The End of Hyperion's Search for Her Father

At the Blood King Palace, pitch darkness cloaked the sky, blotting out every trace of light. Only a single blood-red moon remained, transformed into the watchful eye of the palace as it looked down upon this subterranean realm. "Go to hell, you lingering ghost!" Rasheal pushed his magic to its utmost limit, condensing a crimson mirror before him. Reflected on its surface was Lanqi's figure, yet subtly different. The Lanqi in the mirror had hollow eyes and an ashen complexion, draped from head to toe in an ominous aura. "Pope, this is the reflection of your heart," Rasheal said with a ferocious sneer. "On the surface, you are pure, righteous, and stern, yet endless darkness lurks within you. You are no different from us!" No matter how powerful the Holy Polant Pope was, once struck by this spell, he would begin turning against himself. Rasheal refused to believe he couldn't break through his defenses then. The moment the Pope wavered in spirit, the dark Pope within the mirror would step into reality, temporarily becoming a summon under Rasheal's control. Lanqi merely gazed at the magic mirror, a faint touch of innocence lingering at the corner of his lips. "Rasheal," he murmured. The wind of Blood Moon City swept gently by, ruffling his pitch-black hair. "If you look at a goat from the side, you can only say that the side you see is black. You cannot prove that the side you cannot see isn't pure white. What if there exists a goat in this world that is half black and half white?" He watched the crimson mirror unmoved, showing not the slightest concern that his reflection might step out. A second later, the phantom in the mirror shattered with a crisp sound, disintegrating into specks of luminous dust. "..." Rasheal's pupils constricted. He had tested almost every spell in his arsenal, fighting with all his might. Yet his opponent seemed to merely be playing along. No matter what tier-9 spell he cast, none could leave a mark on this terrifying figure in white. At present, the only attacks that seemed to have any effect at all were basic offensive magic spells. Yet that only made it feel more like the Pope was deliberately humiliating him. Were all the spells he took pride in inferior even to an unadorned basic attack? "Why? Why?!" Rasheal roared in fury. "Tens of thousands of years ago, when I realized the Horning Empire was doomed, I discovered that all the citizens in the south had been infected by the blood poison of the Second Progenitor. It was you who suppressed their demonization. Once you were sealed, the people of Horning would all degenerate into demonic fiends, and the Holy Polant Papal State in the north would suffer catastrophe as well. Even knowing all of this, I never wavered. Do you really believe your mental magic can shake me now?" Beneath the mask, the white-robed Pope's emerald eyes seemed to ask Rasheal: *Am I not an evil fiend forged by your Blood Clan's own hands back in that era?* "Are you truly Lancrosse?! You possess his power and his memories, yet your state of mind is entirely unblemished! Just who are you?!" The plaza before the hall resembled a sepulcher. Its walls and floor were built of jet-black stone, carved with grotesque, twisting faces. Surrounding them, crimson will-o'-the-wisps flickered in the darkness, echoing Rasheal's shouts. The palace's outer walls, pieced together from countless stone magic cubes, glinted coldly in the gloom, appearing as though built from structured chaos. And Lanqi stood beneath the palace with his back to the blood moon, his white robes spotless as he looked down upon Duke Rasheal, the Third Progenitor. "I told you, I am Lancrosse Saint Anastasius. I won the revival match and came back." Lanqi's answer had not changed. "...!" The clearest proof that this fellow wasn't Lancrosse was his solemn, deadpan way of giving nonsensical answers, giving off the feeling of a kindergarten teacher teasing a small child. Yet no matter how Rasheal looked at him now, those eyes remained clear—so clear that it made Rasheal profoundly uneasy. Moments ago, the unprecedented black centipede brand on the man's right cheek had been so bizarre and sinister that Rasheal couldn't decipher its underlying principles at all. It wasn't Undying Eternal Punishment, yet it bore an uncanny resemblance to it, perhaps even deadlier. Suddenly, a flicker of blank shock passed through Rasheal's eyes, as if he had sensed an upheaval somewhere within Blood Moon City. "Ulysses...!" He gritted his teeth, clenching a fist that flushed red with blood. He had already learned of the situation at the Hall of the Abyss: Mikhail had actually been rescued. A dignified tier-8 Progenitor couldn't even deal with four tier-7 combatants. A battle that had clearly favored their side, primed to end the grueling clash at any moment, was now abruptly being held by the enemy, dragged out even longer. "Is that so?" Lanqi had also heard Abigail's report through his earpiece regarding the latest developments in the Hall of the Abyss, and he murmured a brief reply to her. "Ulysses... a nostalgic name. I have never forgotten any opponent I've defeated." Lanqi began recounting the past to Rasheal once more. This made Rasheal cover his ears. He had had enough of this fellow's endless post-game analyses. From the history of the Blood Moon Ruined World to the contemporary culture of the Creti Empire, he hadn't stopped talking from beginning to end. "I've encountered many formidable foes in my life. Perhaps Ulysses counts as one. But if I had to name the only opponent who truly gave me a headache..." Lanqi stopped there. He lowered his head and looked at the palm of his hand, as if recalling many things—and a certain person. If given another chance, Lanqi would still choose him. *"You're not still thinking about Askson, are you?"* Talia suddenly asked him. She hadn't expected Lanqi to still be dwelling on that man even during the final showdown. *"You know, I didn't have a choice,"* Lanqi replied to Talia through their mental link. *"Why don't you just spend the rest of your life with your Teacher Old Sang, then!"* Talia thought to herself. *Does this kid have no women around him?* *"The peak spawns hypocritical sycophants; twilight witnesses true believers. Askson's presence has long become part of my daily life. I have no reason to give up on him. Besides, he truly was like a beam of light, illuminating my boring existence,"* Lanqi reminisced with heartfelt sincerity. *"I've really had enough! Ever since I could hear your inner thoughts, I finally realized that your trolling and sincerity have completely merged into one!"* Talia fell silent. Lanqi hadn't even kept the Black Sun Tyrant's decree of eternal punishment active the whole time. He only triggered it when Rasheal attacked him. Even if he made a misstep, it hardly mattered; with his natural resistances, most of Rasheal's mental magic posed little threat to him. Talia even suspected that Lanqi's occasional blunders weren't mistakes at all, but intentional face-tanking of Rasheal's mental spells just to show off his error tolerance. This fighting style, which made it painfully obvious he didn't treat his opponent as a threat, had long been noticed by Rasheal. "Lancrosse... no, you imposter. You don't actually think you can win this time, do you?" Rasheal swept his arm out, his voice sharp and biting. Staring at the white-robed Pope before him, he braced himself to bury the Pope once and for all. Things were no longer the same as in the Horning Empire. This time, their Blood Clan would not make another mistake. As long as they stalled until the God of War's blessing ceremony finished, complete victory would be theirs. These damned fools had poured all their strength into Blood Moon City. What the invaders didn't know was just how many Gods of War on the surface were also under his control! The enemy had fought so wretchedly that their lines had nearly collapsed entirely. He refused to believe they had any hidden cards left on the surface! "Rasheal, flee all you want. You may escape for a moment, but you cannot escape for a lifetime. And I will watch you forever." Lanqi adjusted his mask slightly, allowing the eyes behind the hollow sockets to see Rasheal more clearly. *"Lanqi, you sound weird,"* Talia remarked. Since she was already here, watching from the sidelines left her with nothing else to do. Now that Lanqi had said she wouldn't affect the battle, she was happy to chat with him; whether he responded was his business. *"How is it weird? Does it sound that strange to you?"* Lanqi asked Talia in his mind, puzzled. *"Uh."* Talia imagined it for a moment. If Lanqi were to say to her, *"Flee all you want. You may escape for a moment, but you cannot escape for a lifetime. And I will watch you forever"*... That domineering governor feeling was back, unexpectedly making her heart skip a beat. *"Wait, you want to act out Season Two with me or something?"* Lanqi picked up on Talia's lively thoughts; she was practically rehearsing a script in her head. *"If we achieve complete victory today, it wouldn't hurt for your master to give you a little reward once we get back,"* Talia paused, replying with feigned indifference. Abigail had been looking for cast members for the Half-Demon chapter for a long time. Talia simply hadn't decided whether to accept Abigail's offer yet. If Lanqi still wanted to play along with her, she would do her best to satisfy him. *"I can't tell which of us wants it more,"* Lanqi muttered inwardly. Just thinking about the Ash Princess arc of *Holy War Romance* gave him a phantom headache. If there was a follow-up Half-Demon arc, he really wouldn't be able to take it. He would definitely be the one suffering. "Today, I will destroy all of Blood Moon City. Without the protection of Blood Moon City, no matter where you Blood Clan Progenitors flee on the surface, where could you possibly hide?" Returning to the topic, Lanqi looked across the plaza at Rasheal. "The one who should be fleeing is you!" Beside himself with rage, Rasheal clenched his trembling fist. Commanding the blood mist, countless crimson tendrils shot forth from the fog, sweeping toward Lanqi like vipers once again. ... At the northernmost edge of the void, inside the Faded Hall. With the clash between two powerhouses—the Ice Snow Witch Almis and the Withered Bishop Netochka—the atmosphere for miles around underwent a cataclysmic transformation. The dilapidated courtyard had fractured into two distinct realms. Vines and brambles sprouted wildly, tangling and sprawling as they wrapped layer upon layer around the ruined walls, resembling an endless plant labyrinth. At the same time, the Ice Snow Witch's freezing chill raged, encasing all the greenery in frost. Branches and icicles intertwined, reflecting a faint, ghostly blue light. The ground split open, and bottomless chasms ripped through the courtyard like fanged beasts. Even the ambient moisture froze in an instant, only to be smashed to powder by lashings of vines the next second. "You can't deal any real damage to me. Stop attacking already." Under the Ice Snow Witch's onslaught, Netochka stepped out from behind a colossal defensive tree, stretching her arms in a relaxed yawn. No sooner had she spoken than a slender staff materialized out of thin air in her hand. Vines coiled around the tip of the staff, framing a dripping, verdant gem at its center. With a gentle flick from Netochka, vines shot up from the earth like loosed arrows, coiling toward the Ice Snow Witch. The Ice Snow Witch reacted swiftly. An icicle condensed around her, cleanly severing all the approaching vines. Yet even more towering vines surged forth like a tidal wave, entirely unstoppable. The Ice Snow Witch could only retreat in drifting leaps, condensing frost into an ice barrier to block the assault. The vines wrapped around the ice wall, swiftly grinding it to splinters. Netochka smiled. With a wave of her hand, brambles bursting with vitality broke through the ground, surrounding the Ice Snow Witch and binding her tightly. The Ice Snow Witch struggled, bursting with frost that froze and shattered the enclosing thorns. Yet Netochka merely offered a leisurely smile. The withered thorns revived once more, growing even thicker and tougher than before. These brambles even began siphoning the Ice Snow Witch's vitality, feeding it back to Netochka. The night sky above the Faded Hall was gloomy as ink, thick with dark clouds that obscured even the chilly blood moon. Lightning flashed in blinding white bursts, illuminating the ravaged courtyard. A howling blizzard swept through, carrying clouds of ice shards and withered leaves. The Ice Snow Witch was forced to deploy her strongest environmental magic to swiftly tear through the brambles. "Exquisite demonic spellcraft, truly admirable," Netochka praised sincerely. "Yet before life magic, all things will ultimately return to nature." As Netochka spoke, a warm current flowed through the Ice Snow Witch's body. The skin scratched by the thorns miraculously healed, yet simultaneously, a toxin began dampening the effectiveness of her own healing spells. "..." The Ice Snow Witch realized with a start. This over-healing rejected her own restorative magic, achieving a reduction in her healing capabilities. "Please don't misunderstand, I don't have any strange proclivities," Netochka said, as if seeing through the Ice Snow Witch's thoughts. She gave a playful wink. "I just feel that simply hurting you is too dull. Drawn-out battles are terribly boring, don't you think?" She looked at the Ice Snow Witch. "..." The Ice Snow Witch bit her lip. Several translucent ice blades condensed around her once more, ready to slash away any newly pouncing demonic plants. Securing a victory was nearly hopeless, but she couldn't afford to lose anytime soon. "If you're in the mood, I'm happy to keep you company to the end," the Ice Snow Witch said, staring at the Withered Bishop. In an instant, a mountain-sized icicle heavy with frost plummeted from above, hurtling toward Netochka under the pull of gravity. Netochka smiled faintly and spun lightly. Vines formed a shield around her, fending off the icy mountain entirely. Before the Ice Snow Witch could react, an emerald beam of light shot from Netochka's fingertip, sinking straight into the Ice Snow Witch's chest. The Ice Snow Witch felt a warm current course through her body, immediately followed by a bone-chilling cold that spread swiftly. She realized Netochka's wood magic was directly corroding her mana! Straining with all her might, she snuffed out the mana seed Netochka had planted within her. If struck by too many such spells, she wouldn't last much longer. Vines and icicles clashed; beams of light and freezing air collided. The battle across the courtyard was ferocious, yet strangely hushed, punctuated only by the occasional crack of shattering ice and the whistle of vines tearing through the air. Gradually, the Ice Snow Witch's stamina waned, her breathing growing heavier. In contrast, Netochka remained completely at ease, her enthusiasm undiminished. "It has been a long time since I encountered an opponent as gentle as you. The battle itself feels as relaxing as an afternoon tea," Netochka praised sincerely. "I don't find dueling you enjoyable in the least," the Ice Snow Witch replied with a strained sneer, forcing herself to maintain a combat stance. *"Almis, don't rush. You only need to keep Netochka occupied on your end. The situation is stabilized for now; once Sigrid breaks through, the tide will turn!"* Just as hope was growing dim for the Ice Snow Witch, Abigail's voice came through the communication device. Dodging Netochka's spells, the Ice Snow Witch stole a quick glance at the feed from the Hall of the Abyss that Abigail sent over. A light flashed in her pale blue, almost silver eyes. "Hyperion, I knew you could do it." A gratified smile touched the corner of the Ice Snow Witch's lips. If her student was fighting this desperately, then as her teacher, she could not cower before a formidable foe. "..." At the same time, Netochka also seemed to receive word through the Blood Clan's communication network. Her delicate brows knit slightly, a look of confusion and disbelief flashing across her face. "That's impossible... how could my Holy Son betray me?" Netochka murmured under her breath, though her vine magic remained as tricky and relentless as ever. Across the courtyard, ice and vines intertwined while lightning and howling winds raged. The Ice Snow Witch vaguely sensed that Netochka's mind was no longer on the fight. The news of the Withered Holy Son's betrayal, delivered by the Blood Clan, was like a pebble dropped into the tranquil lake of the Withered Bishop's heart, sending ripples through her thoughts that made it impossible to conceal her inner confusion. She swung her staff mechanically. Her vine magic remained magnificent and precise, but it lacked her earlier passion and joy. As the Ice Snow Witch's attacks struck again and again, Netochka merely parried on instinct. The confusion inside her deepened, and she began giving ground to the Ice Snow Witch. "Was his goal in joining the Resurrection Church not me, the bishop herself?" The Withered Bishop Netochka clutched her forehead in utter bewilderment as she stepped back, lost in thought even as she traded blows with the Ice Snow Witch. "..." The Ice Snow Witch caught the Withered Bishop's mutterings, and the corner of her eye twitched. She was beginning to question the Withered Bishop's character. *Why is she such a hopeless romantic?* Netochka had calculated everything, except that her Holy Son wasn't interested in the drinker—he was only after the wine. ... In the Crimson Abyss, not far from the Hall of the Abyss. Amidst the crumbling ruins, the life-and-death struggle between Hyperion and Ulysses had entered its most brutal phase. The entire battlefield was enveloped in a storm of blood and gore. Ulysses had fallen into a state of utter frenzy. A crimson vortex of mana swirled around him, every inch of his skin radiating a terrifying, murderous aura. Having recalled the power of the blood eagle and the blood bear, the blood aura around Ulysses coalesced into razor-sharp blades, slashing toward Hyperion like a tempestuous deluge. Hyperion moved like a specter, slipping past Ulysses's strikes. Treating offense as defense, she whipped her claw back, aiming straight for the Progenitor's throat in a bid to drag him down with her. "Damn you!" Ulysses blasted Hyperion away with telekinetic magic, yet her dagger still sliced a gash across his neck from a distance. Bright red blood gushed out immediately, stark and glaring against his pale skin. With the Hall of the Abyss breached moments ago, Ulysses—already pushed to madness by the Withered Holy Son's backstab and Hyperion's stubborn resistance—was teetering on the brink of going completely berserk. A wild flame burned in his scarlet eyes, and invisible mana surged violently around his form. "I want you dead!" Since he no longer needed to worry about the Hall of the Abyss, he could unleash his full power to butcher this wretched scorpion-tailed witch! Ulysses roared, telekinesis rippling outward in expanding rings of light. The earth trembled and the mountains shook as countless floating structures collapsed into dust. "Duke's daughter, you have succeeded! But you will also get your wish and die right here!" Ulysses screamed hysterically, his voice hoarse and grating, tinged with the madness of someone pushed past the breaking point. He recalled all the power he had lent to the blood serpent. When that droplet of blood pierced the void and returned to him, the mana around Ulysses surged exponentially. Telekinesis condensed into solid, razor-sharp blades, slashing toward Hyperion in a relentless downpour. Wherever the telekinesis passed, space distorted and matter disintegrated, exuding a terrifying pressure that threatened to annihilate everything. By this point, Hyperion had reached the very end of her rope. Her body was covered in wounds, and black, poisonous blood continuously seeped from the corner of her lips. She strained to support her trembling frame, gripping the scorpion-tail dagger tightly as she did everything she could to evade Ulysses's savage onslaught. *"Hype... bzzz..."* She could barely make out what Abigail was saying over the comms. None of that mattered anymore. She knew she had succeeded in stalling Ulysses, keeping him from returning to the Hall of the Abyss in time. And as long as she held him off a little longer, they could win. Before Ulysses's ever-rising mana, Hyperion was like a lone skiff tossed in a tempestuous sea, precarious and on the verge of capsizing. Soon, she could hold on no longer. Thrown back by the shockwave of Ulysses's telekinesis, she crashed heavily against the broken wall of a floating castle. "Cough, cough." Hyperion felt as if her internal organs had been jostled completely out of place by the violent impact. The black blood she coughed up corroded the stone floor, and her consciousness began to blur. "Hahahahaha... you've reached your limit, haven't you?" Ulysses laughed maniacally, a cruel glint in his eyes. "And I haven't even used my full power yet." The moment he finished speaking, Ulysses thrust both hands forward. Telekinetic force condensed into a colossal hand of blood that blotted out the sky. Moving in tandem with his palms, it reached down toward the weakened Hyperion, aiming to crush the girl into paste. Hyperion struggled to rise, only to find the strength drained from her body. She couldn't tell if her bones were broken or if Melogas's venom had backlashed to its limit. She didn't even know if she could dodge; she could only desperately try to force the muscle tissues that still possessed sensation to move. Everything fell quiet in that instant. Reduced to blank white space. There was only blazing light and darkness. Would it all end in the next second? She didn't know. Yet she still wanted to stall for a little longer. Every second she kept Ulysses occupied gave her companions a greater chance of victory. This time, she had long resolved to wager everything to protect them. That was the meaning of her surviving until today. Yet the anticipated tearing pain of forcing her battered limbs to move never came. Through her hazy vision, a tall, slender silhouette appeared before her, blocking Ulysses's irresistible telekinetic blood hand like an immovable fortress. "..." Hyperion's eyes widened. A curtain of pure dark current unfolded around her, forming an indestructible barrier. Gazing at this darkness, one would find it was not merely dim and gloomy; rather, it held an exquisite, ultimate beauty. Pure, ethereal, and sacredly immaculate, it resembled the very first ray of dark light at the dawn of creation, bearing the mystery of chaos and vibrant, boundless potential. Deep within its gloom sparkled a sea of stars, like faint starlight falling to earth from billions of light-years away. This unadulterated Divine Era darkness was like a gentle, caring mother, embracing all things and nourishing life, allowing everything to ferment and brew in slumber until the time was ripe to release its fragrance and blossom with radiance. It was the bedrock of creation, the cradle that nurtured all existence. "The Original Slate - Darkness..." Hyperion stared blankly at the dark current barrier before her, an indescribable tremor rising in her heart. The light made her eyes sting and flush red. In the end, unbidden, clear tears replaced her blackened tears, streaming down the corners of her eyes. "Hyperion, to think you could make it all the way here..." The man turned his head slowly. His face was gaunt, and as he looked down at Hyperion prostrate on the ground, a look of half-joy, half-sorrow softened his features, carrying a doting, apologetic warmth. "Ah... ah..." Hyperion gazed at the man before her. Tears welled in her eyes, and her lips trembled for a long time before a choked sob escaped her throat. That familiar mana, and that familiar brilliance of the Dark Slate—it had been so long since she had seen them. There was a time when she thought she might truly never see them again in this lifetime. She had never imagined that one day, she would genuinely see her father, freed from his seal, standing before her. "..." On the other side, Ulysses glared fixedly at the dark shadow that had suddenly appeared. A flash of shock crossed his eyes, quickly swallowed by towering rage. Ulysses's face darkened terrifyingly. His fists clenched until the joints popped, his fingernails digging deep into his palms. This Cardinal Bishop who had broken free from his seal had robbed him of his chance to slaughter Hyperion! Above the ruins of the void. Dark threads transformed into warm, abundant mana that enveloped Hyperion's body. The feeling of her bones threatening to shatter eased, and her wounds began slowly knitting together. This was Mikhail's Dark Puppet Mending, a healing-type dark spell. Duke Mikhail had not only mastered a comprehensive array of elements, but he had also refined various spells into his own original dark magic, allowing them to receive the amplification of the Original Slate - Darkness. The young woman trembled, her boundless longing and grievance melting into tears. A dream held for far too long—now that it was realized, it still felt unreal. Perhaps from physical pain, or perhaps because her mental fortitude had reached its limit, her vision grew hazy, leaving only the faint glimmer of Blood Moon City. For a moment, she seemed to see many things. *"Don't worry, a law-abiding little pioneer like me won't throw you under the bus."* That had been at the top floor of Ikerite Academy, where he had spoken to her with a sunny, bright smile. If she had lost that exam, she might have ended up dead in the streets outside the school. ... *"If we don't set off now, we'll never set sail! So trust me, let's go."* In the classroom. That voice was clear and vibrant, sounding eager to embark on a magical journey with her. ... *"Setting aside whether provoking demons is dangerous, there might be good people among demons too. Don't discriminate against demons, Hyperion."* An earnest voice of counsel, echoing down the corridor of Purgatory Corridor Academy. ... *"If we can bring your father back, I'll have a huge backer."* On an ordinary morning, after listening to a lecture on the Original Slates, he had resolved that he would definitely help her find her father. ... *"Hyperion, don't worry. With a detective and a lawyer by your side, there's no way bad guys can touch you."* At the Holy Church's banquet, whenever those two saw a companion in need of help, they would always lend a hand. ... *"You think you can hurt her?"* Facing an assassin sent by the Branch of Destruction in the log cabin restaurant, the gray-haired witch had held her close, her words to the assassin dripping with contempt as if lecturing trash. ... *"No matter the outcome more than a month from now, when I see you again, I will have a ship prepared for you to return to the Southern Continent. So come back safely. May the Goddess bless you."* In the temple of the Northern Continent, the Ice Snow Witch's devout prayers had once reached her ears. ... *"Apologize to both young ladies. If Count Milford's crucial vote is lost and Lord Askson loses the election, how will you take responsibility?"* At the Rock Junction Station, the Great Prelate of Annihilation's harassment had been thwarted by her invisible protector. ... *"I love you to death! To think I'm friends with a duke's daughter! Those noble playboys from the Hutton Kingdom dared to bully you before? Just see if Sinnola and I let them get away with it next time!"* On the carriage back to the Southern Continent, her circle of friends had grown larger and larger. ... *"Miss Hyperion, leave it to me. Please rest assured."* On the night the South Vantina Territory fell, Butler Hans had bowed to her and made that promise. The old man trusted her, willing to let her follow her own judgment to do the right thing. ... *"Why did you come back?"* When the two of them were sharing life and death, on the verge of dying together. Talia had wanted to scream at Hyperion and push her away, yet she was so choked with emotion that she couldn't make a sound. ... *"Today, Princess Hyperion belongs to Great Demon McCarthy. Even if your First Progenitor comes in person, it won't matter."* Lord of the Fallen Caliera had resolutely shielded Hyperion on the throne, prepared to join the fray herself. ... *"Haven't you noticed, though? Reality is drawing closer to your Land of Gentle Slumber. In other words, it can still come true."* On a night in Necalis, Lanqi had suddenly asked her, *"Look, hardly anyone dares to bully you in the Hutton Kingdom now. We have clues about Duke Mikhail, too. Antanas and the others might even help us find Lady Iphatia. In short—whatever dream you have, I'll help you make it come true."* Lanqi had looked at her, raising his glass with a grin as he made that promise. ... *"Will the Blood Clan really lose?"* Xigelei's petite frame had snuggled into her embrace, looking up at her as though comforting Hyperion, yet also seeking comfort herself. She used to read the newspapers every day, struggling to read even when she couldn't understand them or see any hope, just as clumsy as Hyperion. ... *"I won't let you hurt her—!"* In the final moments of Dream Back to Ancient Times, as Melogas's terrifying venomous stinger struck again, silver starlight scattered in the dark night. An ethereal, fairy-like witch had materialized in midair. Her white dress billowed gracefully, her angelic visage entirely devoid of smiles as her hand, veins bulging with rage, caught Melogas's scorpion tail. ... "..." The principal's reflection on the glass remained silent. Even with the stars outside dim and faint, the shadows of the boy and girl on the glass were still clear, mirroring the phantoms of history. It felt as though they had returned to the days when they challenged Purgatory Corridor Academy together. ... *"Hy-Hyperion, you called me mother...? You don't hate me?"* When she was reunited with her mother, Iphatia had embraced her mechanically, uncontrolled tears soaking her hair. *"I... I..."* Iphatia had choked up, unable to catch her breath, let alone speak coherently. Whenever she recalled those words of Ikerite, she would reach out toward scenes of the past, yearning for the happiness she once possessed but could never reclaim. Being alone made certain words hard to fathom; that longing was beyond words, fearful yet infinitely tender. ... Dreams she had once never dared to imagine were coming true, one by one. "Hyperion." "Hyperion, meow." "Hyperion!" Her mind was filled with the voices of friends calling her name. From one, to many. Until the end. Here before her eyes, under the radiance of the Original Slate. Her father's voice, clearly speaking her name. "Hyperion." Mikhail's eyes were filled with guilt and what looked like relief. Even if he had endless things to say, he couldn't find the words for his daughter in this moment. "Yes... I found you." She closed her eyes, tears of joy streaming down her bruised and battered face as she choked out the words like a sleep-talker. The long journey she had traveled until now, countless words—all condensed into this single sentence, as tears of a dream realized streamed endlessly down Hyperion's cheeks.