.
He had lost, completely and utterly.
Sunday spoke with difficulty:
"May I… ask one last question?"
Phainon said nothing, only nodding slightly.
"So… why does life fall into slumber?"
Phainon pondered for a moment, lowering his head.
"I once saw a nymph, it always futilely pushed a stone… climbing up, falling down, climbing up, falling down, climbing up, falling down…"
His voice was very soft, as if he was chanting his own destiny.
"Even if everything is futile, at least, in the moment of pushing the boulder, it should be happy."
"You ask me why…"
Phainon looked up at the sky, where dawn was about to break.
"Because I know, no matter how long the night…"
"Tomorrow… will always come."
Sunday's eyes suddenly widened, as if something within him had completely shattered.
Rumble!
The last trace of the divine body's radiance completely shattered, and the Fetus of Philosophy fell weightlessly from the stage.
Just then.
Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon exchanged glances, and simultaneously extended their hands, "It's our turn to act."
A shimmering Gate of a Hundred Realms quietly opened along Sunday's falling trajectory.
Thud—
Sunday did not fall into an abyss, but landed back in the center of the stage.
At this moment, the Chrysos Heirs and everyone from the Astral Express gathered around, silently watching him.
Sunday sat dazed, looking at the resolute faces around him, finally letting out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh.
"Yes… the night was still too short."
Just then.
A graceful figure came to his side, knelt down, and gently embraced him.
"Brother…"
Robin's voice was as gentle as water.
"The dream, it's time to wake up."