Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time

A Few Days Ago,

The Great Assembly Hall of Gaia, a magnificent black marble structure towering in the heart of Thirtos, has never felt so heavy with tension. Powerful nobles, high judges, chief sorcerers, and military delegates united in a council ring filled with an atmosphere of unease. Every discussion gravitated toward one name that now resonated on everyone's lips, spreading like a dark shadow:

"Rinoa."

"She has become an executioner without a mandate," Lord Althier declared, his voice echoing in the silence of the room, each word seemingly shaking the souls of those who heard it. Doubt was etched clearly on his face, fears of potential devastation from the decisions they were making swirling in his mind. "She acts without approval, without instruction. All her actions are destroying the Arkanum Veritas Faction with her fervor, not with law," he added, his tone lowering as if urging the audience to listen and understand.

Lady Maren, the magic advisor, interjected with a sharp and trembling tone, "But who can stop him? If he gets hurt… we know how terrifying the consequences could be." Her words flowed like a threatening wave, awakening the deep-seated fear in every noble's soul present in the room, creating an increasingly oppressive atmosphere.

Silence enveloped the space, with the weight of tension nearly unbearable. Every breath felt like a torment, as if it hindered the pulse of life itself. Their hearts pounded fiercely, dragging question after question about the next steps into the darkness of their minds.

Suddenly, the sound of a door opening echoed sharply, shattering the stillness. In the cold and silent atmosphere, every eye immediately turned towards the source of the sound, as hope and fear clashed within their souls.

Slowly, without the clanging of metal or the footsteps of guards accompanying him, the figure appeared as if bringing with it a tense magical aura.

Fitran entered.

His steps were calm, each footprint resonating with the power he had amassed. The black and gray cloak flowed with an air of arrogance, even without a gust of wind, creating a chilling presence. His gaze swept across the room, sharply scrutinizing the faces of the leaders seated in the circle, each filled with uncertainty. Their hearts felt as if they had stopped, ensnared by the intimidating stare.

No one dared to utter a word, trapped in the fear of judgment that seemed to descend upon them from the heavens, shaking their convictions to the core.

He did not sit. He did not greet. He simply stood in the center of the room, affirming his position before delivering piercing words:

"If Rinoa is too heavy for your decisions..."

"...then I will take her place." His voice thundered like lightning on a clear day, shattering the silence and obliterating hope, layering fear upon the hearts of everyone who heard it.

Shock rippled through the air like a cold magic, touching every soul present and disturbing the serenity that once resided there.

Lord Vaeren of the Southern Faction stood, his voice tinged with nervousness as all eyes were focused on him, waiting anxiously for a reaction that would change everything. "Fitran... this isn't— we didn't mean to... we didn't officially point at you..." His voice quivered, laden with unspoken fear, as if every word he uttered increased the weight of the dread over the consequences of his statements now hanging in the air.

Fitran raised a finger. Instantly, silence crept through the room, silencing their mouths as though ensnared by the pressure of existence itself. Within their hearts, fear and doubt gathered like a storm, enveloping the room in a chilling atmosphere brimming with uncertainty.

"You have disrupted the balance. You have birthed something that even you cannot manage," he stated with a tone full of certainty.

"Rinoa never needed permission to administer justice. But if you consider it a mistake…" Her voice lowered, deeper, almost like a curse, while her expression conveyed a terrifying certainty, piercing through the silence of the audience trapped in a feeling of powerlessness.

"...then let me rectify that 'mistake.'" Once again, each word fell into the stillness, creating a vibration among them.

The courtroom felt frozen, as if time had stopped amidst the tension filling the air, forcing everyone to confront the consequences of their choices.

One of the young advisers, trembling with tension, asked in a barely audible voice, "What do you ask for in return?" Though spoken, her question slipped out with a tone full of worry, as if they all sensed the looming threat of instability that could unleash a greater storm.

Fitran fixed his sharp gaze upon her, a thin smile creeping across his face—a smile that was unsettling, igniting an unfathomable fear among them. That smile was not a sign of approval, but rather a challenge, creating a chasm between hope and bitter truth.

"There's nothing. You all just need to be silent," he said, his voice calm and flat, yet beneath those tones lay a hidden threat that loomed large.

"And let me... silence the false voices from Arkanum Veritas," he continued, his words hanging in the air like a decisive statement, adding to the already surging tension.

And just like that, he left, without waiting for a unanimous声, to ratify his decision. There was no need for support; their humanity seemed to have slipped away, like da Vinci disconnected from the canvas that was meant to bring art to life.

Because he was not a part of this world.

The leaders exchanged glances, their eyes glimmering with unspoken anxiety, trapped in the uncertainty that enveloped them like a thick fog.

No one cheered. No one spoke. They felt a heavy weight pressing against their chests, as if tension was causing their stomachs to contract, ensnared in a network of apprehension that quickened their hearts. The atmosphere in that room was fraught with a chilling stiffness, where every heartbeat amplified the sound of uncertainty hanging in the air, intimidating them with its palpable presence.

Because everyone knew—the session was not a decision-making process.

It was a death ceremony.

In Fitran's mind, the list of names was clear, engraved in memory like a cold, hard tombstone in the ground of a grave, carrying the burden of an agonizing helplessness. Each letter struck like an illusion of inevitable pain, tearing through the silence with the arrogance of overwhelming sorrow, reminding him of the faces that had disappeared into darkness, as if they still stood beside him, waiting to be remembered.

Hidden Room Arkanum, Underground Thirtos City District I,

The old basement beneath the Arkanum faction headquarters, known to the people as The Thirteenth Floor, had been sealed for two centuries. This place had never been opened—not because of danger, but because even in dreams, the ancient wizards could not bear to gaze upon what lay there.

And tonight, Elena would open it.

Her hair flowed gracefully, cascading like soft water, while her robe was smeared with protective glyphs from the pre-human era, as if woven from ancient power. Her heart beat not from fear, but from a longing for something she could not fully comprehend: the power over the end of all things.

She stood firm before a cracked existential crystal—a mysterious artifact known in ancient scripts as:

"The Thirteenth Memory"

A remnant of magic from a civilization before recorded time, possessing the ability to reverse the structure of death by exchanging "living memories" for "post-mortem realities."

An ancient, deep voice resonated from within the crystal, filling the surrounding space with an aura of mystery.

"Why have you come to me, Elena Arkanum? Hasn't this world been damaged enough by your denial?"

Elena replied softly, her voice clear and steady:

"I did not come to deny death."

"I came to... erase Fitran from the fabric of existence."

Silence.

Next, the cracks in the crystal glowed with an enchanting light, and the space began to lift from the grip of gravity, as if transcending physical boundaries.

"Then you know the cost."

"Your soul will be severed. Your memories will be stripped away. You will become the bearer of 'Void-Reversal'—existing only by absorbing the death of others."

Elena smiled, her smile filled with fatigue, yet within it lay an unwavering resolve.

"If that is what it takes to ensure he cannot return... then I will bear the burden."

"And if Rinoa tries to save him..."

"...then I will make her forget that love."

Elena stood on the fractured layers of reality. Her feet did not touch the ground; instead, they rested on a weave of black glyphs that emitted the sounds of silent screams. In the distance, the silhouette of a man cloaked in black approached. His steps were slow, calm. But with each footfall, time itself froze around him.

Fitran.

He halted about ten meters from Elena. The wind came to a standstill. The air turned fluid. The eyes of the watching wizards began to bleed.

"You are playing with something not meant for living beings, Elena," Fitran said, his voice firm yet heavy with concern.

Elena let out a small laugh, yet crimson tears streamed down her cheeks—not from anger—but because her soul was beginning to burn from within, creating an unbearable pain.

"I no longer care about life or death," she said in a tone full of loss, "I only care... that you will no longer be there to love Rinoa."

Fitran bowed his head for a moment. Then he raised one hand.

The world around him faded. Buildings became mere shadows. The ground echoed with emptiness. Only Elena and he remained in pure existential space.

Elena absorbed all the death on the battlefield, crafting a spear from the memories of the souls. She hurled it—only for the spear to vanish before touching Fitran, as he was no longer recognizable as a being that once lived.

"Thanatophage failed to recognize the target."

Elena gritted her teeth. She recited the second layer of the incantation:

"Reverse Pattern – Soul Thread Severance."

A black glyph spread from beneath her feet, attempting to sever Fitran's line of existence from the roots of reality. Yet, Fitran merely advanced, and the glyph withered away.

"I am not alive. But I am not death either."

"I am a consequence of both, standing between light and darkness, trapped in a space filled with silence and shadows."

Then he raised his hand and spoke softly:

"True Dark Magic — Reflection of Death Soar."

Her voice shook Elena's existential structure. The entire world began to lose its purpose.

The spirits that followed Elena suddenly fell silent, then vanished, for even death no longer knew why they had died.

Thanatophage began to turn on itself. Searching for a victim, it found only one source: Elena.

Elena coughed blood. But she laughed.

"You think I'm not ready for this?"

From beneath her robe, which fluttered softly in the night wind, she firmly activated the final glyph—a glyph carved not with ordinary magic, but with the memories of her own life.

In an instant, the dark sky tore open, as if split by a dazzling lightning strike. Time began to reverse. She struggled to relive the five minutes before the battle, determined to correct the mistakes that had occurred… or at the very least, to repeat that moment until Fitran could be eliminated.

But time…

…stopped.

Fitran merely stood there and said:

"I have died before, Elena."

"But you… are not ready for that."

In an instant, time resumed its flow. But it was for one sole purpose: to erase Elena from the conception of the world. There were no screams. No thunders. Only silence, as if someone had just been forgotten by the universe. Elena was not erased because of death. Rather, it was because death no longer remembered her.