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

Gaia stood majestically, its light reflecting off the cool marble walls and the shimmering golden cloak. However, a creeping fear began to emerge, like an unseen dark shadow slowly infiltrating the crowd, as if bearing witness to a grim tale waiting to be revealed.

Not to the Queen.

But to someone who cannot be silenced, cannot be predicted, and cannot be killed.

His name whispered through the hidden corridors of the palace, seeping into every crevice and crack like the wind carrying secret murmurs.

Fitran.

He did not appear in the court, nor did he raise his voice loudly at the grand podium, as if his fate were bound beyond the reach of the attendees.

He simply... vanished from sight,

only to reappear suddenly through a mysterious death, as if life and death were merely two ends of a thread intertwined, dancing between reality and illusion.

The First Night: Marquis Erval

Marquis Erval was found in the early morning, sprawled out in a pitiful state, as if his life had completely faded away. Not due to visible physical wounds, but because it seemed that all the life's essence had evaporated from within in ways that were hard to imagine, leaving only a dry and powerless body on the cool floor like a deserted moon.

The traveling physicians knelt down, whispering to one another in a harmonious tone, calling it an "internal curse," while observing the scene with serious expressions, as if they were silent witnesses to an unsolvable tragedy.

But deep down, Iris knew who was responsible. The night before this tragic event, Fitran had approached her with a soft voice that seeped into her bones, breaking the silence of the dark night with words reminiscent of whispering winds among the leaves:

"If you still love me as a human, do not ask where I went tonight."

Iris closed her eyes, not out of agreement, but because she believed in the mysterious shadows swirling in the darkness, as if waiting to reveal the secrets that lay buried.

High Priest Lox, the loudest voice among the conservatives, stood majestically in the square as flames roared high before him. He cast the Fitran legal manuscript into the fire, the black smoke swirling upward into the sky, creating dark shadows that danced beneath the full moon's light. In the evening breeze, he called out words that shook the soul, urging everyone to reflect:

"Only the gods can forgive. Not a woman stained."

That night, the bells of the Gaia temple tolled with a sound that echoed as if there were no herald, vibrating in the chilling silence. The body of High Priest Lox hung hauntingly above the altar, his dark tongue lolling out—heightening the terror that enveloped the night. Above his body, inscribed with trembling blood, were words that reverberated across the world, a message filled with meaning:

"Forgive yourself first, then ask the gods for forgiveness."

However, Zekiel did not die. Instead, he was found shackled in a suffocating silence, sitting alone in the cold, empty dining room, laughing silently with a vacant stare that pierced through all boundaries of the world. His once-bright eyes no longer radiated the light of life; every trace of his humanity had vanished, as if cloaked in an unyielding black fog.

He did not recognize his children from before, nor did he know who he was in the past. The humanity that once was now remained only as a faint shadow, appearing as a silhouette in the darkness.

His soul—erased.

Fitran did not kill him; he merely stripped away one crucial element that defined his humanity: awareness of existence, sucking Zekiel's spirit into an abyss of endless emptiness.

Terra, Gaia Grand Castle.

That night, snow fell slowly in Gaia—a miraculous phenomenon, impossible for a kingdom nestled between sunlight and a land that never froze. Yet, something strange enveloped the evening. The sky seemed to split open, revealing a rift that breathed mysterious whispers of the wind. The tips of the banners fluttered aimlessly, appearing hesitant as if uncertain about the poles that held them. Amidst the murmur of the gloomy wind, haunting footsteps could be heard… the steps of a woman.

She emerged from the north, a territory even Gaia's map hesitated to depict. A land where the stars refused to shine, and its name was nothing but a faint whisper. People referred to her as Seherin—not merely a name, but a role that bore a heavy burden. She did not perceive the world with ordinary eyes, for she had exchanged her sight to gain a vision that transcended time, tracing the uninterrupted flow of ages.

Her gray cloak symbolizes the darkness and mystery that envelops her. Her staff, made from the bone of the first dragon, is both an ancient artifact that is blessed and cursed. Around her neck hangs a necklace crafted from the hair of the dead, a legacy from those who once dared to summon the hidden entities of darkness lurking in the shadows.

"As she stepped onto the courtyard of the Gaia kingdom, the damp earth beneath her seemed to greet her presence with a profound silence, creating an atmosphere rich with mystery that seeped into the souls of everyone witnessing the moment."

"Take me to the one who has lost the boundary between judgment and emptiness," she said, her voice transcending the physical, resonating from the depths of each listener's spine, like a soft whisper from a distant, enigmatic realm.

Despite the guards' confusion over the statement that slipped from her lips, they found themselves unable to resist. Seherin's steps displayed an unexpected magical power, as if she opened a gate without a single touch. The hard stone walls emitted a vibrating sound, cracking softly as she passed through, as if acknowledging the presence of something older than law and far older than any magic that ever existed.

Fitran observed from the palace balcony, his gaze fixed on the woman, a mix of fear and curiosity surging within him. He recognized her figure even before their eyes met. Within him, the seal he had long used to contain the turbulent entity that resided in his being suddenly felt ablaze, as if it were ready to explode and overflow.

"You have approached the limit," Seherin said, her voice soft yet powerful, as they finally stood facing each other in the silent room filled with shimmering mirrors reflecting their shadows. "And something within you is knocking, yearning to be set free."

Fitran did not respond; he remained silent, gazing deeply, as if trying to absorb every word. For the first time since he created the laws, a childlike sensation crept into his heart, akin to a young boy bewildered before his mother's grave, lost and awed by a reality that was difficult to comprehend.

"The darkness you confine within yourself is not your enemy. It is a part of you that has yet to understand the language of light," Seherin whispered gently, her voice flowing like a soft breeze trying to ignite the fire of understanding within Fitran's soul. She then carefully unfurled the cloth she carried, her movements so slow as if she were touching something fragile. What lay within was not a frightening incantation or a talisman often displayed on walls, but images—sketches of faces radiating expressions of helplessness. These faces, now framed in eternal silence, lay before Fitran. They were the souls that had departed, and those faces had become a gateway to an indestructible entity, trapped in silence forever.

"To seal it once more… there must be one bright soul willing to serve as a bridge. And that bridge, Fitran… is the one you love, the divine who will help restore balance to the void that exists."

Fitran fell silent, uttering not a word. However, the tension in his palms signaled that a storm of emotions raged within his heart. From a distance, a sharp wind suddenly blew, bringing a piercing freshness that intensified the depth of the looming atmosphere surrounding them.

With heavy steps, Fitran led her into the mirror room, a mystical place where time seemed trapped in an endless loop, and only echoes of the past awaited them. The beautifully carved mirrors around them reflected faint shadows, creating an infinite illusion that blurred the boundaries between reality and fantasy. Seherin stood gracefully before him, her heavy robe floating softly, as if it had never touched the cold, hard floor. Her eyes, covered by dark black fabric, focused with an intensity that seemed capable of piercing through the darkness, even in her blindness.

"Are you ready to accept the price of this sealing, Fitran?" Seherin asked, her voice resonating with a full vibration, as if conveying the weight of an unavoidable fate that ignited tension in the air.

"If you are talking about that, then my answer is no," Fitran replied firmly, his heart conflicted as that name was uttered, as if a deep wound had been reopened, leaving an unrelenting pain.

"Then... what if this is about yourself?" Seherin inquired, her tone laced with mystery, reflecting the clash between selfishness and sacrifice woven into their dialogue.

"With a striking transformation, Seherin's voice began to resonate with chilling depth. It no longer sounded like a woman's voice; it surged forth like a mysterious echo emerging from the darkness: penetrating voids, creeping into one's core, and cascading into the abyss, enveloping the night in each of its whispers."

The mirrors surrounding them began to shatter one by one, releasing a sinister crackling sound that reflected Fitran's figure with glowing red eyes—a pair of eyes that used to shine as he absorbed the magic of Gluttony and defeated Beelzebub. Now, his gaze hinted at a far more terrifying threat; there was no familiar Beelzebub in sight. He perceived a new being; a form disguised in shadows, patiently awaiting the right moment to reveal its presence.

Seherin slowly pulled back the cloth covering his eyes, as if revealing the depths of darkness within him. As the cloth fell, an endless abyss of darkness yawned where a eye should have been. Two bottomless black holes emitted a mysterious aura,

"You will lose control. I will be free. The world will turn into a dining table, and you will be the last guest at the dark feast filled with flesh and souls hidden behind shadows."

The atmosphere fell silent for a moment, creating a stillness that seemed to hang in the air.

Then, from a distance, a small chuckle erupted from Fitran. His voice was not loud but deep, like a stone falling into a deep chasm, triggering a vibration in the silent recesses of the heart.

"Then let's make a pact. But this time… I will be the one to carve the contract," he said with clear confidence.

Swiftly, he raised his hand, and from his palm emerged a sharp pen made of congealed blood, glistening with a dark red hue. With blazing strength and determination, he began to write the contract, not on ordinary paper, but on the surface of his own soul, an act marking total sacrifice, where each stroke brought forth pain and hope.

"Since you defeated me, my heart has always belonged to you," Beelzebub said, his voice resonating softly yet firmly, emphasizing the depth of his feelings. "This existence is solely for you," he continued in a mystical tone, as if weaving emotion and soul into an inseparable promise, a bond that transcends the limitations of the world.

"You must take responsibility," Beelzebub replied as his form began to transform. With a dazzling glow, he metamorphosed into...