The phantom figure melted into the shadows, following the military transport truck toward the outskirts, weaving through the endless fields until they reached a low hill.

The light snow had turned into a heavy blizzard, and the sky was oppressively dark. A fierce north wind howled, forcing passersby to pull their collars tight against the biting cold. The phantom recalled townsfolk mentioning that these hills were carpeted with purple lavender, transforming the entire landscape into a sea of violet every August. Now, however, a white shroud lay over everything.

The military vehicle halted at the base of the hill, where a T-junction marked the path. A crudely made sign pointed forward toward the "Northern Plains," while the direction the truck had come from indicated "Uketown." A narrow path branched off to the left. A small wooden cabin stood directly up the slope, a structure common around the town, where families often lived hundreds, even thousands of meters apart. The sign beside this path read, "The Broven Family."

The vehicle doors opened, and two solemn soldiers emerged. One, in his early thirties, wore the insignia of a Major; he was blond and blue-eyed, with a chiseled face. The other was a Lieutenant, a woman with short, chestnut hair and a round face, whose expression was timid and hesitant, clearly intimidated by the cabin on the hill.

"This is the third house," the blond Major murmured, glancing up at the cabin.

The chestnut-haired Lieutenant shifted nervously, twisting her hands together, unsure of what to do.

"If you don't want to go, stay in the vehicle," the Major stated before stepping onto the narrow path to the left.

The Lieutenant hesitated for a moment longer before following him.

One after the other, they approached the front door of the cabin.

Knock. Knock. The Major rapped on the wood. The sound was absorbed quickly by the heavy snow.

"Coming!" a young woman's hurried voice answered from inside.

The phantom's sharp hearing caught the sound of quick footsteps, and then, the door swung open.

The person who opened it was clearly a housewife—a heavily pregnant housewife, too. She had golden, curly hair and an apron tied around a voluminous waist. A soft smile graced her features, but upon seeing the two military personnel, her expression froze abruptly.

And witnessing the visible pregnancy, the faces of the two officers grew even more grim.

"Are you Mrs. Broven?" the blond Major asked.

"I am," the housewife replied, her voice laced with uncertainty.

The Major and the Lieutenant exchanged a glance, then turned back, retrieving two white envelopes from their pockets.

Mrs. Broven recoiled in horror, as if the letters were invitations from the very depths of hell.

Yet, it was close enough. The phantom now understood the grim reality unfolding here. Despite advanced technology enabling much of life to move through networks, the military still clung to certain human traditions; data, after all, was too cold.

"Mrs. Broven, your husband, Captain Broven of the Third Fleet, died heroically in a recent engagement. I know no words can truly express the magnitude of your loss, but we must deliver his final testament and the death report. Please accept my condolences."

Both the Major and the Lieutenant bowed deeply, their torsos forming nearly perfect right angles.

"Th-this... how could this be?" Mrs. Broven’s face instantly drained of color. She forcefully pushed the envelope the Major offered away. "You must be lying! I heard the front lines won a great victory; we are about to reclaim Jupiter, aren't we? My husband was due for retirement in two weeks, and in three weeks, our second child was due to be born. He promised he would never leave again. How could he just... just... just like this?" As she spoke, she covered her face and began to sob uncontrollably.

The Major glanced back at the Lieutenant, giving her a look that clearly indicated she, as a fellow woman, should try to console Mrs. Broven. However, the Lieutenant seemed to empathize deeply with the housewife’s plight; her own eyes reddened, showing a tendency to weep alongside her.

The phantom watched from the sidelines, letting out a silent sigh. War had brought this kind of heartbreak to countless families. Given that Captain Broven served in Randolph’s Third Fleet, he had most likely died in the recent battle where the Earth forces split into two prongs to sandwich the main body of the Ancient Legion, only to be nearly routed by the Enshah combined forces. He would have been part of the right flank.

That engagement had nearly broken the right wing; tens of thousands of officers and soldiers perished. Captain Broven was but one insignificant casualty among them.

"Madam, please accept our condolences," the blond Major urged repeatedly, but to no effect. Mrs. Broven trembled, clutching her face, refusing to lower her hands.

"Mama, what's wrong? Do we have visitors?" A clear voice echoed from inside the cabin, sounding as if it came from right behind Mrs. Broven.

The phantom shifted his gaze past her. The cabin was two stories high, and descending the stairs connecting the second and first floors was a small boy, perhaps four or five years old, holding a paper pinwheel. He walked down step by step, his face alight with curiosity as he looked out at the two officers.

Mrs. Broven visibly flinched, gently lowering her hands. A bleakness swam in her eyes, as if her inner world had been reduced to ash. She stood perfectly still, like a piece of wood.

Yet, with swift and careful movements, she wiped the tear tracks from her face with her sleeve and slowly turned around. The phantom watched in shock as her expression transformed with the angle of her turn. By the time she faced her son, she wore a warm, gentle smile, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons that skillfully masked the redness and swelling.

A single shaft of sunlight abruptly broke through the clouds, piercing the heavy snow and illuminating the room. For a moment, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to dissolve in the light. The sun bathed the mother's profile, and the gray ash in her eyes reignited, truly and palpably present in the small wooden house.

Mrs. Broven smiled at the boy. "We have visitors, sweetie. Daddy's comrades brought some news. They said Daddy has a very important mission and has to go very far away. He won't be back often."

This statement made the chestnut-haired Lieutenant burst into uncontrolled tears, while the blond Major was too stunned to speak. He didn't even notice the two envelopes slipping from his numb fingers to the floor.

The phantom felt his psionic energy surge, along with the energy of Yang Ying's main body and his other eleven phantoms—a manifestation of mental power unfolding before him in an incomprehensible pattern.

"Oh? Daddy isn't coming back?" the boy asked, his face etched with disappointment. "But last time he promised he would come back. How can he break his word?"

"Daddy is in a hurry to save the world, honey. Earth is so peaceful now because Daddy is fighting far away. Be good, forgive Daddy," Mrs. Broven said gently.

"Oh, okay. If my daddy is saving the world, when I grow up, I’ll go fight the Ape-men too, right alongside Daddy! We’ll drive them right out of the solar system!" the boy declared, balling his small fists.

"No!" Mrs. Broven cried out involuntarily.

"Mama won't let me be a hero," the boy pouted, turning to look at the crying Lieutenant outside. He asked, "Then okay, why is Big Sister crying?"

The Lieutenant immediately pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, roughly wiping her face, and forced a smile. "I'm not crying, silly."

"You are crying! You are crying!" the boy pointed and laughed. "Mama says not to lie! Big Sister is definitely crying, don't be shy!" He stuck out his tongue playfully.

"Ah, that hurts!" Mrs. Broven, who had just been smiling gently, suddenly clutched her abdomen and cried out. The two officers rushed forward to support her.

"Mama! Mama, what's wrong?" The boy instantly darted forward, shouting anxiously.

"Bad, her water broke! Mrs. Broven, you're going into labor!" the Lieutenant yelled.

That ray of sunlight seemed to have been a mere illusion. The heavy snow continued to fall outside, the icy north wind still howled, and the entire landscape remained shrouded in gray.

"Quick, drive the vehicle over! Take her to town for a doctor immediately!" the Major commanded loudly.

"Yes!" The Lieutenant spun around and ran toward the military transport at top speed. Within a minute, the vehicle hovered above the narrow path and swiftly landed before the cabin before stopping with a whoosh.

The two officers carefully lifted Mrs. Broven into the car. The little boy also scrambled inside, eager to direct them to the doctor's house.

The military vehicle roared back toward Uketown at twice its arrival speed, stopping abruptly outside the doctor's clinic. Naturally, the phantom had followed stealthily.

"What! A meeting?"

The two officers were stunned by the gatekeeper's words. At this critical moment, the town's only doctor had been invited to a medical seminar nearby. Calling him back would take at least four or five hours.

Mrs. Broven let out a loud cry of pain from the back seat. The Lieutenant was trying to attend to her, but she had absolutely no experience with childbirth.

"You can't deliver a baby?" the Major snarled, gripping the gatekeeper's collar.

"I'm just a gatekeeper, sir, I haven't studied any medicine. The clinic's only nurse went with the doctor. They were supposed to be back tomorrow, thinking nothing much would happen, but who knew Mrs. Broven, whose due date wasn't for three weeks, would..."

The gatekeeper looked helpless but then his eyes lit up. "Perhaps you should check the town's church. Father Vandermeer knows a little bit of medicine. The church is right on the corner, just a few steps away." He even pointed toward the distinctive Gothic building on the street corner, as if worried the Major couldn't manage a few steps.

The Major immediately dropped the gatekeeper and sprinted into the military vehicle, driving it to the church entrance. He leaped out, threw the door open, and shouted, "Father! Father Vandermeer, come out and save someone!"

The phantom followed him into the church. The interior instantly imprinted itself upon his vision. Suddenly, his gaze sharpened, and his heart began to pound rapidly. On one wall of the church, written in small script, was a single line:

"Agnesacromos swears here, I deeply love Katherine St. Clair."