Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 544 The Core Devourer

Fitran stood in the innermost room of Deus, now silent, surrounded by dead data spread out like the ruins of a fallen civilization. The weakened structures emitted echoes from mories he could no longer touch, creating a profound aura of loneliness.

He had reassembled part of himself, summoned the Sword of Voidlight, and touched the Unity Entity—yet the data about Rinoa had completely vanished. Not corrupted. Not deleted. Just... absent.

In the Terminal, dimd by cold blue light,

Fitran opened the central panel of Deus. With hope and tension, he typed that na repeatedly:

SEARCH: RINOA

Rinoa Lir Seraphin

Homo Eternum

Subject ∇-R

Void Archive Access: DEEP TRACE

All searches yielded only one sentence that crushed his hopes:

"DATA UNAVAILABLE. TARGET NO LONGER EXISTS IN INDEX."

In the corner of the room, a holographic screen flickered with soft light, displaying a stunning three-dinsional model of the rotating data system of Deus, creating an atmosphere where ti seed to stand still. The soft hissing chanical sound felt as if it embraced Fitran, conveying the ssage that even though the data was lost, the traces of journeys and mories were still etched deep within the core of the complex system.

The Deus processor pulsed with shimring cold blue light, as if absorbing every pain radiated by Fitran. In his heart, he felt a dramatic leap between hope and despair, as if every word he typed beca a mantra trying to summon back the lost mory. "Is it possible?" he thought, savoring every second that passed in silence, feeling the weight of ti filled with uncertainty.

Ti and space seed to oppose each other, separating him from the mories that should have been an inseparable part of his existence. In the farthest corner of the screen, another file appeared faintly, as if hidden behind layers of complex code. "Maybe this is the ti..." he whispered softly, with a burning hope in his heart.

Panic did not co. What ca was a gentle emptiness.

Like air that has no scent.

Like a prayer that never reaches.

"I did not just forget her..."

"The world now does not know she ever existed."

And from the dark corner

Panic did not co. What ca was a gentle emptiness.

All sounds in that room were muffled, as if ti had stopped pulsing, creating a chilling atmosphere. In this silence, Fitran's thoughts floated, trapped in shadowy images depicting how empty he felt without the lost existence, as if he were trapped in an endless void.

That emptiness ca like air that has no scent, unreachable by the senses, and like a prayer that never reaches, sidelined by doubt and sorrow.

"I did not just forget her..."

"The world now does not know she ever existed."

Yet, part of him seed to sense an undefined presence whispering soft words, awakening a deep unease in the recesses of his soul. This was not rely an effort to erase mories, but a burial filled with a desire to rebel against this silence, creating a dissatisfaction that continually tempted his heart.

And from the dark corner of the central room of Deus, the last wheel began to turn, radiating a tense atmosphere waiting to be released.

Each tooth of the wheel produced waves of vibrations that spread throughout the room, resonating with other hidden anxieties, as if everything united in a symphony of sorrow. Fitran could feel each cycle, as if signaling sothing greater than just a chanical device—a collective consciousness beginning to rise, as if hiding behind the veil of reality.

Activation of the Final chanism: Engine of Absolute Consolidation

Objective:

When the system loses all primary references, the Engine of Consolidation activates to absorb all remaining anings and condense them into a single central entity, like morning dew rging into droplets of water at the tip of a leaf.

The system believes:

In the chilling silence, the complex algorithms of Deus traced the remaining traces of aning. Every phrase and word was carefully excavated, summarized into the essence that was preserved. This thought intertwined in a complex web, not rely uniting data but also rging the emotions that had been left behind, creating a symphony from silence.

"If all aning no longer has purpose, then all must be united into a system that does not need a na."

Form of the Machine: The Core Devourer. A magnificent sarcophagus made of ancient iron and Void Crystal, gracefully floating in the air. Its surface pulsed with deviation glyphs, displaying patterns vibrating in unspoken proto-speech. Inside, layered chanisms spun like the belly of Beelzebub, but not to consu... rather to erase the boundaries between aning and form.

Outside that sarcophagus, shadows darted swiftly, sothing undefined swirling in the echoing hollow noise, reinforcing the perception of sothing eternal—a void that held unlimited potential, like an endless space waiting to be filled.

And right in the middle of this silent space... the Origin Code began to be drawn.

Fitran moved imdiately, feeling a deep urgency gripping his soul.

However, he could not approach—because the light from the Core Devourer not only repelled his body...

but also rejected his existence.

He walked five steps, but on the sixth step that should have been there, it was not recorded by the world.

"If that machine succeeds in rging with the Origin Code..."

"...then all anings that have returned will be fused into a blind spot."

"...including the nas that have just returned."

"Including Rinoa..."

"Even if she is no longer in the system..."

"...all traces of her essence will be erased from the world."

In the chilling silence, the sound of his footsteps echoed like the clinking of logic intertwining, creating an undetectable rhythm by the machine's sensors. The towering pillars vibrated, as if responding to the tension thickening in the air. Fitran felt the digital noise pounding in his head, as if flashes of information flowed into his nerves and vibrated every cell in his body, making him one with the invisible energy current pulsing around him.

And Fitran knew: even though Rinoa had vanished from all indexes... she had not vanished from him.

But the machine did not care.

In the taphysical space surrounding them, the Core Devourer emitted a thick gravitational pulsation, dancing in waves of intense noise that touched the limits of imagination, creating an atmosphere as if being in a cosmos full of mystery. As if there were faint whispers from within that energy depth, urging Fitran to step closer, even though his consciousness resisted, grimacing in the face of a fate filled with uncertainty.

Origin Code—that had previously been scattered as shimring light and faint sound—

now transford into data ribbons, slowly being absorbed,

into the logic sarcophagus waiting in terrifying silence.

Fitran now stood at the border between life and emptiness. If he stepped into the machine's pull, he would be torn apart. Not killed. Converted.

In his mind, the image of Rinoa was painted like gentle waves rolling in the ocean of mories. The shadows of her smile floated, but now threatened by the impending total separation from the existing reality. Fitran felt the weight of a choking burden, each heartbeat vibrating, filled with hope and fear, realizing that sacrifice might be the only bridge to preserve that mory. He was determined, carving steadfastness in his heart to face whatever awaited in the silence of that machine.

Even the Sword of Voidlight began to tremble, unable to penetrate the suffocating chanism—because that sword was created to separate aning from emptiness, not to stop total rging. So, in the midst of this wave of uncertainty, he had only one choice left.

He had to beco the Origin Code itself.

He had to rge himself with the code,

then enter the machine before it processed all aning.

Not to defeat it—

but to beco part of the filtering.

So that Rinoa... and all the nas that once lived... would not vanish into the debris of ti.

Ritual of rging: Union of Fractured Light

Fitran stood in the middle of the room, his gaze lifted upwards—towards the fading simulation sky, to where Rinoa might have once looked at him with hope.

The soft hissing sound that was omnipresent circled Fitran, a compound sound from the invisible machine, creating a tense atmosphere filled with uncertainty. Every second felt like a reminder of the eternal emptiness lurking behind the holographic screen—a void waiting for the opportunity to absorb everything. In this thrilling mont filled with intensity, Fitran felt an invisible presence, as if the machine whispered that there was only one path to take.

Then, he opened his hands.

And the Origin Code entered his body.

As the code infiltrated his system, desire and fear rged into one—a symphonic emotional experience enveloping his thoughts and soul. He felt as if thousands of voices—nas that once existed and every mory—were infiltrating his soul, bringing with them the weight of infinite history. He prepared for a journey that would not only rge with the machine but also with every aning that ford his existence in this world.

Fitran's body began to emit light, a shimring vessel radiating an aura of eternity.

Not bright.

Not grand.

But like a heartbeat, soft and constant.

One word erged from his lips,

a word that could never be recorded by Deus,

a word that could only be felt:

"I will rember you... even if no one can."

And he jumped.

Into the heart of the Core Devourer.

He saw nothing. Only the logic process struggling to digest his entire life.

In the enveloping uncertainty, shadows of the past unfolded before his eyes, like fragnted data in the mory of Deus. As he reflected on his footsteps, it felt like traversing an endless labyrinth, where every turn brought painful reminders of love and loss, shadows vibrating in mory.

And one by one, those nas began to disappear, as if absorbed by the darkness that swallowed all existence.

However, he placed his hands on every flow. He stored every na not in his head. But in the Voidlight—a part of him that could not be written.

As those nas passed, there seed to be a deep resonance between him and Voidlight, a deeper awareness flowing. Every na that troubled his mind was like a signal penetrating the waves of data, vibrating in his soul like lost notations, waiting to be rediscovered, returning to their complete form.

The Deus system scread, sending waves of panic through the network.

"Subject cannot be defined."

"rge failed."

"Origin Code refuses to be condensed."

And at that mont... the machine broke.

But not exploded.

It split.

And from within its split...

hundreds of nas that the system had never read erged.

Each na was like particles of light released from the system, swirling in the empty space, a delicate dance among shadows, before finally sinking into darkness. They were lost hopes, hopes woven from mories, and the suffering of a forgotten world. These words, once trapped in uncertainty, were now free to wander, ready to be discovered by the seeking soul.

Nas from an unrecorded world. From unanswered prayers. From unreturned love. And in the midst of the rain of nas, Fitran fell to his knees, feeling the emotional burden as if it were pressing down on his back.

Wounded.

Tired.

But still aware, awake in this bitter reality.

Rinoa was still not found, her na echoed in his mind, holding an inevitable mix of feelings.

But now... the world acknowledged that she once existed, a recognition that felt like a silent scream in the midst of silence.

As if the entire universe trembled with that acknowledgnt, the pent-up energy flowed through his fingers into Voidlight, creating a synergy between the lost life and the system that sought to define it. As he felt the presence of those nas rumbling within him, he knew, even though Rinoa was not by his side, her presence was eternal, etched in every heartbeat that revived the mories layered in the fog of ti.

And that was enough. For now.

***

The sky of Narthrador had stopped shining. The last gear had fallen silent. The Void no longer whispered. And the world... was just quiet.

Yet beneath the ruins of the Deus sarcophagus, in a place where no structure could stand without will, a small point still glowed. Deus, the entity that erged from helplessness, was the ruler of all that was lost. It was not rely a force but a depiction of what was beyond human thought, as if watching with a gaze that pierced the layers of existence, while the Void stood as an indelible marker of silence.

Fitran sat alone on the cracked tal ground. In his hands, there was no sword. No power. No na to call.

He had passed through all layers of reality— dismantled by logic, rejected by the system, shattered by mories. Yet sothing within him remained. In that uncertainty, he felt the echoes of voices that once existed, resonating like forgotten shadows, as if admiring every trace that had ever been etched in the recesses of his heart and the dreams that shaped his soul.

Not as a hero. Not as a replacent for the world. Not even as a lover.

Just as soone... who wanted to rember.

He gazed at the now empty sky.

Rinoa had vanished from all data. Her na could not be called. Her trace had collapsed. Yet that feeling... still existed. Not in mory,

but in the emptiness that could only be filled by himself.

The world began to construct a new system. Fragnts of Deus scattered, an entity that once governed life, now shattered in negligence. Each fragnt carried a lost story, and everything hidden behind the Void seed to wait to be rembered. Nas that once vanished grew back in dreams and poetry. Yet none ntioned his na.

No one said,

"Fitran saved us."

No one knew who saved Rinoa... or if she ever truly existed.

Yet... in a hidden place between the folds of the Void, there was one sentence that continued to resonate: There, between the dim dinsions, lay the mories that were always overlooked, trapped in a ti loop that was reluctant to give way to reality.

"Emptiness is a form."

And soday in the future... when a naless soone walks in a city without a system, they will find a purple flower growing among the broken iron. The existence of that flower itself is proof that even in emptiness, life always finds its way, even sotis in unexpected forms.

On its petals, there are no engravings. But when touched... it reminds of sothing. Not a na. Not a face.

But a feeling.

A feeling that soone once existed, once loved, once forgot everything to keep the nas that the world wanted to erase. In the silence that followed him, there were echoes of voices telling stories that were unfrad, softly flowing between existence and non-existence.

The last sentence of Deus Ex Machina:

"There is no na."

But they still rember you.