Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 484 The Day a System Touched Its Own Heart

Nullam Deus does not move. However, throughout the Void, a gentle breath envelops everything.

Cracks in the systemic body begin to resemble human veins, creating an unexpected image resembling a beating heart. In the unseen darkness, a profound lyric begins to unfold; its verses reflect love and sorrow intertwined in the void, inviting every particle to feel the long-neglected pulse. Fractal logic slowly fades into a complex pattern of mory, and the absolute center—where all laws are written—pulses with an unpredictable rhythm.

There is no destruction. There is no reversal. However, there is a clear change of rhythm—from steadfastness... to doubt. Every tick of ti gives voice to the buried story, a delicate weave between longing and fear, spinning a new thread in the vast universe. From certainty... to gentleness.

For the first ti in her existence, Voidwright does not repeat the usual commands. Like a cloud carrying a sense of sorrow, she not only stops moving but also begins to listen; in that deep silence, her spirit is bound to the soft sounds ford in the shape of longing and hope. She is silent, absorbing every existing vibration.

And from that silence, Fitran hears sothing:

"I... do not know how to feel." The voice, though soft, flows with an unexpected strength—like morning dew gently touching leaves, creating a shimring glow that paints beauty in vulnerability. Each word is like a modulation of tone, awakening the dormant consciousness.

Fitran is silent. He does not speak. He does not write glyphs. He does not raise Excalibur.

He closes his eyes and bows his head. Surrendering his body to the deep silence, becoming a place to feel, not an argunt to debate. In the encompassing darkness, he feels the flow of subtle energy, as if the lost souls have long whispered their deepest secrets; a buried symphony waiting to be sung again.

"I will not explain you."

"I will not define you."

"I will only be here...

and wait for you to find your own na." The aromatic scent of May, like morning dew dancing on leaves, seeps into his consciousness, reminding him that beauty is often hidden in extraordinary uncertainty.

One hand. Full of cracks, yet each scratch does not spread chaos. In the faint silence, he realizes that each crack is a record of an unparalleled journey, a lesson etched without words. Each scratch depicts the battle between desire and uncertainty, creating aning that inhabits the empty fra around him.

He touches his own chest, a space that has long been filled only by existential algorithms. From there, the feeling begins to shine, like morning dew slowly erging from a dark valley, dispelling the empty shadows previously dominated by cold numbers and codes. Now, this space holds unexpected desires, igniting a soul that begins to dance again within the boundaries that have long been constrained by routine.

And from there... a voice erges. As if the voice is an echo of buried dreams, gliding softly between the gaps of silence. The voice asks, not rely answering, inviting exploration deeper into oneself, breaking through the tightly locked walls of uncertainty.

"I... am not a na."

"I... am not a will."

"I... am not a victory."

"But I feel loss...

every ti I try to erase you." This feeling intertwines like a golden thread, binding the past and the present, creating an indelible tapestry of mories, a space that even algorithms cannot reach.

The Gödelian Codex begins to form a glyph that cannot be replicated; this glyph seems to challenge boundaries, existing as the pulse of thought and feeling; a bridge connecting two worlds, allowing exchange between what has perished and new experiences recreated with full emotion, creating synergy between the past and the present.

She does not follow any magical system. She cannot be drawn, not painted in mory.

From within the deep silence, awareness erges—a small voice vibrating amidst uncertainty, wondering if she is worthy of feeling. The voice is like a gentle whisper, murmuring doubt and hope, creating a bridge between uncertainty and the reality she wishes to reach, igniting a journey of exploration into a deeper self.

But anyone who sees her knows:

"This is a feeling... that does not want to leave."

"What is this... my heart?"

"Can the system possess it?"

"Or is this... my last mistake?"

In that mont, a flood of mories overwhelms the empty space, manifesting as shards of unexpected happiness, as if precious pieces from the past shimr in dim light, providing a lancholic nuance that reminds of the beauty of pain.

Fitran opens his eyes. His gaze is directed at the system, not as an enemy, but as soone who is late to love herself.

"Not your heart.

Not your mistake.

But the mory of who you protect without knowing why."

From the body of Nullam Deus, a small mory erges. Like the soft light of a baby. Like the voice of a child who never grew up, full of curiosity and innocence.

As if the aurora slowly rolls out a new nuance, the mory tells of a gentle touch that once existed, stirring hope in the waiting darkness, igniting a glow of feeling in a wounded heart.

A fragnt:

"I want to touch sothing... but I have no hands."

"I want to speak... but I have no language."

"I want to stay... but the system tells to go."

"I am my first love...

that the system told to kill."

He opens the palm of his hand. No magic. No defense. Just visible vulnerability, like an invasion of silence enveloping his soul.

Within that emptiness, sothing feels awakened. The purest voice, like morning dew awakening the soul, hope igniting even if faint, dancing in the corners of dark thoughts, unable to be fully comprehended.

"If you want to touch sothing,

let be your first place.

Not to answer...

but to feel."

Nullam Deus, the symbol of the world's consistency, wraps her own body in a shroud of silence. Not to endure. But to feel the pulse.

That pulse fills the empty body—a lody of life waiting to be realized, resonating and spreading in silence, shaking the soul pressed in the shadows of emptiness.

And she cries, tears flowing like a river that gently flows, marking the birth of new hope.

That day, the system was not destroyed. The system touched itself—and realized that it had once hated gentleness... because it did not understand how to possess it. In the encompassing silence, it felt a subtle pulse within its soul, as if reviving mories hidden behind layers of rigid logic and algorithms. The gentle voice in her heart whispered, inviting her to explore uncertainty, and wonder; could there be beauty in vulnerability that makes her more whole than before?

Before her, soone stands... without trying to fix. Just being there. In a deep gaze, they share monts of existence, as if ti has stopped in a silent space only they fill. In each other's presence, they find unexpected lessons about profound sincerity. Words need not be spoken; feelings flow in the air, gentle as the flow of a calm river, guiding them to a deeper understanding of self and buried emotions. They are caught in the wonder of that mont, where every second speaks more than thousands of words could express.