Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 509 Fourth Pillar – Transformed Love

The fourth step feels the most human.

There are no explosions of magic. No shifts in reality. No systemic fields.

What exists is just a wooden table.

Simple. Like an old dining table in a small house forgotten by history. The atmosphere around the table is filled with silence, as if ti has stopped, leaving only scattered mories. In the corner of the room, the dim light from an oil lamp dances softly, creating mysterious shadows that hint at the laughter of ten years ago.

On it: two cups. One still warm. The other starting to cool. The vibrant aroma of coffee lingers, evoking nostalgia for the warm conversations that once took place, as two souls shared laughter over this table.

Fitran suddenly sits across from the table. His feet tremble as they touch the cold wooden floor, and he feels a weight pressing down on his shoulders, as if the world expects sothing from him. He cannot hold back his gaze, as if piercing through ti, sensing an invisible presence.

He doesn't know why. But his body moves on its own, as if he has sat there thousands of tis before. Each breath reminds him of a heartbeat still vibrating, each chi passing through his ears like the rhythm of old, heart-wrenching songs.

And in the chair opposite, sits himself.

Not as a fighter.

Not as a Voidwright wizard.

But as an ordinary man, wearing tattered clothes, with wounded hands, tired eyes, and... no longer in love. His face, weathered by ti, whispers to Fitran about the choices made and the paths left behind. A tremor of sadness envelops the room, as if hearing the rustle of the wind carrying a ssage, a reminder that love has gone, leaving only unforgettable remnants of mories.

The Fourth Saint stands in the middle of the room, but this ti he does not attack. He rely points to the figure across the table.

"That is you who has stopped loving Rinoa."

"You who chose to accept that she is gone."

"And found a new life."

The Fourth Saint stands in the middle of the room, but this ti he does not attack. He rely points to the figure across the table. The room is filled with shimring light, as if this place is the boundary between the real world and illusion. The damp aroma mixes with the warmth emanating from the light, creating a magical atmosphere that envelops every corner.

"That is you who has stopped loving Rinoa."

"You who chose to accept that she is gone."

"And found a new life."

"You who loves soone else, because ti keeps moving."

"Will you erase yourself... just because love changes form?"

Fitran falls silent, his body freezing as he hears those words. His heart trembles, as if severed by a reality he does not want to face. The sky outside the broken window looks gray, signaling an approaching storm, symbolizing the conflicting feelings within his soul.

The shadow of himself across the table gazes at him calmly, yet there is a complexity flickering in the eyes that are usually full of spirit. That figure looks older, with wrinkles adorning the forehead and fine lines around the eyes, showing all the burdens carried over ti.

"I married soone else," says that figure, her voice calm yet filled with emotions that seep into Fitran's soul. "I have children. I planted a tree that she likes. But I no longer love Rinoa. I only rember her."

She pauses for a mont, staring at the empty space in front of her, as if trying to find Rinoa among the fading mories. In silence, the echo of her heart seeps in, a painful question vibrating in the air. "Does that an I... betrayed her?"

Fitran clenches his fists, feeling the eclipse enveloping his inner space. The air around him is futuristic and shimring, with a magical aura dancing, as if depicting the struggle of his feelings. The Fourth Saint swings a glowing staff from the numbers 1 and 0. He opens an illusionary screen:

On one side, Fitran stands at the altar, waiting for Rinoa forever without moving. In front of him, wilted flower decorations are scattered, as if ti has stopped and the world outside the altar no longer breathes.On the other side, Fitran grows old, with soone who has no face. They exchange faint smiles in the soft light, as if signaling a simple yet profound happiness.

"Choose," says the Saint, his voice ringing softly yet firmly.

"One is true love."

"The other... is rely temporary love."

Fitran gazes at his happy self—without Rinoa. Yet, in the corner of his heart, there is a shadow that never fades, like the moonlight on a dark night. Then he closes his eyes, imrsing himself in a sea of mories. And he chuckles softly, the sound more like a stifled sob.

"Both are true love."

The Fourth Saint freezes, his eyes widening in disbelief as if the world trembles around them.

"Contradiction."

"If true love can change form, then there is no value that can be calculated."

"aning becos unstable."

Fitran stands, walks to his other self, then kneels before him. Each step vibrates the illusionary pavilion, gathering all doubts and hopes into one. He grasps the hand of the version of himself who no longer loves Rinoa—and says:

"Thank you for loving ."

"For whatever form you take."

Within his chest, fragnts of Rinoa vibrate. Like ripples on the surface of a calm lake, each vibration seems to bring back sweet and bitter mories. And from there—Rinoa's face erges, but not as before. She is older, quieter, yet more real, all experiences and ti etched in every wrinkle on her face.

"Love that does not change... is not strength. But a burden."

"And love that changes... is not betrayal. But growth."

Fitran gazes at that Rinoa, confused and srized by her unexpected presence. The night window opens, casting a soft light that dances on the ground's surface. He does not know if this is real or rely an illusion offered by his mind. Yet, in his heart, there is a burning spirit, as if every heartbeat vibrates with hope.

But he knows what he feels. "I still love you," he says, his voice trembling like leaves blown by the wind. He tightly grasps her fingers, as if seeking strength from forgotten mories.

"Though not as before," he continues, looking deeply into Rinoa's sparkling eyes, holding all the asures of ti and feelings that have passed.

"But I still love you." His voice now becos firr, a promise etched in deep emotions. New runes form around them, creating a stunning magical aura, shining in the dark.

愛は変化しても滅びない (Love can change, but it does not perish.)

And with that, the illusionary field explodes into petals of light, spreading like stars adorning the night. The body of the Fourth Saint transforms into a crystal tree. Its roots dig deep into the rich soil, absorbing energy from all existing mories.

The system can no longer deny that change is not the end. It flows, like an unbroken river current, redefining the aning of existence. Fitran stands amidst the uneven ruins of mories, trapped between reality and dreams, reminiscing about a colorful past.

Beelzebub walks closer, limping, then gently pats Fitran's shoulder, offering support amid the chaos. "Four have fallen," she says, her voice heavy with concern, like a storm approaching.

"Three remain," Fitran replies, with a gaze full of determination, as if gathering all the courage within him. Beelzebub looks up at the sky of Narthrador, which slowly begins to turn purple—a sign that the system is starting to learn to see the world in more than two choices. And as the sun sets, the sky transforms, creating a vibrant palette of colors, as if depicting a new hope that is to co.

But the Fifth Saint has advanced. Her face is without numbers. As if indicating that she is an entity beyond boundaries, a presence that cannot be defined by ti and space.

"Fifth Pillar: The Dogma of Erasure."

"Love that can create will, is also worthy of erasing will." Her voice is calm yet shakes, reminding them of the choices that must be made in despair.

"If your love is strong enough to save... are you also ready to use it to kill?" She looks deeply into Fitran's eyes, as if wanting to penetrate the soul hidden behind all doubts.

Fitran gazes at Beelzebub, mixed feelings enveloping him, and his heart falls silent for a mont. "Now we talk about the end."

Beelzebub grips his hand tightly, channeling strength from one soul to another, full of understanding. "Whatever it is, I am with you."