Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time-Chapter 508 Third Pillar – Unwieldy Love

Fitran's footsteps echoed softly as he entered the next battlefield—a room of illusion that slowly formed itself around his body. The space was not made of metal like other parts of Narthrador. Instead, it consisted of erasure: faint lines floating, contours of a world without texture, resembling an unfinished sketch. Within it, time seemed to stop—curving and spinning, trapped in eternity.

In the center of the room, the Third Saint awaited with a presence that sent shivers down his spine.

Her face rapidly shifted between 0 and 1, creating a stunning visual effect that displayed an indecisiveness that could never be resolved. In her hand, she held a thin bell, and each time she shook it, Fitran's history trembled. In the ringing sound of the bell, it seemed as if Rinoa's voice was reborn, singing promises erased by time. The melody was like morning dew glistening; beautiful yet unattainable, reminding him of memories long lost.

"Third Pillar."

"Dogma: Unwitnessed love does not exist."

"If no one sees you love, love anyone... does your love truly happen?" Each word flowed like unspilled tears, constricting Fitran's chest with deep sorrow. He felt as if the love that once enveloped his life was now just a faint shadow, swallowed by the darkness of a timeless space that confined him, as if shrouded in a fog that shackled his heart and mind.

Fitran did not answer.

He only gazed at the space around him that began to transform, like a painting fading over time.

One by one, memories crumbled:

Rinoa never existed at the Avalon Academy, as if her figure had been erased from a history that could not be remembered.

Her letters were never written, as if the beautiful words that should have flowed from her pencil evaporated into the air without a trace.

Rinoa's name vanished from all system records, buried in a sorrowful emptiness.

Even Fitran himself... could not remember who he was searching for. This love was not merely a memory; it was a severed pulse, fading the hope that should have lived forever in a trembling heart.

He fell silent, trapped in a space that had no beginning or end, as if time had stopped and everything felt eternal in the silence.

"Who...?" Fitran murmured, his voice steeped in sadness.

He tried to remember, but every effort felt like grasping at mist; untouchable, always slipping away from his grasp. All memories of Rinoa were gone—not because they were attacked, but because they were never acknowledged. In the thick and oppressive darkness, his heart trembled, as if longing for a presence that had never been real, a note of sorrow that continued to resonate in his mind. The Third Saint approached, bringing with her an aura of ignorance that grew denser.

"You do not know her." Her voice flowed softly like a whispering wind rustling the leaves, highlighting the profound emptiness in Fitran's heart. "The world does not know her." Fitran felt as if his eyes were closed by the dark shadows surrounding him, obscuring the remaining light of hope. "Then what makes you think your love is not an illusion?"

Fitran fell to his knees, his body swaying weakly in the face of terrifying uncertainty. His soul felt as if it were collapsing, with hope hanging limply between the cracks of darkness. His trembling hand touched the cold floor.

And all he saw was the reflection of his own face, empty and not crying. In that reflection, he finally captured the emptiness that had filled his heart, a longing that could not be clearly expressed. "Who do... I love?" he asked, his voice muffled like a gentle whisper of wind against a silent wall. From afar, a whisper was heard—not a real voice, but a feeling. The echo of that question united with a soul longing for acknowledgment, a deep search. Not from the outside.

But from within Fitran's body.

Fragments of Rinoa's soul, once stored in Beelzebub, now resided within him, speaking not with words, but with subtle vibrations that coursed through the recesses of his soul:

"...Must I be remembered... to be real?"

"...If so... then that love is false."

Fitran closed his eyes, allowing memories of Rinoa to seep in, flowing through the cavities of his soul gently, as if each heartbeat became a melody of deep sacrifice and loss.

With a heavy voice full of longing, he replied:

"No."

"You do not have to be remembered."

"Because I do not love you... to be acknowledged by anyone."

"I love you... because I cannot help but love you."

Each word spoken flowed gently, and the shadow of an irresistible love enveloped them, like the light of a full moon flooding the darkness of night, bringing lessons of sincerity and sacrifice.

The voice suddenly stopped, hanging in the air. The Third Saint raised her bell high and shook it once more, the metallic sound filling the haunting empty space.

And the world... erased all of Fitran's existence.

His body slowly faded, as if every part of him was being sucked into the wind carrying fragments of lost hope. Hands, feet, and his consciousness began to collapse, trapped in a spiral of time intertwining, while the love left behind transformed him into an eternal longing.

He became like a nameless shadow, losing form and identity, swept far into the darkness.

Yet—at that point—with a voice that no longer had vocal cords, and a body that was invisible, Fitran continued to whisper: His voice flowed into the silence, as if inviting fate hidden in the depths of the dark and mysterious abyss.

"I do not know who you are."

"I do not know why I feel this."

"But... I love you."

With that, light burst forth from within the void, flowing like a river of hope that nourished every dark corner, defining this soul's search.

In the midst of that light, a symbol emerged, slowly carving its shape in the air:

愛は証を必要としない (Love does not need to be witnessed.)

The rune was not just a mantra; it stood majestically, like an eternal promise immortalized in time, seeping into the souls of every being brave enough to love, igniting a flame that would never extinguish.

It was a prayer.

From the emptiness surrounding, Fitran's body returned intact. Like a phoenix reborn from ashes, he embraced his life again, thanks to a love that tore through the boundaries of reality and illuminated the dark recesses of his heart.

The existing system failed to understand how meaning unbound by acknowledgment could endure, posing a question that hung in the air, unanswered like raindrops that never fell, waiting for their moment to create harmony in the silence.

And the Third Saint began to... crack, her voice soft yet gripping, as if nature held its breath around her.

"Without an observer... meaning cannot be calculated."

"Without a legacy... love cannot be preserved."

In the suffocating silence, as if the heartbeat of nature listened, Fitran felt an unseen vibration. Its warmth enveloped his soul, creating a place where all the love that had ever existed seemed to unite, surrounding the space with an unforgettable aroma of memories.

"Without a witness... there are no traces."

Fitran gazed at her with a deep look, piercing through the layers of illusion that clouded, as if reading the writing inscribed in the sky of his heart. He knew, no trace was more real than the memory etched in the heart, eternal and strong.

"I am its trace. I am the witness of feelings that were never asked for."

Behind those words lay the burden of sacrifice flowing in his veins, as if his body was a canvas carved by extraordinary memories that would never fade. The Third Saint shattered, split by the weight of unexpressed love, transforming into emotional fragments that could not be ignored.

But this time, not with anger.

She dissolved into the soft golden light that radiated, like someone who finally... believed in something without having to see it. That courage was born from sincerity, penetrating the physical boundaries that obstructed true connection, creating an invisible bridge between souls.

And the empty room returned to calm, as if time paused to admire the eternity of love, bringing peace amidst the storm of feelings.

Fitran stood, strengthening his steps, feeling the call from within that could no longer be ignored.

His hand clasped his chest, where fragments of Rinoa still vibrated, as if his heart was trying to speak again. Each beat, each sigh, sounded like an echo of unexpressed love, an intimate melody that could only be heard by souls connected in the depths of feeling. Beelzebub welcomed him with a mysterious thin smile, as if knowing the deepest secrets hidden behind doubts and fears.

"You still love her... even when you do not know who she is," she said, her tone piercing the silence that submerged Fitran in his thoughts. Fitran turned, his eyes signaling the tension swirling within him.

"I do not love because I know. I know... because I love," he replied, his voice calm yet firm, like clear water flowing amidst a storm. In that confession, love became knowledge that transcended words, an invisible energy flowing between them, bound by an unexpected and inevitable fate.

The Fourth Saint began to step forward, each of her steps measured and full of meaning. On her face, the numbers 1 and 0 overlapped, forming a striking image of duality; a symbol of choices and consequences forever intertwined in the labyrinth of life and love. "Fourth Pillar."

"Dogma: What does not change is true."

"If your love changes form... then it is not genuine."

Fitran nodded, feeling the profound wisdom penetrate his soul, understanding that true love is an eternal spirit, even though it may appear in various unexpected forms and colors. "Then, allow me to prove that love can change form... and still be true."

In those words lay hope and courage, as if a lantern illuminating the path to prove that although everything undergoes transformation, what is sincere will always find its way back, bright and resilient in the eternal intoxication of love.