"Hehe, but it's okay. I can learn. By the way--search: [ Cyrene ♪]"
"Why didn't I think of that? I don't have to do it all by myself; I can have Peaches teach me! What is [love]? What is [affection]...?"
"... Eh, is it [pity]? Or [love]?"
To Demiurge's surprise, this time there was no familiar Intellitron voice. Instead, Cyrene's phantom appeared quietly in front of her, like stardust gathered by the evening breeze.
"The daughter of Aedes Elysiae, truly lives up to her name."
The illusory figure leaned slightly forward, and although there was no tangible gaze, it seemed as if a gentle look fell upon Demiurge's bewildered face. The voice carried an ethereal echo, yet was incredibly real:
"My 'pity'... is a weak, powerless, self-inflicted harm."
"But now, my dear friend, I want to tell you that it is also the most Romance force in the world."
Cyrene's tone softened further, and her hands, formed of light and shadow, gently covered Demiurge's tightly clenched hands.
The touch wasn't physical, but it was like a handful of clear spring water, with a soothing coolness.
Sometimes, it's loneliness, unease. It's knowing the world isn't gentle, and hoping to be seen in a more beautiful light.
Cyrene's illusory figure turned its head slightly, as if recalling something, or perhaps gazing at an invisible scar in the distance.
Sometimes, it's resentment and regret. It's knowing the past is full of pain, and hoping to remember it in a more beautiful way.
"And sometimes, it is a bottomless wound, a ' Destruction ' that permeates everything."
"I bid farewell to this beautiful world, unwilling to become a vessel for the Black Tide."
"Because the end of 'hatred' is a raging fire, but 'pity' can silently engulf everything."
"This is completely unreasonable, isn't it?" She tilted her head slightly, revealing a smile that was both slightly bitter and incredibly gentle.
When hatred separates all things, love no longer exists in the world...
Cyrene's illusory figure floated forward lightly with one step, leaving a hazy trail of light dust behind her.
Only "pity," the initial emotion resisting separation, can halt " Destruction "...
She suddenly stopped, turned around, and looked at Demiurge: "Only ' Eternity ' can catch up with that journey that has lost everything, carefully selecting and uneasily recording it."
"Look, the stories I've written are filled with tenderness and happiness on every page." Cyrene's illusory figure spread out her hands, as if invisible pages were turning in her palms, conjuring countless scenes of happiness.
"Only the poet knows how much struggle and pain lies beyond the story." Her voice trailed off again, turning into a sigh, and the light and shadow dimmed for a moment.
"But I am not a poet, I am a girl who will never grow up. I only tell stories that inspire longing, stories in which the world hides its scars and smiles as people see them."
"My whole life has been encapsulated in this little story. It can neither wipe away the tears nor bring victory."
But...
Cyrene's voice suddenly rose, carrying a faint yet incredibly persistent hope, and the light and shadow brightened again, like the dawn piercing through the thin mist:
"Perhaps, in the midst of this unchanging narrative, at some point, my [pity] might also touch the divine and reach His tender heart?"
Her ethereal figure leaned slightly forward, her hands clasped together in front of her chest, in a gesture of prayer:
"I will make a wish, that what flows from that wound will not be blood, but a single, moist tear." Cyrene's voice was as soft as a feather falling to the ground.
"And it will fall, creating the first ripples."
"Then people will see that what is reflected in the ripples is all that is beautiful."
Cyrene's voice faded into the distance, her figure grew fainter, and her last words were like a candle flickering in the wind.
"It's all the [ Remembrance ] in this story."
The light and dust completely dissipated, leaving only the lingering echoes of the words and the imagination about ripples, gently reverberating before Demiurge.
A sense of emptiness lingered where the girl had vanished, while the low hum of the Scepter δ-me13 echoed eerily through the tomb.
Demiurge knelt on the cold ground, her long, pink hair falling down, partially obscuring her exquisite face, which resembled Cyrene's but appeared even more ethereal.
Those eyes, which had once struggled to express emotions, were now filled with childlike confusion, and soft murmurs broke between their lips.
"Confusion... is the starting point of understanding." A gentle voice sounded from beside her.
Ye Yan had quietly arrived beside her without her noticing; his robes brushed the ground without leaving a speck of dust.
He did not look down on her, but naturally squatted down, his gaze level with that of the kneeling Demiurge, and his fingertips gently brushed against the star-like [∞] hair ornament in Demiurge's hair.
"Your story is beautiful, full of the courage to explore. Cyrene's story, however, reveals another truth about existence—about the price and the gains that come with courage."
Ye Yan's gaze fell on Demiurge's wrist, on the milk tea pendant that shimmered with amber light:
Let me tell you a story too, a story about Eternity, pity, and love.
"Let's use... a flavor we're familiar with as a metaphor."
Demiurge slightly raised her head, a glimmer of light appearing in her bewildered eyes. Instinctively, she touched the small milk tea pendant on her wrist with her fingertips.
Ye Yan's voice flowed slowly, as if this scene had played out many times before. When the [ Church of Eternity ] was first founded, He told almost every child a similar story.
Millions of years ago, there existed a kind of pure, sweet rain in the Milky Way. It was crystal clear, without a trace of impurity, as if it were solidified Eternity.
"It flows alone, reflecting the birth and death of stars, witnessing the changing of all things, yet never changing itself in the slightest. This sweet rain symbolizes absolute [ Eternity ]."
"But these tiny creatures overlooked one point: [ Eternity ], though it cannot be worn away, can also feel loneliness."
Ye Yan paused, then flicked his wrist slightly, as if sketching in the air.
The milk tea pendant on Demiurge's wrist seemed to ripple with the amber liquid as Ye Yan spoke:
"Later, a drop of [pity] dew fell into this Eternity rain."
This drop of dew is filled with compassion for all things fleeting in this world—for the brevity of morning dew, for the withering of flowers, for the sigh of meeting and parting.
"The taste... at first it's slightly bitter."
Ye Yan pursed his lips. Back then, it really took a lot of effort to prepare the milk tea, and he even specially tied up [ Elation ] Aha to be his Little Bai.
"Pity is not weakness; it is the gentlest tremor when the heart perceives the weight of the world."
"It allowed the Eternity rain to experience the possibility of 'loss' for the first time, and to feel the existence of 'fragility'."
"This weight prevented Gan Lin from maintaining that absolute lightness and flawlessness."
Demiurge listened intently, his long elven ears trembling slightly.
She seemed to recall the fragmented light and shadow as Cyrene vanished, and an indescribable bittersweet feeling spread through her newly formed heart. Was this the taste of sorrow...?