"So, you weren't just a lone piece of firewood... but a bonfire built from the bones of countless others."
"But... what about you?" Hyacine asked, her voice trembling.
"What are your own... countless desires of your own...?"
Khaslana remained silent for a long time without responding to the question.
Hyacine, however, already understood everything. "Ah... Lord Khaslana... so that's how it is..."
"No flaws... that's precisely the most fatal flaw that the Golden Blood brings you..."
Remember? The " Savior " is the only Oracle Card without any negative interpretation.
"When you shoulder the world's burdens without complaint..."
"Your own 'self' could never be born."
A blank sheet of paper can hold all colors, but it has no color of its own. It is precisely because of this that Khaslana can Worldbearing.
"This is truly... an unexpected bonus..."
"Then I shall be the most suitable kindling for this World-Saving," Khaslana said.
Hyacine shook her head. "No... an empty flame can't save anyone..."
"But... I still choose to believe in you, my Savior."
Hyacine turned around, her tone resolute.
"I, Hyacinthia, the Eye of Dawn and Dusk and Dusk... am neither powerful enough to command the winds and rains, nor willing to end this absurd farce with the fall of the sky..."
"All I can do is become one with the sky, and then..."
May that gentle rainbow... bring your sun an unseen hue...
"To bring a rosy dawn to Amphoreus..."
Do you remember Khaslana, who never saw the dawn?
In that blissful, dreamlike state, the mountains were high and steep, and you saw yourself.
Believe me, those who came after, he was singing joyfully with everyone on that mountaintop.
The incomplete Chrysos Heirs, and the deformed demigods, sang with him, swirled and danced, stamping their feet. Oh! Fear trembled in his heart: the Prophecy filled every soul, ecstatic and bewildered.
Forgive them, Khaslana, forgive them—your incomparable flames are terrifying!
Let them sing of tireless heroes, of Re-Creation, of the land where wine and honey flow. Sing of how he added glory among the stars, and how the " Eternity " city fell with a crash.
How the Okhema, the Castrum Kremnos, and all the bloodlines they knew Destruction. As for Khaslana —he was in that intoxicating dream, atop the steep mountain!
He ignited the flames with his blood, and the flames ignited the blood, like the sun forcing all evil to stay away. The mountain was high and steep, and there he reveled and danced alone, never stopping.
The wind in the Abyss of Fate, carrying the biting chill of the pre-dawn season, swirled up the iridescent feathers scattered on the ground.
As soon as Hyacine finished speaking, a light, even softer yet purer than the " Dawn Machine," shone around her.
That was neither divine flame nor divine power; it was her life as a healer in the Duskglow Courtyard.
All the gentleness and determination of " Hyacinthia " are stripped from her bones and blood, sublimated, and bloom towards the sky.
"Though the light is almost murky, it still retains warmth... Savior, please... open your heart to me."
The Hyacine in the light has no painful roars, nor any struggle of divinity devouring humanity.
She simply opened her arms calmly, as if embracing the sky.
Rainbow light seeped from Hyacine's fingertips, hair, and even every inch of her skin. Her figure stretched and grew taller in the light, and her bones extended and formed a huge and beautiful skeleton amidst the crisp sound of growth.
There was no flesh and blood, only the white bones that were as clear as jade, shimmering with a warm rainbow light in the dim light before dawn.
In the 23,570,000th Eternal Recurrence, Hyacinthus, the " Eye of Dawn and Dusk," with the gentlest of healers, spread her sky-covering bone wings above the sea of dawn clouds in the Abyss of Fate.
Phew--!
Two intertwined long sounds rang out simultaneously, one clear and melodious like a morning bell, the other distant and resonant like an evening drum, piercing through the thick, eternal night clouds and echoing across the entire Dawncloud Cliff.
With this cry, the sky, which had been frozen for ten thousand years, suddenly came to life.
The clouds were tinged with the rosy hues of dawn, yet a silvery, cold moon still hung in the sky. Sun and moon hung together, dawn and dusk coexisted, and the entire sky resembled an overturned palette.
Gold, red, blue, purple, silver... countless colors flow and intertwine, creating a breathtakingly beautiful scene.
Khaslana beneath this beauty lay the power of the "sky," a power capable of crushing everything.
Sure enough, the next second--
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Countless golden rays of light spilled from the wings of the morning sun, like sunlight filtering through the leaves, looking gentle and harmless.
However, when they landed on the ground, they blasted craters several meters in diameter, and the hard Cornerstone of the prayer hall melted like butter in the light.
With a gentle flap of its bone wings, " Eye of Dawn and Dusk " unleashed countless sharp, moon-white wind blades that whistled and sliced through the air, freezing it into tiny ice shards wherever they passed.
The dawn and dusk, symbolizing " Destruction," one hot and one cold, one hard and one soft, surged in from all directions like a tide, completely blocking all of Khaslana's escape routes.
Khaslana shook his head; he could count the trajectory of each of her bone feathers even with his eyes closed.
As " Dawn's Advance " was drawn, golden-red divine flames and dark purple Black Tide intertwined on the sword, forming a strange two-colored arc of light.
Instead of retreating, Khaslana advanced, his toes touching the eaves of the prayer hall, and like an arrow released from a bow, he charged forward into the sky filled with blades of light and rays of light.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The crisp sounds of sword blades colliding with light blades blended together, and four kinds of light—golden red, dark purple, gold, and silver—intertwined in mid-air to form a dazzling ball of light.
Khaslana's figure weaved through the impenetrable attacks, each sword strike precisely hitting the weakest point of the light blade, like the sharpest knife cleaving through the torrent along its grain.
"It's alright, let this blazing sun..."
"Fill the sky with golden flames."