Cyrene looked at Phaethon before her, someone nearly crushed by the heavy pressure of over thirty million recurrences, driven to the brink of collapse by the chaotic memories that didn’t belong to him.

Her heart felt as if it were being twisted by knives, as if countless icy needles were piercing the softest part of her soul.

She finally understood completely.

Asterion, her "little Phaethon," wasn’t merely carrying out a cold philosophy of salvation.

The deeper, crueler truth was—he didn’t want to live anymore. He was in too much pain, pain so intense that every corner of his soul screamed for release, to the point where he instinctively grasped onto "preservation"—that seemingly absolute rational, undeniably correct ultimate answer—as his final lifeline.

He longed to complete his Deliverance mission while simultaneously drawing a recognized conclusion to this endless cycle of suffering, thereby obtaining eternal peace, or rather... annihilation.

But... was this truly the ending that the Phaethon who once laughed in the sunlight and ran through the wheat fields, deep in his heart, really wanted?

"No... wrong!" Cyrene’s voice trembled slightly from the intense heartache, yet carried a certainty that pierced through all confusion, brooking no doubt.

She didn’t retreat. Instead, she walked toward him, toward that collapsing amber kingdom, step by step. Her feet trod upon the shattered amber crystals as if walking through the scars of time, steadfast and calm.

"Little Phaethon, listen to me. No one truly wants to die, and you’re no exception." Her voice gradually became clear and powerful, like a morning bell breaking through the fog.

"What you long to end has never been life itself, but merely this unbearable pain! What you want to end is this eternal loneliness, this heavy burden of memories crushing you, not the you who can love, who can laugh, who would give everything for those you care about!"

Cyrene lifted her head, unflinchingly gazing into his enormous amber-colored pupils, like solidified sunset. At this moment, even the hardest, coldest amber could no longer conceal the exhaustion and fragility nearly overflowing from deep within, originating from the very core of his soul.

"If you alone can no longer bear the weight of this pain..." Cyrene’s voice softened, yet carried a sacrificial resolve, "Then let me bear it together with you."

She gently raised the translucent ceremonial staff of remembrance in her right hand.

With Cyrene’s will, pale blue flames—like the essence of the purest memories—ignited silently from the hilt, spreading across the blade. The light wasn’t dazzling, but carried a warmth that soothed the soul, and a sense of tragic heroism that knew no turning back.

"Let the thirty million Cyrenes... become the floodgate between you and these chaotic memories." Her declaration was like an oath, branded into the void.

Whether it was an illusion brought on by Phaethon’s pain-blurred perception, under the glow of that pale blue flame, Cyrene’s form seemed to subtly change, becoming more elongated, more mature, as if instantly transcending the accumulation of years.

Only her eyes, the deep blue like the sea of stars at its dawn, as they gazed at him, the tenderness within remained unchanged, instead growing even deeper, carrying myriad emotions.

"Cyrene... what... what are you going to do...?" Asterion’s consciousness gradually sank into chaos as the flood of memories, once sealed within amber, surged uncontrollably within his mind once more.

It had been too long since he had last directly, nakedly felt this soul-tearing pain of memory overload. This sudden impact threatened to drown what remained of his reason.

Yet even so, a premonition of unease, originating from the depths of his soul, made him struggle to maintain one last thread of clarity, realizing the nearly self-annihilating implication behind Cyrene’s calm words and actions.

Cyrene looked at him and revealed a gentle smile, yet one carrying the meaning of farewell.

That smile was breathtakingly beautiful.

"Finally... it’s time to draw a conclusion to the story called ’Cyrene,’ isn’t it?" Her voice was as calm as if narrating a predetermined ending. "Little Phaethon, I told you, didn’t I? I will definitely take you home."

Her gaze pierced through pain and chaos, reaching straight to his core.

"If I cannot do it alone..." Her voice remained gentle, yet carried an unquestionable, comradely resolve, "Then let me stay here with you... forever."

The pale blue flames spread from the ceremonial staff, beginning to gently envelop her form.

"Little Phaethon, share your pain... let me bear it."

This sentence was not a request, but a declaration. It was her final path of salvation, staking her very existence to carve open for the one she loved.

"As a ’Pure Child of Anasrava,’ a Pathstrider on the path of Remembrance, my power may ultimately have its limits, unable to carry the full weight of these thirty million lifetimes for you..."

Cyrene’s voice sounded ethereal and transcendent within the pale blue flames; the essence of her existence was burning, sublimating. "But as ’Cyrene’—as the Cyrene who watched you grow up, who experienced countless recurrences with you—I can definitely do it!"

Her gaze pierced through the flames, firmly locking onto Phaethon’s violently shaking pupils, within which was unreserved tenderness and determination.

"After I preserve for you this past that should never have been yours alone to bear..." Her voice was like a final prayer and entrustment, every word branded into the core of the conscious space.

"Please forge my staff, my love, my everything... into part of Amphoreus’s final answer! Let this land, once ruthlessly ravaged by ’Destruction,’ soaked in tears and sorrow, finally bloom... eternal and magnificent—the flower of life!"

"No! Cyrene... I will never admit it!" Asterion completely panicked. The rational shell he had maintained shattered inch by inch before the fear of losing her, his voice carrying unprecedented terror and stubbornness.

"I do not admit that ’love’ is part of the Prime Mover of Life! If you disappear because of this... I will never admit your answer!"

Because denying love meant denying the meaning of her sacrifice; because denying her answer meant stopping her actions. Behind this seemingly contradictory logic was his most clumsy... love.

Countless thick pillars of amber materialized in response to his will, no longer precise attacks, but carrying haste and chaos, like an out-of-control flood, madly shooting toward Cyrene! He had to stop her!

Cyrene’s gaze, however, grew calmer. Facing that devastating amber flood, she lightly stepped on the flying pillars with her toes, her figure like a reverse-flow blue meteor, stepping on those amber pillars trying to block her, unswervingly advancing toward Phaethon!

Asterion’s calculating ability was still there. Over a dozen even larger amber pillars instantly changed trajectory, converging from all directions, completely sealing off any possible space for her to dodge.

Finally, one pillar, condensing his chaotic emotions at that moment, crimson red like blood, like a desperate roar, charged directly toward her!

No retreat! No escape!