The city is silent.
After the explosion of the Resurrection Protocol and the collapse of the main Deus Ex Machina system, all of Narthrador now exists in an ambiguous state. The gears do not stop, yet they do not move. The lights do not turn on, but they do not go out. The air itself hangs, as if reality is contemplating. In the thick silence, echoes from the past seep in, bringing back long-buried memories, reminding every remaining soul of the fading hope. And amidst that emptiness, hope is like a ghostly shadow, swaying between reality and illusion, revealing broken promises and shattered dreams.
And Fitran… sits cross-legged in the midst of the ruins of the protocol room.
His body has returned to wholeness, though not whole in the form of an ordinary human. He is a broken symmetry: one eye radiates the light of the Void, while the other displays fragments of Rinoa's memories that now reside within him. In that gaze, there is a glimmer of sadness and hope clashing, as if two opposing sides of a coin, creating an unbearable inner tension. His right hand still holds the Origin Code, while his left clutches something unseen—longing. Like air that cannot be touched, that longing pulls him into the labyrinth of his mind, creating a barrier between desire and reality.
Beelzebub lies beside him. Her breath has returned, but still in silence. She has not changed again, but the traces of her sacrifice still linger in the space. Every weak heartbeat serves as a reminder of the sacrifice that has been held back, as if calling back the courage of every soul that has ever fought in Narthrador.
And before the two of them, the door to the final seal of Rinoa's memory remains closed. That door stands firm, as if challenging their courage to step into the uncertainty, awaiting the moment when courage surpasses the fear that blocks their path.
The seal is not made of magic. Not created by the system. But by the concept of consistency. A limitation that is etched into the fabric of reality, merging with the eternity that binds them. Within that tension lies a haunting truth, that every step toward enlightenment must confront the darkness that must be faced.
A very ancient power—from the roots of reality—that states:
"The will born from the system cannot access the will rejected by the system." Those words resonate like a mantra, vibrating in Fitran's heart, dancing between the metaphors of life and death, creating a bridge between hope and helplessness.
Fitran stands.
He gazes at that door, feeling the density of the space pressing on his soul, as if every breath reminds him of the responsibility he must bear. In that uncertainty, hope struggles to live, challenging the profound silence.
Then he turns to the ruins of the Gödelian system.
Then, he says to himself:
"If symmetry makes this world closed, then I will break it."
He walks toward the broken terminal, then raises the Origin Code. In an instant, the entire Gödelian code system reappears in the air, forming an imperfect supercomputer circle: thousands of equations, thousands of contradictions, all spinning aimlessly. Amidst that chaos, the shadow of you, Rinoa—imperfection that gives meaning to every mistake left behind—takes shape.
Fitran gazes at the pattern—and begins to create a breach.
Not with power.
Not with magic.
But with an unfinished story.
"Deus Ex Machina is a form of will that rejects command. So I will rewrite the system with something that cannot be explained by any command."
He raises his left hand, his heart trembling, as if hearing the whispers of souls trapped in this labyrinth of inconsistency.
The light of Rinoa's fragments ignites.
Then, he carves an asymmetric pattern in the air: a broken spiral, an open circle, an imperfect heart. Each stroke is a waiting, a hope for new possibilities born from fragility.
Voidwright Spell: Gödelian Fractura – Spiral of Paradox
The runes begin to collapse. Codes collide.
Equations begin to reject themselves.
And from the midst of the broken fractal… a voice emerges.
"If this is a mistake... then make me the last mistake."
—
The seal door of memory begins to crack.
But reality rejects it. She runs against the current, every second feels like a thousand years, yet in every step, she knows that only through this irregularity can everything find its true meaning and perhaps bring unexpected change.
The sky of Narthrador turns red. The layers of the city's logic begin to form the last guardian: a manifestation of Absolute Symmetry, an entity of the system created solely to close every paradox. In the midst of the redness, as if the sky itself weeps for the fate that is about to unfold, it saturates the atmosphere with profound despair.
The creature appears—taking the form of a statue of Fitran himself, but without a face, without emotion, and with a perfectly symmetrical body from head to toe. But who can understand beauty without a soul, and why is that beauty presented to be an obstacle? In its silence, it seems to remind that perfection and resurrection are always accompanied by the shadow of sorrow.
"You must not open this."
"Because if the rejected memory is found… then the entire system will learn that love needs no reason."
Fitran stares at it. That gaze is a battle between hope and despair, between sincere love and the unwritten laws that bind them. "Isn't that what we need?"
The statue of Fitran attacks.
One punch pierces the air, shattering all the codes around. The Void erupts from that movement, not out of strength, but out of the system's fear of something incomprehensible. In that moment, every pixel and byte is trapped in doubt. Who is stronger: the human or the system? As Fitran steps forward, his heart races, feeling the noble spirit that transcends the boundaries of logic.
Fitran raises the Origin Code.
He does not fight with a sword.
He does not retaliate with magic.
He simply opens his heart. There is a profound silence, as if time stops, and amidst the roar of tension, a strong love blooms like a flower in the midst of a storm.
"I love you, Rinoa, not because you are perfect."
"I love you because when everything cannot be explained, you still remain in the wounds that never heal."
And with that—the Origin Code glows fully, pulsing as if it has its own soul. Behind that light, echoes of pain and love oppose, creating harmony in the heartbreaking tension.
He is no longer just an artifact of the Gödelian Labyrinth.
Now he becomes the system's rejector, a symbol of hope defied by existing laws, a statement that even in a world dominated by logic, love can still shake the foundations of existential crisis.
A manifestation: Incomplete Truth that Demands to Be Seen.
Fitran thrusts the Origin Code into the chest of the symmetrical statue. In a moment full of tension, as if the world around him halts, he feels a vibration that merges with the heartbeat of that statue. Every second feels tedious yet precious, and he knows that in the profound silence, this decision not only determines his fate but also whispers the secrets of the universe.
And he says:
"Not all mistakes must be corrected."
The statue explodes, as if releasing a trapped voice that tries to speak. It wants to scream everything that has been buried, all the disappointments and unexpressed hopes. In the wave of the explosion of light, Fitran feels a strange peace, as if transitioning from despair to acceptance.
The system groans. Its voice seems to remind Fitran that behind every anger, there is a deeper sadness. As if the world regrets itself, trapped in repeated mistakes, ensnared in a symmetry that can only be executed by memory.
And the seal door... opens.
Behind it, there is no body of Rinoa. Her presence feels like a disjointed shadow, inviting a sense of loss that is nearly imperceptible to the senses. She seems to be a paradox in his life; there but not there.
Not her face. Leaving a trace in his mind that is hard to erase. Every detail, even the smallest, now seems to be puzzle pieces of fragmented memories.
Only... a silent space.
And in the midst of that space: an empty chair. A chair that seems to wait, longing for someone to return. There is a longing there—a magnet that draws him closer, even though there is no clear reason. He feels as if time has frozen, this moment has happened before in many forms, and he wonders if this moment is a mirror of the past.
Fitran steps in. The chair feels... familiar. Each of his steps sends a thin vibration of memory, like an echo of a symphony that can only be imagined again.
He approaches. Looking at the chair as if challenging him to confront the results of his choices, with the rumble of his heart merging in doubt.
And at the moment he touches its arm—
all memories of Rinoa return.
All of them. So real, so painful, and yet so soothing. He feels the impact of every fragment transforming into a new story.
Her cries. Truly tearing at the deepest recesses of his soul, raising questions and hopes simultaneously. Her laughter, a melody that is now silenced and invites an unquenchable longing. The first day they spoke— the beginning of an unexpected tale, a symphony of love full of colors. The last night before the sealing, when time stopped and the universe seemed to bless them.
All of that enters Fitran not as nostalgia, but as a source of identity. Like a river that continues to flow despite the rocks blocking its path, those memories carve a trace in his soul, shaping who he is now.
And Rinoa's voice is heard.
Not from the space.
But from within his heart:
"You finally made it here…"
"But I cannot return."
"Because I am no longer part of a world that can be written."
He feels the weight of it, a tightness in his chest. As if his destiny is tied with a fine thread that is easily broken, yet very strong.
"But… I can become something you always hold. Not as love."
"But as the courage to love again."
Fitran sits in that empty chair. It feels quiet, yet simultaneously fills his day with a thousand voices clashing in his mind.
He closes his eyes.
Feeling the morning dew flowing gently, as if soothing his tumultuous soul. And for the first time, he stops searching.
Because Rinoa is not lost.
Rinoa... is in the failures he embraces. Every failure brings a lesson, and in every lesson, there is a glimmer of hope, however dim.
—
Outside that room, Beelzebub opens her eyes.
Her eyes have returned.
But she is not the same.
She... is calm. There is a peace she wishes to seek, even though she knows that search is filled with shadows of the past.
And when she stands, she knows.
That someone inside has chosen not to be perfect.
And because of that… has succeeded. Like an unexpected leaf falling onto the surface of the water, creating ripples that will never fade.