Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time-Chapter 602 - 600 Crack in the Last Pillar

Setting: Present (After Stones Part 2)

The silence of the space beneath the Temple of Mount is no longer sacred. A crackling sound — soft, almost inaudible, yet deafening in Fitran and Rinoa's ears — emanates from the base of the Proto-Speech pillar standing tall in the sacred room.

The sound is not just the cracking of stone. It is the sound of a will breaking. A sound from the past trying to escape its tomb. And as the sound reverberates, greenish lights from the roots of the Tree of Life ignite, not as a lamp, but like a wound being forcibly reopened.

Fitran quickly turns towards the source of the sound, his eyes narrowing, his fighting instincts ignited, but the magic within him does not respond. As tension envelops his body, a mix of worry and burning curiosity stirs within him. He recalls the lessons taught by his master about how time can stretch and contract, and how terrifying it is to deal with shadows awakened from darkness. Rinoa clutches the edge of her cloak, and a fine glow spreads from her skin — not mana, but vibrations from a dimension beginning to shift. The large roots hanging from the ceiling tremble softly, singing in a low frequency, creating a kind of silent rhythm.

"The crack is not physical," Fitran says, his voice deep and cautious. "It is a crack in time... and perhaps, meaning."

Rinoa, whose heart beats in sync with the vibrations of the space around her, tries to delve into the symbols swirling before her. She considers all they have been through, moments filled with gratitude and regret, how their choices have shaped the path they walk. "Are we truly ready to face what may be revealed?" she asks, her voice whispering yet full of determination, as if she is speaking not only to Fitran but also to herself.

Rinoa gazes deeply at the Proto-Speech pillar. The ancient writings that once glowed softly now form an irregular spiral, as if trying to erase themselves. One by one, the Proto-Speech characters begin to fade, then ignite again in different forms. The language is reassembling itself — not according to old laws, but at the call of a wound.

"Is this how we are bound?" Rinoa whispers, her voice almost drowned in the vibrations of the air. "Haven't we always sought meaning amidst the ruins?"

Fitran looks at her, his eyes filled with wisdom and sorrow, "We are part of a larger puzzle, Rinoa. Every crack has a story to tell, every wound a process of healing. Do not be afraid to listen to them."

And then, the world breathes.

A great intake of air is heard, not from mouths or lungs, but from the stones themselves. The air around them seems to compress, then explode into absolute silence. At that moment, the ground beneath their feet splits open. But they do not fall.

They are trapped.

Rinoa feels her heart racing, not from fear, but from an unspoken call. She wants to understand why they chose to be in this place, at this time. Fitran, beside her, appears calm, like a stone that has weathered a thousand storms. "Perhaps this is the time for us to understand," he says, his voice gently trembling, "that every journey brings us to this point, between the lost and the found."

White light surrounds them like mist. But this is not ordinary mist. Every particle shines like shards of time burning. In the midst of the whirlpool, the roots of the Tree of Life coil like snakes seeking their prey, forming a round space like the womb of reality — a space between times, where the future, the past, and the unknown overlap.

Fitran feels a weight in his chest, as if every heartbeat creates a wave disturbing the harmony of this place. As he steps forward, he feels the vibration of his heart penetrating his soul, demanding that he answer a deeper call. What is he truly seeking amidst the roar of time?

Rinoa tries to raise her hand and sees that her body... is starting to become transparent. Her reflection in this light trembles like a shadow in the sand. "Is this the process of metamorphosis?" she thinks, feeling the weight of unspoken history. Feeling disconnected from the real world, she finds that fragility becomes strength — something beautiful in its fragility.

"This is not a dimension... This is the interstitium of will," Rinoa murmurs, her voice barely audible. "Between before and after." In her heart, there is hope even as fear lingers. "If I choose to fight, will I find my true self?"

Other voices begin to be heard. Not echoes from outside, but the voices of their own inner selves — the voices of the past. Each whisper carries the weight of memories, as if inviting them to dialogue with the shadows that have been neglected. Fitran feels his determination slowly growing among the fragments of wounds that cling to him.

"I will protect you, Rinoa... even if the world must perish." Fitran's voice from a time long buried. He clings to his hope, struggling against the shadows of uncertainty. "I will not let this choice make us victims of fate," his resolve echoes in his heart.

"Am I worthy to touch these roots if I am part of the wound?" Rinoa's voice, faint, from a night in Stones when she nearly burned herself in the ritual of shedding her name. As if there is tension between the past and new possibilities choking her throat. She desires wholeness, a place where wounds and healing can unite.

The roots grow larger, forming a living theater. Around them, scenes begin to form — shadows of the past and future overlapping like layers of cracked glass. And they stand in the midst of it, not as spectators, but as witnesses and causes. In the midst of this endless bond, united in a greater dream, they feel that their power transcends the limitations imposed by time.

Scene One: Fitran gazes at the burning city of Gamma, turning his back on a group of children from the Ilyari race who scream for help. But he walks away — towards another dimension where Sheena is sealed. In his mind, the melody of memories clashes, the sound of laughter now gone along with the flames that consume everything.

"If I save them, I will lose Sheena..."

"And if I save Sheena... the world will hate me."

He chooses. And the world... truly hates him. That choice is etched in his heart like a sharp scratch on the surface of water, impossible to erase.

"I do not regret it," Fitran says to his younger self. In the doubt that clouds his soul, there is a glimmer of hidden hope — that love can change everything. But the voices around answer, "You regret... that the world knows."

Rinoa closes her mouth, her body trembling. She witnesses that choice. In her gaze, the image of Fitran struggling against the current is visible, holding the same doubts that exist within her. This is not a memory of Fitran being told, but a reality recorded by the roots of the world. The voice in her heart whispers, calling with a desire to understand.

"Why... did you never tell me?" she whispers. In her question lies a longing to understand not just the choice, but also the burden that Fitran carries. She hopes to bridge the sadness intertwined between them.

Fitran does not answer. But in his eyes, a single tear that cannot fall is visible — trapped by the space where time does not move. Rinoa can feel the weight of silence, as if the universe holds its breath in an unavoidable fate. In her mind, the fluctuation between memory and hope feels like a river flow that has stopped, waiting to flow again.

Scene Two: The city of Stones stands like the last wall of civilization. At its peak, Rinoa stands with her body engulfed in blue flames. Around her, the people kneel. But this is not worship. This is fear. In the silent crowd, Rinoa feels like a stranger in her own body, trapped between protection and emptiness. The sound of the wind sighing like a gentle whisper reminds Rinoa of the battlefield to come.

"She is no longer human... She is the residue of the Genesis wound," says a priest. In her heart, burned by grand ideas, Rinoa asks herself: is there a limit to what she can do, or what she can sacrifice for those she loves? So often her life is colored by choices that bring sorrow, and now she can feel that this decision could destroy everything.

Fitran in that future shadow... is absent. As far as the eye can see, the empty image of him trembles in her mind. His existence is not only lost but seems to be swept away by an invisible current that defies the will of time. As Rinoa futilely searches for his shadow, her heart beats with uncertainty.

"He disappeared after opening the last song..." "He disappeared after killing Sheena." Rinoa feels like a soul between two worlds. This loss erodes her hope, every word feels heavy as if becoming a rhythm of sorrow that is interrupted. Hesitant and fragile, she remembers the promise Fitran made, and how that promise, now, may be nothing more than an illusion.

Rinoa gazes at her reflection from the future — her skin like crystal, her eyes empty, and the voices around her are only echoes of the prayers of the dead. In that silence, she feels the heartbeat of the earth beneath her feet, murmurs suggesting that hope still exists, even amidst the terrifying shadows. There is a glimmer of light in the darkness, reminding her of the enduring power of love and sacrifice. With all the doubts surrounding her, Rinoa vows not to give up as long as there is breath.

"I do not want to become like that..." she murmurs.

But the roots of the world respond with Sheena's voice:

"Choices do not make you something, Rinoa... Choices only show that you have become."

The cracks in the space between begin to spread. The light around them now transforms into shards of glass. Each fragment holds possibilities:

In one fragment, Fitran embraces Sheena, and Rinoa is never born.

In another fragment, Rinoa stands with Elbert, killing Fitran in the name of justice.

In another... there is no one. Only roots growing without a name.

With heat in her heart, Rinoa looks at Fitran. "Do you truly believe in those words?" she asks, her voice trembling. Fitran, with a deep gaze, replies, "Every choice is a window, Rinoa. Through them, we see another side of ourselves." A soft noise is heard between them, as if the words merge with the silence full of meaning.

"I... want to get out," Rinoa says, her voice urgent.

"Not yet," Fitran replies. "This space is showing something."

And as if answering her, a root descends and touches Rinoa's chest.

She looks back: a time when she was still a child. Her mother, Iris, singing softly. A wordless song. In her memory, that gentle voice seems to shape the world around her, teaching her the meaning of sincerity and hope.

"Turns out... this voice comes from here," Rinoa says. "The song that brought me into the world is the song of the Tree of Life..."

Fitran pauses for a moment, lowering his head as if recalling the footsteps of the journey that has brought him to this realm full of mystery. "Every voice has its story, Rinoa. Only we must be brave enough to listen," he says gently.

"And perhaps, the song that will lead you out of this world."

The space vibrates. From above, light forms a face. But not a human face. That face consists of thousands of roots, and eyes made of quartz stone. That face seems to reveal profound knowledge, a window into a hidden soul.

It does not introduce itself.

Yet it speaks.

"Heir of the wound, you have uncovered the pillar that should have remained sealed."

"This crack will spread to the sky... to the earth... and into the songs of humanity."

Rinoa looks at Fitran, feeling the meeting of hope and fear. "Are we ready to face this together?" she asks, her voice trembling.

"Are you ready to bear the song that cannot be sung again?"

Fitran steps forward, standing before the entity of roots. In his heart, he feels a burden that is not only his; he tries to lift the burden of Rinoa's love and hope.

"I do not seek forgiveness," he says, his voice sinking in longing and deep sorrow. "I want to understand the wounds of the world... even if it erases me from its history."

Rinoa stands beside him. "If someone must be hurt to save this story... let it be me." A new determination ignites in her chest, a light of hope against the approaching darkness.

The roots creep down. Light explodes, forming a bridge between the past and the future. And the last voice from the space between is the voice of Proto-Speech singing a single line:

ꦩꦺꦴꦤ ꦏꦺꦴꦢ ꦏꦩ꧀ꦧꦺꦴꦭ꧀ ꦥꦸꦱ꧀ꦠꦿꦶ. (The world does not need to be saved. It only needs to be remembered again.)