Khaslana, Denied the Dawn—Do You Still Remember?

[Do you still remember? Khaslana, denied the dawn.]

"What is this?"

Bai Yuan stood at the edge of a wheat field. Golden waves of grain swayed in the breeze beneath warm, tranquil sunlight.

Smoke curled up from the distant village, and everything was exactly as he had "seen" it last time.

But this time, the ones sitting by the wheat field were no longer a white-haired boy and a pink-haired girl, but a lone figure gazing into the distance.

Bai Yuan walked over.

That was him.

No, that was Xiao Bai.

Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, the savior who bore the Core Flame, the beginning and end of countless cycles.

Xiao Bai sat on the ridge between the fields, his legs crossed and his hands braced behind him. He tilted his head back and looked at the sky, as though he were watching something impossibly far away.

His expression was calm, but it was not the calm of acceptance. It was exhaustion.

Bai Yuan sat down beside him without saying a word.

Xiao Bai did not look at him either. He merely continued staring at the sky, his lips parting slightly as his quiet voice drifted out.

Phainon's heart skipped a beat.

"The second cycle."

A bitter curve touched Xiao Bai's lips.

"In this life, I told everyone the truth."

"I thought I had seen a turning point."

He paused, his laugh so soft it was like a sigh.

"But I was wrong."

Phainon said nothing. He simply listened in silence.

The wheat rustled in the breeze, as if accompanying Xiao Bai's words.

"I took on every Core Flame."

Xiao Bai's voice sank, as though he were suppressing something.

"After Tribios, there were no more Demigods."

He closed his eyes, as though recalling faces that had long since faded away.

Tribios, one of the Chrysos Heirs, possessed the body of a Demigod and had fallen within the Black Tide.

Xiao Bai opened his eyes and looked toward the distant village.

Everything was so peaceful, so quiet.

But he knew that peace would soon be shattered.

The Black Tide would come, and everyone would die.

"I watched the familiar faces of the past fight the Black Tide with mortal bodies until they vanished."

Xiao Bai's voice was rough.

"Aglaea, Tribbie, Mydei, Anaxa... they all died."

"Without the power of Demigods, without the blessing of Core Flames, they had nothing but mortal bodies."

"They wielded ordinary weapons and charged into that boundless darkness."

"One after another, they fell before my eyes."

"And I could do nothing."

Bai Yuan clenched his fists.

"Why do you blame yourself so much, Xiao Bai? Back then, there was nothing you could have done either."

Bai Yuan suddenly turned into a phantom, unable to do anything at all.

Phainon stood at the edge of the wheat field, watching that phantom.

It was not Xiao Bai, who had been sitting on the ridge just a moment ago, but another Phainon.

The Phainon of that life—the Phainon who had not yet gone through countless cycles, had not yet been Devoured by the Core Flames, and had not yet become Black Calamity.

He stood in the middle of the wheat field, gripping a longsword with blood still dripping from its blade.

That blood did not belong to an enemy. It was his own.

His body was covered in wounds, his white robes soaked in blood, and his silver hair hung messily over the side of his face.

His eyes were red, not because of their color, but because he had cried.

"Why didn't you shed even a single tear?"

The Phainon of that life looked at him. His voice was hoarse, as though he were questioning him, yet also begging him.

Phainon did not answer.

It was not that he did not want to answer. He simply did not know how.

He stood at the edge of the wheat field, his Black Robe fluttering gently in the breeze while a mask concealed his expression.

Behind that mask, his eyes calmly watched the blood-covered boy. There was not the slightest ripple in his heart.

No grief, no anger, no sympathy. Nothing.

The Phainon of that life gritted his teeth, his eyes bloodshot as tears mixed with blood and ran down his cheeks.

He tightened his grip around the hilt, his whole body trembling—not from fear, but from anger.

"You could have saved them!"

"You clearly had the power to save them!!"

"Why!!!"

"Why did you just stand there and watch!!!!"

Phainon still said nothing. What could he possibly say?

That he had saved them countless times, and failed every single time?

That he had once been just as furious, cried just as bitterly, and demanded, "Why?"

That those tears had already been shed dry over countless cycles, leaving behind nothing but numbness?

What meaning would there be in saying any of that?

The Phainon of that life stopped speaking.

He poured all his anger, all his sorrow, all his unwillingness into the sword in his hand.

He charged at Phainon, his blade carving a silver-white arc through the air with the resolve of someone willing to risk everything.

Phainon looked at that sword, then at that face identical to his own.

He raised his hand, and the Black Calamity Sword condensed from the void. Its blade was black as ink, its tip dark red as blood.

He thrust out his sword without hesitation or delay, piercing precisely through the Phainon of that life's chest.

The body of that Phainon stiffened.

He lowered his gaze to the blade in his chest, then looked back up at Phainon.

The anger in those bloodshot eyes slowly faded, replaced by something impossible to name.

Was it acceptance? Relief? Or something else?

Phainon could not say, nor did he wish to guess.

The Phainon of that life curved his lips slightly, as though he were smiling, or trying to say something.

His lips moved, but no sound came out. His body slowly fell, transforming into countless motes of light that scattered through the golden wheat.

Phainon stood where he was, the Black Calamity Sword angled toward the ground as the dark red glow on its blade gradually faded.

He looked at the empty wheat field and the fading motes of light. There was nothing in his heart.

It was not suppression, nor restraint. There truly was nothing.

He could feel his humanity fading away bit by bit.

Every time he killed a Phainon, another fragment of humanity peeled away from him.

He could no longer remember what he had been like in the beginning, why he had started, or where he still wished to go.

Phainon raised his head and looked at the sky.

No matter how many times he returned, no matter how many Phainons he killed, this sky would never change.

Nothing would change. The cycle would continue as always!

Bai Yuan abruptly opened his eyes.

It was not the wheat field of Aedes Elysiae, nor was it that sky.

It was his own room.

He gasped for air as though he had just been dragged out of the water.

Then he sat up.

The Core Flame burned in his palm.

Golden and black flames leaped high, and the engraved "2" flickered within the fire, glaring enough that it was hard to look at directly.

Bai Yuan stared at the Core Flame, his mind still replaying everything he had just seen.

That Phainon of that life, covered in blood as he wept and asked, "Why didn't you shed even a single tear?"

"Why?"

Bai Yuan's voice was rough.

"Why can't we do something?"

He clenched the Core Flame, as though questioning it—or questioning the Black Robe Swordsman who had killed himself countless times throughout countless cycles.

The Core Flame did not answer. It merely continued burning, the golden-black flames flickering faster and faster, as though responding to his emotions.

"Then what was the point of calling me to the Core Flame?"

Bai Yuan's voice rose.

"Xiao Bai!"

The Core Flame suddenly flared.

It burst open in an instant like an ignited star.

Light poured from the depths of the Core Flame, passing through his fingers and illuminating the entire room.

Bai Yuan looked down. Inside the Core Flame, the patterns that had once been only faintly visible had now become much clearer.

Twelve lines, no more and no less, circled its center like twelve tiny stars being lit.

Some were bright, some dim, but all of them shone.

They were the Twelve Laws, the power of the Chrysos Heirs.

They were the final hope Xiao Bai and Black Calamity had bought with countless cycles.

Bai Yuan stared at those twelve patterns, and something indescribable suddenly rose within him.

It was not emotion, nor sorrow, but anger.

The kind of anger that asked, "Why do you always carry everything alone?"

"You've always been taking care of me."

Bai Yuan's voice lowered, but it became even firmer.

"You've always watched over me in silence, always given me strength when I needed it, always guided me when I was lost."

"But what about you? Can't you let me do something for you?"

"Even if it's only a little?"

"Even if it's just hearing you say, 'I'm tired'?"

The Core Flame's flickering paused.

Phainon felt it.

Xiao Bai was listening.

That boy who bore the Core Flames, that savior who had walked alone through countless cycles, was listening.

Bai Yuan took a deep breath, wanting to stand up, wanting to do something.

The Core Flame grew slightly warm in his palm. It was not burning him, but something warmer, softer.

As though someone had taken his hand in the darkness.

It was light and brief, yet it instantly calmed Bai Yuan down.