Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time-Chapter 436 The Silent Ruins of Elysvarre

Setting: 5 Years Before the Stones Arc

Rain fell silently, as if the sky itself could not bear to weep truly for such a monumental event.

The wind whipped up golden dust and shards of marble, carrying the scent of old blood and dry, wilted flowers. The remnants of Elysvarre Palace—once a royal residence filled with magic, love, and luxury—had now transformed into quiet rubble devoid of identity, mirroring lost grandeur and the deep sorrow of forgotten pasts.

Amid the ruins stood Fitran Fate, alone, without a royal mantle and devoid of light in his eyes. Only a long, dark cloak hung from his body, woven from threads of will that had lost their direction and purpose.

His hands, which once wielded Excalibur and inscribed grand glyphs, now trembled as they brushed against a shattered pillar. That pillar had once supported the sky of the throne room where Sheena stood, raising her hand to deliver judgment upon the world. Now, only remnants of the Elyndra family emblem remained—cracked in its center, as if unable to bear the weight of its bloodline.

Behind the aura of sadness surrounding her, dark shadows began to gather at the edge of Fitran's vision. For a moment, Beelzebub's face flickered in his mind, a figure capable of transforming despair into strength. "Are you still here?" she thundered, her voice seemingly carried by thousands of insects vibrating in the heart of the forest. There was no response, only the rumble of clouds as a silent witness.

"Where are you...", Fitran murmured in a hoarse voice.

The voice faded as it touched the air, as if the world itself had lost the ability to recognize it.

In Fitran's mind, the echoes of the past vibrated, reminding him of the moments they shared secrets under the moonlight, when Beelzebub had planted the seeds of wisdom in his heart. "You taught me to see the world in a new way," he thought, dispelling the uncertainty within him. Perhaps, Beelzebub's presence was not only in physical form but as a force flowing through every decision he made – a power that shaped his perspective and choices in this grim world.

Under the ruins, Fitran navigated the underground chambers of the palace that had once been sealed with the magic of time. He walked slowly, passing by stacks of partially burned books, torn pactum scrolls, and the charred portraits of the Elyndra family. Each object around him told a story of loss; in the shattered remnants, he could hear soft voices resonating, recounting tales that had never been fully revealed, as if every item held the memories of the warmth of days long past.

He discovered the room of memories—a magical place where Sheena used to keep fragments of their past. Each step within it would evoke specific moments, as if the space had woven itself into a labyrinth of memories filled with both beautiful and bittersweet experiences waiting to be remembered.

However, today, none of those fragments appeared.

No shadow of Sheena laughing.

No scent of her golden hair.

Only emptiness.

As if time refused to rewind itself. As if the past had surrendered to Fitran's existence. In the deepest corner of his soul, he longed for the warm glow of Sheena's smile—a light that now only flickered dimly through the haze of fading memories.

Fitran leaned against the wall of memories, savoring every moment of the silence that vibrated around him. His breath was heavy, not from exhaustion, but from the uncertainty of who he was meant to live for. The presence of Beelzebub, lurking in the shadows, inflicted a painful curiosity about the inverted power she embodied; was she a guardian or merely a servant of a deeper darkness?

"Sheena..."

He uttered that name not to call out, but to ensure that he still remembered. For in a world dominated by void, memory was his last line of defense, a hope that his true love still held the power to illuminate even the darkest tunnels, rekindling beautiful memories of their shared moments.

Yet, amidst destruction and silence, a voice emerged. Gentle. Profound. Not from the outside... but from the depths of his own mind. This voice did not just call out but awakened something long buried—a fateful bond between the soul and secrets, stirring the truth about a seemingly trivial yet inevitable power.

"Don't seek me."

"Seek the one you've hidden within your own will."

Fitran opened his eyes.

He knew the voice was not an illusion.

It... was not Sheena. It was not a memory.

It was a command.

Rinoa.

The name emerged not as a replacement for Sheena, but as a new pivot. Someone he had long buried within his will, protected beneath layers of magic and pactum, even from himself. Someone he loved more than himself, yet was too afraid to acknowledge while the world remained intact. The sole reason Fitran had survived until now. It was time for Fitran to rise from his beautiful dream.

In the shadows of his past, the enigmatic smile of Beelzebub flickered, glowing amid the depths of the cosmos. In every spell and soft breath of magic she uttered, hope and fear intertwined, teetering on the brink of emptiness, like a candle struggling to remain lit amidst a storm, symbolizing courage even in the darkest depths.

And now, as the world crumbled, only the unproven love remained that could save him.

"She is sealed in the world of the void."

Fitran stood tall. For the first time in days devoid of meaning, his eyes ignited.

With a pounding heart, there was a feeling that transcended the chaos, reminiscent of the rumble of the sea before a storm. Within her soul, fragments of pain and hope emerged, battling between doubt and conviction. She had never known that within her lay the power to alter fate, to defy all that time and space had shaped.

As Fitran left the ruins, the sky began to twitch. A flash of lightning tore through the black clouds—yet there was no thunder.

And from the swirling smoke that rose from the remnants of Sheena's throne, a silhouette slowly emerged.

Someone walked slowly, bare feet on the scorched earth.

Her steps were like a tidal wave, silent yet unavoidable.

A dark blue noble's gown swept the golden dust, adorned with accents of burnt orange—the color of hell's remnants yet to fade.

Delicate chains dangled from her arms, still blackened from the molten lava.

In the dim light, the aura of Beelzebub seeped out, spreading a confusing sensation: forbidden love and fury collided in the void. As her steps drew nearer, the rustling of chains accompanied her movement, as if whispering ancient tales from the depths of her ens imprisoned soul, ready to be unveiled once more.

Her hair was tangled golden, like embers swirling in a storm. Her bright green eyes did not reflect light but radiated deep and complex meaning. Her gaze did not penetrate the body but went directly to the "will"—reading love, obsession, fear, and the deepest lies of anyone who dared to meet her eyes, a nearly unimaginable ability that stood before Fitran.

"You've been crying too long within logic."

The voice flowed like liquid magic. Tempting. Cynical. Yet it held wounds that had been silenced for centuries.

Fitran felt as if he stood on the edge of an abyss, caught between hope and emptiness. Each sigh felt trapped in a broken loop of time, awaiting a choice that could either destroy or save him. He gazed at Beelzebub, attempting to see beyond the shroud of arrogance that enveloped her, hoping to find remnants of humanity.

Fitran turned. He recognized her.

"Beelzebub."

"Do you know what happens when someone tries to rewrite the world with unproven love?"

In the dark corners of the room, invisible shadows whispered, revealing an endless tale. Amid the chaos, Fitran felt an unexpected weight—echoing in his small heart, creating a symphony of restrained feelings, illustrating the dance of shadows born from contrasting words: between perfect love and unavoidable chaos.

She smiled. A cruel yet compassionate smile.

"That's what reopens the Gödel Labyrinth. And you, Fitran Fate, are the only being foolish enough and pure enough to enter it."

"I don't care about the labyrinth," Fitran replied coldly.

"I want to save Rinoa."

Beelzebub approached slowly. The wind did not touch her. Light did not recognize her.

In their proximity, the stench of sulfur and emptiness bloomed, demanding a choice that would alter the course of fate. The gods may smile in the shadows, observing the edges of this fragile world, while Rinoa's voice echoed in Fitran's memory—her struggle against the snares of the past like a bird in captivity, yearning for freedom.

"And you are sure you can prove that your love for her is enough... without disrupting the very fabric of reality that sustains this world?"

Fitran fell silent. It was not a question. It was a doorway to a curse.

Behind the ruins, a faint light—like fragments from a dead star—quivered. It was a fragment of the Gödelian Codex, locked away since the dawn of creation.

A scroll that resisted being read. Every symbol within it—ancient logic glyphs—had decayed. Yet in the center, one capital letter was inscribed:

Σ Q S̅

(Sigma, Q, and the negation of S—Symbols of system, truth, and will that has failed.)

In the dark corner, beneath the shadows of the ruins, Beelzebub gazed at Fitran with fiery eyes, understanding the soul's pull that bound them together. Her voice, though quiet, vibrated in the heavy air, as if creating a resonance that altered the very fabric of reality. "Every step you take is a poem written in the ink of light and darkness," she said, illuminating the journey that the heart of the lover must traverse between desire and reality, crafting a melody that could only be heard by those who truly felt it. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

"Step into the labyrinth that is a mirror of the soul," whispered Beelzebub, with a sharpness of tone that transcended mere words. "If you wish to save a love that cannot even be proven and uphold hope amid this void, it is as if guiding you towards the truth hidden within the trapped soul."

"If you wish to save a love that cannot even be proven and uphold hope amid this void."

Fitran felt her heartbeat resonate with the echo of those words. In the dim light, she remembered the peace that once existed, as if nostalgia was the thread connecting her soul to the void. She knew that this choice would lead her into darkness, yet the hope shining within her was like a star that never dims, glowing even amidst utter darkness.

And Fitran—Voidwright, the Wounded Lover, the Sculptor of the Glyph of Will—took a step forward. Not to prove anything. But to love in a system that was no longer whole.