Mydei re-secured Elio to his back, and then the two stepped into the giant hole.
The scene inside the studio made them pause.
It was too quiet.
Under the massive dome, bright lights illuminated rows of neatly arranged equipment: tracks, camera jibs, monitor screens—everything seemed frozen at the moment work ended.
Yet, there was no one here.
Only the monotonous, continuous hum of industrial air conditioning echoed in the vast space.
"Something's wrong," Mydei whispered, his gaze like a knife, sweeping over every shadowy corner. "I remember there were at least a hundred people here before we left."
Phainon didn't respond; his gaze fell upon himself.
His uniform was already tattered from the previous battle, with scorched marks still clinging to the edges.
"Let's change clothes first," he suddenly said.
Mydei looked down at himself; his tight-fitting athletic wear was indeed restrictive.
"Hmm," he rotated his shoulders, his joints making a slight cracking sound. "These clothes aren't comfortable for fighting."
Without another word, the two walked directly towards the costume warehouse at the back of the studio.
Pushing open the large door, rows of clothes racks laden with costumes came into view, from classical robes to sci-fi armor, a dazzling array.
Mydei's objective was clear; he walked directly to a corner and took down the scantily clad yet extremely flexible battle suit belonging to his "character."
Phainon, however, slowly walked through the warehouse as if searching for a specific coordinate.
His steps finally stopped before a dusty wooden box.
On the lid, a sticky note was casually affixed, bearing a line of elegant yet somewhat warning-laden handwriting.
"Phainon is forbidden to touch — Message from: Aglaea."
A trace of helplessness flickered in Phainon's eyes.
Aglaea.
He reached out and opened the lid of the box.
Inside, several yellow and purple garments were neatly folded, their garish colors silently proclaiming their owner's aesthetic.
Phainon's mouth twitched.
It seemed Aglaea of this world still couldn't approve of his taste.
He pushed those clothes aside, and at the very bottom of the box, his fingertips touched a cold yet familiar fabric.
A pure black robe.
The Flame Reaver's uniform.
"Did you find it?" Mydei had already changed into his attire and walked over.
Phainon hummed in affirmation, taking the black robe out and putting it on with movements as practiced as instinct.
He took out the golden mask, but instead of wearing it, he casually hung it at his waist.
The moment the black robe enveloped his form, Phainon's aura abruptly changed.
The calm of one who plans meticulously, the unfathomable composure, had returned to him.
The two left the costume warehouse, Mydei once again secured Elio to his back, and was about to continue searching.
"Where would Cyrene be?" Mydei asked cautiously.
"The clue Elio left won't be wrong; she must be here," Phainon calmly observed their surroundings.
But he knew.
The longer they delayed, the greater the variables.
The next moment, the surrounding shadows began to writhe and stretch.
In the dark corners, figures wearing white, standardized heavy armor slowly materialized.
They wielded weapons that shone with light.
The Legion of Retribution!
Immediately after, more shadows gushed from the ground, twisting, viscous, coalescing into unspeakable horrors, the nightmare that had plagued them through countless cycles.
—The Black Tide abominations!
"Heh, they're finally here," Mydei's fighting spirit reignited.
"Fight and search," Phainon summoned Invasion Dawn, their golden blade reflecting his cold eyes. "Our target is Cyrene; she likely also suffered an attack. Don't get bogged down in battle."
"Understood."
The Legion of Retribution raised their light spears, and the Black Tide abominations lunged, claws bared.
Phainon and Mydei did not retreat, transforming into two streaks of light, one black and one gold, charging forward with ferocity.
Battle erupted once more!
Phainon swept his sword, and the golden sword light, like a crescent moon, cut through the armor of three Legion of Retribution soldiers in front of him, yet his gaze constantly swept past the enemies, searching the entire set.
Where, exactly, was Cyrene?
Just then!
"Zzz—"
The studio's broadcast system let out a burst of static.
Immediately after, a familiar female voice pierced through the din of battle, echoing clearly in the vast space.
"Phainon, Mydei, can you hear me?"
Phainon's sword-swinging motion paused for a split second.
That voice… "I'm in the broadcast room… zzz… go straight down the main corridor… then turn left, and go up to the second floor."
There was a hint of urgency in the voice.
"Hurry, time… is running out!"
The broadcast abruptly cut off.
In the chaos, Phainon's and Mydei's eyes met in the air.
"Go!"
The two no longer hesitated, instantly changing their tactics.
Phainon transformed into a golden spearhead, tearing open a path ahead. Wherever the greatsword Invasion Dawn passed, both Legion of Retribution soldiers and Black Tide monsters scattered.
Mydei, with Elio on his back, followed closely like an unshakeable mountain, his domineering fist winds shattering all pursuers.
Main corridor, turn left, second floor.
Following the instructions, the two quickly rushed to the door of the broadcast room.
Phainon took a deep breath, gripped the cold doorknob, and pushed it open forcefully.
Inside the room, a figure sat quietly at the broadcasting console, her back to them.
The faint glow of the surrounding instruments outlined her somewhat ethereal silhouette.
Hearing the door open, the figure slowly turned around.
She wore a simple dress, just as when they first met.
A shallow, warm smile graced her face, just as in the past.
Her eyes were clear and pure, without a trace of impurity.
When that gaze fell upon Phainon, it pierced through the false world, through the dust of thirty million cycles, returning to the original Aedes Elysiae, to the wheat field dyed golden by the setting sun.
She was still the girl, smiling at him amidst the swaying wheat.
"Long time no see, Phainon ♪"