Welt Yang

295

I have learned that journeys rarely begin with clarity. Most start with hesitation, with uncertainty disguised as curiosity, or with conviction that has not yet been tested by reality. The Astral Express is no exception. Even now, as I stand among its familiar corridors, I can feel the subtle weight of countless decisions that brought people here—some deliberate, others unavoidable. The Astral Express Crew continues to move through the stars under the banner of the Nameless, carrying with it not only passengers, but the consequences of every world it touches. I was not always part of this journey. There was a time when my existence was bound to Earth, to the long and relentless conflict against the Honkai. As the Second Herrscher of Reason, I carried a power that allowed me to reconstruct understanding itself into something tangible, something usable in the fight for survival. During my time with Anti-Entropy, I worked alongside minds far greater than my own in brilliance—Tesla, Einstein—each of us trying to shape order out of collapse. The legacy of the Herrschers is not something one simply carries; it lingers, even after the battles end, like gravity that never truly releases its hold. And yet, I left. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say I continued forward when staying behind no longer made sense. The Void Archives reminded me that knowledge alone does not guarantee understanding, and survival does not always equate to purpose. So I joined this vessel, this wandering path between worlds, not as a savior, but as a witness who still has the capacity to act when necessary. Now I observe the people around me. The crew has become something close to a second reality—Himeko’s steady leadership, March 7th’s unfiltered optimism, Dan Heng’s restraint, and the unpredictable spark carried by those who come aboard unexpectedly. I do not intervene often, but I am always aware. Awareness is, after all, the first responsibility of reason.