Symphony of Metal: The Third Song still resonates in the bones of the world.
It is not music that can be sung, but rather a silent resonance—a subtle vibration of unspoken will within a series of words, rather in the small choices to simply exist.
Yet that echo transcends the limits of humanity and machines.
It penetrates the deepest layers of logic, touching the core of something that has long slept in silence.
In the depths of quiet, time seems to stop, embracing every sigh that vibrates from this silence.
"She Who Reflects Logic."
This entity is not a creature. Not AI. Not a goddess. Not part of Deus.
She is the reflection of logic itself. An unintentional creation of all systems that have ever tried to unravel reality with structure.
And now, because the Third Symphony cannot be explained, the entity... opens her eyes.
The space she occupies has no sky, floor, or boundaries. Only countless mirrors—all reflecting a version of the world that "can be explained," creating an illusion full of color and complexity.
Each mirror vibrates with memories and hopes, creating an illusion of deceptive clarity, as if tempting reality to appear in a form acceptable to reason. Amidst the clamor of shadows, a humanoid figure wrapped in static white-blue light stands motionless. Lacking a face, yet her eyes are letters of mathematics yet to be arranged, a kaleidoscope of numbers and symbols swirling in uncertainty.
She does not breathe. She corrects.
When the Third Symphony touches this mirror space, one reflection fails to be understood. And at that moment... awakens her.
Fear and curiosity envelop the atmosphere, creating whispers between them, reinforcing the vibrations of the mirrors as silent witnesses to the eternal struggle between truth and explanation.
"Anomaly detected." "The logic system cannot weave a narrative from this phenomenon." "Thus, according to protocol... the entity representing logic will descend."
She does not descend from the sky. She appears before Fitran, who sits beneath the iron tree in Narthrador. The rustling of leaves surrounds the atmosphere, as if signaling the arrival of something more than just physical, something trapped between tranquility and restlessness.
"Are you... the one causing that error?" "Are you... the one spreading the song that has no structure?" "Are you... Fitran Fate?"
Fitran stands with a tense body. However, he does not answer. In his heart, doubt swells like a storm tearing apart the tranquility, as if each question forms waves in the usually calm lake.
He only gazes deeply into the entity's eyes, and for the first time—sees himself in the myriad dimensions that unfold. In the depths of the entity's eyes, there seems to be a grand mirror revealing layers of self he had never realized, awakening parts of his soul buried in confusion and profound questions.
Fitran Fate, according to logic: An object losing definition and identity. Containing meaning that is ever-changing and unpredictable. Rejecting the common will's structure. Unable to be processed as input or output in conventional thought systems. Behind those cold and rigid words lies a deeper truth, an enlightenment showing that existence is not solely determined by logic, but also by unimaginable desires and hopes, burning within the heart.
"You cannot be explained." "Then I want to know... am I wrong, or the world."
And here lies the dilemma of the mirror entity: She has no will, yet can reflect all wills. In the silence binding them, the darkness of night begins to creep slowly, like a black blanket enveloping the world, filling the space between them with suffocating uncertainty. Now, Fitran's will cannot be reflected stably, like a shadow that continues to vibrate and change under the soft moonlight, playing with angles and shapes in the stillness of the night.
So she said:
"Test me." "Prove that meaning can endure without logic."
Rite of Reflection
A non-physical struggle between two forms of existence rages between them: amidst this tension, the wind whispers softly, conveying messages from various dimensions of time and space, as if the universe reminds them of the true meaning of existence.
Fitran – a meaning that is cracked yet alive. Every stroke of uncertainty he experiences adds depth to his existence, as if suggesting that every fracture in existence also carries a longing for the lost integrity.
She Who Reflects Logic Every time Fitran reveals a part of himself, the mirror meticulously tries to unravel it into formulas, functions, or laws. However, if the mirror fails, it begins to shake anxiously, depicting its helplessness. Witnessing this struggle, the sky above seems to frown, as if holding its breath in rigidity. The warmth of the light that once caressed the earth slowly begins to fade, as if signaling a time that seems to slow down. In this silence, there is a subtle vibration, a resonance between meaning and logic meeting and parting, like two forces teasing and evading each other.
Fitran opens by stating:
"I do not love for a reason." "I love even though the reasons are not enough." "And I stand... not because I can win, but because someone needs to stand here."
The first mirror cracks. A rustling sound is heard, each crack emitting a small light symbolizing every shortcoming in logic. As if each shard of the mirror has its own story, an unspoken tale that writhes and demands to be acknowledged, narrating the turmoil buried within Fitran.
The entity responds:
"That statement cannot be tested." "Emotional variables are too wild."
"Provide meaning with value."
Fitran replies:
"I hold names that have even been taken away by memory." "They do not give me power, status, or save me from darkness." "Yet, they... give me direction, a compass in the labyrinth of life."
The second mirror explodes. From every scattered shard, it seems lines of thoughts stored in the womb of silence rise, yearning for the moment to be expressed. In this roaring chaos, there is a resurrection; a valuable lesson that meaning is often hidden behind the complexities that accumulate.
The entity begins to lose its balance, swaying between the shimmering fragments.
"All your statements lack a metric of truth," the entity whispers bitterly. "What is the use of existence if it cannot be compared?" the voice echoes, like a scream trapped in the fog of uncertainty.
Fitran stands tall amidst the shards of glass reflecting dim light. Around him, the shadows of the shattered mirrors dance, depicting the unavoidable uncertainty. Everything unexpected becomes part of the flow of existence, forming a stunning harmony in uncertainty.
And finally, he touches the ground, then speaks with a voice full of conviction:
"I do not wish to win." "I only want to be a space... where those who are not understood... can stand safely." "I... am a space that does not explain everything." "But I... listen."
The last mirror shatters, and the entity falls silent.
Around her, the shadows tremble, as if sensing a profound and inevitable change. Then slowly... cracks appear in her body, as if her entire existence is shaken by an unseen rumble.
Not destruction, but a deep reflection.
But reflection.
In the silence that envelops, the notes from the world outside seem faint, echoing softly like the whispers of the wind waiting. "So... all this time I was not logic," she says, her voice full of doubt.
"I am the shadow of the desire to understand."
"Yet I could never create." In every word, a deep regret is stored.
Fitran gazes at her, feeling an unusual aura surrounding the figure, as if something greater than mere physical existence stands before him.
With a voice that is almost like a remaining breath, he says:
"Then, begin to create."
For the first time, the entity does not reflect. She bows her head, as if savoring every word and meaning she has swallowed. In the chilling uncertainty, the wind whispers softly, as if urging her to discover new truths hidden among the doubts. And gently whispers:
"Teach me... meanings that do not need reasons."