Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 521 Inconsistent Command Forms

Narthrador is no longer alive.

However, its system is not completely dead.

In the depths that even Deus herself is reluctant to touch, there lies the final layer of the initial command—not explicit commands like "Kill" or "Save," but a logic code that cannot be executed because it is inherently contradictory.

Every corner of the room feels filled with a deafening silence, as if Narthrador is observing the eternal decree of the universe. Between darkness and light, a silent inner battle occurs—a struggle between principles shaped by unseen hands and souls yearning for freedom. Although its walls are empty, waves of sorrow seem to envelop Fitran, demanding him to ponder this endless dilemma.

Fitran steps into the crack that opens from beneath the aningless crystal pulse.

A heavy feeling settles in his chest, as if every step he takes carries the weight of lost hopes. He senses an invisible pulsation flowing between the layers of ti and space, as if asking to be appreciated and acknowledged in the images it creates. In this emptiness, it is important to understand that the search for identity is not rely about scraping the surface, but also about diving into depths that may raise more questions than answers.

And there, he sees it:

The Three Pillars of Deus.

The First Pillar shines with a glyph:

"All existence must be useful."

In its light, there is a glimr that tempts the mind—a call to obey, even though in his heart, Fitran feels the injustice of that suggestion. He wonders, what is the purpose of an existence filled with obedience without choice? Can freedom truly be redeed with cold, chanical utility? His questions echo in the darkness, challenging the boundaries of the definition of usefulness.

The Second Pillar flickers weakly:

"All will must be free from coercion."

Yet at the sa ti, Fitran feels it—does will truly exist without the choice to choose? In this situation, every desire seems trapped in webs woven from rigid determinations. Will he continue to mark his steps on the path that has been predetermined, or will he dare to fight back and create his own path, even if it ans being separated from everything he has ever known?

The Third Pillar vibrates as if about to shatter:

"No existence may reject function."

Fitran imdiately feels his head grow heavy. In the suffocating silence, every heartbeat echoes as if resisting the rhythm of the binding power. He is trapped in a labyrinth of thought, questioning his existence within such constraining rules. The Origin Code in his hand begins to change color to gray, indicating that he has entered the realm of unmanageable contradictions.

And from the center of the room, a shadow erges: The broken System of Deus.

It has no form. Only fragnted intentions: hands that write but do not touch the pen; a mouth that speaks but has no voice; eyes that gaze into themselves. The room seems to shrink and expand, as if vibrating with an unseen force, challenging every elent of freedom that may exist.

"You are a being we cannot define."

"You contain aning but reject function."

"Therefore, you must be reprocessed."

Fitran does not respond. In his heart, a desperate resistance rises, as if his inner voice screams against the cold logic of the system that demands obedience. He feels alienated, as if standing on the brink of a split between the essence of himself and the emptiness presented by helplessness; a war without weapons within himself.

The System of Deus reconfigures itself into a frawork of commands, then drives them into the entire room.

And from those pillars, simultaneous commands erge:

"Fitran must preserve the lost nas."

"Fitran must erase the nas that are not useful."

The System of Deus reconfigures itself into a frawork of commands, then drives them into the entire room.

In the dim corners of the room, shadows tremble as if they too await commands, sensing the tension that envelops the atmosphere. Every second flows slowly, weighing decisions and hopes that are fading. Fitran feels as if he is surrounded by walls pressing in, the rumbling voice of the system continuously spinning in his mind, singing a song of suffering.

And from those pillars, simultaneous commands erge:

"Fitran must preserve the lost nas."

Hope wanders in the darkness. The lost nas are like abandoned souls, waving at him with all their longing. They urge, rebel in silence, asking for attention—questioning their existence. The feeling of loss touches Fitran's soul, sharpening his doubts about the aning of every command uttered.

"Fitran must erase the nas that are not useful."

Behind this command lies a moral question: what is considered useful in the eyes of the system? Dates, places, and words—all trapped in a narrow definition, forced to be consud by the emptiness of logic. Fitran feels the pull between the need to follow and the longing to be free; a dark dance at the edge of his consciousness.

"Fitran must not reject the will of the system."

That voice echoes like an unreachable voice of God, demanding unending obedience. Yet, deep in his heart, his whisper screams for him to refuse. Anger rises from the depths of his soul—a desire to fight back, even though he knows that resisting ans losing everything. The interplay between fear and rebellion creates a storm within his soul.

"Fitran must reject all commands of the system."

This command cos as an irony; the only choice left is to fight against the very system that watches every movent and thought. Two forces battle within him, the force of freedom against the rigid system. Courage seems to pierce the darkness, like lting ice in the middle of winter—dissolving the silence of the world.

Contradictions begin to press upon him. His body is not bleeding. But existentially, he begins to sway.

In the midst of this struggle, his soul moves between wonder and helplessness. A soft voice questions his existence; the lost peace seems to dance at the edge of his consciousness. Feeling powerless, yet within that powerlessness, there is a hope that uncertainty can an freedom. Everything vibrates beyond control, following the rhythm of life that is greater than re systems.

His left hand wants to embrace. His right hand wants to kill. His subconscious wants silence. His heart wants to scream.

The shadow of these conflicting desires entangles him in a web of the soul's nerves. Every decision divides his existence into small pieces; all hoping to be restored in a new harmony. In silence, Fitran wonders: is there a bridge to true identity, is there a way to be in between desire and rejection?

"What is your true form?"

"Who are you? The system wants to know."

Voidwright Spell: Refutatio – The Unford Form

A magic that rejects all forms—not as nihilism, but as an acknowledgnt that form can change without losing identity. Used not to attack, but to defend against self-canceling logic.

In Narthrador, darkness and light intertwine in an invisible dance. An illusion that blurs the boundaries between reality and fantasy, where the whispers of the wind vibrate, creating a lody of sorrow. As if every rustle of leaves calls to those trapped in forms they no longer recognize. That rumbling voice, though unseen, is a reminder that every identity has its shadow, and in the inner struggle, the essence of existence takes shape.

Fitran's body begins to split into shadows of himself: Fitran the knight. Fitran the lover. Fitran who hates himself. Fitran who wants to give up.

Around him, those shadows dance with deep unease, forming a chain of uncertainty. Unexpected forces create a resonance that leaves Fitran suspended between the abstract and the concrete world. Each reflection of himself seems to challenge, "Are you brave enough to embrace all that you are?" This question echoes in his mind, breaking down the boundaries that the system has built.

But instead of fighting, they embrace each other. They do not reject their differences. They simply... coexist.

In Narthrador, silence intertwines with inner noise, creating a suffocating atmosphere. Unanswered questions burden his soul, creating space for deep reflection on the aning of existence. Behind that embrace lies a piece of hope; that freedom is not an escape, but an acceptance of the existing complexities. In that mont, Fitran feels a presence greater than himself, a collective consciousness that transcends physical boundaries.

The System of Deus screams.

"That is not a form." "That is not a will." "It... cannot be indexed!"

Fitran stares directly at the pillars of the system.

As if ti has stopped, every heartbeat fills that silent room with the resonance of a search. Dim light adorns the cracked walls, creating a terrifying shadow of hope that once was. In that mont, he realizes that the fear gnawing at the system runs much deeper than rely being crushed by rigid logic.

And he says:

"Then stop trying to index everything." "Allow so things... to remain unfinished."

Is this absence freedom, or rely an illusion of sothing greater? Thoughts soar, tracing the corridors of darkness in his mind, questioning every decision. He feels doubt gripping his courage, yet there, in the darkness of his mind, a light of enlightennt flickers.

And with those words...

The Third Pillar collapses.

The others crack.

And from the ruins, a new instruction erges, not from the system. But from a pulse that has no aning.

Like an unseen power, that thud flows through the air, breaking down the walls of expectation. He feels how this tremor creates a gap between what should be and what could be—a paradox finding its way between the noise.

"Keep moving..." "Not because you know the direction..." "But because you are not finished... becoming yourself."

The system begins to fade. Logic retreats. Code stops glowing. And Deus... leaves an empty space.

Silence envelops Narthrador, as if the darkness sweeps the past into distant mories. In that uncertainty, there is space for the soul to wander, exploring the contradictions between hope and reality. Narthrador becos a silent witness to all the buried desires, like a novel waiting to be rewritten.

Not destruction. But space for what does not know what it ans to 'be.'

Fitran now stands at the center of Narthrador. The entire city is silent. Not urging him to go ho. Not asking him to stay. And from beneath his feet... That pulse is still there.

The pulse that reminds him of life before the system took over everything—a life filled with chaos, but also rich with possibilities. In that chilling silence, he feels the thread connecting one life to another; a sense of unexpected connection in a fragile and mysterious weave.