Chapter 319: The Story Welt Tells
Welt pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, gathering his thoughts. He prepared to break down the complex functions of the "Future TV" and the underlying mechanics of the "Chat Group" for Herta and Sunday, knowing both scholars would demand precise, logical details.
Before he could utter a single syllable, a relentless barrage of notifications hijacked his concentration. The digital pings from the Chat Group flashed across his mind's eye with blinding frequency, completely impossible to ignore. Stelle was tagging him over and over again, her digital persistence bordering on a localized cyber-attack.
'It seems the kids in the group are getting impatient,' Welt mused, a faint, helpless smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He decided to offer a brief response to soothe the chaotic youth before diving back into his heavy, academic discussion with Herta and Sunday.
Closing his eyes for a brief second, he shifted his focus entirely, letting his consciousness sink into the familiar interface of the group chat.
The moment his mind connected to the digital feed, a specific string of text burned itself into his retinas. It was a name so deeply ingrained in his very being that his soul violently shuddered in response.
Herrscher of Flamescion.
That name...
Welt's breathing hitched. A sudden, invisible weight seized his lungs.
Back in his homeland—a world scarred by endless, apocalyptic wars against the catastrophe known as the Honkai—that title carried an agonizing weight. It belonged to a Valkyrie of Schicksal. A woman who had raised a rebellious, burning greatsword against the gods themselves. Himeko Murata. It was the name of a battlesuit forged in the crucible of unyielding will, representing the absolute pinnacle of ultimate sacrifice.
Distant, fragmented memories crashed through his mental defenses. The phantom scent of ozone, rust, and dried blood filled his senses. A sharp, suffocating pang of tragedy gripped his chest, intertwined with a heavy, melancholic nostalgia. He had truly believed that beneath this new, vast firmament—a universe governed by Aeons and defined by Paths—he would never again have to face the lingering ghosts of the Honkai.
'Calm down, Welt,'he ordered himself, his mental voice strict and unyielding. He frantically constructed a dam of pure logic to hold back the tidal wave of dark emotions threatening to drown his composure.'The universe is infinitely vast. The sea of worlds is endless. It is completely logical for creations bearing the exact same name to appear by sheer coincidence.'He scoured his recent memories, desperately seeking any scrap of evidence to validate this fragile coincidence theory.', every single reward distributed by the Chat Group thus far has explicitly originated from universes completely disconnected from its members. There has never been a single item directly tied to our own respective homelands. This is merely a coincidentally named piece of armament from some distant, unrelated dimension. Yes. That has to be it.'
He stubbornly hammered that rationalization into his mind. He vastly preferred the illusion of coincidence over confronting the agonizing reality of a battlesuit steeped in tears, blood, and irreversible partings. That specific chapter of history was simply too heavy to drag around. Ever since he boarded the Astral Express, he had actively chosen to bury those ashes deep within his soul. He refused to let the suffocating shadow of the Honkai taint this vibrant new reality—a universe that represented the pure, unadulterated hope of Trailblazing.
His internal reassurances held firm—until his finger, trembling with a subtle tremor he completely failed to notice, scrolled further up the chat history. There, glowing on the interface, was a photograph. It had been taken and uploaded by Himeko directly from the Astral Express's observation car.
Time stopped. The ambient noise of the room faded into a ringing silence.
In the center of the image stood Himeko, the brilliant navigator of the Astral Express. His reliable, endlessly elegant companion was currently clad in a heavy, armored battlesuit woven from deep crimson and gilded gold. The design was magnificent, practically radiating a majestic, commanding authority. Every single interlocking plate, every flowing cape detail, exuded a terrifying aura of absolute fervor and unbending resolve.
Welt stared at the screen, his eyes tracing every sharp line and aggressive angle of the armor. The highly recognizable, asymmetrical silhouette of its shoulder pads. The unique, almost visual heat it projected—a life-burning aura explicitly forged to confront and annihilate ultimate despair.
This... this was not merely 'similar'. It was not a 'close approximation'.
This was an exact, flawless replication. It was identical to the classified imagery of the Valkyrie Himeko Murata and her Herrscher of Flamescion battlesuit, perfectly preserved within the deepest, most secure archives of the Anti-Entropy database etched into his memory.
The only minute differences lay in the woman wearing it. The Himeko in the photograph possessed slightly denser, richer auburn hair. Her gaze, staring back through the lens, was far more composed and tranquil—a quiet determination tempered by countless long journeys handling the endless sea of stars.
Silence.
Welt fell into a deep, suffocating silence.
To be entirely honest with himself, his mental fortitude was shattering. He was completely unable to hold his composure together. If his physical body were actively reacting to the chat interface rather than just his projected consciousness, he would have undoubtedly suffered a severe, visible stress response. The sheer, cognition-shattering impact of this revelation was tearing through his carefully maintained stoicism.
His immediate, primal instinct was to contact Himeko at maximum priority. He wanted to use his most authoritative, commanding tone—even if his voice trembled—to issue a direct order: "Stay on the Astral Express. Absolutely, under no circumstances, do you step off that train!"
Simultaneously, his frantic mind calculated the logistics of contacting the Conductor, Pom-Pom, to demand they physically weld shut every single entrance and exit on the Express, regardless of the cost or the absurdity of the request.
He could not let history repeat itself. The ultimate fate of that specific battlesuit, and its original user, Himeko Murata, was a nightmare he refused to relive. It represented a fleeting hope bought with the most agonizing, tragic sacrifice imaginable. The sheer weight of that legacy was enough to crush a person's soul.
The timing could not be worse. Currently, the younger members of the Astral Express Crew—Dan Heng, March 7th, and Stelle—were already trapped within the bounds of Amphoreus. Their exact situation remained dangerously unclear, and they were seemingly unable to extricate themselves from whatever localized crisis had snared them.
If, at this highly critical juncture, Himeko—the brilliant navigator, the absolute core, and the unwavering spiritual pillar of their family—were to suffer any fatal mishap because of the cursed destiny attached to that armor... Welt squeezed his eyes shut. He could not even bring himself to imagine the fallout. It would effectively spell the total, irreversible annihilation of the Astral Express and everything they stood for.
He had genuinely believed that by stepping into this new universe, he could finally outrun the bleeding wounds of his homeland. That bitter history of waging war against the Honkai had demanded the lives of far too many cherished companions. It was a ledger overflowing with irreparable regrets.
He had chosen the path of silence to protect his new family. He refused to let the suffocating shadows of his past blot out the bright light of their present. More than anything, he was terrified that merely acknowledging the concept of the Honkai might somehow manifest its destructive presence in this universe of Aeons and Paths.
Yet, against all logic and reason, one of the most tragic, blood-soaked symbols of his home had just manifested. It appeared with terrifying realism, draped over the shoulders of his current comrade-in-arms, in the most casual manner imaginable.
The storm of emotions raging within his chest was incredibly complex, defying simple description. Beyond the immediate, overwhelming spike of stress and the sheer inability to cope with his violently triggered trauma, there was something else. Buried deep beneath the suffocating layers of panic and grief lay a faint, almost imperceptible trace of something softer. It was an emotion so weak he was entirely unwilling to admit it existed, let alone examine it. It was a subtle, primal warmth—the bittersweet sensation of crossing paths with an old, dearly missed friend in a strange and foreign land.
Even though its current form was convoluted, practically dripping with ominous, fatalistic omens, it was undeniably a concrete signal. An authentic echo from his lost home.
Did this mean that, across the infinite expanse of universes and branching possibilities, his connection to his origins had not been entirely severed?
Was the heavy door leading back to his past, back to his true home, still resting slightly ajar? Did a tiny, miraculous crack remain? Was there still a fleeting chance that he might one day return to the world that had birthed him—a world horribly scarred, yet infinitely cherished in his heart?
Minutes ticked by in absolute silence. Finally, Welt drew in a long, shuddering breath. He visualized the chaotic storm of his emotions, forcibly compressing the swirling grief, panic, and fragile hope into a tight sphere, sealing it away in the deepest, most inaccessible vault of his heart.
He deliberately chose not to scroll any further up the interface to read the earlier, chaotic logs regarding whatever luck dispute the youths had been arguing over. A powerful survival instinct warned him that he needed an immediate distraction. Allowing himself to drown in the tumultuous, freezing waves of the past would offer zero tactical advantage in their current situation. He needed to actively participate in the present conversation. He had to anchor his mind, stabilize his fraying nerves, and deal with the crisis methodically.
Most, he had to issue a warning. He needed to ensure the others—especially Himeko herself—were acutely aware of the heavy, fatalistic destiny that specific battlesuit carried.
Smoothing out his expression, Welt carefully adjusted his internal state. When he finally typed out his response, he ensured his words were as calm, gentle, and measured as possible. Adopting the steady, comforting tone of an elder preparing to recount an ancient legend, Welt Yang officially joined the heated Chat Group discussion regarding Himeko's new armor.
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