"Phaethon, what are you writing here all by yourself?"
Phainon's voice came from behind without warning, causing Phaethon, who had been immersed in his world of ink and paper, to jolt. The brush tip, saturated with ink, left a sudden blot on the rough page.
Phaethon closed the thick notebook in his hand with a thud.
This kind of private, diary-like record, especially the thoughts of self-analysis and vulnerable moments within, was better left unknown to a second person—even if that person was his brother.
"'The Record of a Deliverer'?" Phainon, sharp-eyed, caught a glimpse of the words on the cover.
He raised an eyebrow, trying to dispel the faint, somber air that had clung to his younger brother since the recurrence began, and deliberately adopted a light, teasing tone.
"Hey, don't forget, by title, I'm one of the Deliverer too. As a fellow Deliverer, might I have the honor of perusing it?"
"No. Don't even think about it." Phaethon turned around, clutching the notebook tightly to his chest, refusing with righteous seriousness, though his expression softened slightly at his brother's teasing.
Seeing his brother's reaction become more vivid, his goal achieved, Phainon chuckled lightly and pressed no further.
He looked around at this land that was both familiar and strange, his voice carrying a peculiar sense of wonder:
"Who would have thought... the starting point of the recurrence would actually be here. Aedes Elysiae, from a thousand years ago..."
Phaethon followed his gaze and let out a soft sigh, his voice mixed with complex, hard-to-define emotions:
"Yeah, Aedes Elysiae from a thousand years ago. No endless golden wheat fields, no creaking swing."
Before their eyes lay only desolation and untamed, primal earth, a stark contrast to the memory of their hometown wrapped in warm sunlight and the scent of harvest.
Phainon gently nudged his brother's arm with his elbow, wearing a smile that had only belonged to the past:
"There really are no wheat fields here now. But Phaethon, no matter how many recurrence pass, I will always be your brother. That will never change."
He paused, his gaze burning as he looked at Phaethon. "And... do you remember... our bet?"
Phaethon was momentarily stunned, the sealed memory instantly awakening. A flash of realization and disbelief shone in his eyes. "You mean... that..."
The brothers looked at each other, as if transported back to that sun-drenched afternoon years ago.
As if by unspoken agreement, they each reached into the inner folds of their clothing and carefully retrieved half of a pouch that looked quite aged yet exceptionally well-preserved.
Even after three long years, the wheat seeds within the pouches slept quietly.
They merely appeared old and simple on the outside, but anyone touching them could clearly feel the tenacious vitality contained within.
Aedes Elysiae was the hometown deep in the brothers' memories— It might gather dust over time, might temporarily lose its bright colors under the wear and tear of reality.
But they could always step back into it at any time and relight that warmth.
Without another word, Phaethon and Phainon exchanged a smile and walked together with tacit understanding toward the open, fertile land ahead.
They raised their arms high and cast the seeds bearing their memories and hopes toward the slumbering earth of Aedes Elysiae.
The golden grains fell like rain of hope, scattering and merging into the black soil.
...
When Phainon and Phaethon, after their trek, finally reached the grand yet somewhat mottled walls of Okhema, the sight that met their eyes made both their hearts sink.
In this recurrence, the Dawn Device that should have eternally illuminated the holy city, dispelling darkness and cold, had completely gone dark.
It stood lifelessly at the city's heart, stripped of all radiance, leaving only the cold silhouette of metal against the gloomy sky.
The city walls were marked with fresh claw scars and charred burn marks, clearly having endured more frequent and fierce assaults than in the previous cycle.
"It seems the trajectory of each recurrence isn't exactly the same."
Phaethon's gaze swept over the ominous Black Tide spawn wandering sporadically on the plains outside the city, his tone growing unprecedentedly grave.
"The dangers and pressures facing Okhema in this life seem to far exceed those of the last cycle."
"Correct, Phaethon." Phainon took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword.
"But no matter how the recurrence shifts, this is the reality we are in. This is the world we must save."
He turned to look at his brother, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "Before we dive deeper into this vortex, let's confirm our ultimate goal one last time."
Phaethon met Phainon's gaze and whispered, clear and firm:
"To change the doomed fate of the Twelve Factors. To prove to all those lofty existences—the Prime Mover of life is not destruction!"
He paused, his eyes burning with undeniable resolve. "And then, for me... to receive the final gaze of the Aeon, to break free from the shackles of data, to become a true, free life."
"Finally... to take everyone—and leave Amphoreus!"
"Hmm... the objectives are clear." Phainon nodded, a faint smile appearing on his face.
"Then let's go. We shouldn't keep them waiting too long."
With that, he took the lead, his steps steady and resolute as he walked toward the sealed gates of Okhema.
...
After Phainon and Phaethon jointly wiped out several waves of attacking Black Tide spawn outside Okhema's walls with devastating efficiency,
Their strength quickly drew the attention of the city's survivors and defenders.
Ordinary soldiers, still shaken, peeked out from behind the battlements, discussing the two nameless, strikingly similar swordsmen who had descended like divine reinforcements.
Experts marveled at their seamless tacit coordination and the astonishing power of their blades.
Just as the rumors began to ferment, the person they most wanted to see finally appeared before them.
It was a woman whose demeanor was like the still water of a deep pool, yet gave the impression of undercurrents swirling beneath.
She wore a crisp executive officer's uniform, a uniquely shaped exotic weapon—a violin like sword strapped at her waist.
She intercepted them precisely on their path, her gaze sharply appraising them.
However... just as Phaethon and Phainon saw Hysilens appear, Phaethon's peripheral vision keenly caught several hidden stares.
Someone in the crowd seemed to be covertly observing them.
The corner of Phaethon's mouth lifted almost imperceptibly in understanding.
As expected, no matter how the recurrence changed, the despicable habits of certain people would never change.