Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 250 Third Space — Wound

The stone door opened slowly and heavily, reluctant to reveal the contents of the space behind it. The scent of long-dried blood mingled with the thick air, resembling the incense of death that never ceased to burn. Fitran and Rinoa exchanged a brief glance before stepping inside together.

As soon as their feet touched the floor of the third room, a familiar voice whispered again in the air:

"A wound is not what you experience... but what you carry with you afterward."

The room revealed itself not as a conventional space, but as a cracked world, split open like a giant body that had lost its soul. The ground pulsed while the walls breathed slowly. In the center, a massive open wound gaped like a mouth longing to recall all the suffering that had ever been buried.

Around the wound grew deep red figures, resembling half-ford human bodies made of fibers and mories. Each moved slowly, like people lost between the boundaries of life and symbols. They were silent, yet the entire space humd with a sense of unspeakable pain.

Rinoa trembled. "They are not spirits..."

Fitran nodded. "They are wounds that never beca mories."

Upon hearing those words, tears stread down Rinoa's face. She felt a weight deeper than re knowledge pressing down on her. She understood that they were not just ghosts; they were remnants of souls caught, trapped in painful mories that could never be forgotten or released. "How can we give them peace?" she thought silently.

As they ventured further, Rinoa felt a wave of sorrow crashing over her, like a cold wind striking her ears. She recalled all the chaos she had endured—wrong choices and unspoken words. "Is all this the result of decisions I made long ago?" she pondered, struggling to contain the anger and guilt surging within her chest.

Fitran, too, felt crushed by his own emotions. He observed the faces faintly visible, as if beckoning him to delve deeper to unravel the aning behind the neglected wounds. "Do I have the right to be here?" his inner voice trembled, feeling like an intruder in this dark labyrinth.

Yet, sothing compelled them to continue. The whispering voice seed to emanate from the wounds themselves, guiding them with unspoken promises. As they approached the large wound, they felt a palpable frequency of energy, sothing that lingered on the surrounding walls. Though frightening, its energy sparked their curiosity.

Around the wound, figures in deep red began to move more aggressively, their waves of pain seeming to shake the space around them. "What happened to them?" Rinoa whispered, her body trembling with emotions difficult to express. "Why are they so trapped?"

Fitran stepped closer, trying to sense what the figures felt. "Perhaps they symbolize our powerlessness," he replied inwardly. "We all have our own wounds. Maybe, by seeing them, we can learn to heal ourselves."

As they stood on the brink of heartbreak, a soft light began to flow slowly from the large wound, transforming the dark space into warm golden hues. The two figures turned, sensing that there was hope amidst the darkness. Rinoa asked herself, "Is this a sign that we can help end their suffering?"

As the light grew brighter, the emotional atmosphere around them shifted. Rinoa could feel her fingertips trembling with hope, while Fitran held his breath in anticipation. He wondered, "Will we succeed?" Hope intertwined with fear, making it impossible for her to separate one from the other.

Suddenly, from the depths of the massive wound, a faceless giant erged, its body covered in closed eyes. Its towering fra appeared fragile, trembling with each step, and from the multitude of eyes covering its skin, blood dripped and transford into sound. This sound, unlike ordinary screams, floated in the air, piercing through the stillness of the night and hanging between them, creating an aura filled with sorrow and hope.

"I am the wound of the world that has never been healed."

"I embody the result of right decisions... yet I still bring destruction."

"Do you dare... to bear my wounds in your na?"

As the voice echoed, Rinoa felt an extraordinary wave of emotion touch her heart. All the pain and helplessness she had experienced resurfaced in her mind. She was caught between shock and fear. What could they do to confront such a resurrection? She looked at Fitran, seeking strength in her friend's gaze, but only found a shadow of the sa concern.

Fitran replied, "We cannot heal the world. But we can acknowledge that the wounds are real. They are neither sins nor misfortunes. They are consequences."

He felt deeply the aning behind each word he spoke. The past two years had been filled with struggles and despair; he rembered every face that had vanished. How could the world understand if they were unwilling to admit it? In his mind, he began a dialogue with the anger and sadness—was it their fate to continue fighting against the current, as if they could resist sothing greater than themselves?

Rinoa continued, "And as long as those wounds remain hidden... the world will never be able to grow again."

She tightly grasped Fitran's hand, feeling the warmth that began to ease the coldness of her doubts. Yet, the flow of sorrow lurked at the corners of her mind, whispering to her, questioning once more: Were they truly strong enough to bear this burden? Were they not toying with sothing far more dangerous than they had imagined?

The figure lifted their hand and pointed at their chests.

"Then... prove it by giving a part of your soul. Not to erase my wounds... but to unite with . To bear the weight and not turn away."

Rinoa's heart raced. She felt as if ti had stopped, allowing her to hear her heartbeat reverberating in an unspoken rhythm. Not far from there, the night sky began to tremble with faint starlight, as if the heavens too felt the depth of the emotions woven between them. Each star seed to ignite with hope and pain, beckoning them to step forward.

He asked himself whether he was truly capable of doing it. Sacrificing a part of his soul. Not only to save the world, but also to honor every silent soul, every neglected wound. In his internal struggle, he rembered the beautiful and bitter mories throughout his life and heard the echo of hope. One voice, urging them to step out of the darkness.

Ritual of Uniting Wounds

A ritual without incantations began, where silence beca a companion more familiar than words, which often felt empty. Every breath sounded like a whisper from a wounded world, reviving the pain and peace that intertwined.

The giant wound blood like a flesh flower, and from within erged two red threads: one for Fitran, one for Rinoa. Both had to touch it with open hands, holding onto hope even as their hearts trembled with fear. Above them, the gray sky emitted a soft light, casting an ethereal ambiance around them, providing the push to take a step toward the predetermined fate.

They allowed the wounds of the world—lost histories, the destruction of Gamma, the deaths of those left behind—to enter their consciousness, as if granting shadows of the past the freedom to dance before their eyes. Fitran felt his soul trapped in an unbroken thread of ti, ensnared in mories he longed to forget, while Rinoa struggled against the waves of bittersweet emotions.

As the threads lded with their skin:

Fitran reflected on the world he had let burn in order to stop Beelzebub. He could hear the cries of the townsfolk, see the children he had failed to save, with each face reflecting the piercing sadness that seed to penetrate his very soul. In Fitran's mind, questions swirled; "Was all of this worth it? Did I truly save anything, or rely create more wounds?"

Rinoa was engulfed in the mont she chose to beco the Avatar of Harmony, leaving behind friends who died in the soul war because she couldn't commit to a side. That mont struck like a deadly blow, leaving an indelible mark. "Should I really be here? Is this choice right, or is it just an escape from responsibility?" she thought, enveloped in profound uncertainty.

Yet none of them flinched. They understood that facing pain was part of the journey, and to comprehend the entirety of themselves, they had to endure this trial.

They allowed those wounds to remain, not as a curse, but as a reminder. Each streak of blood and flesh, that seed agonizing, now appeared to hold a deeper aning. In the ditative silence, they felt the presence of those lost, as if strengthening the bond between them and this imperfect world.

And at that mont, the eyes that had closed on the body of the wounded figure... opened one by one. But instead of hatred, they contained tranquility. In harmony with the understanding that wounds are part of a greater life. "Are we ready to accept this truth?" a voice within them asked, unanswered.

The wounds of the world dissolved into light, leaving behind a stone floor that erged in the center of the space, inscribed in Proto language:

"Gamma is not the place you seek,

"Gamma is not the place you seek, but the wound you permit to beco part of you."

On that floor lay a fragnt of cracked bronze shaped like a heart. When Rinoa touched it, it lted and ford a descending stone path... leading towards the Silent Chamber—the space before the Fourth Room: Choice.

As they prepared for their journey, the atmosphere around them radiated a mystical aura. Darkness gradually enveloped them, giving the impression that ti had co to a halt. Rinoa felt a strange tranquility, as if each heartbeat of hers responded to the call of the world around her. In her mind, mories of the past surfaced: monts when fear haunted her, creating boundaries between dreams and reality.

Fitran and Rinoa sat quietly on the stone steps. Like two souls fixated on the longing for aning, they imrsed themselves in the silence that enveloped them, a soft lody born from the empty space. Rinoa rembered her hopes and friends who had always provided strength. That feeling washed over her again, enveloping her heart.

Their bodies were weary, yet their hearts no longer ran away. anwhile, Fitran struggled to calm his thoughts. "Is this the end of our journey?" he wondered internally, as the fear of failure stirred within his soul. However, as he looked at Rinoa, he felt a renewed drive—a strength to continue their journey.

Rinoa rested her head on Fitran's shoulder. "It turns out... wounds don't ask to be forgotten. They seek companionship instead."

She fought to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. The courage to root itself in the heart was a difficult lesson to learn. In the sincerity of her words, there was an allure that reminded Fitran of the burdens they carried. How could they escape the wounds that had shaped them? Each loss added weight to the other's soul. Were they truly prepared to face what lay ahead?

Fitran nodded, gazing at the dark path before them. "And if Gamma is a world born from wounds... then we will enter with our own wounds. Without pretense."

In their hearts, there was a longing to discover their true selves. In that sudden peace, Rinoa envisioned the gazes of the people she once loved—an entwined community, torn apart by pain and hope. Each fleeting reality and every postponed dream rged into the soul leaning against the threshold of the Silent Chamber. Here is where the transformation begins: at the crossroads of choice, with wounds serving as reminders of their strengths and vulnerabilities.

In the silence, a small fire appeared on the stone floor. No one lit it. Yet, it was there, like a recognition from the Stones that they had passed the third trial. The light illuminated the darkness, providing hope in the bleakest monts—a peaceful symbol of their resolve to move forward, even when struck by pain. The brightness of the light not only captured their attention but also gently eased the rising panic.

Rinoa could feel the warmth radiating from the small fire—warmth and tranquility enveloping her tightly. "Is this what we seek? An answer, or rely an illusion?" Rinoa thought, as anxiety began to creep into her heart. Every second felt precious, and those aningful monts were becoming scarce. She wanted to move forward, but why did her heart feel so heavy?

That night, in the quiet space beneath the world's wounds, Fitran and Rinoa slept for the first ti not to escape from sothing, but to welco sothing they would carry together. They lay on a worn carpet that absorbed the sound of their footsteps, exuding the scent of damp earth that seed to invite them to reconnect with the roots of life. Around them, the shadows of the towering walls created a small world, far removed from the chaos and sorrow waiting outside.

As they lay in silence, their minds danced between mories and hopes. Fitran felt a gentle pull from the mories of a painful past; he recalled monts of running away from darkness, striving to chase a glimr of light. "Is this what they call awakening?" he questioned silently, while Rinoa, beside him, remained awake with anxiety—waves of emotion tumultuous within her, as if she stood at the edge of an intimidating abyss.

The stillness of the night was filled with a silence that spoke of uncertainty, yet a profound longing flowed between them, like a soft breath brushing their skin. Rinoa sensed sothing held within Fitran's heart, sothing he wished to express but feared the repercussions—"Does he also feel the sa loneliness?" she pondered, searching for answers within the surrounding darkness.

As the stars illuminated the night sky wrapped in mystery, Fitran felt a compelling urge to communicate—not with words, but through presence. He took Rinoa's hand, a warmth seeping into his soul. "Perhaps this is where we are ant to be," he whispered softly, "together in silence."

Rinoa gazed at the sky through the gaps in the roof. "What will we endure together if there is nothing left?" she thought, her heart shattered into fragnts. There was a yearning to let her tears fall, but she held back. "We are two broken shards, and perhaps it is ti for this powerless girl to find her strength."

After a while lost in silence, Rinoa realized that Fitran's presence gave her a reason to remain strong. "Facing uncertainty..." she pondered, "perhaps that is what will lead us to rebirth." Through the small window, the soft beam of moonlight seed to offer an emblem of hope for both of them.

As the night progressed, strength and vulnerability clashed within them. Fitran understood that even in this wounded place, a new miracle was beginning. "Have we finally found a ho?" he asked himself, recalling all that they had endured. Realizing that, despite the scars, their existence was a sign that they were still fighting.

Dream after dream passed through their minds, blurring the lines between reality and hope. "I am not alone anymore," their hearts echoed in unison. "We will face whatever cos." And as their embrace ward, the world that continued to spin seed to pause montarily, offering a brief respite to breathe in the newly found unity.

Yet, morning would soon greet them, bringing with it the harshness of reality. Outside that quiet room, a bleeding world awaited with all its sorrows. Inevitable dark mories would begin to resurface as the sun kissed the earth. "A new day, new opportunities to confront the forces yet to be understood," Fitran whispered, as if affirming the decision they had just made within their hearts.

As they awoke to the fresh morning light, the cacophony of the world echoed in their ears once again; the very sounds that had once driven them to flee. Fitran looked at Rinoa. "With every step we take, no matter how dark the path may seem, we will move forward. We are no longer running away; we will embrace the dawn of a new beginning." In each intonation of his voice, there was hope—a desire to reignite the candles within their souls, illuminating the way as they chose to create anew in a fractured world.