Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time-Chapter 459 Beelzebub and the Hunger Theorem

There is no night.

There is no day.

Yet time still feels like it is moving within her.

Beelzebub sat on the flat stones of a small hill, far from the ruins of the pactum that Fitran had just left behind.

She gazed at the empty valley, devoid of magic, without glyphs.

In a place like this, she should feel neutral.

Yet her stomach trembled.

Her chest throbbed.

And from within her mind... something began to call.

She had not consumed a soul since Fitran brought her out of the Labyrinth.

She had not swallowed anyone's will.

She had not even touched the glyph that offered meaning.

She... wanted to stop.

But now, that feeling returned.

Not like before. Not a hunger that hunted.

But a hunger that cried.

In her mind, it seemed a formula emerged that pressed upon her very soul:

"If I love someone who does not love me... then the only way for that feeling to remain is to consume it."

But as she tried to do so—allowing herself to be open to Fitran's will—she recoiled.

"No..." she whispered.

"Not because she rejects me. But because I no longer want to... take."

In the corner of her heart, there was a fear gnawing at her, a feeling that was weak yet persistent, like a dark shadow always lurking behind the light. This unrequited love created a deep chasm that separated them, placing Beelzebub in a box of empty peace, where pain and longing intertwined. She was trapped between desire and exile, as if every passing second was a reminder of a feeling she could not possess.

"Why is this feeling so heavy?" she asked herself, her voice barely audible. She remembered Fitran's smile, how a beam of light could burn her heart, yet simultaneously destroy every hope she had. It felt like an acid solution gnawing from within, creating scars that would never heal, turning her into a creature forever yearning, no matter how hard she tried to hold back.

Small voidlings appeared around Beelzebub.

They were not part of her. But they understood.

One approached, then touched her knee.

Without words. But its face reflected unspoken love. Beelzebub felt the warmth of that touch, as if a spark of hope was spreading, causing her heart to beat faster. The only question that arose in her mind was whether love was worth fighting for if it would ultimately lead only to sorrow. In the silence, she recalled the beautiful moments she had experienced, the times when that love shone brightly, even though she knew it was merely an illusion.

"You know how it feels, don't you?" Beelzebub said softly.

"To love... but be forced to remain silent."

Each word she spoke seemed to slice through her heart, awakening the pain that lay dormant. "Because if you speak, you will destroy it." Her soul felt torn between the desire to express her feelings and the fear of loss. In the game between hope and uncertainty, she felt it like a thousand thorns gently piercing, each second becoming heavier to bear.

The voidling trembled... then formed a small symbol in the ground:

Σ ≠ ∑

Beelzebub read it:

"Amount of feelings... does not equal the sum of love." In her mind, the symbol became a reminder of the complexity of love that could not be measured by numbers or formulas. She gazed at the symbol intently, realizing how deep the feelings buried in her heart were. When the only thing that frightened her was the reality that true love often brought with it profound pain. When she clung to the hope of being loved, she also had to be ready to face the possibility of heartbreak that accompanied it.

Fitran finally approached from a distance.

She knew Beelzebub was distancing herself not because she wanted to leave... but because she was afraid to stay. When they met, Beelzebub saw the depth in Fitran's eyes, like a quiet ocean full of mystery. A tension arose, underscoring the unspoken words between them. A few seconds felt like an eternity, as Beelzebub struggled between her despair and her hope for a love that burned brightly.

She sat beside her. No words were spoken. Just sitting.

And Beelzebub asked without turning:

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" In her question lay a deep fear, as if she knew Fitran's answer would not save her from pain. There was a desire that surged, yet still shackled by the worry that her feelings would only complicate their path, making everything more difficult.

Fitran answered slowly:

"No. You make me wonder... how much can someone give before they hope for something in return."

In those silent moments, Beelzebub felt the weight in her chest. Each heartbeat seemed to whisper doubt. Love, which should have brought life, instead became a dark shadow haunting her. How could something so sweet feel so bitter? Why did it feel like it was shattering between hope and the reality that yielded emptiness?

"I am hungry, Fitran," Beelzebub's voice nearly cracked.

"But I am not hungry for your body, or your power, or your will..."

The pain flowed through her veins, demanding that she share the burden she carried alone. Hungry for acceptance, for true love. Yet, wasn't the love she desired supposed to be unconditional? Why did she feel trapped in a labyrinth of emotions that left her desolate?

"...I am hungry because I know you will never say my name with the same feeling as you say hers."

"Rinoa?"

"Or Sheena. Or anyone. It's not about who. But about... not me."

Her soft voice was like a sad melody, adrift in a sea of loneliness. She remembered the times when she tried hard to fill the empty space in her heart with the shadows of unrequited love. As if she could feel the gentle touch of other partners, while she reached for an untouched silence. Would this sorrow forever be her faithful companion?

The wind did not blow.

There were no glyphs in the air.

Yet something between them was very fragile, depicting how delicate this relationship was as love and fear stood side by side.

Beelzebub stared at Fitran.

With that gaze, she hoped to express all her despair, to break down the walls that confined her heart. Only an embrace could clear the biting silence, erasing the painful uncertainty. Yet, on the contrary, she felt even more tormented—because her wings could not bear the weight of this unrequited love.

She wanted to say:

"Hold me."

But she did not. Because she knew, that embrace... could be pity, and not love.

And if that happened—she would shatter.

Beelzebub's body began to change.

Her wings trembled, the golden tips of her hair shone again—a sign that the layers of hell began to open their mouths again, as the turmoil of emotions shook her soul.

"I am afraid... if I do not love completely... I will return."

"I am afraid that I can only survive as a human... if I belong to you."

Like a flash of light, deep and painful feelings seeped into her soul. Why does love always become a bridge to emptiness? Within her soul, old wounds stirred, reminding her of unspoken losses. She never expected that love could be a scythe that separated memories from hope. When that call came, she paused for a moment—hearing the echo of words left unspoken.

"And you will never be mine."

Fitran turned to her.

She did not smile. She did not cry.

"I don't know," she said.

"I don't know if I can love you the way you want."

Beelzebub looked down. Her hands on her knees began to tremble. In that silence, Beelzebub felt a noise within her, like thousands of voices beckoning her heart but none she could recognize. How tragic, to love passionately yet be trapped in the shadow of rejected love. What does existence mean if the love she sought only leads to the same pain?

"But I know one thing," Fitran continued.

"I don't want you to return to that hunger."

"Because if you return... then a part of my world will be lost."

Beelzebub stood.

Her legs wobbled.

Her hands began to burn slowly from the glyph of hell.

"Then... allow me to stay by your side.

Even if I must love you as... a hunger that will never be satisfied."

Fitran stood. Looking into her eyes.

"I cannot promise satisfaction..."

"...but I can promise... a seat beside me. Always."

Beelzebub's wings... shattered. But from those fragments, a shadowy frame grew that did not consume. Not to fly. But to touch the world without hurting.

Is love a beautiful unease or a curse that suffocates? Beelzebub felt a strong pull that bit into her soul, bringing her back to the moment when she felt complete, when hope and aspirations burned within her fragile form. Why is it only the heart that is filled with pain? If hope is a weapon, then she is a warrior who has run out of reasons to fight—a war against emptiness and the silence that lurks.

She is no longer a consumer. She is no longer an angel. She is no longer human.

She is a being that continues to love, even if never possessed.

In the silence of the night, she often found herself trapped in daydreams, gazing at the stars that she could never reach. Each twinkle seemed to mock the abandoned love; a love that chose to remain in the corner of waiting, without hope of being grasped. With every breath, Beelzebub felt a deep pain, like a thorn in her heart, reminding her that she was trapped between desire and reality.

Beelzebub does not consume love. She keeps it. And her hunger... remains. But not to be cursed.

She longs for a figure who can understand the suffering hidden behind her, yet knows that this self can only be a shadow, an unspoken secret. Within her soul, the inability to fulfill the need for love—true and unconditional love—rumbles again, preparing a storm within the peace of her fragile soul. With all her courage, she whispers in solitude, "Why do I choose to sink in the midst of evaporating love?"

Because a hungry love, yet not forcing... is a love that chooses to remain alive.

This love lives its life in unexpected ways; though unrequited, it still exists, flowing like a river that never dries. Beelzebub knows, within this pain lies a magnificent strength, even though it often feels more painful than merely grappling with hunger. And in her dark heart, a glimmer of hope remains, no matter how deep the wounds are etched. In every tremor of her soul, that love teaches her to accept all forms of feeling, even when she must let go.