Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 29 End of Prologue Love Written by Fate

Monts after the fall of Beelzebub, and at the sa ti—if ti still held any aning—a female sorceress nad Lirael, the guardian of the Tower of Babylon, stood in her observation tower, gazing at a rift in the dark, mysterious sky. This rift was not rely a crack, nor a hole, but absolute nothingness, a void that seed to challenge existence itself. In the silence of the tower, Lirael felt a subtle vibration coursing through her, as if the world outside were listening to the heavy rhythm of her heartbeat, bearing the weight of unspoken knowledge. She trembled, for she knew what lay beyond that rift... was neither an enemy nor a god. Not even "Fitran."

"It has transcended nas," she whispered to herself, a reflection of the dialogue between self and the universe.

"It is possibility in its most bare form..." The words soared into the sky, seemingly filling the existing emptiness, challenging a force greater than human understanding. Lirael, embedded in profound silence, sensed that each passing second created remnants of ti and noise drifting further away from the deepest nature of reality. It was like an unstoppable river flow, carrying everything toward the unpredictable, impacting the broader cosmic order, and highlighting the uncertainty that envelops existence.

Under the tower, magic began to shift rapidly. The ancient spells that had been the pillars of power beca unstable, issuing surges of darkness and light in an unexpected harmony, creating an atmosphere that was both thrilling and mysterious. Rituals lost their effectiveness, like shattered mirrors reflecting only distorted fragnts of shadow. So even birthed miracles that had never been intended, challenging logic and norms. A girl in the south could heal death with nothing but her tears, while a bird suddenly produced music that moved demons to tears. The impossible beca possible, without cause, and amid all these wonders, there was a force that insisted on remaining undefined, as if inviting everyone to question the boundaries of reality and the possibilities of magic.

And among them all, only Lirael understood the reason behind it—a burden placed upon her as the sole witness to the transformation of existence. "We live under the shadow of sothing that is no longer a 'creature,'" she said to the pages of a book that were now fleeing the library, observing the intricate details that ford a new panorama filled with mystery and unanswered questions.

"We exist under an idea," she thought with a profound awareness. Lirael was a bridge between dinsions, clarity and chaos, witnessing with both hope and fear what might unfold when concepts and powers intertwine, intersecting in a cosmic dance that carries implications for the entire universe.

Fitran had beco sothing devoid of mory, yet a source of all forms of magic. He was a map without origin, yet with paths to anywhere. He did not control the world, but the world now reflected his nature: limitless possibility.

Elsewhere, a demon weeps, unable to feel fear any longer. Once released, that fear has split into a boundless substance, flowing between countless dinsions. A king has lost his throne as every citizen begins to dream of becoming trees, yearning for roots that penetrate the earth, experiencing a reality deeper than what power can offer. The sky shifts colors like sound, its hues continually changing, creating a visual symphony that signifies the passage of ti. Stars begin to dance, scattering light that not only illuminates the night but also allows dreams to erge from the darkness.

"This is not destruction," Lirael finally said, her voice trembling softly. She felt the weight of responsibility in her words, aware of the profound aning behind this change.

"This is a new world... without a center, without boundaries. A reality driven not by history, but by what could be." In her heart, Lirael realized that she was the last witness of an era that had co to an end. From her isolated perspective, she observed a profound tamorphosis; every second revolved around wonder and uncertainty. She saw how every elent, from the ground beneath her feet to the vast sky above, was interconnected in a fluctuating harmony, creating a complex web of experience and existence that interacted with one another. Lirael understood that she played a role as a link between the explainable and the unimaginable, and these monts ford the core of this fleeting reality.

Lifting her gaze to the sky, her ambitions and fears mingled into one.

And for the first ti, she did not read the stars. Typically, she could interpret many things from their shapes and positions, but now there was only an eternal silence that filled her soul.

She listened in silence. Each breath brought her closer to a greater understanding, to the heart of everything that exists.

For behind that gap, beyond the now-vanished hull of Beelzebub, stood sothing that could not be prayed for—an entity that transcends physical and ntal boundaries. This was not rely an entity but a transcendental force that simultaneously influenced skepticism and hope, rging into an unexpected form of energy. This mont revealed that absence and existence could complent each other, creating an unforeseen harmony within the complexities of life.

It was sothing that could not be worshiped, for its presence felt more like a profound absence, quieter than silence itself.

It was sothing that could not even be painted with language, as its definition surpassed the limits of words, creating an ineffable experience that, as ti faded, resembled ripples on the surface of water. In the silence and change, Lirael realized that she was not just an observer; she was part of a larger weave of existence, interconnected and impacting one another.

"I think the world is beginning to spin again," she said, pointing her finger towards the massive old door, which appeared to be a gateway to another realm.

"Your Excellency, Hayoth A Kodesh."

anwhile, elsewhere, the sky was no longer just a blue horizon. It had transford into a pulsating field—like a giant screen projecting surreal and unexpected images. A pulse governed the emotions, illusions, and depths of logic, altering the rhythm of everything. Everything that once seed solid now changed every second—suddenly, rain appeared to fall upwards, while elsewhere, trees grew from the shadows of people. The world beca a wild and lush entity... yet directionless.

From the swirling reality that began to lt away, erged the first sign: a perfect, unwavering line, tracing the sky in a chilling silence.

The line cuts through the sky, serving as a clear divider between dreams and reality, emphasizing that the boundaries we establish can often be reshaped and transford. Within those limits, an entity erges—one not born from a womb, not of this world, and lacking eyes to gaze upon us; it manifests with a radiant power, shrouded in mystery, defining itself solely through its magnificent and striking presence.

The line slices through the sky, sharp as a knife separating two dinsions, bringing forth an inconceivable entity—not birthed from a womb, not hailing from this world, and devoid of eyes. It defines itself solely by its existence.

Its na is Avernon, the Sky Anchor.

It has no face, only formless contours that suggest its existence—a symbol of absolute form. Yet, its presence fills the void with sothing more than re absence.

It cos not to destroy Fitran, but to shape it.

Defining boundaries, creating a clear distance between mory and hope.

Crafting history, weaving the flow of ti into a neatly interconnected story.

Organizing dreams into a tiline, transforming chaos into a narrative that can be understood.

"Pure magic without direction is a slow destruction," Avernon said, its voice resonant, echoing in a language understood only by the unwritten laws of nature.

"Fitran must be redefined. It must be given origin. It must... be determined."

And Avernon did not co alone; it brought a more terrifying yet awe-inspiring presence.

From another horizon, other entities descended, each with unexpected purposes and powers:

Eschal, the Anchor of Bodies, appearing like an architect of souls, carving the boundary between humans and monsters, creating space where latent beings could define themselves.

Kaehra, the Anchor of aning, who imparts beauty and depth to every word spoken and gives purpose to every step taken.

Molun, the Harbinger of Death, who firmly pulls the tyranny of life, forcing every cycle to reach its inevitable end, like an unstoppable hourglass that regulates the rhythm of all that is alive.

They are the adversaries of Fitran—not out of hatred, but because they are the universe's reaction to an anomaly. For Fitran has beco an absolute inconsistency: chaos capable of creating both hope and destruction in the sa breath, like a storm that transforms a calm sea into roaring waves.

"He is a source without roots," Molun murmured, his gaze filled with ancient knowledge and deep concern.

"And that ans he cannot grow—only expand," he continued, his voice echoing like an unstoppable river current.

Thus began the sacred hunt, a quest filled with determination and hope.

Not to annihilate Fitran, but to instill justice upon chaos.

But to bind him back into sothing comprehensible, to weave the unraveled threads into a beautiful pattern.

Yet... can sothing that has transcended form be forced back into shape?

"And in the midst of the whirlpool of a new sky, Fitran dreams," an enchanting image swirling around him like a beautiful mist.

In his dream, he saw faces... not from the past, but from a future yet to be chosen, each smile and tear like a living painting in transformation.

And slowly, he began... to rember.

He dread.

Or more precisely: he started to shape his "self" from the vibrations of the dream.

Fitran—or whatever he is now—found himself in a boundless white space, a place where colors had yet to be created and ti had yet to be ford. There, there was no shape... until that shape was yearned for.

Then, gradually, a voice erged.

It did not resonate. But it held intention.

And that intention was: to rember.

The first fragnt:

"A simple mantra. A small fla at the tip of a finger. The light that first brings warmth."

Lux minoris.

This small vibration ford a hand.

The second fragnt:

"The na of a friend. Soone who laughed and then died. Soone who said, 'Don't stop fighting.'"

Fitran did not know who he was. But he knew the feeling of loss.

That feeling shaped his eyes.

The third fragnt:

"Fear in the battlefield. The decision to save, not to kill. And doubt... always doubt."

From there, a voice began to erge.

Little by little, consciousness crawled back. Not as the old Fitran, but as an echo of all the values of magic once used for living, dying, protecting, destroying, rembering, and forgetting.

He has not returned.

But he is beginning to exist.

No longer as formless—rather as a concept aware of itself.

"I am... sothing."

"I am not Fitran. But I... once was him."

"And I... wish to know who I am now."

Fragnts of mory began to gather. However, unlike ordinary recollections, they are not pieces of the past. They are impacts. The vibrations left behind by the magic he once wielded: A mother's prayer saved by Fitran's healing magic, the cries of enemies cursed with darkness, a small town spared from destruction by its defenses, a baby born amidst war, sheltered by the shell of magic.

Each mont of that magic leaves a mark. And now, those marks form a new consciousness.

"I am not one person. I am all that has ever been touched by that magic."

Elsewhere, high above the sky, Avernon—the Sky Anchor—vibrated. He sensed sothing that should have been impossible.

"It... is beginning to possess a will. But its will is not that of a single individual. It is starting to have a collective self. A consciousness ford from all the cause and effect previously birthed by the magic."

And in his heart, shaped by absolute law, Avernon felt... for the first ti... doubt.

"If it is a mirror of all the intentions that have ever erged... then... who truly created it?"

Fitran wandered aimlessly, his steps feeling empty as if ensnared by deep confusion. Unbeknownst to him, he found himself outside the Atlantis School, where the walls that once brimd with color now appeared dull in his mind. Anxiously, he raised both hands, gazing at them for a mont as if seeking answers among his fingers. Then, in a mont filled with emotion, he pressed his hands to his face, covering it completely, as if wanting to hide the feelings surging within his heart.

There was one na that kept echoing in his mind.

Suddenly, that na illuminated his darkened eyes.

"Rinoa."

He longed for that na dearly.

Finally, all the fragnts of mories converged around Fitran, forming a powerful swirl of emotions that seeped deep into the recesses of his heart, a place that had never been touched before. With a profound awareness, he realized that this was the feeling that had always illuminated him, like a gentle light piercing through the darkness of his heart.

He began to clearly understand who he was, contemplating each layer of his identity and questioning why he was here. The fate accompanying him was like a delicate thread woven intricately, guiding him toward a destination that had long been hidden behind the curtain of life's mysteries.

Fitran uttered an incantation,

"O fragnts subrged in the silent sea,

Arise from the naless depths.

With blood, with ti, with a na,

I summon you back, who once was."

"Ultimate Skill, Reminiscere..."

"I am Fitran, Rinoa's beloved," Fitran declared, his voice trembling with emotional tension. As the words slipped from his lips, visions of the past began to re-erge in his mind, although many of those mories remained vague and blurred, as if covered by a thick fog. In his heart, a deep acknowledgnt filled the void between the lost recollections, as if he had found a bridge to the forgotten past.