"Hyacinthia—since the suggestion was yours, it's only fitting you conclude this—share your 'ideal' with everyone present. Let us see if your answer possesses any exceptional merit."
Anaxa's gaze settled on Hyacinthia, carrying a hint of scrutiny.
Hyacinthia rose gracefully, her face bearing its usual gentle expression, but deep within her clear eyes shone a rare, almost sharp, light. She lifted her chin slightly, the corners of her lips curving into a resolute and confident arc.
(*Image of Hyacinthia with a knowing smirk*)
"So, it finally falls to me in the end..." she said softly, then her voice rang out, clear and steady,
"Hehe, fortunately, I came prepared and won't be stumped—my ideal is to fill in the final 'blank pages' of the heroic epics."
"Blank pages?" Anaxa's eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly. He leaned forward slightly, genuine curiosity evident in his gaze.
"That's an interesting turn of phrase. Elaborate further, Assistant."
Hyacinthia met his gaze, her voice gentle yet imbued with undeniable strength:
"During my time studying at The Grove, I have extensively read the vast heroic epics passed down through Amphoreus.
They are grand, stirring, singing praises of the power to move mountains and seas, the wisdom to pierce through fog, and the sacrifices that end darkness.
Yet, the more I read, the clearer a single question in my heart became—"
She paused.
"Nearly every glorious epic concludes with the hero's deeds, the changing of eras, as its final period.
Those magnificent narratives focus on the great power that altered the world's course itself, but few ever ask: After the hero's radiance illuminates the sky, how exactly do the common people, bathed in that light, pass their days?"
"The epics record how the hero cleaved the chaos, but forget the look in ordinary people's eyes when the first ray of sunlight fell upon their faces after the chaos dispersed—was it hope or bewilderment?
The epics sing of the hero ending the war, but overlook the hardship of those commoners who lost their homes, whose families were torn apart, struggling to rebuild their lives atop the ruins once the smoke cleared.
The epics chant of the hero ushering in a new epoch, but remain utterly silent on the trivial yet real joys and sorrows, struggles and triumphs experienced by every ordinary soul within that new epoch."
"These," Hyacinthia's voice carried a quiet force, "are the vast 'blank pages' within the heroic epics—deliberately ignored, or utterly overshadowed by the brilliance of the heroes' great feats."
"My ideal is to become the one who takes up the pen to fill these 'blank pages'.
I do not seek to write the legend of the next hero. I only wish to record the lives and the light of ordinary people—scattered like stars, seemingly insignificant yet equally brilliant—in the 'sunlit' era forged by heroes."
The lecture hall was utterly silent.
Hyacinthia's point was simple: When the sun rises, the stars in the sky are obscured by its light.
When the world sings of heroic epics, the stories of those surrounding the hero—family, friends, unsung sacrifices, and the countless ordinary people swept up by the tides of the era—
their tales, their struggles, their resilience and their faint glimmers, are all eclipsed by the hero's overwhelming radiance.
So, what Hyacinthia wished to do was to become a recorder, a hero who chronicles the history of ordinary life...
*Heh...* Phaethon laughed silently in his heart, still remembering Hyacinthia's fate in the storylines he knew.
*Heh... Hyacinthia, you always say you're just an ordinary person, an assistant. But...*
*Humanity is like the sand on the ground, insignificant as dust, yet also like the stars in the sky, brilliant as celestial bodies.*
*The moment you resolve to do something, regardless of all the cost—*
*You yourself have already stepped onto your own heroic path.*
...
Time at The Grove flowed quietly with the rising and setting of the suns. Since that memorable "final lesson," Professor Anaxa had never again stepped out of the heavy door of his research chamber.
The lives of Phainon, Phaethon, and Castorice continued amidst the classrooms, libraries, and debates nestled within the lush branches, until an urgent message from Okhema pierced this tranquility.
The communication slate at Phainon's waist vibrated abruptly. Lady Aglaea's calm, yet implicitly urgent, voice emerged from it:
"Phainon, Castorice. My mentor has detected traces of large-scale Titankin activity in the outskirts of Okhema. The situation is critical. Return at once."
Aglaea had respected Phaethon's wish not to bear the title of "Savior," and did not notify him directly.
But when Phainon and Castorice, their expressions grave, found Phaethon—who was leisurely perusing *Forbidden Love: The Tree and The Butterfly (New Edition)*—and asked to borrow his "Infinity Gate" to rush back to Okhema, Phaethon didn't say much. He simply...
"Let's go." Phaethon's fingertips twitched. A portal shimmering with spatial ripples opened soundlessly before the three of them.
However, this urgency to return home was interrupted the moment they stepped through the Infinity Gate and their feet touched the soil of Okhema, by a highly discordant voice.
"Hmph, look who it is. Our esteemed 'Savior'," Caenis leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, her face wearing undisguised scorn and schadenfreude.
"What's the matter? Only coming back now that the enemy has their blades at Okhema's throat? Finally remembered you have a 'home'? I don't know what that woman Aglaea was thinking, actually—"
"Enough!" Phaethon never had the habit of listening to an enemy's drivel.
"If it isn't Granny Caenis, the one who scrubs baths for the Golden Descendants. When Phainon returns hardly seems to be the concern of the bathhouse supervisor, does it?"
"You—!" Caenis's face instantly turned the color of liver, her finger trembling as she pointed at Phaethon.
She wanted to curse him out, but seeing Phaethon's "go ahead, say more, I can be even nastier" posture, all her venomous words caught in her throat.
She knew all too well how vicious and shameless this guy's mouth could be. A direct confrontation would only bring her more humiliation.
In the end, she could only squeeze out a hateful "Hmph!" through gritted teeth, shoot Phaethon a final, fierce glare, and turn to leave quickly, slinking away.
"Whew—" Phainon let out a long sigh, his tense shoulders relaxing, a flicker of relief passing over his face.
"Phaethon, it has to be you." But his relief lasted only a moment. His brow furrowed tightly again, his gaze turning grave as he looked towards the city outskirts.
"As much as I despise Caenis, she wasn't entirely wrong about one thing. I need to head to the outskirts immediately to face the enemy."
He turned to the violet-eyed girl. "Castorice, please go see Lady Aglaea right away and explain the situation."
Castorice nodded, only calmness remaining in her amethyst eyes. "Understood, Lord Phainon. Although my abilities are not suited for use within an army,"
"I will compile the situation and report it to Lady Aglaea at once. Please be careful."