Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time-Chapter 456 Glyph That Erases Glyph

The first step Fitran took into the outside world felt foreign.

The blue sky was still there.

The wind still blew.

The buildings of Gaia-Avalon still stood.

Yet everything felt... too quiet.

As if the entire reality was trying to ignore his existence.

He walked down the main street.

People did not look at him.

Not because he was invisible—but because their eyes did not recognize him.

"Fitran Fate?" said a senior sorceress when he asked.

"That name... is not in the Grand Tower Archives. Perhaps a folk tale?"

A cold smile painted Fitran's face, as if he recalled all the moments that had passed; he shrugged, as if to say, "Let the world forget me." Every word emphasized by the rejection he received filled his heart with tranquility, as if oppression participated in the process of acceptance of that loss.

The Pactum that once held his signature was now empty.

The Glyph he had carved himself in the center of the Voidwright Chamber... had vanished without a trace.

The world had forgotten him.

He stepped away from their curiosity, as if grasping indifference in every movement. Within him, there was no longer pain—only acceptance, as if he had made a pact with silence.

But more than that...

The world had erased him.

He raised his hand.

And tried to draw a simple glyph:

Illumination Spell: Lumen Minor.

But as the glyph was completed, it shone for half a second... then vanished.

His indifference was unstoppable, even the light left his sight. He stood still, feeling the gentle wind caress his face, as if that wind was the only one remembering his trace in this world.

But more than that...

The world had erased him.

He raised his hand, his fingers moving slowly as if trying to prevent the urge to rush.

And tried to draw a simple glyph:

Illumination Spell: Lumen Minor.

But as the glyph was completed, it shone for half a second... then vanished.

Not faded. But erased.

And in its place, a narrow crack appeared.

From that crack... formed a symbol that no one had ever seen.

The Gödelian Voidwright Symbol.

One circle with three fragments:

∅

Ʃ

⊘

Fitran tried to write a new glyph, tracing the ground with tranquility.

But every time he wrote a new glyph in the earth,

The old glyphs within a ten-meter radius began to vanish into the inevitable void, leaving traces of presence erased from reality.

He did not show any anxiety on his face; Fitran's eyes seemed empty, a manifestation of his indifference.

Like an artist willing to erase his old works, he watched the world being erased without a trace of pain. Every glyph that disappeared was merely a shadow; he knew himself more than anything anyone else could remember.

The magical symbols on the walls of houses began to crumble.

The protective spells on shops collapsed.

One by one, all the magical structures built on the old system... shattered.

"This magic..." Fitran whispered, "is a curse."

From behind the magical fog, a figure with gray wings appeared.

Her golden hair was now calm. Her gown was no longer that of a hellish noble, but a dull fabric that felt like a veil of longing.

Beelzebub gazed at Fitran's hand.

"That is the Gödelian glyph. It does not create meaning. It erases the meaning around it."

"And because of that... you are the center of the new system."

"A system that does not want a system?"

"Not quite," she replied.

"A system... that allows imperfection to remain alive."

Fitran shrugged casually, as if the world's rejection was merely the whisper of the wind. There was no concern in his eyes, only a calm acceptance. "If all of this crumbles, what does it mean for me?" he thought, watching the figures move away, not quite aware of his existence.

His hand moved freely, floating in the air, as if bidding farewell to the forgotten memories. Only the magical fog listened, holding secrets no longer cared for by those who ran away from him.

At the Magic Concord headquarters, researchers began to record strange disturbances:

Pactums that failed to ignite.

Ancient artifacts losing their effects.

High-level spells that, when written on paper... began to burn the pages themselves.

And in all those disturbances, a pattern emerged:

A new sign—∅Ʃ⊘—always appeared before all glyphs vanished.

They called it:

The Glyph Eater Glyph.

Or... the Gödelian Curse.

Fitran realized:

Wherever he stepped, the structure of the world became fragile. He merely raised an eyebrow, his expression flat but his eyes radiating tranquility like still water touched by the wind.

But not out of malice; within his mind lay profound questions about existence and meaning that grew increasingly vague in the eyes of the world.

Rather, because his existence now... was a question that could not be answered.

And the magic system could not survive around such questions. He walked past the astonished researchers, who found themselves seeing a shadow. Fitran felt it, but his faint smile did not allow disappointment to take over.

"I am a curse to the world," he said to Beelzebub.

"And the world tries to survive by forgetting me."

"But forgetting," Beelzebub replied, "does not mean not longing."

"The world... can fall in love with something that cannot be explained."

Fitran arrived in the city of Lesva—a small town he once saved from a magical plague 11 years ago.

He stood in the middle of the square.

People passed by, not recognizing him. With calm steps, he observed the faces that had no memory of him. In his heart, there was a feeling of emptiness, as if all memories had been erased, yet no pain disturbed him.

But a small child looked at him.

The child carried an old sketchbook.

The drawing showed a silver-haired man illuminating the night sky.

"Who is that?" Fitran asked.

"I don't know," replied the child. "He often appears in the dreams of the people here. But he has no name."

Fitran looked at Beelzebub. For a moment, his heartbeat did not flutter, as if he had fully accepted the emptiness the world offered. With an arrogant and peaceful demeanor, he responded to that neglect, as if it were a silent song that had been played repeatedly but never tired.

Fitran approached, bent down, and looked into the child's eyes. "Is that all that remains? A nameless figure?"

In his heart, Fitran felt a kind of tranquility, an awareness of the absence flowing like a river that continues to flow even through the chasms of time, as if he were speaking to a shadow trapped in the pages of time.

With a small nod, Fitran walked away, leaving the child in confusion that remained unanswered. His steps were steady, unburdened by the cries of the world that forgot him. Perhaps, he thought, becoming a memory was the best fate a wanderer like him could have.

"I... dwell in a memory that has no name?"

"You dwell in a feeling that cannot be described."

The Pactum Council of Gaia received reports from all corners:

Glyphs began to lose their effects.

The regression of this magic system felt alarming, and all locations of disturbance bore the same glyph trace, ∅Ʃ⊘, as if reminding that every change comes with a price to be paid.

Artifacts refused to be reused.

And all locations of disturbance bore the glyph trace ∅Ʃ⊘.

"This is not new magic," said one architect.

"This is the erasure of all old foundations."

"We need to capture anyone carrying this glyph," said another.

"Or... our world will lose its identity."

He sat in the middle of the empty field, gazing far into the horizon that seemed to drift away from him, ignoring the shadows of faces erased from the memories of those around him.

The world rejected.

The system pursued.

Names forgotten.

Yet Beelzebub remained by his side. Wrapped in dim light, she took a deep breath, realizing that no one would remember him. His heartbeat remained calm, even as waves of rejection approached.

"Do you know what distinguishes you from a curse?" she said softly, looking at Beelzebub with striking tranquility.

"What?"

"A curse wants everything to suffer with it."

"You... just want that love to remain alive, even if it cannot be named, like the shadows that faithfully follow the light even when ignored."

With a faint smile, he picked a blade of grass, holding it as if searching for something lost. In his heart, he felt no objection to everything; the world's indifference instead provided a freedom that many could not understand.

The glyph that erased glyphs had appeared.

And Fitran—who had lost his name, system, and even his history—

became the beginning of a form of love and meaning that could not be proven, yet could not be extinguished; he reminded us that sometimes what is unseen holds greater power than mere physical existence.

What cannot be proven, yet cannot be extinguished. He cast his gaze left and right, feeling the loneliness enveloping him but without pain. Everything was preserved in silence, and he embraced this reality with all his soul, as if grasping the distant stars.