Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 458 Voidling in Yourself

Sothing is moving, as if signaling a coming change.

Not from outside. Not from the enemy's magic. But from within himself.

Fitran awakens in a transitional space she does not rember entering. The walls are not made of stone, not the result of magic, but have a warm texture—like a whisper from a loss she has never nad. Amidst uncertainty and silence, waves of nostalgia flow with every heartbeat. mories of the past, where happiness and sorrow intertwine, evoke a profound question: what is missing from her life?

Inside her chest, sothing stirs gently.

She places her hand over her heart. Its beat is steady and regular. Her breath is normal; there is no pain accompanying it. Yet in the silence, loneliness grips her body tightly, as if reminding her of how much she has sacrificed. The hope that once sparkled now seems dim, too far to reach, as if left behind in the past.

But from the tip of her fingers, a small shadow erges. Tiny. The size of a fingernail. Then it floats into the air, spins once, and returns to cling to Fitran's skin. In that mont, her mind drifts far away, to tis when everything felt whole and complete. A soft voice whispers in her heart, "Are you ready to et the part of yourself that is lost?"

It is not painful. But clearly... it is not a part of her.

When Fitran exits the isolation room of the Hall of Codified Spells, Beelzebub imdiately knows.

"Sothing has co out with you."

Fitran turns, and in her mind, the rise of fear and hope clash. What else will she encounter out there? Like a sailor afraid of the waves, yet unable to resist the urge to sail, she is caught in a battle between fear and courage.

"Do you see it too?"

Beelzebub nods. She kneels, touching the ground where Fitran's steps have just passed. There is a thin shadow, moving slowly—like ink reluctant to dry.

"That is not magic. Not a creature from this world." "It is... you. But the part you have not allowed to speak."

Fitran feels her heartbeat thundering in the silence of the night, each shift from one thought to another clarifying the emptiness that fills her veins. She rembers the patches of shadow she has always hidden, locked away in the deepest corner of her heart, where hope and pride battle with guilt and regret.

In a sleepless night, Fitran sits still. From beneath her skin, from between her bones, the first Voidling erges. It is small. It has no eyes. It has no fixed form. Yet its face... feels like soone.

Rinoa? Sheena? Beelzebub? Her younger self?

In the echo of the nas spoken, a sense of loss sweeps over her like a storm. Beautiful mories envelop layers of sorrow, revealing the roots of longing that continue to grow, even if neglected. Every na that crosses her mind is a burden she can never drop.

She does not know. Because the Voidling... does not represent one na. But all the nas she has never been able to call correctly.

"Do you... feel guilty?" Fitran asks, her voice hoarse, like the dark night filled with the soft sighs of the wind.

The Voidling does not answer. But it clings to Fitran's arm, then disappears.

In the following days, she continuously wonders, groping for feelings in the darkness. As if every shadow holds secrets about who she truly is. Trying to accept, trying to understand, she remains trapped in the suffocating confusion, longing for the missing parts of her own soul.

She does not know. Because the Voidling... does not represent one na. But all the nas she has never been able to call correctly. In her mind, shadows of mories swirl, as if a collection of years is trapped in a piece of ti that keeps repeating itself. That thought brings a bitter smile; just like the faces that have beco part of her and disappeared into the void, creating a profound emptiness.

"Do you... feel guilty?" Fitran asks, her voice echoing like the whisper of the wind. She knows what the Voidling hopes for, yet her heart races, as if all the mistakes are lining up one by one, gripping her soul.

The Voidling does not answer. But it clings to Fitran's arm, then disappears. In that silence, there is a drowning loneliness, placing Fitran on the edge of a chasm between hope and despair.

In the following days, as she recalls the mories that resurface, every mont is etched in her soul like footprints in the sand; clearly visible, yet easily erased if ignored, reminding her of the temporal nature of mory and how it can fade if not preserved.

Once, she sees a child drawing a failed glyph. The drawing seems full of hope, despite its flaws; just like the hopes she keeps in her heart. When will she dare to redraw the story of her life?

Once, she hears an old song from a street poet. The lody seeps in, igniting the embers of hidden mories. Each note carries with it movents, stories, and feelings that have been forgiven and forgotten.

Once, Beelzebub speaks of soone who does not rember her. Beelzebub's words make Fitran's heart beat faster; how she wishes that neglect would not be part of her life story, yet she cannot ignore that reality.

The Voidling does not speak, but its presence strengthens the silence that looms over Fitran. Not attacking. But their existence... drains aning from her surroundings. As if holding her body within a collection of lost dreams, they remind her that reality is stronger than dreams.

The writing becos blurred. The spells fail to form. And the nas in the pactum... begin to fade from her mory. The noise within her is muffled, as if all the words ever spoken are now trapped in a suffocating and sorrowful silence, marking the loss of the bonds that have ford.

"This is not a curse from outside," Fitran murmurs, groping for the tumultuous thoughts in her head. "This is... what I have kept too long." She feels the shadows of fear creeping into her soul, questioning the certainty that sways in the sea of feelings.

On the fourth night, Fitran sits by the river and feels at peace, with Beelzebub nearby, in silence. Sotis, in the deep silence, her mind becos a mirror, reflecting a face she does not want to see and reminding her of all the fears hiding in the darkness.

The Voidling appears. This ti, not one. But seven. They swirl around her, as if invading every inch of her presence. Along with them, the feeling of being forgotten cos pouring in like unending rain.

They sit around Fitran. Not doing anything. Fitran feels as if she is faced with a mirror, reflecting on the pieces that have been lost from her identity.

"You want to confess, don't you?" Fitran says. "To confess that I cannot save anyone." That statent sounds bitter, as if she is speaking to herself, inviting the presence of all the regrets she has chosen to ignore.

One of the Voidlings touches Fitran's finger. A gentle touch, yet sharp—like an arrow piercing deep into her soul.

And in that touch... a fragnt erges:

The last step of Rinoa before she was sealed. The mory floods in, bringing with it an inevitable tide of feelings.

Sheena, when she said: 'You ca... too late, as always.' These words ensnare her, as if awakening fragnts from the past buried deep in her heart.

Beelzebub approaches. She knows Fitran cannot fight this with spells, pacts, or good intentions. In her mind, Fitran rembers all the mories she has rejected, like shadows haunting her, gently sweeping her heart with warmth that seems to carry a sense of longing.

"You must embrace them," she says.

"What?"

"The Voidling is not a parasite. They are the feelings of loss you have rejected. If you do not want them to consu the world, you must... accept them."

Every word from Beelzebub is warm in Fitran's ears, like morning dew seeping into her soul, awakening her to that fragility. In an instant, the shadows of the faces that have gone seem to gather around her, patiently waiting to be welcod back.

"They will grow."

"Let them."

That night, Fitran embraced the seven Voidlings. The embrace was not just physical, but also an embrace of the past that once again grasped and ward the emptiness in her heart, filling the spaces that were once empty with the presence of precious mories.

There was no magic. No light. Only a calm pain—like a wound that has finally dried. That pain reminds her that every hurt is part of the journey, of the effort to love while also losing.

And when she finishes...

The Voidling does not disappear. But transforms into a symbol.

Seven small symbols, unreadable by anyone, encircle Fitran's chest—not as a curse, but as a sign that she has once lost... and no longer denies it. In her heart, she realizes that each symbol is a lesson, a cushion for her open soul.

The Voidling is a shadow of unspoken love. And now... they do not attack the world. They are like protective spells, reminding Fitran that in every loss, there is always room to regain the love she wishes to nd.

They beco new protectors—not from power, but from the acknowledgnt that pain... is part of the existence that must be accepted. And Fitran finally realizes that every embrace she gives makes her more whole, as if the cracks in her soul begin to fill with new hope shining in the midst of her sorrow.