Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 139 Avatar of Harmony (17)

Rinoa sat alone on the edge of the cliff, a place where she used to gaze at the stars and make wishes. But tonight, the stars felt distant, as if they knew: the Rinoa of old has begun to drift away from herself.

When they decided to go together, those mories carved a lasting impression. Rinoa recalled the warm monts with Fitran under the sa night sky—hands tightly clasped, smiles that bolstered each other, and laughter that filled the serene night without a care. In those days, their love felt whole, like a promise that would never fade.

But everything changed when Fitran began to withdraw. That night, following a minor argunt about their future, Fitran looked at her with a lack of passion and said coldly, "I need space, Rinoa. I can't go on like this." His once warm gestures turned cold and reserved. His gaze no longer sought hers but avoided it.

Her hands trembled—not from fatigue, but because she no longer knew what she was feeling.

"Why... after all this, do I feel foreign to my own love?" She struggled within her heart, torn between holding onto a love that once empowered her and the pain that gnawed away at her, wondering if love must always be painful or if there is justice in togetherness.

She loves Fitran. That hasn't changed. But as she looks at him now, what she sees is not a wounded knight, but a touchless entity of solitude. He is no longer the man who once embraced her warmly; instead, he is a figure of indifference, limiting words and touch as if a thick wall separates them.

Amid her reflections, a voice erges. Not loud. Not pushy. But so... familiar.

"You long for aning, don't you?"

Rinoa turns, yet sees no one. Still, the voice continues to resonate, echoing within her bones:

"Love is not harmony... but an agreent. And when he breaks that promise, who should bear the punishnt?"

In that mont of silence, flashbacks flood Rinoa's mind: their laughter filling the night under a starry sky, Fitran's warm handholding like an untainted promise, and sweet words that used to ease her heart. However, everything changed as Fitran began to distance himself; his once loving gaze turned cold, no longer welcoming her presence with a smile.

Rinoa recalls that night when Fitran avoided her gaze and said in a flat tone, "You are not the sa as before, Rinoa. I can't keep pretending." That small gesture, a turn of his back without further explanation, beca the beginning of an unreachable distance between them.

Rinoa stood up. The harmony around her began to fracture. In the cracks, she saw eyes of gold layered with black wings—not a physical figure, but an ancient awareness.

Malakhothies.

One of the Hayoth Ha Kodesh, overseeing the concept of love, order, and its fall. It did not co to destroy—rather, it arrived because Rinoa had called it subconsciously.

In her heart, Rinoa grappled—caught between the love that once filled her soul and the justice that now demanded truth. "Should I continue to love soone who has forsaken all their promises?" she pondered. That question sliced gently, guiding Rinoa to realize that love is not rely about feelings but also about the laws that must be upheld.

"You touch the void, Rinoa. And the void responds to your touch with truth."

This transformation reshaped her view of love—not naively hopeful, but a covenant to be honored or faced with consequences. Now, love in her eyes was no longer an eternal paradise but a battlefield testing integrity and courage.

Slowly, Rinoa began to see the world differently. In the past, when she and Fitran sat together under the blossoming tree, laughing without a care, the world felt like it belonged to just the two of them. Fitran had always been a warm presence—gently holding her hand, whispering promises about the future, and gazing into her eyes with unconditional love. However, everything changed after the night Fitran received his heavy assignnt from the elders. His once loving face now often appeared cold and distant. When Rinoa tried to draw closer, Fitran withdrew, speaking in a flat tone, "I can no longer give you false hope." His once open hand was now clenched tight, leaving a wound that was hard to heal.

That mont planted the seeds of frost in Rinoa's heart, sparking questions she had never contemplated before: "Are you worthy of comfort?" Now, when she hears Fitran's na, she no longer feels the warmth that used to flow between them; instead, there is a sense of owing herself an explanation. Why does she still love soone who no longer allows love to flourish, soone who refuses to show the empathy and warmth they once shared?

Within her, the harmony that once felt like a soft lody had transford into a sharp note—an equilibrium that must be upheld, not embraced. She realized that love alone was insufficient to bridge the chasm that now lay between them. She had to choose between surrendering to justice and allowing the wounds to bleed on, or becoming a wise and impartial judge.

"If he, Fitran Fate, is the consur of aning... then I will be his final arbiter

"Beco sothing he cannot destroy. Beco a love... that can judge him." She understood that this was not rely a battle against the man she once loved, but a struggle for her own soul, for the true aning of love: not simply to endure pain, but to demand truth.

Rinoa began to write a new mantra at night. No longer Cantus Anima, but a magic she called:

"Harmonic Judicium: Vox Caelorum"

(Harmonic Judgnt: Voice of the Heavens)

—a magic that does not kill the body, but tests the soul: whether it still deserves to be loved by the world.

Sweet mories with Fitran always linger in her mind—their laughter while exploring the whispering forest, Fitran's gentle touch that ward her soul, and the unspoken promises made under the starlit sky. Yet, sothing had changed.

It all began when Fitran locked his eyes on an ancient manuscript, uttering words he didn't understand, and then gazed at Rinoa with a chilling stare. "You can't go on like this," he said, his voice breaking yet firm. "Love alone isn't enough; justice must take precedence."

From that day on, Fitran's attitude towards Rinoa changed drastically. The warmth he once exuded transford into a cold judgnt. He often recoiled when Rinoa attempted to touch him, speaking in a sharp tone she had never heard before. "Rinoa, you must understand, it is not affection that determines everything," he told her once, his gaze empty.

In the silence of the night, Rinoa wrestled with her thoughts. Must love co at the cost of judgnt? Should the bond that once tied them dissolve into a cold, fractured law? Her eyes glistened with tears, yet her resolve hardened. "I don't want to lose that feeling, but I must accept the truth," she whispered.

As these changes unfolded, her understanding of love also began to shift. Love was no longer rely a gentle feeling that embraced the soul; it had beco a heavy responsibility—sothing that needed to be tested, and if necessary, judged for the greater good. Rinoa now realized: love and justice do not always walk hand in hand, yet they cannot be separated.

Fitran was still unaware. But the world was starting to shift. And the harmonizer had transford into Judge Nada.

On the third night after the Interregnum incident, Rinoa began to dream of sothing that was not her own dream. She awoke not from fear, but because her body was enveloped in a terrifying purity. It felt as though her soul was simultaneously welcod and distanced by the heavens.

All around her, light ford a gravity-defying cathedral. Its walls were composed of unanswered prayers. And at the end of that eternal corridor stood Malakhothies.

He had no face. But behind his nineteen wings flowed a sound that resembled hundreds of truths being forcibly dragged into hell.

"You called with the cracks of your heart, Rinoa."

She did not look down. She did not bow. But she listened.

"You have loved... and been betrayed by silence. You have saved the world... and the world demands more."

Rinoa stared at him. "What do you want from ?"

Malakhothies remained silent. Instead, he opened the window of ti and revealed a possible future:

In that ti, Rinoa no longer walked on the ground.

She floated high in the sky, adorned in a crystal cloak that reflected the symphony of reality. Each of her steps created new laws. Each gaze determined the moral values of a civilization. She did not engage in debate. She beca the standard.

In a hazy flashback, the warm smile of Fitran erged, their hands intertwined tightly beneath the twilight sky, and the gentle laughter weaving unspoken promises. Back then, their love was a simple yet colorful world — a safe harbor amidst the storms of life.

However, as the world began to change, small shifts appeared: the once tender Fitran started to drift away, gazing at Rinoa with colder eyes. One quiet night, he whispered, "You must understand, Rinoa, love is no longer enough." His once gentle gestures turned rigid, as if restraining himself from causing her pain, yet also demanding sothing greater.

All around her, the races of the world bowed not out of fear, but because they could not lie in her presence. There were no more wars... but also no love like before. For all relationships were asured in the frequency of truth.

Inside her heart, Rinoa grappled with conflicting inner voices: the love that once ward her, and the call for justice that now demanded sacrifice. She silently questioned, "Can I love soone who is now learning to deny their feelings for the sake of truth? Must this justice sacrifice the purest love?"

And upon her heavenly throne stood the symphonic sword: Verdictum Cantare, capable of erasing soone from history... without hatred.

"Take my role. Beco Caeles Harmonicum—the Last Harmony, destined to reconstruct the world from a fractured score."

"The world will bow. Love will be truthful. And there will be no more unjust wounds."

Rinoa bit her lip, her eyes reddening with unshed tears.

"But if I accept this... can I still love him? Does love still exist if justice becos the only language we speak?"

Malakhothies replied honestly—with a voice like the bells of apocalypse:

"No. But you will understand why you once loved him."

This transformation changed Rinoa's perspective on love: no longer an escape or a refuge, but a concept to be acknowledged in truth, even if that truth hurts and divides. She accepted that love, in its highest form, might belong to no one but mory and understanding.

Rinoa awoke with her hands open, as if she had just received sothing in a dream. Next to her bed hung a small fragnt of a heavenly cloak—like a piece of cloud turned to stone. The fragnt reminded her of the past when Fitran was still an ordinary man, full of laughter and warmth. She recalled the monts they spent sitting under the sa night sky, sharing dreams and promises made without hesitation.

[Flashback]

Fitran smiled gently as he held Rinoa's hand tightly, saying, "I will always be here for you, no matter what happens."

However, everything changed after that night—the night Fitran received the unexpected heavenly honor. Since then, his gaze began to wander, and his words turned cold. At one mont, when Rinoa tried to draw closer, Fitran firmly pushed her away, saying, "Do not bind to this world any longer."

Rinoa felt a deep wound each ti that attitude erged, creating a chasm between the love and justice that Fitran had summoned. In silence, she struggled with her own thoughts, "Must love sacrifice freedom? Or must justice strip away the warmth of the heart? I love him, yet I need to understand why he chose this."

"The sky has chosen him. But he has not chosen the sky." This sentence now carries a new aning for him—that love is not just about possession, but also about allowing soone to find their own path, even if it ans enduring longing and loneliness.