Memory of Heaven:Romance Written By Fate Through Beyond Infinity Time-Chapter 471 The Gödelian Curse Melts the World

There was no explosion. No lightning from the sky. No warning from the sacred tower.

However, the guardians of the pactum began to shiver. They felt something unseen, an instability in the air that made their hearts race. The chief wizards began to lose their spells. And the historians watched as the letters erased themselves.

Fear crept among them, like shadows dancing at the edge of sight. In the preservation room of magic in Concordia Core, a young wizard saw the glyph he had written for protection suddenly... reverse. The letters twisted, flipping their logic, and ultimately erasing another glyph around it.

"This glyph... does not reject the spell."

"It simply does not want to be... governed."

In an instant, the young man felt a deep pressure in his chest, as if the glyph itself was screaming for freedom; a sensation that pierced the heart and soul. The researchers called it Reversal Pulse, but Fitran knew it was Gödelian Trace—the resonance of incomplete glyphs, wanting to remain alive as imperfections that touch the world.

With each passing second, the anxious feeling weighed heavier on his mind, and he wondered if it was too late to restore balance. An old noble tried to open a legacy contract that had been in place for hundreds of years.

But when he touched his hand to the glyph sheet...

his hand burned slowly—not by fire,

but by phrases that refused to continue.

His words broke in doubt, trapped in a web of words that would not yield. "I do not want to belong."

"I do not want to be read without being understood."

"I am part of a love that does not want to be codified."

Amidst each of those voices, there was a vibrating silence, a resonance of wounded understanding. Did these glyphs have their own pain? Did they know what it meant to lose something precious? Those questions hung in the air, unanswered.

"Do you understand, Fitran? Every lost glyph is a piece of soul ripped from me," said Beelzebub, her tone filled with turmoil.

"In every curse lies unspoken beauty—but what is beauty without connection?" replied Fitran, his eyes sharp.

"Do you understand, Fitran? Every lost glyph is a piece of soul ripped from me," said Beelzebub, her tone filled with turmoil and deep pain. She felt a restless emptiness in her heart, as if every glyph that evaporated took with it the sweet and bitter memories she once held, creating an unhealable wound.

"In every curse lies unspoken beauty—but what is beauty without connection?" replied Fitran, his eyes sharply gazing at Beelzebub with a breeze of hope blowing. Fitran's voice trembled, reflecting the uncertainty of his feelings; he wanted to create a bridge between them, but what could he do if the walls of the curse seemed unshakable and added to the existing sorrow?

"If love could be imprisoned in letters, I would lock it away forever. Yet, I am a prisoner of this curse," Beelzebub spoke with a voice full of regret. She realized that love could sometimes be both a shield and a shackle, and those silent moments made her feel increasingly alienated in a world gripped by the glyphs she attacked.

"You are not just a dark ruler, but also your own sorceress. No glyph is stronger than the love that guards you, Beelzebub," Fitran tried to uplift her spirit. With a determination that could only be understood by a bound soul, he felt the spell of courage flowing through his body. That moment became a pivotal point in his effort to reach what was lost.

And the pactum exploded in a cry of light.

Beelzebub arrived, with Voidlings gathering on her back. They delivered the news:

"One by one, the old glyphs began to melt. And what remains is only a wild form... that cannot be explained, but makes people feel remembered."

"They call this a curse, Fitran," continued Beelzebub, her voice echoing faintly in the silence. "One by one, the old glyphs began to melt."

"They are afraid."

"Because of a failing system... afraid of love that cannot be controlled."

In the south, the land began to shift. Trees wrote glyphs of their own on their bark. Water voiced sentences from those who were lost. Each voice was like a song, encapsulating overflowing hope, as if awakening the entire realm with sorrow and longing for the obstructed power.

And across the surface of the earth, one symbol began to form... not as an engraving, but as a reflection of feeling:

Σ = ∅ + δ

The sum of emptiness and change... is recognition. The Void itself began to rumble. Within the echo that felt empty, Shadows of turmoil approached, enveloping every thought. Fitran's heart raced, as if trying to respond to the urge to understand the increasingly blurred reality.

"We are a world built from will."

"But unexpressed will... begins to rewrite our roots."

"Fitran..."

"You do not write a curse."

"You write love that has no place,

and that love now becomes the ink that melts our boundaries."

The tension between them rose, feeling like a fragile bridge over a chasm of darkness. Both knew that every word spoken could persuade or separate, creating an unbridgeable distance. The feeling of uncertainty embraced their hearts, making every second feel longer.

"We can no longer distinguish between curse and love," she said.

"Because both... stem from wounds."

"One wants to burn."

"One wants to be remembered."

This issue coalesced in Fitran's mind, creating a deep pain. He felt as if trapped in an emotional labyrinth that never ceased, ensnared between hope and reality. He struggled to find a conclusion amid the worsening uncertainty.

"But at the core of both, there is only one sentence:

'Do not forget me.'"

"Fitran," Beelzebub's voice, filled with doubt, "as the ruler of darkness, this curse is like a fire that burns my soul. Yet, behind it, there is a light I must hold." Her voice trembled, and in this uncertainty, Beelzebub felt a heavy burden. The awakening of hope contradicted the dark shadows that followed her, making her steps unsteady.

"Light is not just a guide, Beelzebub," replied Fitran with conviction. "Light is the consequence of the choices we make; not everything that shines can be trusted." These words flowed like a river, reminding them that clarity is often distorted by doubt in the heart.

"Then, will I become the destroyer or the protector, Fitran? In every action lies a compassion that binds." There was no easy answer, only silence filling the space. Beelzebub felt her soul connected to the conflicting reality, hoping for clarity amid the fog of confusion.

"With every glyph we melt, we are like poets without pens. Will we allow the curse to dictate this lost pen?" Beelzebub pondered, gazing toward the vibrating horizon. In her mind, she not only envisioned flowing glyphs but also the lyrics of a song made from longing and ambition, striving to find the right note amid the silence.

"Where love and curse meet," Fitran replied softly, "there is where miracles are born. And that... will never be severed."

With a silenced voice, the warm brush on Fitran's face seemed to remind Beelzebub of her childhood, when the world felt simpler and every happiness could be easily obtained. However, as time passed, pain demanded a high price for every precious moment. Beelzebub's voice trembled, trying to understand.

"Then, I must grasp this vessel, turning wounds into spells, right?"

"Yes, and when we step into the darkness, remember," Fitran emphasized. "Only in the dim light do we find the true."

Fitran grasped Beelzebub's hand, providing strength in silence. In Beelzebub's eyes, there was a reflection of doubt and hope united, like the image of a warrior trying to find her purpose amid the storm.

Amid the chaos of magic and the melting system, new forms emerged:

Children began to write glyphs with feeling, not formulas.

Tears became the material of spells stronger than blood.

Heartbreak songs created protection against the Void.

"What is the use of love that only brings wounds?" asked Beelzebub, her voice seeming to fade amid the roar of magic.

As if hearing the echo of sorrow in those words, Fitran felt a vibration of empathy in his chest. Memories of lost love and unbearable pain crawled through his soul. "Love and pain are two sides of the same coin," replied Fitran, gazing at Beelzebub with hopeful eyes.

"But do we embrace this curse or cast it into the void?" hissed Beelzebub, heavily weighing each word like a spell that felt heavy in the air, full of bitterness and anxiety. Behind that voice, battling the uncertainty that brought disaster, there was an inner noise struggling against the deep inner pressure.

And the Gödelian glyphs began to be accepted not as failures... but as flawed prayers that did not wish to be healed. In the silence when everything felt lost, the behariangan softly swayed as if embracing the weary mischievous body.

She did not smile.

She did not pray.

She only clutched the remaining piece of letter paper for Rinoa—which was now beginning to dissolve into the air.

"If this curse destroys the world," she whispered,

"then at least the world knows... that it was once loved sincerely."

Every word she spoke felt heavy on her heart, as if each note carried the weight of unexpressed hope. She imagined the faces that had gone, and how every beautiful moment with them now became only shadows in memory. In the twilight of night, she could feel the heartbeat of the world, as if vibrating to the rhythm of her own feelings.

"But can love that rejects reality save us?" replied Beelzebub, restless with the choices left. Cold sweat trickled down her temples, fading the courage that usually strengthened her. She realized that love often comes with unexpected sacrifices, and now she had to face the bitter reality before her.

The Gödelian curse was not destruction. It was an excess of love that was not given space. In this rigid flow, love struggled to express itself, trapped in a framework that was not its own. There was a deep desire to break through the boundaries set by the glyphs, but every movement felt limited, like a bird confined in a cage.

"We can only pray that tears do not flow into a flood," Fitran asserted, displaying the remaining courage even as his heart trembled. He knew that praying was not a sign of weakness, but rather an acknowledgment of helplessness in the face of fate. Yet, hope must always exist; without it, they would be trapped in an endless darkness, like glyphs abandoned in the corner of a room, waiting to be rediscovered.

And when love could no longer be contained by the system, the world melted not from being burned... but because it finally began to cry. That cry was not just the property of one soul; it was the echo of every feeling that had been neglected, resonating in every corner of the city that still remembered. In every tear, there was a hidden story, heartbreak left by a life full of false beauty, waiting to be resurrected in a new and stronger form.