Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time-Chapter 464 Fitran Creator of the World Without Evidence

There were no announcements.

No meteors.

No declarations from the tall tower.

Yet the world began to change.

And at the center of this change...

there was no name.

No familiar face.

Only one feeling enveloped the once barren places:

"Someone we do not remember... loved us deeply enough for us to still feel their presence."

In a small town named Alvenar, a library without collections stood proudly in the middle of a square surrounded by old buildings of faded red bricks, contributing to the city's architectural historical beauty. Its tall windows reflected the sunlight, while the scent of old books and dust filled the air, creating a strong sense of nostalgia.

Yet every morning, a gentle and trembling-voiced keeper would read a paragraph from an unmarked scroll; the content was neither a lesson nor history, but rather a reminder of the profound emotional value trapped within those words.

The keeper's voice was soft and trembling, as if bringing the words trapped in the scroll back to life. The wind whispered through the cracks in the walls, providing a rhythm to each letter she spoke.

But:

"Unfinished love... is a window that never closes."

The city's residents, coming and going with gentle steps and faces full of questions, began to display that phrase on the doors of their homes. In a corner of the city, a winding path was strewn with falling yellow leaves, as if each step revealed secrets held between the real world and the unseen realm.

It wasn't because they knew who wrote it.

But because every time they read it, they felt remembered. In the stillness of the night, when dusk wraps the city in a dark shroud, they could feel the presence of a pen dancing across paper, leaving an indelible mark on their hearts. The winding streets among the old houses, with their windows vibrating in the night breeze, created a nearly palpable atmosphere of longing.

Concordia Hall and Nexus Pactum agreed to not acknowledge the existence of the new glyph, a wild concept, and the small voidlings appearing at the city altars, even though their impact began to be felt among the residents. The ancient stone structure of Concordia Hall, surrounded by deeply rooted trees, seemed to hide secrets that vibrated in every crack of its walls; meanwhile, Nexus Pactum, with its thick aura of emptiness, radiated energy that was both empowering and frightening at the same time, creating tension between the two factions.

However, their system was weakening.

Because:

People stopped asking for permission to love. They began to weave simple sentences in whispers, blending with the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. An acknowledgment that love does not require permission—only the courage to take a step forward. In the corners of the city, where shadows met the faint light, new stories began to emerge.

They started using fragile words as mantras. Those words glided softly from their lips, dancing in the night air, forming bridges between separated souls. Once infused with life, those phrases began to attract the creatures of the night, hidden within the tranquil assembly of shadows.

They cried during the ritual, yet the ritual succeeded. Tears flowed like an unstoppable river, creating pools of hope beneath the stars. With focused gazes, they looked towards the sky; up there, the glow of glyph-shaped lights began to shimmer, answering their inner call.

"This is not a revolution," said one of the Ancient Magic Architects, her voice resonating in a gentle but powerful tone, breaking the silence of the night.

"This is... the disappearance of the need for recognition," said the Ancient Magic Architect, in the small glow of the lantern light that cast her face as a symbol of profound wisdom, as if she had observed and understood countless histories of unspoken love throughout time.

Fitran walked through the misty forest, accompanied by Beelzebub and the voidling. A thin fog enveloped the pathway, revealing a world that seemed out of reach. The sound of their footsteps was soft, muffled by an overwhelming sense of curiosity. Beelzebub, with her majestic figure and shadowy presence, looked at Fitran with eyes full of understanding. The voidling, a small creature, jumped joyfully, creating a trail of light that splashed life deeper within the forest.

None of them spoke, but the silence was filled with a mutual understanding, creating a deeply reflective moment.

Yet in the air... fragments of a concept emerged:

In the suffocating stillness, a faint light danced among the collection of shadows, creating an illusion of irregular forms, like the barking of spirits longing for their owners. The atmosphere felt thick, as if time slowed down, blurring the boundaries between reality and imagination.

"Meaning is not to be explained. But to be shared."

The voice flowed gently, like a whisper of wind hiding behind the leaves, penetrating their hearts. Each word became a thread woven into the fabric of an unexpected presence, teaching that some things are better felt than understood.

"Love is not about who you choose, but rather who remains in your heart, even when you tell her to leave." This statement encapsulates the essence of true love, intertwined with the strength and vulnerability of humanity.

The sky above seems to darken, blending with shades of deep blue, where stars gradually reveal themselves, as if supporting this assertion. Uncertainty gently yet powerfully seeps in, evoking a sense of emotion deep within the heart.

"You will never be whole. But that doesn't mean you are broken."

Around them, the rustling leaves and sighing winds come together to create a soothing melody, helping them absorb this message. In mere moments, it feels as though everything shares the same incompleteness, moving the souls who might feel defeated yet still boldly continue their journey.

Fitran did not write this.

Yet she knows, everything is born from her. frёewebηovel.cѳm

In the chill of the wind, she feels the darkness and light battling within her. There is something that makes her body tremble, like a pulsar hidden in the fog, calling her to dive even deeper.

"Are you aware, Fitran?"

"You are creating a new world. But not through a system.

You are creating it with your own imperfections."

The tones of that voice seeped in, not merely reminding, but asserting an expansive presence—one that was greater than any description measured by logic.

Fitran managed a faint smile.

In her gaze, flashes of the past emerged, where beauty and sorrow blended into an untamed painting, rich with color. That gentle glow, although dim, reminded her of the reason her soul trembled in the silence.

"I am just someone... who has failed too many times,

and seeks a space where all those failures can still be loved."

Outside, the moonlight reflected shadows that roamed the emptiness. An intangible sound surged, a resonance between unseen realms, inviting eternal action that grasped every drop of struggle's sweat.

Beyond the boundaries of the magical world—in the empty spaces between dimensions—the Void that once lay still now moved. Its movement was subtle, invisible to eyes accustomed to perceiving the real world. It danced among the shadows, creating invisible ripples that traversed the darkness. Mysterious rustling sounds filled the air, as if the Void itself took a deep breath, sensing the vibration of every thought that passed through.

Not to attack, but to observe; as if something caught the attention of the Void entity—something that vibrated in silence among the lost stars, indicating a presence greater than mere emptiness.

But it was for observation. It was as if there was something captivating the attention of the entity—something resonating quietly among the vanished stars.

"Someone," the Void entity whispered,

"has touched our boundaries...

not with magic,

but with a love that has never been answered." In the tremor of her voice, each word seemed to carry a heavy weight—a realization of a longing that bound her, tethered to shadowy and melancholic memories.

And for the first time... the Void did not wish to consume. She wanted to see, to feel the warmth that had long been forgotten, to create a bridge from darkness to the dim light.

In the northernmost part, an orphan drew an unfamiliar glyph in the sand, her voice soft like the rustle of the wind that carried yearning; she could not read, but the symbols sincerely shaped her—her feelings, her fears, and her longing for a mother she did not know, whom she had always hoped to find.

"What is the name of this glyph?" asked the teacher, her voice seemingly breaking the silence, seeping into the child's soul.

"There is none," the child replied.

"But I feel... someone must have thought of me while drawing it." Her heart trembled, waiting for a response from the universe, as if hoping that her image would summon back the lost things.

This is a new world, where it is not who created that matters, but who allows failed love to remain and grow. In that silence, the new world began to shape its own image—from dreams and hopes, from the sighs of marginalized people who previously had no place in the larger narrative.

It is not who created. But who allows failed love to stay. In that silence, the new world began to shape its own image—from dreams and hopes, from the sighs of marginalized people.

She is not written in the holy scriptures.

She is not remembered in the history books.

Even in the end, her body may fade from reality. Yet, in the stillness, someone must keep her in a corner of their heart, etched in unmeasured time.

But a small voice will always say:

"There is someone...

who loves us deeply enough to create a world...

where evidence is not a requirement to exist." This voice crosses the gap between time and space, flowing like an endless, formless river.

Fitran did not create the world through force.

She created it

with a spacious void

to hold love,

loss,

and those who do not know how to write their own names. A space filled with hope and memories, where every corner holds stories waiting to be revealed, allowing the souls wandering there to feel at home, intertwined with the greater tale flowing among them.