Honkai Star Rail: Wait! Why Are There Two Saviors on Amphoreus?!

"Lord Phaethon," she turned her head, her eyes—usually carrying a hint of misty haze—now exceptionally clear as they looked at him. "You... are hesitating, lost, even... doubting yourself, aren’t you?"

Phaethon’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly. He almost instinctively wanted to deny it.

"How could that be? You’re joking, Castorice. I am, along with Phainon, called the ’Deliverer’ by everyone. How could I, at a time like this..."

"But the look in your eyes just now... I am far too familiar with it."

Castorice seemed not to hear his defense, continuing on her own, in a tone almost like a dreamy murmur:

"I thought for a very, very long time. So long that only when I placed the last flower before the tomb of the final unknown warrior did I suddenly realize where I had seen such a look before..."

She slowly raised her hand, her fingertip gently touching the corner of her own eye. "The look in your eyes just now, Lord Phaethon, was exactly the same as the one I see... in my own eyes, in the mirror, every night when I wake alone."

"Both so... lost, hesitant, filled with self-denial."

Perhaps it was because of Castorice’s unusually firm gaze now, or perhaps because of her words, "just like mine."

The denial that had reached Phaethon’s lips ultimately remained unspoken.

He simply fell silent, acquiescing.

Seeing he no longer refuted, Castorice continued speaking softly, as if confiding, yet also as if sorting through emotions pent up for centuries by talking to herself:

"This feeling of being lost... has almost defined my entire life up to this point."

Her voice drifted like clouds in the night sky. "Why was I born with these hands that bring ’Death’? Why do I possess a lifespan comparable to, even surpassing, that of ordinary demigods, so long?

Where do I truly come from? And where should my existence ultimately lead?... These questions, like eternal mist, have shrouded me for centuries."

Castorice tilted her head back, looking at the sky, then slowly turned her gaze back to Phaethon. Now, her eyes were filled with a newfound resolve.

"For the past few centuries, I have tried almost every method to seek the ultimate meaning of life and death, to solve the mystery of my existence."

"But perhaps... I’ve been looking in the wrong direction all along. The answer might never have been somewhere out there. It has always been within me, within my own fate."

Castorice took a deep breath of the cold night air, her voice becoming clearer and firmer:

"For centuries, out of fear and uncertainty, I have never truly mustered the courage to directly face the most likely source intimately connected to my abilities—Thanatos, the Titan of Death."

"I have been evading the true ’departure’."

Her gaze became intense, fixed on Phaethon. "But, Lord Phaethon, our world... does not have another few centuries for us to continue hesitating and evading. The Black Tide will not grant us that opportunity."

"If you are truly determined to become that ’Deliverer,’ then you... can no longer afford to be this lost."

"I believe: it is better to set out than to hesitate. Perhaps even today, Fate might show a moment of mercy, bestowing a bit of kindness." Her tone carried a determination akin to burning one’s boats.

She slowly stood up, her dress fluttering slightly in the night breeze.

Castorice looked down at Phaethon, still seated on the battlement. A light she had never shown before shone in her eyes.

"I have made my decision. I will seek the truth of my origin. I will face the fate that belongs to me—the fate of ’Death’."

Then, she extended an invitation to Phaethon:

"And you, Lord Phaethon."

"If you wish to know the answer, if you are willing to witness how a girl who was lost for centuries finally musters the courage to face her own fate..."

"Then come with me, and bear witness... to the birth of the Demigod of ’Death’."

...

Okhema, the Heroes’ Bath.

Steam rose like gossamer, coiling over the surface of the pool.

Aglaea stood by the white jade poolside, her long gown trailing on the ground, her gaze serene as she watched Castorice immersed in the spring waters.

"Castorice, are you truly resolved?" she asked softly, her voice creating faint echoes in the spacious bath.

Castorice lifted her arm, watching the warm water trickle from her fingertips.

"Mmm..." her reply was light as a sigh, yet carried unshakable firmness. "My resolve is set—I will walk towards my fate."

"I will personally ask ’Death’: Why must death be an intrinsic part of life?"

She turned her head, looking towards the faintly visible figure beneath the distant colonnade. A gentle smile touched the corner of her lips:

"Besides... Phaethon is still hesitating. As the Deliverer of this tale, he cannot afford to be afraid to take a step. So let me... light a lamp for him first."

Aglaea lowered her eyes slightly, her eyelashes casting faint shadows beneath them.

Her voice was tinged with barely concealed sorrow. "I never imagined that my initial intent, merely to make Phaethon understand that salvation is not a perfect fairy tale... would instead lead both Golden Descendants towards their own fates."

Castorice rose from the water. Droplets slid down her skin, blossoming into crystalline traces on the marble floor.

She walked up to Aglaea. "I think... perhaps it’s because... each of our fates has long been inextricably intertwined with one another."

Castorice’s smile now was as warm as the dawn, her voice full of strength. "And precisely because of this, one person’s confusion can compel another, filled with fear, to take the first step through the mist... isn’t that so?"

"Castorice, has anyone ever told you that your eyes today are brighter than ever before?" A glimmer of what seemed like relief flashed in Aglaea’s eyes.

...

Okhema, Marmoreal Market, across the continuous rooftops.

Two figures were flying at astonishing speed, one after the other, leaping lightly from roof to roof, stepping across rows of tiles, stirring up faint whispers of wind.

"Cipher! You stop right there!" Phaethon’s voice carried a note of exasperation as he chased the figure ahead, agile as a true cat.

The figure ahead—Cipher—even had the leisure to glance back and make a face, her voice full of slyness and ease:

"Oh dear, oh dear, Deliverer Chef, don’t be so serious~ I was just bored today, so I ’borrowed’ your appearance for a bit to ’inspect’ the work at your Golden Eatery, and while at it sampled a few of your secret recipe grilled fish!"

"Not bad! Though I only give it four stars. Only the ones you grill get five stars from me!"