Phainon

Aedes Elysiae, a remote frontier village isolated from the world, now lives on only in cryptic legends.

The nameless hero, ████████, the Chrysos Heir holding the Coreflame of "Worldbearing," memorizes the ideals of the entire world, carries the fate of millions, and brings the first light of dawn to the new world

—"But if dawn should never come, let this fury consume this body, and rise as tomorrow's blazing sun!"

Aedes Elysiae, the boy's hometown.

The village lived by the rhythm of the sun: working at daybreak, resting at sundown, just like his own life, simple and unadorned.

In a tiny schoolhouse that could barely fit a handful of students, the boy drifted off during a droning history lesson, his thoughts floating away with the wood shavings dancing from his hands.

Stroke by stroke, the figure of a warrior slowly emerged from the block of wood hidden in his desk drawer.

"A mighty greatsword... only a blade like that could match this strength..."

He sharpened the edges of the wood chip in the sunlight.

"Armor scarred by honor, a cloak like wings soaring through the storm."

"And then..."

"Phainon! If you want to be the strongest warrior... you'd better start paying attention."

Miss Pythias never gets tired of dragging him back to reality.

The boy preferred the training yard stacked with hay bales far more than school.

It was his battlefield — where scarecrows turned into charging soldiers, or wild beasts on the rampage.

When he was not at school, he often spent entire days there with his carved wooden comrades, until the smell of cooking wafted from every household.

Beneath the cool shade of the trees, the exhausted boy could fall asleep right on the grass.

In his broken dreams, he gazed at city-states he had never seen and witnessed grand tales unfold.

"Go... become a hero."

That voice, like the endless waves of wheat in Aedes Elysiae, guided the boy onto the road of adventure.

Facing the young drifter from afar, the weaver and the childlike seer would sometimes speak of the Flame-Chase and Chrysos Heirs.

The weaver's sightless eyes seemed to see through his inner turmoil, while the seer's bright innocence gave him a warm sense of home.

"So... the Chrysos Heirs were destined by the heavens?"

The young man asked, gathering his courage.

The weaver shook her head.

"No. It's more like a long, grueling pilgrimage."

The young man tucked away the wheat-scented memories of his past and joined the holy city's legion, training day and night until difficult swordplay became as natural as breathing.

In a death match that stunned the world, he battled the crown prince of Kremnos for ten days and nights. In each sweeping strike, he wielded his blade as if he'd already offered up his life without hesitation.

Of course, more often than not, the young man greeted the world with humor and ease.

"I just want people to feel comfortable around me," he would say.

Though his friends often scoffed at that, they knew it was that very spirit that earned the silver-haired youth the trust and respect of commoners and nobles alike in the holy city.

During his years of study at the Grove, even though he had little interest in logic, the young man often triumphed in debates with his sharp wit after poring over books until the pages wore thin.

Though he could not outcompete his teacher's wisdom, deep down he knew — it was the courage to stay true to himself that he still lacked.

Yet when the young man returned from the battlefield and after the physician had bandaged his wounds, there was still a long silence.

"Lord Phainon... do you often wake in the night, or find yourself unable to sleep?"

He didn't mind.

To walk the path that would strike down the gods themselves, he had to carve himself into the shape the people needed him to be.

The god who wielded the Lightning Spear fell into madness. In the battle named Strife, the man and his comrade gave the mad god the final release.

In the debate where the Coreflame of Reason was contested, the man faced down his old mentor and witnessed a brutal execution.

On the battlefield of the Sky, he crossed the rainbow bridge, piercing the gloom with the burning light of the sun, lighting the perilous road ahead.

"Deliverer, lead us forward."

Hearing those words of relief from the weaver, he felt only a bitter ache, a worry he refused to show in front of the crowd.

The crown prince of Kremnos, scarred by a thousand deaths, entrusted his people to him.

"Don't worry. I'll look after them for you."

The seer, her body split into countless pieces, faded away, and he took up the oath she had sworn before her journey.

"Miss Tribbie, I will live to see that morrow filled with the radiance of stars..."

The scholar raced toward death in search of truth. The Holy Maiden embraced her lonely fate.

"In the next life, truth will be revealed, and life and death will find their rightful place."

The weaver found eternal rest in a golden bath. The fleet-footed rogue stopped in regret. The healer who once roamed the skies would never again return to the earth.

"With my body as kindling, I will become the blaze that lights the new world."

The man could not shed tears, but used these searing pains to carve such memories into his mind.

Bearing the hopes of all people, he staggered toward the mountain peak where the morning sun rises.

He believed that, one day, the dawn would break through the endless night of Amphoreus.

"But should dawn have never existed..."

He had asked himself that question thousands of times.

Now, heading toward the blazing, merciless end, he carved the final mark of "Phainon"—

"Let the fires of rage burn this body to ashes and transform into the blazing sun of tomorrow!"

As he had countless times before, he once again saw it through the blaze —

Morning light pouring over the wheat fields of Aedes Elysiae, bathing the village in a golden glow.

"Feels like... I've had this dream a thousand times before..."

The boy rubbed his sleepy eyes as he woke beneath the tree.

In the dream, the sun fell from the sky, the statue of a hero crumbling, melting, shattering, consuming the world in flames.

In the dead silence, a familiar figure, charred and broken, trudged alone into the endless darkness.

"That figure burned itself away... and everything else around it too..."

The boy stared blankly at the unfinished wooden carving. The searing anger and deep self-loathing from the dream still echoed through his heart.

"Maybe that broken world... is calling out for a hero..."

"What will the future look like?"

Lying back on the soft, golden straw, the boy pictured an epic tale unfolding before his eyes.

"Maybe the hero will roam the world, righting wrongs, solving impossible problems, yet leaving no name behind...

"Carrying a mysterious past, defying a cruel fate, and vanquishing fearsome enemies.

"When the world teeters on the brink, they'll honor their vow with a heart pure and true — wherever they go, peace and prosperity will follow...

"Even if they fall a hundred times, a thousand times, a million times... A hero can be destroyed, but never defeated..."

If nothing had changed...

The days at Aedes Elysiae would have continued to drift by quietly, just as they always had.

That tiny ember had already been planted deep in his heart at the start of his journey.

When the boy grew into a young man, when he once again stood at the ferry, setting out toward distant lands...

He would rush toward the future, forgetting the broken dreams he left behind.

He wouldn't realize how long and arduous the road ahead would be — not until he had used himself as the kindling to feed a futile flame.

Only when he reached the end would he learn how far he had come.

One last time, he would remember that morning when the sun first rose and who he was when he carved the first shape of his ideals. In the years to come, he would give that person a new name: "Deliverer."

And so, his name faded into the scattered fragments of memory.