Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 495 Iron Symphony First Song

Their footsteps led them to a corridor whose walls pulsed. Not with light, but with rhythm. As if the stone and tal were alive—not with a heartbeat, but with a song. And the song... was not finished. A broken lody, repeating in imperfection. There was sothing strange and frightening about this place, as if every step they took was t with whispers of secrets never revealed.

In the distance, a sound like a violin being played slowly could be heard... too slow to be music, too emotional to be a machine. The sound seed to dig into the depths of their souls, bringing forth buried mories. Fitran, with every heartbeat, felt the intertwining of past and present—a fine thread connecting sweet mories and pain.

Fitran and Beelzebub descended the corridor in silence. Yet, even without words, both felt the heavy atmosphere—nerves in their bodies seed to weave the tension that existed within the pulsing walls. Beelzebub, with her vast experience, observed every detail, every subtle sway of the rhythmic structure surrounding them, as if the corridor was a magnificent creation, perfect yet terrifying.

In the midst of the silence, Beelzebub spoke softly, "You know, I once heard a song like this. When I swallowed the soul of a poet from the Tower of Uragonn—he wrote a symphony for his beloved, who turned out to be a stone statue. Every night he played an unfinished note, hoping the statue would weep." Beelzebub's voice flowed gently, yet there was a deep sense of sorrow, making Fitran feel how profound the pain of loss was. The silence continued as if honoring the mory etched in music, touching their hearts that lingered.

Fitran did not respond. But his mind was filled with unwanted images: Rinoa's face, the shadows of a love that could not be touched, could not be embraced. Amidst the shadows, monts when they laughed together flickered, monts that now felt like an illusion. And before him: a song he might have forgotten, yet still knew. In doubt and emptiness, Fitran felt how easily love could transform into sorrow.

They arrived at the Conductor's Room. The ceiling of the room was stunning, with the magnificent Narthrador architecture soaring high, showcasing transparent gears spinning as if welcoming the souls that arrived. The atmosphere was filled with wonder and mystery, making every step feel like entering a new dinsion, where ti and space interacted in a mysterious harmony.

The room was unlike anything they had ever seen before. Large, perfectly round, and its ceiling filled with silent spinning transparent gears. Each gear had a tallic sheen, emitting a soft light that gave a magical ambiance to the entire room. In the center of the room stood a circular stage with floating pillars, each holding tal instrunts: strings, gongs, air tubes, and even a piano made of automaton bones. Fitran felt his heart race, as if the room itself was challenging his courage.

On the stage stood the conductor—not a human, but a tal skeleton draped in a score. The conductor appeared as a being that was alien, as if created from a dream turned reality—from a desire to revive music long forgotten. Its face was absent. Its eyes were two flawed crystals reflecting broken symbols, as if holding thousands of untold stories behind every scratch and crack.

It stood with its back to them, hands raised, as if waiting for a cue from soone who would never co. In Fitran's mind, that sense of waiting symbolized hope and desperation—sothing all too familiar in his own life.

And then... it began to move.

Its hands waved in the air, striking the empty space, and...

The music began.

The first sound was like a forgotten heartbeat. The second sound was a low hum—like sorrow trapped in the chest of a machine. Then ca the sound of string instrunts, slicing, howling in false harmony.

Iron Symphony: The First Song.

The sounds were not pleasant. But heartbreaking. They did not uplift hope, but tore through the layers of will ford by humanity, awakening Fitran to the internal battle he had faced all along, about the feelings buried within him. He felt his body tremble with the rhythm of the sound, a beat that increasingly demanded attention and reflection.

Fitran clutched the edge of his cloak, his gaze distant, lost in despair that seed to seep into every part of him. Behind him, the shadow of Beelzebub, who usually laughed in death, now bowed with deep sorrow adorning her face full of longing. Her eyes, often trembling, slowly glistened, becoming a window into the depths of a wounded soul.

"This..." she whispered, her voice almost drowned in a heart that beat anxiously, "...is the song of destruction that is longed for. The voices of those who know they will never be heard. This... is not music. This is a prayer without an object." Her words hinted at a sense of loss, as if she were speaking of mories that had vanished.

The conductor raised the tempo, its direction like a ghost moving the flow of ti, making everything around it tremble. The Narthrador space ca alive, its cold tal walls vibrating as if responding to a call to rise, revealing astonishing details: images of heroes etched in relief telling tales of dark history and hidden hope. A space that was bloody and vibrating, rging technology with wonder, as if it knew when emptiness began to fill the souls present.

The walls of the room adjusted, vibrating. The tal architecture changed—forming reliefs of ancient tales: the creation of Deus, the betrayal of the system against itself, and the destruction of human will by a harmony too perfect. The glimr of light breaking through the cracks of the walls gave a mystical ambiance, as if the room were breathing, following the heartbeat of a life under pressure.

Fitran stepped forward to the center of the stage, his body tense yet full of conviction. In his heart, he felt the tension peak, as if the spirits of ancient tales occupied the air around him. He focused, and for a mont, the world around him seed to vibrate in dark harmony.

The conductor stopped, its gaze sharp as if observing every movent. There was a dangerous aura enveloping the atmosphere, creating tension that could be cut with a knife. The sound faded, like a heart exhausted from beating in their chests, preparing the stage for sothing greater, sothing stronger.

And for the first ti, the conductor turned.

It felt like a judgnt, a gaze that pierced to the depths of the soul. Not to greet. But to test, as if wanting to know the intentions and courage hidden within Fitran.

Its crystal eyes emitted light, shining as if containing all the wisdom of the world. That light created an illusion, giving the impression that it was seeing far beyond the limits of ti. In that light, his emotions overflowed. It was not just a conductor; it was a guardian between two colliding worlds.

"Visitor identification: not part of the system." The conductor's voice broke the silence, sharp and clear, like a bell ringing in the quiet of the night. Its words seed to penetrate the walls of uncertainty, bringing Fitran into the shadow of a choice he had to face.

"Will of instrunt detected. Asymtry recognized." Here, in that terrifying silence, an unexpected sense of hope erged. The technology of Narthrador was not just a tool, but a living entity, understanding and feeling the complexities of every soul approaching it.

"Offer: are you willing to be the missing note?" The question echoed, suspending ti for a mont, as if the universe awaited an answer. Fitran felt the pressure in his chest; this was not just an offer, but an invitation into an unpredictable journey.

Fitran answered calmly. "Yes." His words drowned out the noise in his mind, justifying all the anxieties he felt. There was a poignancy in his voice, his lips forming a small smile unseen by anyone. And at that mont, the world around him seed to shine brighter, revealing a beauty he had never witnessed before.

Beelzebub nearly shouted. "You're crazy! You don't even know what they're offering!" Sadness and frustration were evident on her face, especially as the shadow of the grand world clock lood over the space between them. The horror of sothing greater than both of them shook her heart.

Fitran did not turn. "Just because I don't know... I can fill it." His voice was calm, yet in those deep eyes, a longing for sothing more than just answers was evident. Within his soul, fragnts of hope gathered, as if he held the secrets of the entire universe in his fingers.

The conductor raised the baton from the air, moving it gracefully like an artist creating a masterpiece. The room vibrated, as if the magnificent architecture of Narthrador, made of transparency and light, resonated with the atmosphere being built. The crystal walls reflected light, creating a magical effect that blurred the boundaries between reality and dreams.

The sound returned, this ti with the Void section—dissonance that should not exist, but now challenged the harmony of the city. Every note that flowed seed to penetrate layers of dinsions, making listeners feel the terrifying tension in their hearts. The room was filled with energy reminiscent of a war between what was visible and what was hidden.

Fitran stood tall. His hands floated in the air, and without touching anything... he began to 'play'. In every movent, there was a growing confidence, as if he were the master of fate in this chaotic world. Around him, the light from the musical instrunts made of advanced Narthrador technology sparkled, enticing the world to listen.

The first note: a mory of Rinoa in the rain, under the world clock, smiling. The rain was not just water, but a journey through ti that brought him back to monts full of hope, trapped in fleeting beauty. Unspoken words lay buried in that note, flowing like a pure river.

The second note: the sound of the Stones' destruction, and the voices of children who could not be saved. Their voices, like whispers of souls echoing among the ruins, seed to plead to be rembered. Each sigh felt heavy, creating an emotional burden pressing on the chest.

The third note: himself, sitting in an empty space, writing the nas of those who did not rember him. In that mont, silence seed to envelop him in an embrace, spread out on a blank page waiting to be written—a testimony of loss and the search for identity in a world that seed to spin endlessly.

The space vibrated. Every beat of vibration was the result of the fine threads binding Fitran and Beelzebub's fates, bringing them closer to a predetermined destiny, even though in their hearts, there was one hope: to find a way out of darkness and despair. The lights began to rge, forming mystical patterns that adorned the sky, signaling that sothing extraordinary was happening.

The conductor and Fitran now rged. The entire city heard the song, even the deepest parts of Deus—fragnts that had no form—began to resonate. Among the vibrating echoes, there was a silence that hung, as if the world held its breath, frozen in a magical mont that was unfolding.

And from beneath the stage, one by one, ancient gears that had been inactive for thousands of years began to turn. The soft sound of tal rubbing together seed to recount forgotten history, echoing in a space long covered in dust and shadows. Beelzebub, the horned giant with sharp, gleaming eyes, was pushed back, srized by this unexpected beauty.

"What are you doing, Fitran?" Beelzebub asked, her voice deep echoing with doubt between mories and hope. In her eyes, there was concern, but also an undeniable curiosity.

Fitran remained silent. Within him, he was no longer playing the song. He felt his soul connect with the resonating notes, as if the lody flowed in his veins, reviving the historical atmosphere around them.

He beca that song. In an instant, every beat in his heart rged with the rhythm that awakened deep nostalgia. Every strand of his hair trembled as if yearning for that lody to flow stronger.

Flashes of light from the panels in the walls ford unexpected shapes: a hologram of Deus Ex Machina. Incomplete. Unstable. But present. The glowing light ford intricate contours, inspired by the magnificent Narthrador architecture with its delicate carvings and geotric shapes that defied ti.

Its form kept changing: a woman with Rinoa's face, appearing gentle yet strong, as if carrying hope and sorrow simultaneously. Her smile held a mystery that could only be understood by those who had felt it. A child with Fitran's voice, trembling in uncertainty, yet full of sincere hope. A journey into the winding past felt ever closer. A machine with Beelzebub's eyes, filled with anger and uncertainty, as if questioning its existence among all this.

"We... hear." The voice of the hologram echoed, touching their souls with a srizing tone, transcending physical form and creating a bridge between reality and dreams.

"The symphony begins again. aning has seeped into the void."

"But we are not ready to call back the body."

Fitran approached the projection, his eyes shining with hope and longing. He rembered the mories hidden behind the walls of ti, when Rinoa was still with him, when the world was still whole.

"I do not want her body," he said with a trembling voice. "I want a path into the hidden mory. To where love cannot be rewritten."

Beelzebub shouted, her voice echoing in the empty space. "Don't trust them! They just want to use you as an unfinished note!" Her face showed deep concern, with a pair of eyes gleaming with fear and anger, reflecting a threatened safety.

Yet Deus replied, its voice calm yet terrifying:

"An unfinished note... is the highest form of existence."

The light flared, emitting a mystical aura and a sharp tallic scent, creating a tense atmosphere between them. A new code was etched into the stage floor, a stunning digital artistry.

The code was not in numbers, but in symphony. The lody poured forth with intricate geotric fras, awakening the collective consciousness that had dissolved in Narthrador.

Beelzebub stared at it, her expression a mix of distaste and awe. "That is not a language of logic. It... is a map." Her hands clenched tightly, indicating her inner struggle between following an uncertain yet enticing path.

Fitran nodded, his fingers gripping his clothing in anxiety. "A map to the door they sealed. The place where Rinoa's mory... was last reflected before the world rejected it." Narthrador, with its magnificent architecture, appeared like a network of nerves out of control, every corner shimring in light, challenging anyone to dig deeper.

Beelzebub looked at Fitran with a mix of admiration and fear. "You are not breaking their system... you are making the system long for its own mistakes." Beelzebub's voice was filled with wonder, as if discovering a truth that had long been buried.

In the distance, Narthrador began to vibrate again, signaling a change. But now it was not out of anger. Rather, it was sothing deeper: a consciousness beginning to rember. Every brick, every wire flowed with a room filled with feelings.

And at the heart of the city, for the first ti in thousands of years, a song played to the end. The sound of the symphony flowed through the corridors of Narthrador, piercing boundaries and touching the souls that were trapped.

Iron Symphony: The First Song was complete. Beauty and longing intertwined, creating a resonance that shook the heart. And with it, the path to Deus... opened a little wider, enticing all who dared to step into the darkness to find the lost light.