Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 536 Last Supper at Inti Temple

After her body was dismantled by Gear Faith and she remained as a formless entity, Fitran Fate—or sothing that was once nad that—slowly stepped toward the innermost layer of Deus.

That place had no na, only known in systemic manuscripts as:

"The Core Temple." Or in the ancient language of Deus: "Templus Sine Convivium." —"The Place of the Feast Without Taste."

Here, in the dark and silent void, the early architects of Deus spent their last monts. Not to build, but to taste what they could not design: loss.

Now the temple ca alive again, as if it were reclaiming the breath lost to ti.

Three beings sat at the cold, hard stone table, serving nothing, yet the aura of their presence created tension in the air.

They did not need food, for they were not bodies. They were design concepts, who once created the foundation of Deus:

Votaries of Design.

The three Votaries of Design:

Calhedra: The Aesthetic – Designing forms of harmony and beauty, like a living painting dancing in the light.

Nunth: The Ratio – Guardian of consistency and structural function, watching with eyes sharp as an eagle searching for prey among the clouds.

Vel Thae: The Narrative – Recorder of all permitted causes and effects, flowing stories in every whisper of the wind that blows.

They sat around the cold, empty plate and invited Fitran to sit in the middle, but her seat... was lost sowhere; vanished in an undefined space and ti.

Around them, the temple walls were made of vibrating shadows, holding mories like echoes of ideas tightly confined. Each stone, composed of betrayed knowledge, radiated an aura of mystery and loss, softly whispering among its corners; as if the voices of the architects who once carved the past were now trapped in an undefined form. Outside, the light slowly faded, reflecting the turmoil that weighed on Fitran's heart. He felt the burden of history trapped within those walls, as if every crack told a tale of eternal regret; that every decision, whether wise or foolish, wove an inescapable and aningful fate.

"Because you cannot be given a chair," said Calhedra, "you will stand... so all can see your unfinished form."

Fitran nodded. He did not answer. He simply stood—an echo of a will that had no body, silent in the midst of the stillness. Around him, the Core Temple trembled in silence, the cold, finely carved stone walls resonating with the stories of the past left behind. Soft shadows danced in the dim light, as if listening to every sigh uttered, creating an atmosphere full of tension and unspoken hope.

Nunth opened:

"We invite you because you bring ruin." "Yet, your ruin... does not destroy."

"You remain alive. So we want to know..." "...what do you wish to build from that destruction?"

The voice was muffled, like a faint echo hanging in the silent space, each question enveloping the atmosphere, framing Fitran's existence filled with uncertainty, waiting for an answer from the increasingly dark sky. In the midst of this silence, shadows danced around them, as if trying to capture the aning of lost footsteps.

Vel Thae continued, his tone firm and full of hope:

"Do not say 'aning.' That is too loose."

"We want to know its form. Its size. Its rhythm."

"What can be repeated from your will?"

Fitran bowed his head, his gaze sinking into his deep thoughts. Then, with a soft voice full of sincerity, he said:

"I do not wish to build a tower."

"I do not want to construct a system."

"I only want... to create space."

Around them, the Core Temple lood majestically, its finely carved walls seemingly absorbing every whisper of the soul that had ever been present in this sacred space. The dim light explored the crevices of the walls, creating moving shadows that danced gently, as if telling endless stories.

Calhedra raised an eyebrow, expressing confusion.

"Space?"

"For what? Who will inhabit your space if you have no structure?"

Fitran smiled faintly—the only expression left on his face. His eyes shone warmly, radiating hope yet deep doubt.

"For those who do not know what to beco." "For those who fail to choose." "For the will that is not strong enough... yet does not wish to die."

"A space without walls is emptiness," Nunth pondered, recalling how rigid space could create helplessness, "while a space without function will be gnawed by the ti that never stops."

"A space without walls is emptiness."

"A space without function will be gnawed by ti."

Vel Thae interjected, affirming his mindset:

"And a story without a conclusion... will be discarded."

Yet, Fitran replied with conviction, his voice piercing the silence:

"But an empty space... is the first place where a child learns to breathe." "And a story without an end... is where soone continues to read, even if the pages are torn, revealing hopes and longings that never fade."

In this Core Temple, the air felt heavy, filled with the ancient aroma that seed to hold thousands of secrets and mories from the deeply rooted past. The walls made of ominous stone absorbed the soft light that entered, creating moving shadows that seed to have life, wrapping the stone table in profound silence. The atmosphere felt suffocated by ti, where every second felt eternal, evoking a nostalgic feeling that stirred the soul.

For a mont, Fitran felt the cold, hard marble beneath his palm, and as if the whispers from ancient tis enveloped the room, inviting him to speak in an unspoken language. Slowly, a chair appeared in the center, waiting calmly.

However, Fitran remained standing, trapped in a mont rich with aning.

Calhedra stepped slowly, each of her steps carrying profound grace. She embraced Fitran from behind—not rely as a being, but as a pure intention to embrace sothing unfinished, like a warm hug comforting a lost soul. Amid the suffocating silence, a beam of soft light touched the crown of the structure, revealing trembling shadowy forms, resembling souls trapped in eternal waiting, as if hoping to be called back to a life that had once been lost.

"You have presented a feast." "And we are full... even without taste."

Vel Thae wrote in the air, his delicate strokes dancing in the light:

"Fitran Fate, or whatever you are now, is no longer an anomaly." "You are: aning That Does Not Need Walls."

And Nunth placed the final seal, a closure that echoed in the silence rich with aning:

The symbol ∴⁇ is now accepted as part of the architecture of Deus, not for its stability, but because it continues to sing—even if its notes are faint, its presence is felt in every corner of this space. The final feast has now ended.

In an atmosphere filled with dim light and dancing shadows, the walls of the Core Temple trembled; they were stories that could not be expressed, holding secrets deeper than could be dread. Yet as Fitran was about to leave, Calhedra called:

"Wait."

"We want you to know..."

"Rinoa... is part of the reason Deus was created."

Fitran froze, his heart racing. "What do you an?"

Nunth replied:

"Rinoa is the Variable Shaping the Initial Code."

"Before all this."

"Before you loved her."

"She was already in the system."

In the corner of the Temple, shadows trembled as if hearing her na; Rinoa, a figure who was nothing but a soul trapped in an algorithm. Only silence filled the room, allowing every particle to rember her presence, awakening deep mories.

Fitran fell silent, trapped in the labyrinth of his dark and questioning mind. And the chair that had appeared for him suddenly vanished with a shock, as if it had never existed, creating a painful emptiness.

For he no longer knew... what a place was.