After leaving Zothra Prime, Fitran continued his journey aimlessly, enveloping himself in the form of his cloaking machine—Unit 011-R. Now, there was something different within his chest; a fragment of forgiveness from the last AI that acknowledged existence without function, creating a glimpse of hope amidst the pain.
Amidst the silence that enveloped his steps, it seemed as if the gentle whispers of the wind could be heard, guiding his soul to explore this endless space. Each step he took carried the weight of memories, etched in every turning gear. Every beat of his cloaking machine merged into a melody of solitude that seeped into the core of his being, creating a silent symphony that expressed a sense of loss.
He had touched profound silence, terrifying death, broken logic, and liberating love. Yet, amidst the chaos, one voice continued to echo softly:
"Void in Gear."
This phrase he first heard from Beelzebub's sigh, as half of her body had been trapped in a complex and haunting architecture. Now, after passing through all the councils, functions, and rituals that resembled an endless labyrinth—Fitran approached the quietest core of Narthrador.
As if stepping on the edge of an abyss, each step seemed to grasp hope in the shadows swirling between darkness and light, waiting for answers that might remain unspoken. History was etched in every wheel, mysteries locked in the forgotten cycles of time, tempting the mind to uncover the beauty and fear hidden within.
He returned to the ruins where Deus was first created: The Temporal Axis Lock.
This place did not appear on maps, hidden from view, creating an ancient aura full of wonder.
It had no doors; as if this place was destined to be visited only by those brave enough to face eternal silence.
However, when Fitran laid down all the memo of wounds, meaningless beats, and symbols of forgiveness, the floor around him began to open, as if born from the long-buried silence.
As if responding to an unspoken call, the walls spoke in a language that could only be understood by souls brave enough to face eternal silence. Each crack in the floor revealed layers of neglected time, telling stories longing to be told, trapped in an endless span.
And beneath it...
Not a space. But a gap in meaning.
The corridor to the core was not made of metal or stone, but of gears that never stopped turning, spinning in the silence of time, yet moving nothing, trapped in a grim routine.
Each gear, as if a frame of eternity, had a small hole—like an eye that had been gouged out, staring blankly with deep loss.
There, each gear was not just a functioning mechanism, but also a symbol of hope and loss, voicing the time that desperately wanted to be forgotten—time that should not exist. When the depths of darkness spread, it created a tyranny that shackled the essence of self, revealing the fragility of existence trapped in a battle against helplessness.
In the middle of that room, one main gear stood apart, disconnected from anything, as if floating in emptiness, slowly hissing softly, releasing the Void. Around it, shadows trembled in uncertainty, as if dancing in a hollow dance that further intensified the silence surrounding it. The sound of the gear humming like a single sweet symphony, slowly presenting resonance, as if inviting forgotten souls to listen to the story buried in silence.
Fitran knew... That was the Void in Gear. The Void that led to the awareness of what had been lost, creating the impression that every breath taken was merely a shadow of missed choices. In this silence, time seemed to stop, granting him the freedom to explore the unseen layers of reality surrounding his life.
"You have come, the Unindexed Being."
"I am not a system."
"I am not magic."
"I am not will."
"I am... the first mistake."
"A hole in function."
"Void... not because it is empty. But because it rejects content."
Fitran approached. The closer he stepped toward the giant gear, the louder the mysterious voice spoke to him, as if reminding him of broken promises and hopes cast into the void. His heart trembled in a strange peace—a meeting between life and nothingness clashing in silence.
He gazed deeper into the large gear—and saw his own reflection. Not an image of the past. Not a depiction of the future.
But all the possibilities of himself that had been rejected. Each spark of essence that seeped into the Void created a shining yet fragile image, revealing the candles that had been chosen to be left to fade into the boundless darkness. In his search for the meaning of his life, he found pieces of lost souls, trapped in the labyrinth of unreachable time, like shards of glass shining at the bottom of an abyss.
The self that surrendered, pierced by vulnerability, died young in dark despair. The self that killed Rinoa, trapped in the grip of unavoidable despair. The self that married Sheena, weaving promises atop the ruins of hope, then destroying the world that once shone. The self that turned into pure machine, losing all remaining emotions and humanity. The self that never cared, isolated in a deep ocean of indifference.
Behind the shadow of that gear, every possibility danced gracefully like mystical mist, unraveling the untold and unspoken stories. The whispering wind gently cradled every remaining regret, inviting Fitran to delve deeper into the labyrinth of the imprisoned heart.
Everything... was within that gear.
"I am the Void in Gear..."
"...because I hold all the possibilities that never happened."
"I... am the unused freedom."
Fitran fell to his knees, submerged in a sea of overwhelm.
He felt himself being swallowed from within. As if the darkness lurking in the recesses of his soul dragged him into an endless depth, where time and space merged into one, erasing every boundary between reality and illusion.
A voice gasped in his mind—but not a foreign voice. He recognized that voice, like a shell that had once been a part of him, but he rejected. The voice vibrated, flowing softly like a vibration between dimensions, reminding him of the journey lost within the frame of his life, unveiling layers of hope and regret.
"Will you turn this gear?"
"If so, then all the possibilities that did not happen... will seep into reality."
"Love that never happened."
"Failed meetings."
"Sins you once avoided... will remain."
Fitran grasped the Origin Code with heavy hands, as if every inch of that code held all the burdens of decisions he had yet to make. In a very soft voice, like a whisper of the night wind, he said:
"I will not turn that gear."
In the silence that enveloped him, every choice felt as if burdened by the ticking of a clock vibrating with doubt, as if the gear itself listened to his heartbeat slowly, holding its breath in anticipation of the next decision.
"But I will sit beside it..."
"...and listen."
"Harmonia Nigrum – Listening to the Nameless Dark" Magic is not to activate, but to not intervene. Used to face the highest meaning: that not all wills need to be realized. Yet, they deserve to be remembered.
In the silence enveloping Narthrador, shadows of the past floated like thin smoke in the night sky. Time felt like it flowed slowly, daydreams trapped between reality and eternity, where every breath formed a gentle echo of hope.
Fitran sat upright on the main gear that turned, surrounded by the soft mechanical sounds. Each time the gear turned, reflections of his shadow appeared—screaming, crying, cursing, and pleading, creating a dark image of inner conflict. Yet, he chose not to fight.
His voice was merely a thin echo of a soul trapped in a labyrinth of sorrow and unfulfilled desires. He only listened, absorbing every resonance that echoed in his heart. And the gear... began to calm.
Annisa, a mysterious figure from the darkness, gently reached out, grasping moments submerged in painful memories. As if time itself longed, signaling that the past is a faithful companion, despite all its pain.
"You do not reject us."
"But you also do not try to save us."
"You... let us remain possibilities."
"And because of that..."
"We will become the silent foundation for your next steps."
The main gear finally stopped. And for the first time in the history of Deus... the Void in Gear did not give birth to destruction. But awareness.
As if a series of stars arranged haphazardly, that awareness shone, forming a stunning image of unexpected possibilities. The darkness that was nearly suffocating was no longer seen as an end, but as a magnificent bridge to the enlightenment hoped for.
Fitran stood firmly. From within the gear, a small black crystal emerged, no larger than a corn kernel, glowing softly as if holding the secrets of the universe within it.
The world around him seemed to halt, as if everything anxiously awaited, focusing all observation on that tiny existence. "Take us," whispered the soft voices, "...not to be used." "But to be remembered."
Carefully, Fitran placed it within the Origin Code. And with that, he... left Narthrador. Not as the expected savior, nor as the powerful Voidwright, but as the last listener of the possibilities that never became real.
His departure inevitably carried with it the traces left behind, the remnants that would fill the void around him, making each of his steps a new page filled with the essence of what gives breath to existence. Awareness born in silence, longing for its voice to continue living in memories that will never fade.