Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 124 Avatar of Harmony (2)

eting Room Floor 49, 9:17 AM, Atlantis Magic School

For two long minutes, their eyes locked—deep, unyielding gazes that seed to pierce straight through to each other's souls. No words were spoken, no movent disturbed the heavy silence. The air was thick with unspoken tension, a fragile thread of emotion weaving between them. Dim light filtered in, casting soft shadows across Rinoa's face and revealing the glistening tears trembling on her eyelashes, ready to fall. Fitran, his jaw clenched in an anxious restraint, fought to contain the storm within, lips sealed around a silent hope for an answer. Then, slowly, Fitran's lips curled into a tentative smile—one fragile beacon of courage cutting through the uncertainty that enveloped them both.

Flash...!

With the swiftness of a striking lightning bolt, Fitran was suddenly at Rinoa's side. His motions were swift yet careful, each step asured as if balanced on the edge of a blade. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, a grounding touch ant to offer strength and reassurance. Urging her softly to sit, he masked the pounding of his own heart that echoed thunderously in his ears. Though Rinoa was fully aware of his presence, she remained frozen—her fingers clenched tightly in her lap, torn between the fog of confusion clouding her mind and the fragile thread of consciousness holding her steady.

Leaning in, Fitran whispered close to her ear, his voice hoarse but earnest, carrying a fragile hope through the quiet room,

"Don't lie, Rinoa."

Suddenly, a fierce blaze of anger erupted within Rinoa's chest, overtaking the fear that had gripped her monts before. With a surge of wild energy, she unleashed her air magic in a devastating explosion that shattered the stillness of the room. Fitran and everything around them were hurled backward, as if the tension between them had finally broken through every physical barrier.

Bruagh!

Chairs splintered and tables toppled, their fragnts scattering like leaves caught in a storm. Scrolls, books, and loose papers spiraled through the air, carried by the chaotic whirlwind of Rinoa's fury.

"Ugh!" Fitran groaned, his voice ragged as he lifted his head from the debris, heart pounding wildly against his ribs. His eyes, clouded with shock, slowly t hers.

"Why do you always act like this whenever we et?" he asked, his tone heavy with doubt and confusion. The question hung in the air, heavy like the dust settling around them, reflecting the turmoil etched deep into his furrowed brow.

"You've done this twice already," he added, his gaze locked on Rinoa's fierce, unyielding eyes—searching for an answer amidst the storm of emotions flashing within them.

"Huh!?" Rinoa grumbled, her body tensing as if readying another spell for defense, though inside, she hesitated—reluctant to push him away just yet.

"Because you keep repeating your questions," she said softly, each word deliberate and sharp, striking at the vulnerable places in his heart. A flutter of uncertainty stirred in her stomach—a tentative nudge towards sothing more profound between them.

"Hehehe... violent as ever," Fitran chuckled, slowly rising from the wreckage of scattered chairs and tables. A broad smile spread across his face, but a faint crease of worry lingered on his forehead, betraying the nervous hope simring beneath his playful facade.

"Do you want to break that seal?" Fitran asked, his fingers lightly gesturing toward Rinoa's body. The warmth in his voice carried a hopeful intent, as if unveiling a secret ant only for her.

"Seal!?" Rinoa echoed, surprise lacing her trembling voice. Confusion flickered across her eyes, a tangled mix of amusent and seriousness swirling within her thoughts—she stood suspended between cautious hope and hesitant apprehension.

"I possess the gift of being an indigo," Fitran explained, raising a hand to his own eyes. They shimred with a striking cobalt hue, glowing faintly in the dim light—a beacon of both certainty and the mystery behind his ability. Yet, a faint shadow of doubt flickered just beyond his steady gaze.

"This eye doesn't just distinguish color spectrums with remarkable precision; it also deciphers pictograms with ninety-nine percent accuracy," he continued, pride coloring his words. Each statent was crafted to captivate Rinoa, to stir the hidden curiosity nestled deep within her heart, awakening questions she had barely dared to ask.

"What are you talking about?" Rinoa responded cautiously, a hint of defensiveness coating her tone. Beneath the surface, however, an ember of curiosity blazed fiercely, relentless and unyielding.

"Bust, one hundred fifteen centiters; waist, sixty-eight; hips, ninety-four," Fitran recited with a gentle smile. The numbers floated in the air like whispered secrets, drawing Rinoa into a tempest of emotion—caught between a thrilling surge of confidence and a sudden, vulnerable hesitation.

Suddenly, Rinoa's face flushed a vivid red, her emotions spilling over like a rising tide; the air between them thickened with an almost electric tension. "You're not a C cup, but a J cup," Fitran said softly, his voice trembling like leaves fluttering in a gentle breeze. He bit his lower lip, betraying the vulnerability beneath his composed exterior. Waves of embarrassnt crashed over Rinoa, setting her cheeks ablaze as if caught in an unrelenting heat. Each word he spoke deepened the charged atmosphere, weaving a breathless, dramatic tension that pulsed between them.

Fitran's eyes ticulously asured every contour, predicting each detail with careful precision, yet his heart pounded wildly—like a caged king aching to be freed from within Rinoa. Though she had used Wall of Winds to compress her figure to a modest C-cup size, Rinoa carried beneath it a fragile vulnerability, a secret intersection where raw magic intertwined with unspoken emotions. As she allowed herself to reveal this truth, she felt an uncertain thrill, akin to wagering on an elusive, mysterious force. Within her mind, the fierce desire to appear flawless battled the yearning to be truly understood, until the world around them seed to dissolve, leaving only the two of them suspended in a trembling, intimate mont.

Fitran's eyes caught the spectrum of colors as they fell upon Rinoa, each hue refracted from the light he observed. Yet, there was a mysterious glow within her presence—a light beyond definition, unbreakable by the magic around them. Magic, after all, was singular and pure white, incapable of dispersing like ordinary light. Still, dispersible light translated into numbers, painting an intricate, invisible code that only he could perceive. When their gazes locked, an unspoken tension filled the space between them—an electric pull that transcended words.

Rinoa stood with a delicate grace, her posture elegant yet tinged with a subtle awkwardness. Under the shimring magical spotlight, the soft curves of her figure quivered ever so slightly, as though responding to the invisible currents swirling between them. Inside her heart, a tempest of emotions raged: confidence collided with vulnerability, creating a complex mosaic of feelings that lit her eyes and fluttered her quivering lips, revealing a thousand unspoken sentints—wistful fascination, tentative longing, and undeniable attraction.

The invisible color codes unfolded in Fitran's mind with clear precision: red equaled 1, orange was 2, yellow 3, green 4, blue 5, indigo 6, violet 7, crimson 8, maroon 9, black 0, while white held no value at all. These subtle hues whispered nurical secrets about Rinoa's form as she spoke, each tone weaving into an intricate pattern only he could decode. The coded colors traced over her figure, translating into asurents that danced like silent music in his mind—with a perfect blend of data and desire interlaced beneath the surface.

From this intimate composition, Fitran carefully deduced Rinoa's exact asurents: a bust of 115 cm, a waist of 68 cm, and hips asuring 94 cm. These numbers stread into his mind with an almost hypnotic clarity, each digit carrying him deeper into the delicate geotry of her form. His brain processed the data swiftly, effortlessly calculating the key to unveiling her secret: the cup size. He applied the formula—the difference between bust girth and underbust girth. Rinoa's bust asured 115 cm, her underbust 83 cm; subtracting 83 from 115 yielded 32, revealing a remarkable J cup size. Yet, as this number glittered boldly in his thoughts, a flicker of doubt seized him—what if Rinoa wished to keep her asurents concealed?

He recalled the scale of cup sizes, each range like a whispered legend: AA (11–12), A (12–14), B (14–16), C (16–18), D (18–20), E (20–22), F (22–24), G (24–26), H (26–28), I (28–30), and at the pinnacle, J cup—any asurent above 30. The air around them thickened with unspoken tension, and Fitran held his breath, searching Rinoa's face for a hint of her thoughts. She briefly diverted her gaze, a subtle blush tinting her cheeks, but when their eyes t again, an unexpected warmth blossod between them. In that fragile, silent mont, as pride and vulnerability gracefully intertwined, Rinoa's heart spoke softly to him, the unvoiced question lingering: "What do you see, Fitran?" It was a precious, delicate story told beyond words, painted in glances and quiet understanding.

This ant Rinoa possessed the largest bust size in the world. Yet, despite this undeniable fact, why did she choose to conceal it so carefully? She was truly a captivating woman—like a delicate butterfly scattering shimring dust in the sunlight, hypnotizing all who gazed upon her. Even when her graceful wings were caught in an invisible net, her prey could never consu her. Her extraordinary beauty radiated with every gentle gesture, as if a soft, ethereal light enveloped her, making her the luminous star in any crowd.

Though tall and striking, with a slender waist, full breasts, and shapely hips that she tried so hard to hide, Rinoa was a woman of quiet strength who had never been fully honest with herself. When her eyes t Fitran's, a surge of conflicting emotions exploded within her, though she fought to suppress it. Her smile trembled, delicate and tense, while her fingers anxiously twisted the edges of her gown, betraying the burning uncertainty flickering in her heart.

"You cannot lie before ," Fitran said with unwavering confidence, his voice blazing like a roaring fla and slicing through the thick tension that enveloped them. Rinoa felt her heartbeat quicken as an almost tangible whisper stirred inside her, urging, 'Speak what you truly feel.'

"Fitran! You win. But..."

Flash...!

With a swift, radiant flash, Rinoa executed her flash step, closing the distance to Fitran in an instant. Her fingers reached out tremblingly toward his face, only to be gently but decisively caught by his hand, as if an unseen magnetic force drew them together. The air between them crackled with a potent mix of apprehension and fierce hope, turning the space into an electric sanctuary of unspoken emotions. In that suspended mont, the walls Fitran had built began to crumble. A fleeting glow of happiness softened his eyes, and the deadly edge of his killer instinct dulled, allowing a genuine, luminous smile to bloom — a smile ant only for the woman standing so close.

Rinoa's gaze locked with his, searching the depths of those eyes where a storm of emotions swirled—uncertainty, longing, and a vulnerability that words could scarcely capture. Inside her mind, a gentle whisper swelled into a persistent murmur, challenging her to face the tempest within her heart. "Is this love? Or rely an illusion spun by desire?" The ancient truth that love can make one forget everything else resonated deeply now, as if the very fabric of ti paused to witness this fragile mont. Their hearts beat together, a synchronized rhythm vibrating beneath the tense, profound silence that enveloped them, silencing doubt and blurring the lines between reality and dreams.

This was the feeling Fitran had always longed for — a quiet certainty blossoming between them. For Rinoa, however, it unfolded as a tangled web of emotions. On one hand, his nearness wrapped her in a comforting warmth, causing her heart to flutter wildly beneath her ribs. Yet, in the depths of his gaze lurked a shadow of mystery, as if secrets were locked behind his eyes—secrets that threatened to fracture the fragile bond she yearned to build. She felt an invisible barrier, a silent divide that blocked the emotions she desperately wanted to share. This was not clarity, not pure love, but sothing more elusive: a magnetic pull, raw and compelling, drawing her irresistibly closer.

Having just t Fitran and seeing his face up close for the first ti, Rinoa noticed the subtle furrows etched across his forehead, lines that hinted at untold stories and burdens carried silently. The depth within his eyes was like an ocean dark with unresolved tides, stirring emotions she couldn't na. An unexpected surge rushed through her, flooding the mont with an intense, overwhelming current. What, then, was the true definition of love? Many believed it was predestined, tied long before life even began—like a crimson thread, delicately fastened at the pinky finger, destined to pull two souls inexorably together.

"Fitran!" Her voice broke the delicate quiet, soft yet trembling, each word weaving a fragile thread of closeness tangled with doubt. "Every ti you et , you wear a mask to hide your true self. Why show this face now?" Her fingers shook subtly, reaching out instinctively as if to grasp sothing real and unchanging amidst the shifting emotions. "What are you really?" she whispered, a playful lilt coloring her tone, filling the charged space between them—yet beneath it all, her heart ached with an emptiness she couldn't ignore.

"You're not a prince saving a princess," she murmured, her voice steady yet tinged with the fragile hope she was still trying to contain. Each word seed to tremble with the unspoken desires blossoming inside her, a growing fire she was both drawn to and afraid of. She longed to unravel the storm raging within her heart—an unquenchable fla of confusion and yearning—but the thought of plunging deeper into her own emotions filled her with apprehension. In the heavy silence that followed, Fitran's gaze lingered on her, offering what felt like a silent answer, but Rinoa found herself unable to decipher its aning. Her feelings twisted and folded into one another, caught between fear's sharp edge and the tender pull of curiosity.

Then, as if breaking the fragile stillness, Fitran's voice cut through the air with a sudden clarity: "I am a shadow." His eyes sharpened instantly, the intensity piercing through the veil of uncertainty around them. A hush stretched between them, thick and palpable, as if ti itself had paused to listen. His gaze was unlike any she had seen—far from the fiery blaze of anger or the sharp sting of resentnt. Instead, it carried a deep weariness, a haunting sadness that settled like a shadow over his very soul. Beneath that weight lay a restless uncertainty, a yearning that reached out like invisible threads entwining their spirits. In that mont, Rinoa felt an electric current surge between them—sothing intangible, as if an ancient magic had been awakened, binding their fates in delicate, silent harmony. Why did the core of his being pull her toward a boundary undefined, a place neither of them could yet na?

Then Fitran slowly released Rinoa's hand, the warmth of his touch fading like a dying ember. Though they had stood so close re monts before, he turned to walk away, creating an emotional chasm between them. The space he put between their bodies mirrored the distance he fought within himself. His chest tightened painfully, his heart pounding with wild desperation as if trying to break free from the cage of disappointnt. The curse that shackled them was an invisible barrier they could never cross. Rinoa's skin still tingled from the mory of his gentle touch, a fading echo that deepened her longing for the solace it once brought to her weary spirit.

"I have a question for you," Rinoa whispered, her voice trembling under the weight of unspoken emotions as they reluctantly faced each other. Their eyes locked, a silent current of heat sparking in the fragile tension between them. In that instant, she glimpsed the doubt flickering behind Fitran's otherwise guarded gaze — a fragile mask struggling to contain the imnse feelings he bore. The air between them beca thick and heavy, like a delicate spiderweb stretched taut, ready to trap every hidden emotion hovering just beneath the surface.

Fitran halted abruptly, his eyes fixed on Rinoa with a vulnerability he could no longer conceal. A storm of conflicting emotions churned within him—a fierce struggle between the instinct to flee and the magnetic pull her gaze exerted. Though every fiber of his being urged him to step away, the silent call in her eyes held him rooted, caught in the tangled web of their shared pain and desire.

"Why do you always act that way when you already know? I'm aware," Rinoa whispered, her voice trembling with raw vulnerability. In that fragile mont, she caught sight of the pain etched deeply upon Fitran's face—the tight lines carving his cheeks, furrowed brows like storm clouds gathering, and the hesitation flickering behind his eyes. A heavy silence stretched between them, thickening the tension.

"Is this about that idea of justice through sacrifice?" she pressed, her heart hamring wildly, desperate that his answer would not shatter what fragile bond remained.

"I know what you did last night," Fitran breathed out, his words hanging in the air like a fragile confession. The admission seed to steal his breath away, while Rinoa watched a shadow of sorrow cross his face, as if he searched for the right words to untangle the weight of what lay unsaid between them.

Fitran fell into silence, caught in the tangled web of inner conflict. Each passing second fanned the embers of a slow-burning fire—one choice that might alter everything irrevocably.

"I hate that aning," Rinoa said sharply, voice taut with pain and fierce resolve. "If you keep living by it, I will kill you." Her eyes glittered with determination, shadows of anguish shimring beneath. She fixed her gaze on Fitran's retreating back, a silent warning radiating from her posture—this path would only lead to self-destruction.

Suddenly, Fitran spun around, his eyes locking onto Rinoa's with an intensity that seed to close the distance between them. It was as if an invisible force drew them back into a precarious space filled with unspoken tension and fragile hope. "Rinoa! The world isn't as beautiful as your face," he said, his voice thick with regret and longing. Each word fell from his lips as if bound by so irresistible spell—he never wanted to cause her pain, yet the truth escaped him like a painful confession. Speaking this freely felt like a dream long restrained fading into reality.

"If you want answers, co to Thor Gate three months from now," Fitran continued, his tone softening as he offered a faint glimr of hope amid the heavy silence. Rinoa's sharp gaze held his, freezing the mont in ti, silencing the swirling doubts and fears that threatened to consu them both.

"We will head to the Stones," he added with a steadier resolve, though his heart pounded beneath his chest. He was fully aware that this choice would bind them to an uncertain fate, and he braced himself for the weight of the consequences ahead.

"I've translated the Proto-Speech from your research," Fitran explained carefully, "It contains crucial information about the route to the Gamma Plateau through the Stones."

Rinoa's breath caught in her throat, stunned beyond belief. How could Fitran have obtained her Proto-Speech? Hadn't it been utterly destroyed—obliterated without a trace?

"But..." she began, a flicker of doubt shadowing her voice.

"On one condition," Fitran interrupted, his face softening, though the determination in his voice carved a new path between them. "You must not beco an Elent Master, but a Healer instead. You have to change your job before we leave."

"What!!!!!!!!!!" Rinoa burst out, her anger flashing like wildfire as the shock rippled through her like an electric current.

Fitran's eyes darkened with concern as he contemplated the consequences if Rinoa continued to wield her Mana recklessly. Her fragile body, incapable of naturally producing Mana, would only suffer, each use draining precious monts from her already dwindling lifespan. It was a silent, cruel ticking clock embedded within her veins.

To protect her, he urged her to embrace the path of a Healer—a role that would keep her Mana consumption in check and preserve the fragile balance within her. Though Rinoa's spirit churned with unease and yearning, deep down she recognized the painful wisdom in his words. This sacrifice—forsaking the power she desired—was the burden she must bear, a solemn choice that tethered them both more tightly to the unforgiving reality awaiting them.