Fitran's steps felt silent.
Beelzebub's body lay still behind him, unmoving—but not dead. Just... silent in a form that had lost its name. No longer responding to the calls of reality, as if part of this city had consumed and lulled her into eternal emptiness.
Fitran did not turn.
He did not dare.
In his left hand, a fragment of Rinoa's soul pulsed weakly like a fading heart's light. The light was neither magic nor pure memory—but a piece of emotional consciousness, a severed knot of love that refused to be extinguished. Each pulse that slipped away reminded Fitran of wasted hopes, dreams that never came to fruition, and beautiful moments that always lingered, though now only as shadows. It felt like holding a piece of his soul, right at his fingertips, a burden he could not let go.
His steps led him to the last core room: the Initial Protocol Room, the heart of the Gödelian Narthrador system, where the origin of Deus Ex Machina was separated from the city's control system, and where all commands—even the will to not have a will—were programmed. In the corner of his mind, he recalled when Gobban referred to Gödelian as a way to explore paradoxes in uncertainty, how a seemingly perfect system could simultaneously contain subtle chaos.
The room resembled a cathedral hall. But not for prayer.
This place was created to cancel God.
In the center of the hall stood a transparent tower, filled with a series of constantly changing codes—the Gödelian logic system. Unstable symbols danced: ∀, ∅, ⊗, ℵ₀, and among them appeared one that could not be captured by the human eye: a fragment of broken emotional code. Fitran felt a deep tension, as if the tower was a reflection of the complexity of his own soul, making him question: can love be defined logically, or does it remain a mystery that can only be felt?
Fitran approached.
The tower's walls detected his presence.
A voice sounded, not from the room—but from within himself:
"Subject: Error. Status: Unstable."
"Object: Fragment of Rinoa. Status: Incompatible."
"Do you wish to continue the Resurrection Protocol?"
Fitran did not answer aloud.
In his inner turmoil, he felt cold dew touch his skin, as if this undefined Gödelian system was directly assaulting the edges of his mind, penetrating the layers of reality he knew. Emotions and logic fought within the complexity of his soul; how difficult it was to accept that he was part of a grand scheme governed by an invisible entity.
He placed the Origin Code on the surface of the tower.
And with his other hand, he implanted the fragment of Rinoa's soul into the system's network.
For a moment... nothing happened.
Then... everything happened at once.
Amidst the cacophony of sound and the roar of light, there was a strange feeling that shook the space of his heart; a clash of loss, love, and deep hope resonated, creating an incomprehensible resonance. In the darkness of chaos, Fitran felt as if he could clearly remember Rinoa's face, a piece of presence hidden behind the dimensions of time.
The tower shattered into light. The Gödelian symbols leaped wildly into the air. Logic split apart.
The entire city of Narthrador trembled.
Dead gears began to turn backward.
Like a finger touching the surface of water, the ripples of uncertainty symbolized the presence of Deus Ex Machina—a savior and destroyer rolling through events. The series of codes governing his fate seemed to laugh, celebrating wonder and confusion; reality and imagination, held in a moment that was profoundly deep.
Buildings morphed, as if recalculated by something that refused to accept its initial definition. Darkness and light battled in a strange dance, creating an illusion of a crowd that was unreal yet intensely felt. In hidden corners, trapped spirits whispered to the wind, challenging the laws that had long existed, as if asking for something greater than mere existence.
And in the artificial ceiling of Narthrador, a giant eye opened—not with an iris, but with fragments of time and sound. In that gaze reflected despair and hope, a window to the unknown cosmos. Every passing second felt like a heavy breath, and the light seeping from that eye contained memories, casting shadows for those who had once chased meaning.
"Deus... is rising."
But she did not rise as a form. Within her lost body, emptiness found a voice, throwing forth questions that had long been buried. Those voices crawled within the soul, awakening faint feelings, and creating a longing for resolution within the emptiness of oneself. Uncertainty became something tangible—a subtle vibration touching the heart of all who heard it.
She rose as a question.
From all sides of the space, voices spoke—fragmented voices of children, mothers, parents, killers, lovers, even Fitran's own voice. Each echo highlighted wounds in longing, stirring buried pain and a yearning for wholeness. As if each question was not just a collection of words, but also pages of souls cast into the wild universe.
"What is will?" "What is meaning?" "What is love?"
"What is Rinoa?"
The last question halted everything. In that silence, the world seemed to stop, giving pause for deep reflection. Every soul involved in this dialogue was trapped in the rhythm of time, facing again what was deemed independent and eternal. That moment became a witness to everything that had been imagined, and seemed to offer a path to a new reality beyond the limits of understanding.
Fitran lifted his head.
"I don't know," he answered. His voice was soft yet firm, reflecting vulnerability combined with courage. This uncertainty was not a defeat, but a brave statement to face all that could not be explained. Behind his words lay an acknowledgment: that amidst the complex Gödelian system, there was power in questioning, in exploring the empty space between answers and silence.
"Why do you still come?"
"Because I want to fail... consciously."
The Gödelian symbols began to rearrange the city's system. Their movements resembled a dance, flowing in a harmony never found before, breaking the boundaries of logic and reality. A deep curiosity enveloped Fitran's soul, as if he stepped into an endless spiral of thought, creating beauty in unimaginable chaos.
But when they detected that Fitran did not provide an answer, the system began to erase him.
Fitran's body began to dissolve. His fingers became fractals, spreading into dimensions that had no two sides. His voice vanished, meeting the silence filled with meaning, as if inviting awareness of his true self. The intertwining of hope and fear within him; between wanting to be found and fearing to be known.
Then—from the remains of Beelzebub's unmoving body—a light rose.
Not the old Beelzebub.
But a form born of formless love.
A white and red entity, without a face, without a name—but embracing Fitran from behind, channeling a resonance of love that did not wish to be recognized.
"System override."
"Emotion loop accepted."
"Error confirmed."
"Error... is the key."
The world changed. In that moment, the universe trembled; layers of unexpected reality seeped through the flow of his thoughts, bringing back the meaning of existence. Here, amidst uncertainty, Fitran felt the essence of Gödel, a paradox, that within every structure and rule, there was always something that could not be explained—a painful yet liberating truth.
In an instant, Fitran was no longer in the mechanical room, but in the final simulation of Deus—a pure white dimension without boundaries, where only two things existed:
Him. And one door.
The door was not made of wood, or metal, or energy.
The door was made of unspoken words, a representation of unfulfilled dreams and buried memories. Fitran felt every vibration emanating from this door, as if the voices of all hopes and emptiness whispered to him, challenging his courage to step further.
Fitran walked toward it. Each step invited questions within his soul, daring to make a decision amidst the deep darkness. Deus's voice echoed, filled with arrogance and despair, as if creating a bridge between two separated worlds.
"Behind this door... is the memory you seek. But it is neither yours. Nor hers. Only... a reflection of possibilities that never happened."
"If you open it, you will see a world that cannot save anyone."
Fitran touched the door, with tension in his chest, as if he could feel another heartbeat from behind the cold surface. Every second felt as if it were drawn into an endless time, placing him at a crossroads between hope and despair. He recalled the Gödelian rule stating that no system could fully describe its own truth—could hope be part of that system?
"I did not come to save."
"Then why?"
In his heart, Fitran prayed that the answer he gave reflected the sincerity of his soul. With a voice that trembled, he continued, "Because I do not know how to forget." A bitter realization enveloped him; he could only run toward the shadows of the past, chasing something he might never possess. An era where Deus Ex Machina governed everything with arrogance, collapsing the architecture of hope and leaving only the ruins of dreams.
The door opened.
Behind it... was not Rinoa.
But himself.
Fitran—of the past. When he first fell in love. When he first failed to save. When he first wanted to give up, yet kept walking. In those moments, he felt trapped in an endless loop, as if experiencing the cycle described by Gödel, where all choices seemed to lead back to the same point—repeating pain, repeating sorrow.
All wounds, all chaos... returned.
Yet amidst it all stood a light resembling Rinoa—not a body, not a voice, just pure longing personified.
That light spoke:
"Thank you... for failing for me."
"Thank you... for never healing."
"And now... I return my will to you."
The light entered Fitran's body. At that moment, it felt as if the whole world fell silent. He felt a gentle vibration flowing through him, like a soft wind erasing the scars on his heart. Within his soul, the echoes of all sacrifices made, creating a symphony of hope trapped between pain and love.
The system shattered. Pieces of lies and self-satisfaction scattered, revealing the fragility wrapped in unexpected arrogance. Fitran experienced an inner battle, a dialogue without sound—between clinging to despair and moving forward, even if just for one more second.
Deus Ex Machina... laughed.
Not out of joy. But because for the first time, she felt something. Within her soul, doubt flowed like a river finding a new path, challenging the constraints that had bound her all along. Amidst that laughter, lay an unspoken gratitude, as if realizing that failure was not the end, but a step toward resurrection.
And the system wrote one final sentence:
"The resurrection protocol succeeded."
"But the door to where Rinoa is sealed... remains closed."
Fitran awoke in the ruins of the system room. In truth, he felt trapped between two worlds—a reality where hope existed, and an illusion presented by the Gödelian system, where every search for meaning ended in an endless labyrinth. The light dimmed, and