The words Ester tossed out were like setting off a conceptual bomb in a freezing laboratory.
"Greet the birth of a new Aeon?"
The Herta Doll, caught mid-turn, froze entirely. Deep in those inorganic purple eyes, the data streams that represented operational logic—like a star caught in a supernova—plunged into an unprecedented, almost furious turbulence.
The near-infinite computing power of the space station's core mainframe was instantly mobilized. Countless theoretical models of Aeon births, records of cosmic constants, energy tide maps, cases of Path interference... a massive flood of information surged, collided, and deduced through the invisible network.
The holographic projections in the lab flickered and distorted uncontrollably.
The rose vine pattern symbolizing the Path of Beauty twisted, tangling madly with the balance symbol representing Equilibrium. Beside them, an undefined energy mass—signifying "new life" or "chaos"—popped up abruptly. The entire space felt as if swept by an invisible storm.
"Aeon... new... birth?" The electronic tone of the Herta Doll, rarely, carried a faint, imperceptible tremor. It wasn't emotion, but the shake of massive computing power slamming against the limits of logic. She whipped around to face Ester, the scanning beams in her purple eyes blazing brighter than ever, nearly dissecting him entirely at the material level.
"Ester, based on my analysis of your past behavioral logic database, the probability of you lying is less than 0.07%. But this conclusion..." She paused, as if searching for a precise enough word, "...subverts the understanding of Aeon birth mechanisms under the current model of cosmic constants. Its likelihood..."
On the massive holographic screen, a waterfall of data poured down. Countless branches of possibility, the moment they formed, were marked red—stamped with warnings like "logical paradox," "energy requirements exceeding galactic scale," "uncontrollable Path interference." Finally, a cold, huge number popped up at the center of the screen:
"Success probability: < 0.0000001%"
Virtually impossible.
Yet the Herta Doll didn't immediately sneer or dismiss it.
Those cold purple eyes, for the first time, truly, lingeringly "stared" at Ester—not as an object or a trading partner, but as a... "singularity" that might trigger a cosmic phenomenon.
"Reason tells me this is utterly absurd."
Herta's voice returned to its electronically flat calm, but the curiosity in it burned like something tangible. "But it's this 'absurdity,' this possibility of upending all established rules..."
She tilted her head slightly, as if listening to echoes from the depths of the universe. "...that is itself the ultimate 'unknown,' the ultimate variable even the 'Simulated Universe' never deduced!"
She maneuvered the doll forward, nearly face-to-face with Ester, an invisible pressure spreading out.
"Ester, you've won the bet." Herta's voice held a strange mix of a scientist's frenzy and calm when confronting an ultimate puzzle. "Fight 'Harmony'? No, I'm not the least bit interested in meddling in the petty squabbles of Aeons."
She shifted her tone, a glint of insight in her purple eyes. "But 'observing' the birth of a brand-new Aeon, recording every quantum leap from its conceptual embryo to the manifestation of its laws, analyzing how its Path impacts and reshapes the existing structure of the universe... this is priceless. It's an unprecedented observation window on the road to the 'ultimate answer.'"
She lifted the doll's delicate hand, pointing at Ester—or rather, at the "possibility" he represented:
"The space station 'Herta,' and myself, will intervene in your reckless gamble to a limited extent, as 'observers' and 'data recorders.' Only one condition: the entire 'birth' process must remain observable and recordable. Any attempt to fully block our observation will count as a breach, and cooperation will end immediately." Her demand was cold and direct, treating the birth of a new god as a precious experiment.
A huge weight crashed down from Ester's chest, only to be replaced by a deeper urgency. He was about to speak when a violent surge from their soul link stabbed into his consciousness—it was Elio.
That surge was filled with weakness, anxiety, and... a warning of impending catastrophe.
Ester's face paled. He didn't even have time to explain to Herta before his consciousness plunged into that hidden link.
"Ester," Elio's consciousness came in fragments, like a candle guttering in the wind, weak and on the verge of shattering. But the urgency in it was like a red-hot brand. "The ritual was interrupted by the Arbitrator... 'Harmony' is about to pass judgment..."
In just a few seconds, Ester understood the upheaval in the Transcendent Realm and the imminent crisis.
The Arbitrator, the blade of Equilibrium, had come far sooner than expected.
He opened his eyes, looked at Herta, and his voice was crisp and resolute: "Lady Herta, the blade of Equilibrium's judgment—the Arbitrator—is about to descend on Penglai. I need... immediate help..."
"'The Arbitrator'?"
The purple eyes of the Herta Doll instantly pulled up a mountain of files on the Arbitrator—cold, efficient, like a precision execution machine on a cosmic scale.
She barely hesitated, her fingers swiping rapidly in the air as countless encrypted data streams cascaded like a waterfall.
"The space station's regular defense forces are like paper in front of a full Arbitrator fleet. Direct military intervention? Rejected. But..."
A highly encrypted, extremely complex set of coordinate data and a string of dynamic keys were instantly packaged into a tiny data chip, hovering in front of Ester.
"This is the Deep Space Detection Array's records of anomalous Equilibrium energy surge peaks—captured at several preset hidden coordinates near the Penglai star system—and their predictive models. Their energy signatures match the jump jamming frequency of the known Arbitrator flagship class, 'Hammer of Judgment,' with high precision."
Herta's voice was like cold machinery. "The data has been synced to your personal terminal. It will give you predictions of the Arbitrator fleet's possible jump points and time windows, with an accuracy of roughly ±15 standard minutes. Using this brief information gap is your only chance."
"Enough, Lady Herta." Ester grabbed the data chip, feeling the precious information within. That short window of time might be the key to Luna's survival—and Penglai's.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, knight." The Herta Doll's voice held a warning. "This is just the first data sample from the 'observer.' Remember your promise—keep the process 'observable.'"
The doll's form began to dim slightly, clearly her main consciousness shifting focus.
"As for more substantial help... perhaps you need someone more 'skilled' in handling life and forbidden domains."
Just before the doll fully went offline, Herta's voice came one last time, with a hint of implication:
"I'll contact someone. She has a depth of research—and interest—in 'new life,' especially at the 'divine' level, that you can't imagine. If there's anyone in this universe who can offer 'non-theoretical' help with Aeon birth, it's likely her..."
The doll fell completely still, becoming an exquisite statue in the lab.
Ester clutched the data chip and the Perlaggis Mirror Shield, feeling Elio's warning surges growing fainter by the second.
Time! What he needed most right now was time. He had to act at once.
At the edge of the galaxy, Elio's remaining consciousness flickered like a spark in the wind. Three wounded Mirrorholders, carrying his orders, fled with all their strength into the depths of the universe, searching for the extremely rare "Stellar Dust" and "Void Prism" needed to rebuild the "Veil of Illusion."
But Elio knew this would take time—and the Arbitrator's iron fist would never grant it.
Penglai was in mortal danger. Even with him and Ester, plus whatever limited help Ester might find, they stood no chance against the strike of a full Arbitrator fleet.
The old guard of the Knights of Beauty? Those still frantically searching for Idrila's remnants? No... seeking help from them was impossible.
Betraying Idrila to welcome a new god was unforgivable blasphemy in their eyes; swords drawn would be the only result.
Civilizations once sheltered by the Knights of Beauty? Elio's thoughts swept across the star map.
Kind, grateful, but... weak.
In the face of the divine authority represented by the Arbitrator, their resistance would only bring pointless sacrifice. Neither Ester nor Elio would ever shift their duty to protect onto other races as disaster.
Time was short, and conventional methods wouldn't work. Elio's broken consciousness burned at the edge of despair, searching for a last sliver of possibility.
His "Transcendent Realm" authority, though severely weakened by his injuries, retained a faint spark of its core connection ability.
Suddenly, his consciousness caught some extremely faint glimmers in the star sea—like cosmic dust adrift. They were the afterglow of the Path of Beauty, but not pointing to Idrila. Instead, they were filled with confusion, exhaustion, and... the quiet of crushing disheartenment. They were the "Apostates."
They had once been glorious Knights of Beauty, bathed in Idrila's radiance. But with the goddess's disappearance and the collapse of her Path, the pillar of their faith crumbled.
They couldn't sink into the frantic search like others, nor could they fully fall into the emptiness of embracing "Omen." They chose to exile themselves, shed their armor, seal their swords, like lost ships adrift in the vast corners of the universe, fading away.
They'd let go of their obsession with Idrila, but lost their knightly conviction and home.
"These are the ones..." Elio's consciousness flared with its last light. Letting go of obsession... that was precisely the key to possibly accepting the concept of a "new god."
Their power might have faded from despair, but the mark of Beauty still lingered deep in their souls. Most importantly, through the remaining Path link network of the "Transcendent Realm," Elio could send a call to these scattered individuals in the shortest time, with the least cost.
No time to hesitate.
Elio's remaining consciousness erupted with a final, desperate glow—like the last flicker before a supernova.
He stopped trying to stabilize the "Transcendent Realm," instead pouring all his power, will, plea, and the warning of imminent crisis into a single, invisible call that spanned the star sea.
It wasn't an order, nor a begging. It was from the depths of the soul, full of pain and hope, aimed precisely at the hearts of every "Apostate"—branded by Beauty, now lost in the ruins of faith.
"Comrades once bound by the name of Beauty..."
"This is no call to arms, but the last echo of the oaths we once shared, at the edge of the abyss..."
"The cold blade of 'Equilibrium' already hangs over the throat of what we swore to protect. Not for the remnants of the past, but... a new light, struggling to tear through the curtain of eternal night,"
"The pain of shattered faith once scorched your souls, dulled your swords, dimmed your mirror shields..."
"Yet when 'protection' itself is the foundation of our existence, when the fading of 'Beauty' unfolds before our eyes... has that instinct etched into our bones, that fire that once drove us to burn ourselves for strange stars, truly... gone out?"
"Not to demand faith, nor to beg forgiveness..."
"This battle is only to guard a flickering light! Only to prove to this cold universe—that 'new life' itself is worth defending, even if it costs us our broken bodies, burned to ash."
...
This full of complex emotion, acknowledging pain, asking only for a response from the instinct to protect—was like a red-hot shard of star thrown into a stagnant pool. It stirred violent, silent ripples in countless forgotten corners:
In the depths of an abandoned mining planet, a figure huddled in the wreckage of a rusted mech jolted. Fingers caked in grime trembled, reaching for the inner layer of their armor—where a worn,体温-warmed rose badge of Beauty glowed with an unprecedented, burning heat.
In a dim bar on a freighter, a drunkard, face buried in cheap liquor, suddenly froze. On the bar, an unremarkable metal ring he'd used to hold his tab—with a tiny starstone inlaid inside—blazed like a needle, stinging his bleary eyes and piercing the thick fog of forgetfulness. He looked up, bloodshot eyes no longer dull, but roiling with shock, pain... and a faint, forcibly roused, long-lost thrill. He clenched his fist, the ring digging into his palm.
On a ship adrift in an interstellar dust cloud, the encrypted coordinate signal of Elio's call flickered like a guttering candle on the bridge's main screen. A figure in the captain's chair fell silent for a long time. She'd once been a renowned captain in the knight order. The faint light of the screen lit half her face; the other half lay in shadow. Finally, a hand in a metal glove slowly, firmly settled on the main engine's activation lever. The engine's low hum replaced the ship's deathly silence—like the heart of a sleeping behemoth... starting to beat again.
Across the star sea, countless such glimmers, deep in silence, apathy, or self-exile, were ignited by this particular call.
They didn't shout slogans, no declarations. Only heavy rises, silent polishing of dusty armor and weapons, and when they looked at the coordinates Elio had sent, in their eyes was that long-buried resolve of knights... and a faint, complicated glimmer at the word "new life."
After sending this call that drained his last strength, Elio's consciousness sank into无边 darkness and weakness. He couldn't know how many would answer, but he'd given his all, handing the power of choice back to the sparks that might never have truly died in those lost knights' hearts.
Those figures, long numbed or drowning in dissipation, looked up. In their clouded eyes, it seemed a long-forgotten spark, in the endless dark, flickered... ever so faintly.
Deep in the core communication matrix of the Herta Space Station, an encrypted information stream—transcending conventional physical dimensions—traversed countless star systems via a path unique to the Genius Society, nearly unblockable.
At its core were multiple logic-locked summaries of Ester's information, fragments of deep energy structure analysis of the Perlaggis Mirror Shield, and... key data deduction models on the "possibility of a new Aeon's birth."
At the end of the stream was Herta's signature message—concise to the point of coldness:
"Observation target: Potential cosmic-level life form ascension event. Trigger coordinate: Penglai. Associated individual: Ester, Captain of the Knights of Beauty."
"Current data indicates the event fundamentally conflicts with 'Harmony' laws, triggering direct intervention from 'Harmony' and deployment of Arbitrator forces. The event core involves high-level life creation and Path interference principles, with theoretical overlap with your current 'Forbidden Cradle' project."
"Intervention value assessment: Critical empirical window to break through current ceilings in life creation theory; irreplicable opportunity to observe 'Aeon-level life birth.'"
"The space station will intervene to a limited extent as 'observer.' Will you participate? Note: Target individual urgently requires non-standard solutions to counter imminent 'Harmony' judgment."
The information stream, like a stone cast into the deep sea, vanished at the end of the dimensional passage.
At its destination—
In a quiet star system shrouded by a strange force field, seemingly separate from the rest of the universe, floated a ring-shaped space station. It looked ancient and elegant, as if formed by the symbiosis of giant biological bones and glowing plants.
In the station's core, a lab filled with a faint cool fragrance—its walls made of living tissue that flowed with life runes—a woman in a simple cyan robe sat, her aura like an orchid in an empty valley. She gazed quietly at a huge, complex cultivation device in front of her, composed of countless floating amber energy fluids and biological tissues.
Inside the device, a curled, faintly starry embryo-like form was visible.
Her slender fingers brushed the control panel unconsciously. On it, the encrypted information stream from Herta decoded and unfolded silently.
When her eyes—like the finest jade, seemingly always calm as a still lake—landed on keywords like "Aeon-level life birth" and "conflict with Harmony," a faint ripple passed through their depths. A ripple enough to outshine stars.
She took a slow bite of the dessert on her plate, thoughtful.
Her gaze shifted from the cultivation device in front of her to the "Penglai" coordinate marked in the information stream.
"What a nice gift, Herta..."