Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 589 - 590 Destruction Spiral Fitran Destroys the Wor

Eidolon Veritas tidak miliki hukum. Namun dalam ketenangannya, Fitran lihat sesuatu yang lebih nakutkan dari kehancuran:

"Tidak ada yang tumbuh di sini. Karena tidak ada yang berani berbeda denganku."

Beelzebub tersentak saat lihat ekspresi Fitran. Tidak marah. Tidak sedih. Hanya... kosong.

"Kau tidak ingin tinggal?" bisiknya.

"Kau nciptakan ini untuk Elyra..."

Fitran natap langit. Langit yang diciptakannya dari getaran perasaan. Namun langit itu tak bergerak. Ia tidak hidup. Karena ia bergantung pada satu orang: dirinya.

Di dalam kehampaan itu, ia rasakan betapa lelahnya ngemban beban harapan yang tidak pernah diminta. Ketakutannya akan kehilangan tanggung jawab yang entah bagaimana telah njadi identitasnya. Kemanusiaan, yang seharusnya njadi kekuatannya, kini terasa seperti belenggu.

Setelah ia nciptakan tempat ini, bayangan-bayangan gelap nari-nari di sudut-sudut pikirannya, seperti makhluk dari mimpi buruk yang tak terhapuskan. Setiap detak jantungnya seolah bergetar dengan resonansi dunia yang hampa, nciptakan gema tak berujung yang ngisi ruang di sekitarnya. Cakrawala kelabu nyelimuti eksistensinya, nciptakan suasana yang ngingatkannya akan siklus kehidupan yang hilang.

As thoughts spiraled in his mind, Fitran realized that he was trapped in a cycle of false hope that hindered him. A soft voice within him whispered, reminding him that hope forced upon him relentlessly would only erode his soul. He recalled monts when happiness seed so easily attainable, before every choice turned into a burden.

"I would rather lose... than let the world depend on to keep feeling."

In the distance, the gentle shadow of Elyra appeared in his mind, as if her smile could illuminate the darkness enveloping his soul. Yet the harder he tried to reach her, the further she drifted away, bringing a cascadian feeling of longing that he could only sense in the empty void. Perhaps that shadow served as a reminder that nothing could be found without sacrificing everything he had once believed.

He stood from the Spiral Throne. For the first ti, the three spirals beneath him began to collapse. A soft tinkling sound echoed, as if the sky responded to the destruction with sobs. The wind gently swept through the shattered fragnts, reminding him of tales from ancient tis when the power of magic intertwined harmoniously with human desire.

For a mont, Fitran rembered tis when every decision directly affected the fate of many souls. Now, he felt more liberated by the choice not to be a god. A decision often seen as surrender, yet for him, it was a journey of self-discovery. In the silence, he felt the cold wind brush against his face, serving as a reminder that life existed beyond the burdens he carried. He longed to breathe in that air, to escape from the shackles that restrained him. Briefly, shadows of the past slipped between the dry leaves scattered around, each engulfed in lost secrets, depicting a journey of interconnected souls.

The Spiral of Will shatters, as Fitran refuses to impose.

The Spiral of mories lts away, because Fitran wishes to forget his ego.

The Spiral of Feelings fractures, as feelings are forced, not love—but rather a gentle mirror that imprisons. Amidst the creeping emptiness, Fitran feels as if his soul is adrift in a sea of emotions. Each collapsing spiral marks the end of his desire for control, paving the way for a deeper journey into both the dark and light sides of himself. Around him, a silence that touches; as if nature whispers, challenging him to reflect on the truths buried within his soul. Every particle and shard falling from those spirals emits a faint light, illuminating visions of a hopeful future, though intertwined with fear and doubt.

Amidst the unfolding destruction, Fitran realized that even as these spirals collapsed, a new strength was erging from the void—an opportunity to rise, to step forward, and to truly present himself to a world that craved honesty rather than illusion. Gradually, he began to understand that within the silence and emptiness, there lay clarity. He heard the voice of his heart, brimming with freedom, softly pulsing in the quiet, beckoning him to grasp that not being a god was the highest form of freedom.

As if woven by a gentle aurora, the light radiating from the sky started to envelop Fitran, guiding him to ponder more deeply. He envisioned a world out there, where images of sorrow and hope intertwined, forming an unexpected tapestry of fate. Each stanza of art etched by the stream of life told a story, narrating the journey of a soul unbound by ti or space.

Hesap, a creature of shadows, floated around him, whispering in a resonant voice, "In these silent monts, though you may be downcast, rember that every fall is a call to soar." Her words were filled with elegance, as if urging him to gather the shards of hope and repaint the corners of darkness surrounding him. With a renewed spirit ablaze, Fitran felt connected to nature, to all beings that had ever experienced it, and to all dreams that manifested in the quiet of the night.

"Remanentia Nihilum: Let All That I Carve Beco Forgotten."

Fitran raised his hands. The sky began to burn from within, the trees of emotion lted, and the ground of tears turned into dust of mories. Within each grain of dust lay untold stories, fragnts that had once caused pain but now appeared as vital parts of his identity. He began to sense how pain and beauty coexisted in harmony, rging to shape his holistic view of the world.

In the midst of turbulence, she felt sothing slip away; a voice from within whispered, "No power can bind anymore. I am a part of every particle of dust that flies."

Beelzebub embraced Elyra tightly. Yet she did not scream. Because she knew: Fitran did it not out of hatred, but out of a love so great that it required release.

For a mont, a cold wind swept through, clearing the shine of doubt from her face. A gentle touch grazed her skin like the llow strum of a guitar, urging her to delve deeper into the darkness within. Amidst the dominating gray, she felt her spirit soar, exploring the space between possibility and reality. There were tis when the voice within her not only whispered but shouted, articulating the unease that had haunted her. An uncertainty that made each step feel heavy on this hard ground.

At the edge of the horizon, gray clouds gathered, signaling the presence of sothing far greater than re personal conflict. The surrounding space was filled with the rich aroma of damp earth, as if nature welcod Fitran's return with ambivalence. Dim light enveloped the area, adding a gloomy impression, resembling a shadow that longed to awaken but was trapped in a whirlpool of dinsions. Fragnts of light breaking through the gaps in the clouds seed to carry ssages from a faded past, ensnared in a mystery understood only by those who had felt profound sorrow.

When everything faded away, Fitran opened the ancient spiral gate between two tis. He stepped forward—without uttering a word—back into the land he knew:

Philistines.

The land that once cracked with the birth of Elyra. The ruins of the symbolic bloodied Babel temple. A place where he and Beelzebub once lost everything.

In the distance, the gentle sound of waves can be heard, as if whispering about long-buried tales. The soft breeze carries the aroma of damp earth and a hint of moisture from the vast ocean, reminding Fitran of lost peace.

Among the ruins, shadows of the past dance around, evoking bittersweet mories of love, loss, and endless battles. In the endless rolls of ti, he discovers that exploring mories is akin to exploring oneself. Each step leads him deeper into the void, yet from there erges a new understanding; that within every loss lies a freedom. A freedom to create aning from the rubble. The dark shadows inch closer, as if wanting to reveal themselves, sharing their legends with those brave enough to listen. Their voices are soft yet firm, emphasizing a hope that never dims amidst the darkness.

As he stepped into the ruins, he montarily felt the mirror of mory reflecting his most human monts; amidst the debris, remnants of hope lingered, resisting the flow of power that dominated. Yet now he returned without expectations. An unspoken vibration filled the air, as if this place rembered every step once taken, every promise uttered, and every soul lost. The reflections of the souls witnessing his journey vibrated softly, like the silent song of thousands of threads of ti intertwined.

"I will dwell among the ruins... Because it is better to be cherished dust than a worshipped deity."

Like the whispering wind, the mories flowed through his mind, raising unanswerable questions: Is love stronger than power? Here, under a somber sky shrouded in shades of gray, he felt the emptiness fill the void, reminding him of the fragility of existence. On the shattered temple walls, invisible carvings glimred faintly, telling tales of love that never ended. Fitran's heart trembled, as if resonating with every word that echoed from those walls, igniting a long-buried curiosity.

When she returned, the Philistines did not recognize her. The sky overhead had darkened. The ground did not react. Among the ruins, the whispering wind seed to share the remaining secrets, telling tales of lost power and neglected hope. The damp aroma of wet earth combined with the scent of burnt ash created a nostalgic atmosphere, reminiscent of a thousand mories buried in the dust of ti.

The world had moved on without her. And that... relieved her.

Beelzebub stood behind, holding Elyra's hand. She felt a vibration of energy, as if a magical current coursed through her spine. The rustling of falling leaves reminded her of the inevitable nature of transition. She walked closer and gazed at the ruins alongside Fitran. A spiral shadow resembling an inverted hourglass indicated that the journey had returned to its beginning, where each step toward power ultimately led to emptiness.

"Are we starting again from here?" she asked.

"Without a throne, without a spiral?"

Fitran nodded, his heart heavy. He understood that this bitter valley was part of the human journey—a tale that Kevin repeated to reclaim his humanity. Amidst the ruins, he realized that each fragnt told a story; scars indicating a struggle, not rely to survive, but to find aning in the emptiness that had occurred. The twilight slowly crept in, painting golden-red hues across the somber sky, as if signaling that hope still lingered, albeit faintly.

"Without the world... just you and Elyra."

As those words were spoken, the atmosphere grew tense, like a decision waiting to be made in the shadow of history. In silence, he recalled the thin line between love and power—where one flowed with warmth, while the other froze the soul in silence. With only dust and mories remaining, he let go of everything, seeking new aning in sorrow and departure.

Surrounding him, the shadows of ancient trees lood, as if silent witnesses to all that had transpired. The fallen leaves danced gently in the morning breeze, creating a symphony of nature that reminded him of the joyful tis that once were. Each gust of wind carried with it distant surroundings, inviting beautiful mories that were now becoming increasingly faint.

Fitran sat on the ground of the Philistines, closing his eyes. There was no magic. No blaze. No aura. The morning silence reminded him of the warmth that once existed, now left only in shadows. In that stillness, the scent of damp earth crept into his mory, evoking monts when everything felt whole and aningful. The sound of the wind carried whispers of the past, as if reminding him of the bond that once tied him to Elyra.

Her faint, longing voice felt almost like a mantra, calling forth the souls that had departed. 'Elyra,' he whispered emptily, as if hoping her na could pierce the boundaries between this world and the next. An emptiness filled the space between his heartbeats, marking how deeply he missed the presence of his beloved. Yet, amidst this dark history, he still clung to hope for the resurrection of a love that had vanished.

But for the first ti since the rise of the Corpus moratum— he felt human again.