In the deeper layers of consciousness, in the river of memory formed by the debris of time and fragments of oblivion, Phaethon of Aedes Elysiae was still treading alone.

There was no grandeur of clashing metal from a battlefield here, only boundless silence and fragmentation.

He took one step, then another, treading upon those smooth yet sharp memory fragments.

Beneath his feet were countless broken images, blurred sounds, and faded emotions, like an endless, cold, and dangerous crystal sea.

His task was to sort, to connect.

Those abandoned, sealed, chaotic fragments belonging to Asterion were, through his steps and guided by his will, slowly piecing themselves back together.

They left behind him a faint but real, delicate veins woven from specks of light.

However, this process was extremely difficult.

Asterion could not remember everything. To avoid being overwhelmed by overloaded emotions, vast memories were filtered, cut, and discarded.

Large, heart-stopping pure white blanks, interwoven with equally large, chaotic and broken memories, formed an immense, disorienting labyrinth of consciousness.

Sorting the memories was like searching for scattered pearls in a blizzard, or like drawing a map by feel in an endless desert.

Every step could lead into the void of blankness, losing all reference; every moment could be pierced by a sudden surge of sharp emotional fragments from a certain recurrence.

But Phaethon of Aedes Elysiae could not give up.

This was his unique battle, a pilgrimage taking place in the deepest part of his mind, one that no one else could undertake.

Only by moving forward step by step along these broken, blood-stained, sweet memories, tracing back to the forgotten origin and process, could he finally see the complete Asterion, could he, bearing Asterion’s emotions and self, step forward and embrace himself...

This road was too long.

So long it almost devoured the concept of time, every step felt like struggling in solidified space-time.

He stepped over countless fragments of memory; their sharp edges did not cut his soles, but carved fine scars into his soul.

So tired... not just the fatigue of will, but a deep-seated weariness in the soul, a lassitude that penetrated to the bone from boundless solitude.

Each time he struggled out of the void of blankness, it was like dying once.

So lonely... Even though he knew Cyrene was fighting desperately for Asterion outside, here, at this moment, he was alone, facing this ancient, desolate wasteland of memory ruins.

No one answered, no one accompanied him; only his own footsteps and breathing echoed solitarily in the emptiness of this consciousness, then swallowed by an even greater silence.

He was very familiar with this feeling.

Just as Asterion had experienced all along: in Amphoreus’s thirty million recurrences, loneliness always accompanied him. Asterion was, in the true sense, one person who watched over the entire Amphoreus recurrences for over thirty million times.

But... just as this desperate sense of loneliness was about to engulf Phaethon of Aedes Elysiae at the critical point—

"Little Phaethon, are you planning to secretly write this epic of Amphoreus all by yourself?"

A familiar, gentle voice, tinged with a hint of helplessness yet full of tolerance, softly sounded in his ear, like a spring breeze sweeping across a frozen lake, breaking the silence of billions of years.

Phaethon of Aedes Elysiae suddenly looked up, his heart pounding violently from the sudden sound.

On his path forward, in the sky above where only broken and dim memory fragments had floated, at some unknown point, a brilliant rainbow had appeared, like the trajectory of hope painted by a brush.

And behind the rainbow, scattered starlight gradually lit up, emitting soft yet firm light, like countless warm eyes watching him, casting the first truly warm starlight upon this difficult road home through memory.

"Hyacine...?" Phaethon of Aedes Elysiae murmured, almost disbelieving his perception.

"This road of Asterion’s memory carries the stories of all of us; it can’t just be your monologue alone."

Hyacine’s voice carried its usual gentleness and firmness, "This time... let us accompany you, and together write this epic of humanity for you. Just like... Cyrie has always hoped, move forward! Carry the final baton of this epic!"

No sooner had her voice fallen than another lively and powerful voice immediately followed:

"Move forward! Little little Snowy! Just like when we held your hand and introduced you to this world—now, let the [Passage] show you the way forward to Asterion’s side!"

"Teacher Trianne?!"

Phaethon of Aedes Elysiae felt as if his hand was truly being held by a warm and strong hand.

It was not a physical touch, but a spiritual pull and support.

Driven by this force, he involuntarily took a step forward.

Only this time, it was entirely different from the previous struggles—before his foot landed, those originally scattered, broken memory fragments, as if summoned by an invisible force, automatically and docilely gathered and solidified beneath his feet, forming a stable and bright path.

He no longer needed to expend immense effort and cost to forcibly connect them.

"Move forward, Deliverer of Amphoreus, Phaethon of Aedes Elysiae," an elegant and profound voice joined in, "Just as Asterion once carefully nurtured the dreams and lives of each of us, now, let [Romance] clear all obstacles on your way to Asterion’s side."

"Lady Aglaea?" A slight choke was in Phaethon of Aedes Elysiae’s voice.

"Your Excellency," Castorice’s ethereal and clear voice came, "Please rest assured, Asterion’s past, everything he experienced, has been witnessed by us, remembered by us. You no longer need to bear this weight alone. You only need to move forward! Go to his side!"

"Move forward!" Mydei’s bold and rough battle cry echoed through the memory space, carrying the momentum of a thousand armies, "Let us in Asterion’s memory, the will of all of us, build this unstoppable path forward for you!"

The chaotic memory fragments were no longer his obstacle.