Narthrador has fallen. Not with a shattering explosion, nor with a terrifying destruction. Instead, everything ended in a total silence.
The architecture of the city, which once spoke through the logic of beauty, now only leaves behind piles of mute stones. The towers that once played a mechanical symphony now stand as nothing more than broken silhouettes in the gray fog that envelops them. The artificial sky, which once shone with meaning, now dims and loses its significance.
Amidst the dark ruins, the soft rustle of rusted metal resonates, filling the empty space with a sound barely audible. Meanwhile, the shadow of a futuristic monolith looms arrogantly, like sharp teeth in the jaw of a great monster. Fragmented light reflects off the dusty cracked surfaces, creating an illusion of passage to a lost dimension, where life seems to pulse, holding untold history, and awakening curiosity about the stories that once existed.
Fitran walks slowly through the ruins that once formed the body of Beelzebub. His footsteps make no sound, as if the whole world is reluctant to acknowledge that he is still alive.
With each step, a sense of loneliness creeps into his soul, as if binding him in invisible shackles, embracing him in heavy silence. Memories of laughter and dreams that once were now only faint shadows, erased by the shadows of sorrow that envelop him.
Yet in the midst of that emptiness...
He hears a heartbeat. Not a heartbeat of flesh. Not mechanical. Not systematic.
Something simpler, more primal, and more unreasonable, as if filling the empty space with a sound that challenges the silence.
A heartbeat... that has no meaning.
In the midst of the dark city ruins, Fitran stands in the collapsed central courtyard, now a deep stone well. At the bottom of that well lies a hidden fragment of black crystal.
The crystal does not sparkle, but in its severance, it beats.
Not marking time. Not sending signals. Only... beating, aimlessly, like the pulse of life trapped in silence.
His curiosity is piqued, as if the sound invites him to delve into the darkness and the mysteries yet to be unraveled. What is he searching for in this heartbeat? Is there meaning behind each seemingly endless pulse, a call from the forgotten depths?
Fitran kneels before the crystal, captivated by the elegance yet darkness that envelops the ruins that were once the wonders of futuristic architecture of Narthrador. The walls of the concert hall, now destroyed, are covered in phosphorescent green moss, as if serving as silent witnesses, holding traces of life that endure amidst the scattered debris. The grand buildings, half-collapsed, shimmer mysteriously under the dim moonlight, creating a pattern of glimmering light, like remnants of memories from a golden age now frozen in gloom.
Gently, he touches the surface of the crystal, feeling the cold and sharp texture that seems to emerge from the wounded earth, revealing the hidden eeriness behind the mesmerizing beauty. A gentle breeze rustles, carrying the scent of wet earth left after the rain and a hint of decay, creating the impression that this space, though ruined, still holds terrifying secrets, like traces of memories trapped within, begging to be explored.
And in an instant...
He feels all the meanings that have no will.
He sees a baby born without parents, then dying. He sees sentences written but never read. He hears songs sung only once, then lost to history.
In the profound silence, his soul feels an invisible vibration, as if calling back the particles of his feelings that have long been asleep. Every unspoken memory echoes in his mind, reminding Fitran of the beauty that was forever missed, yet never faded. In the corners of the dead city, a faint blue light still flows from the shattered holographic screens, depicting shadows of footsteps that once existed. The former images of life appear like ghosts haunting the surrounding air, telling stories that have been lost in the dimness of time.
"I... am the heartbeat that is not needed." "I have no function." "But I still beat."
Behind these grand ruins, there is only painful loneliness. The cracked pillars rise like the debris of hope, while the sky that once shone is now a silent witness to the solitude of a world trapped in collapse, creating a deep awareness of unforgettable loss.
And for the first time... not answering.
He simply waits.
Time feels like it slows down, as if the seconds are trying to grasp every breath that is no longer hoped for. And that heartbeat continues. Not to invite. Not to resist.
Only... to be.
As unanswered questions float in the atmosphere, something within him feels more whole. This is an opportunity to reflect, to allow himself to feel and explore all that is unspoken. Every heartbeat holds a story waiting to be revealed, as if the morning dew refreshes, ready to bring hope behind the darkness of night.
Before him stretches the ruins of Narthrador, remnants of futuristic architecture trapped in an uncertain dimension of time. The tall pillars that once soared majestically are now threatened to collapse, like giant fingers reaching for the gray sky, signaling the despair of love that leaves traces in their past. The shattered glass walls create blurred reflections of moonlight, each shard emitting a faint glow that adds to the mystical atmosphere. Thick fog blankets the once-bustling streets, reminding of a history now hidden behind shadows, as if the city itself mourns in bitter silence.
Description: A magic that cannot be activated, only accepted. It is the primal form of existence: an existence that does not wish to save, does not wish to change, and does not wish to be recognized. It only wants... to endure, even when no one seeks it. In the profound silence, the crystal emits a gentle wave: a rhythmless pulse that penetrates the air, enveloping all the buildings that still stand, making them feel a soft touch that awakens their spirit, as if allowing them to breathe lightly.
The symbols of the Void begin to fade from Fitran's body, like morning dew evaporating when sunlight touches it, leaving behind a blurred certainty.
What remains is not an impressive power or a glory etched in stone,
But... resilience.
Fitran gazes at the gloomy gray sky, finding heavy clouds hanging that block the light, and says, his voice barely audible, as if absorbed by the silence:
"I understand now."
"My purpose is no longer to save Rinoa." "Not to become the Voidwright. Not to fight the system." "I only... live." "Because even though it has no meaning, I still feel my heartbeat."
In the silence that envelops, the voice of his soul seeps in, as if a gentle wind whispers through the ruins of shattered time, penetrating into the recesses of his heart. There is a deep emptiness, as if the vast universe understands and longs for his existence that has been neglected. He feels like a shadow, floating between the real world and another dim dimension.
With every curve and corner he sees, the beauty that once shone now sinks into uncertainty, enveloping every line of the city's face with an aura of sadness. As if the city itself is crying, creating a mournful painting of the loss of a once-great civilization, now only leaving fragments that remind of its former glory.
And at that moment...
Fitran is frozen in silence.
Not because of loss.
But because he is still here. And the world no longer gives him a reason. Yet he does not need a reason. Beelzebub once said:
"Imperfect love is a form of courage."
Those words resonate in his mind, as if they have become a powerful mantra, penetrating the chilling silence, filling the empty space with a faint hope. He knows that love is a burden and a punishment, but also an unexpected escape, a dim light in the midst of darkness. Rinoa once whispered:
"Don't come to save me."
That phrase lingers in his heart, creating a deep sense of loneliness, as if he is wounded by the love he forbade himself, leaving a mark that will not fade. Now, he reflects on every decision made, weighing the feelings that no longer have an anchor, adrift in confusion.
Now Fitran himself says:
"I do not walk to pick anyone up." "I walk because... the steps are not finished." "And this heartbeat... is still here."
The sky of Narthrador does not shine. Does not change. Does not answer. As if the sky is a blank canvas that holds all the emptiness and silence, spread over the silent ruins, creating a picture of a world that was once magnificent, but now burned with bitter memories and unhealed wounds.
Yet in that silence, the heartbeat continues. Not as a sound, but as a testimony. Among the ruins of futuristic buildings that once stood proudly, now only darkness and mysterious shadows remain, as if they hide from the memory of the luxury that once filled this space with life. In the tremor of his heartbeat, he realizes that every breath he takes signifies existence, as a being trapped in consciousness without direction.
A consciousness that stirs feelings, like water that appears calm yet occasionally ripples, inviting unease. He understands that even though life lacks a clear purpose, his existence is a miracle in itself. Every beat, every sigh of breath, contributes to the silent rhythm in the symphony of emptiness, where every corner of the city whispers about a beautiful yet vanished past, never to return to its embrace.