The Express crew followed the white-clad figure ahead and stepped into the tranquil little village of Aedes Elysiae.

The dirt path wound forward, flanked by quaint, old-fashioned cottages. Occasionally, they could see wisps of cooking smoke rising, blending into the azure sky.

However, they soon began to sense an lingering strangeness.

If Cyrene’s earlier failure to notice them could be chalked up to the wheat field’s obstruction or her attention being completely focused on the two "little Snowy," then now, as this group of "outsiders"—whose clothes and demeanor were utterly out of place in this village—truly walked into the settlement, passed by villagers on the path, and were completely ignored, that tranquility took on an eerie quality.

The sturdy man returning with his farming tools, the woman spinning thread by her doorway, the children chasing each other in play... all their gazes naturally slid past the Express crew, as if they were merely a gust of wind or a wisp of smoke that didn’t truly exist in this space.

The tapestry of village life continued to unfold at its own pace, and they were merely silent observers standing outside the frame.

Realizing this, Stelle’s curiosity was thoroughly piqued.

She tentatively reached out and gently touched the arm of a village woman humming an unfamiliar tune as she passed by—

No sensation.

Her hand simply passed straight through, as if through a holographic projection, leaving only a faint, barely perceptible ripple. The woman, feeling nothing, continued on her way.

The feeling was novel yet carried a hint of chill. Stelle blinked, her gaze falling on a chubby-cheeked child not far away, squatting on the ground and drawing something with a twig.

Feeling playful and with a touch of mischievous impulse, she reached out again, wanting to gently pinch the child’s soft-looking cheek.

But just as her fingertips were about to "pass through" the child’s face, she caught from the corner of her eye that Phaethon, walking not far ahead, had turned an almost imperceptible gaze—though his steps didn’t pause—that landed precisely on her hand.

The look wasn’t harsh, nor did it explicitly mean to stop her. It was just a calm glance.

Yet Stelle felt as if burned by some invisible force. Her outstretched hand froze mid-air, and then she sheepishly withdrew it.

She touched her nose, like a child caught misbehaving, and obediently fell back in line.

Ahead, Phaethon’s lips seemed to curve almost imperceptibly as he continued to lead the way.

...

Things then proceeded as they usually did—finding the Oracle Card compendium, sharing the pretzels. Phaethon even went so far as to give Stelle half of his own half-portion.

Stelle placed the small piece of pretzel into her mouth.

*Crunch.*

The crispy texture burst between her teeth, the savory flavor spreading rapidly, accompanied by the most primal aroma of baked fat and flour.

A wave of warmth slid down her throat into her stomach, then flowed through her limbs, dispelling the detachment and slight coolness that came with being an "observer."

...

But when Stelle followed Phaethon, Phainon, and Cyrene into the fairyland known as the Membrance Maze, a cold and horrifying thought suddenly coiled around her heart like a venomous snake:

Wait... the Phainon she knew, in his accounts, had never once mentioned... that he had a blood-related brother.

Moreover, the memory unfolding before her was nothing like the Amphoreus she knew, the one struggling to survive at the end of the world!

Phainon had said his homeland was destroyed, but the people he cared about were saved...

But this time...

Raging flames greedily licked at the statue in the center of the village square, the symbol of peace and faith. Wooden houses twisted and collapsed in the inferno, groaning in agony.

The towering blaze dyed the night sky an ominous blood-red, replacing the warm sunset of before.

Stelle stood rooted to the spot, watching Phaethon and Phainon standing side-by-side in the square. Before them lay a mountain of corpses, slowly being consumed by fire.

Those blackened, twisted outlines—not long ago, they had been living, breathing people.

She opened her mouth, but her throat felt clogged with burning ash; no sound came out.

She wanted to call out to Phaethon, the only one in this despairing world who could perceive their existence to offer some insignificant shred of comfort.

But... she couldn’t speak.

Just moments ago, she had witnessed hell descend with her own eyes.

Those once simple, kind villagers of Aedes Elysiae—right before her eyes—had been eroded by the merceless Black Tide, transforming into grotesque and terrifying monsters!

They roared, brandishing mutated limbs, charging to kill the still-young Phainon and Phaethon!

Stelle had diligently managed the area housing the families of the Chrysos Heirs in the holy city, so she could even name most of these people!

Phainon and Phaethon’s parents—the kind couple who had warmly welcomed her with homemade bread...

Phainon and Phaethon’s schoolteacher—the elegant lady who had smiled and rescued her when she was surrounded and questioned by curious children...

Having spent only a short time with these people, her own heart already felt torn with anguish.

Let alone... the ones who had lived through this, who had watched every familiar, beloved face twist and perish before their eyes, and who had been forced to raise their swords against them—Phainon, Phaethon, and Cyrene?

How riddled with scars must their hearts be?

...

The torrent of memories continued to surge, carrying the group to the grand city-state known as Janusopolis.

"You... you can cook?"

Stelle’s eyes widened, her tone full of undisguised surprise.

Phaethon was currently busy in a small, well-kept eatery, tied with a simple apron. A hearty soup bubbled on the stove, the air filled with mouthwatering aromas, the warm firelight illuminating his focused profile.

"What, surprised?" Phaethon heard her voice, turned, and chuckled lightly.

He wiped his hands, took a freshly baked small cake from the oven beside him, and naturally held it out to Stelle. "Want to try? Newly baked honey cake. Should be pretty good."

Stelle took the still-warm cake. The soft texture against her fingertips brought a strange sense of peace.

She took a cautious bite.

Soft, sweet—the richness of honey and the fragrance of eggs perfectly fused, melting in her mouth, bringing a pure, soul-soothing satisfaction.

It tasted so good that a bold thought instantly popped into her head: If only she could lure this man onto the Astral Express!

She could already see the bright future, when Miss Himeko again enthusiastically presented her "special blends" or "creative cuisine" of unpredictable lethality, Phaethon would step forth like a savior, using his exquisite cooking to rescue the whole crew from the flavor disaster!

Thinking of that wonderful future, Stelle couldn’t help but say with a hint of emotion: "If only that Asterion out there wasn’t so cold, if he could be as gentle as you, Phaethon..."

She paused, her tone sincere. "If you could get on the train, I bet the conductor would love you. March would probably be hanging around you all day, begging you to cook delicious things!"

These casual words, like a pebble dropped into a tranquil lake.

The smile on Phaethon’s face froze almost imperceptibly. A deep, fleeting loneliness flashed through his eyes, as if Stelle’s words had inadvertently touched some corner he carefully kept hidden.