Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time Chapter 595 - 596 Fifth Spiral When Forgetting Becomes Will

Umbra-Khalid is not an enemy in the usual sense. She does not attack to win. She only endures so that she is not forgotten.

However, when Fitran chooses to erase all traces of Beelzebub's past as a result of his experint, he violates one thing:

Umbra-Khalid lives only because there is sothing that does not want to be rembered.

The pain now haunts her again, rummaging through her erased mories. Every drop of blood that falls reminds her of countless sacrifices. Umbra-Khalid knows well that the ghosts of the past will never leave, and she becos their counterbalance as all the remaining mories fight against the current of ti.

In a deep mont of silence, the air is filled with thick smoke from Umbra's conjuring. A faint light glimrs from every floating black stone, painting a picture as if the sky is being split by a living darkness. And now, she fights... with physicality.

Umbra-Khalid unleashes "teora Nexum" - The Physical Rain of Rejected mories. Thousands of black stones form in Umbra's sky. They are not taphors. They are real objects. Each stone represents a human mory buried too deep, never to be told. The stones vibrate violently, feeling the power of injustice, as if asking for recognition in the journey of a life left behind.

"If you want to erase it... first feel the weight of the unspoken mories."

The teors fall onto Fitran's body—breaking his spiral shield, piercing through his cloak of darkness, and causing him to bleed. Each stone that strikes feels like a hamr pounding his soul, leaving scars that are not only visible but also felt deeply. The shocked expression on Fitran's face reflects the struggle between helplessness and courage, as if he is fighting against the voice of his heart that rembers the past he wants to leave behind.

Fitran stands stunned for a mont, witnessing the fall of trapped mories, tethered to each teor. Every stone that touches his skin seems to cut not only his body but also his soul. In every impact, he feels a sadness he has never known, as if the mories of those who have gone whisper to him, asking to be rembered. Amidst the raging battle, the dazzling light from the teors creates vibrating shadows around him, as if ti slows down and every second feels painful. A cold shiver runs down his spine, signaling that every lost mory is not just a loss, but a burning longing.

Finally, Fitran's scream echoes into the night, calling for a deeper darkness, as if he wants to offer his soul as a gift to redeem every lost mory. In every scream, the voice carries a hope, a surging belief, as if inviting the darkness to unite with the light. He knows that darkness also has power, and he vows to turn this pain into strength for his purpose. Around him, waves of dark energy flow like water, forming small whirlpools that move in rhythm with his turbulent soul.

Fitran lowers his head, his right hand trembling. Then he murmurs an ancient na—"Nox Primigenia." As that na is spoken, a rich, deep black surrounds his body, creating a sharp aura that radiates power. Every dark particle vibrates, dancing as if responding to his magical call, creating waves of energy that swirl around him with a terrifying grace.

This magic is not rely dark. It is the origin of darkness itself. Not because there is no light, but because there is yet no aning. A dark cloud swirls around him, emitting a faint light from every falling teor, creating a srizing yet terrifying sight. The light from the teors intersects with the darkness created by Fitran, forming a potentially dangerous connection between mory and his pain.

In that silence, the shadows surrounding Umbra-Khalid begin to writhe, as if wanting to respond to Fitran's magic. Her breath feels heavy, filled with nostalgia for a past that appears dim and full of regret. She rembers how darkness often protected her, but this ti, that darkness becos a prison that binds her. Her expression reveals a deep inner turmoil, her eyes closing for a mont, as if wanting to feel the lost peace before darkness confronts her. The bitter aroma of sorrow envelops both of them, imparting a sense of despair that haunts the mont.

As Fitran utters that na, Umbra-Khalid's gaze traces the tension on his face. "Do you think that with this you can free ?" she asks, her voice hoarse and filled with pain. The darkness surrounding her feels deeper, as if reminding her of the choices she has made, choices that now haunt her.

The power of the magic radiated by Fitran's words forms waves that vibrate in the air, triggering gentle ripples on the surface of the darkness enveloping them. Every word spoken feels like a weapon, piercing through the layers of uncertainty within Umbra-Khalid. The faint light from the aura of that magic glimrs around her, creating a contrast with the thick shadows that protect her, as if narrating the story hidden behind the silence of dusk.

Nox Primigenia – "The Darkness Before the Na"

It does not shine.

It does not emit an aura.

It does not create form.

It only erases attachnt.

When Nox Primigenia is unleashed:

The falling teors begin to slow, striking the ground with a gripping silence. Each teor sparkles as if carrying fragnts of hope released from the grip of darkness, then crashes into reality without a sound.

Gravity itself refuses to touch Fitran, his body floating between vertical and horizontal, as if space and ti rge into an unspoken plea. Darkness seems to flow from him, rging with an almost unpredictable elent, revealing how great the risk he has taken, and how far his soul is connected to Umbra-Khalid.

Umbra-Khalid is absorbed in an emptiness that neither rejects nor accepts—only silence. Her helplessness against this seemingly limitless magic tears at her soul, shaking the remaining foundations of hope. Every second that passes feels heavy, like the moon phase pressed behind dark clouds.

"I do not want to kill you, Umbra... I just want... her to be able to smile without feeling she is the result of sothing regretted."

Cracks form in the naless terrain, with waves of light and darkness colliding, releasing a warm breeze. The sound of the cracks is like a song of sorrow, a sign that life simultaneously leads to emptiness. Invisible forms dance among the cracks, as if witnessing the inner battle against their fate.

The sky—which is usually just dark—quivers like skin pierced by arrows, spewing pale blue light and golden yellow light that clash with each other. This battle radiates a dark nuance, where hope and despair rge into a single harmony of feeling. Umbra-Khalid feels her soul dragged into that dance, between the desire to be free and the fear of the past that looms.

All the mories that Umbra-Khalid has imprisoned scream, begging to be released or erased forever, flooding her mind, entangling her in a whirlpool of uncertainty. The light from the shadows flows in an unpredictable current, sweeping through every corner of her heart, digging deeper into every wound that has ever been buried. She feels that darkness is not just an enemy, but an old friend that does not want to leave.

In the burning silence, Umbra-Khalid feels the presence of a deeper darkness. Every step she takes is not just a physical movent, but a soul absorption, sucking life and hope. As if every particle within her balances between the acknowledgnt of existence and the emptiness that lurks. In this struggle, she finds that every magical attack is not just a force thrown, but also a deep sacrifice, tearing at her soul and giving new aning to what it ans to lose.

She can hear Fitran's voice, soft yet full of pain, trembling in the night wind. "Why won't you let go, Umbra? What are you seeking in the perfection of this emptiness?" It seems that every word is a deep wound, reminding Umbra of how disconnected their relationship has beco. In every sigh of Fitran, there is an echo of despair that challenges the wind, spreading into the darkness as if daring Umbra to feel it. Around them, the moonlight trembles, creating vibrating shadows, in line with the tension building in the air.

Umbra-Khalid does not respond.

She only attacks again.

Umbra transforms part of her body into a series of physical weapons—daggers in the form of unmailed letters, spears made from abandoned nas, hamrs from rejected prayers. As those weapons form, a dark light illuminates their tips, creating flashes that shake the atmosphere, mingled with an aura that seems to seep into the souls of those who witness it. Every movent carries the weight of the past, pain and despair, drowned in a whirlpool of terrifying magic.

Umbra's movents are precise, as if following the rhythm of a sad song that only those trapped in darkness can understand.

Fitran forms a dark shield from Nox Primigenia, not to defend, but to erase the aning of that attack. The two seem trapped in a deadly dance, where every attack and defense is a step that has been trained for years, filled with the roaring night wind. Each ti Fitran's shield faces Umbra's attack, bursts of dark light erupt, resembling ink falling into water, forming shapes that are beautiful yet terrifying. In every explosion of energy, the tension of light and dark unites, creating a tragic harmony on the battlefield.

In his heart, he struggles with his fear. Every ti Umbra attacks, he feels an emotional vacuum seeping in. This shield, though strong, does not suppress the pain he has endured. With each passing mont, he becos increasingly aware that the threads of fate bind them both—two souls stranded in the darkness of the sa aning. Their shadowy silhouettes tremble in the dim light, as if running along the boundaries of reality and illusion. Every movent, every throw of energy, creates a mysterious sparkle that hangs in the air, vibrating in sync with the pulse of anxiousness.

Each ti Umbra's weapon touches the shield, the sound of "words" fades away. Not a voice, but a concept. A corona of light bursts from the impact, creating a distortion effect in the surrounding space, while fragnts of ti seem to slow down. Fitran's expression sharpens, his eyes radiating tension and sincerity—two sides of the sa coin.

In the midst of the silence, stirred by a defining loneliness, Umbra and Fitran are trapped in an eternal dance between purpose and desire. The awareness of their inability to escape the past perates every decision they make, as heavy as the burden of words expressed in their attacks and defenses. The rules binding their thumbs hold back the pulse that seeks to resist. Every breath feels heavy; an endless rumble between hope and despair.

Fitran's Fourth Spiral expands into a new form. And from its spiral lines, an unclosed circle forms: the Fifth Spiral. A magical shimr spins around him, transforming power into a physical form that dances among the remnants of hope. The circle glows, as if reminding them both of the decisions made in the past—the consequences that form invisible walls between them.

A spiral that does not store. Does not accept. Does not erase. But allows. The circle continues to vibrate, its energetic field dancing in the air, creating an illusion of a rainbow that promises nostalgia while posing new challenges. Pain flows from Fitran's pair of fingers, and every attack launched feels as if it tears apart a part of his soul. Every careful movent adjusts to the magical vibrations produced, creating a resonance that strikes the depths of their consciousness.

Fifth Spiral: Spiralis Nihil Permissio

"The Emptiness Allowed to Exist Without Rejection"

Its form: like a whirlpool of water, yet motionless. Its color: none. Its sound: inaudible, but felt at the nape. Darkness envelops the space around them, as if wrapping every detail present in thick black cloth. No light penetrates, only the uncertainty that hangs in the air.

Its effect does not cancel mories. Does not hide wounds. But allows them to remain unaningful.

In the terrifying silence, Umbra-Khalid observes Fitran with her seemingly empty eyes, yet holding a deep lump of feeling. Does she feel the burden of the neglect that exists between them? That feeling flows in the form of a gray aura surrounding them, occasionally emitting a faint light, like waves of the sea crashing against the rocks, creating pools of captivating reflections. As if she lifts every burden of silence that lies between their steps, reminding that neglect does not an loss, but rather forms a deeper emptiness.

Fitran stands, his body partially burned by teors, yet his eyes shine darkly: Before Fitran utters those words, his body seems to tremble, as if gathering energy within to be launched in an explosion.

Light radiates from the palms of his hands, highlighting the furrows of his brow that indicate his inner struggle. The longer it goes on, his breath becos heavier, feeling the deeper aning.

"If you want to continue living... then stop forcing yourself to be rembered."

Fitran's voice soars through the darkness, each word like a fragnt of light in a sea of nothingness. As that voice reaches Umbra-Khalid's ears, it seems the dark walls surrounding them begin to crack, revealing a small gap for hope. Umbra-Khalid feels the depth of aning behind that statent, as if Fitran is trying to free himself from the helplessness that binds him. From that mont on, a thin thread forever intertwines between mory and forgetfulness between them.

In the midst of the tension filling the air, Umbra-Khalid feels the flow of magical energy moving toward her. The resistance within her form seems to condense into droplets of light that radiate power. As she prepares to unleash her attack, the golden light grips her hand, depicting a spirit that refuses to fade even when trapped. And as she launches her attack, that light forms intricate patterns, filling the distance between them with waves of energy that feel heavy in the heart.

Umbra-Khalid gazes at Fitran without a clear face. The sky begins to collapse, and reality trembles to the limits of the outer world's magical system. Each attack leaves a deep mark, feeling like a gust of wind shaking the branches of trees.

In uncertainty, Umbra-Khalid feels a shadow larger than herself, calling to be rembered but also asking to be forgotten. She knows every mory will leave a mark, and every mark will beco a darkness that is difficult to comprehend. Each magical movent launched pairs with waves of energy vibrating in the air, creating flashes of light that reflect off the walls of the room, as if witnessing a battle between light and darkness. As Umbra-Khalid points her finger, a stream of blue energy flows from her hand, a spiral form rging with the wind, signaling a power that is invisible yet very real.

And the last voice heard in this Chapter:

"Then... who will keep the wounds, Fitran... if everyone chooses to forget?"

Every word spoken lingers in the air, echoing throughout the space, carrying the weight of regret that feels increasingly heavy. Fitran moves his head, his gaze filled with a dilemma that reflects his inner struggle. In the deep silence, he feels in every heartbeat that this battle is not rely physical, but also between the soul and the irreplaceable mory. Fitran does not answer.