After the explosion of light and the last storm shattered the sky of the Forest Labyrinth, the world did not immediately revert to its former state. Silence enveloped everything; there was no cheerful chirping of birds, no gentle breeze, and not even a heartbeat could be felt. Everything was wrapped in a silence as thick as viscous liquid—suffocating and drowning everything around it.
Fitran opened his eyes for the first time. Above him, the sky was still shrouded in thick fog, but the green light that usually hung there had faded, replaced by something far more terrifying—an emptiness that reflected nothing. The fog did not glow or shimmer; it was still and pure, as silent as the darkness of night, deepening the sense of dread.
He wanted to speak, to call out Rinoa's name, but...
There was no sound.
His vocal cords were intact, his throat still moved, but the entire reality around him no longer recognized the concept of sound. He was trapped in a state where sound seemed to have vanished from existence.
Fitran jolted up from his prone position. Around him was a scene of devastation: trees lay in ruins, reduced to charred remnants, the ground peeled away like wounded flesh, and forest flowers had transformed into sharp, glimmering shards of glass. The magic of Arboreus not only attacked the body but also wiped away layers of meaning in the world, rendering everything seemingly pointless.
Amidst the chaos, he spotted Rinoa not far from him, sprawled between two large, broken roots. Her eyes were wide open, yet empty, staring at the lifeless gray sky.
Fitran lifted her body, shaking her gently, calling her name... but no words escaped Rinoa's lips. There was no reply, only a chilling silence.
And there, the impact of Arboreus was most palpable, creating a void that pierced the heart.
Arboreus did not kill directly. Instead, it left its victims in their most tragic form: alive yet hollow, trapped in an abyss of emptiness within their souls.
Rinoa, lying beneath the shattered roots of the tree, slowly began to speak—in a language even Fitran could not comprehend. Like the whispers of children trapped in a harrowing nightmare, fragments of unfamiliar sentences flowed from her lips:
"Aevis noht... lenum cast... verithar..."
This language did not belong to this world, nor to any realm recognizable by the magic he had once learned.
Fitran felt something cold creeping along the back of his neck. Memories—not just his own, but those of others—began to surface in haunting waves, drowning and then resurfacing in his mind. He recalled the moment of birth of a girl named Alivia, a name he had never known before. He envisioned a warm wedding beneath a tree, and the death of a boy clutching a fire staff—all of it did not belong to him. Reality began to overlap, creating a labyrinth of experiences that were confusing and filled with pain.
Arboreus has attacked the weakest point of living beings: the narrative structure within consciousness. With its frightening presence, it disrupts the connections binding memories and identities, spreading chaos with undefined qualities in the minds of its victims. Chrono-Leech extracts time from them, robbing precious moments like butterflies that flutter away. Thornstorm replaces feelings with trauma that doesn't belong to them, creating a dark shadow that looms over their souls. Echofall causes voices to overlap, giving birth to a suffocating symphony filled with unwanted echoes. Dirge Thornfield blurs the distinction between the past and the present, merging timelines until everything becomes one, like fog obscuring what should be a bright morning. Lachrymaria... manipulates identity, weaving the threads of the soul and tearing them apart until nothing remains.
For several hours, or perhaps days—Fitran could not tell—they and Rinoa wandered in an endless circle. Time no longer flowed linearly but spun like a whirlpool, drawing them into darkness. They ate leaves that transformed into iron, feeling the cold, bitter metallic taste sting their tongues. The river water, usually clear, morphed into a mirror, reflecting their increasingly blurry images, then shifted into thick, red blood, signifying unseen wounds, and eventually into air they could drink—air that tasted as bitter as sorrow.
A few times, Rinoa cried without knowing why; her tears flowed like an unceasing river. A few times, Fitran laughed with a voice that was not his own, a laughter that sounded foreign and melancholic, as if he was hearing ghosts from the past calling his name.
At one point, they sat facing each other. Silence enveloped them like a heavy blanket, stifling all sound and bringing forth uncertainty.
Then Fitran realized something:
They had died existentially, trapped in an endless darkness.
They were no longer Fitran and Rinoa as they once were, but shadows of their lost selves.
This world did not kill them. This world dissolved them, creating chaos in souls that were meant to be solid.
However…
At the lowest point of their destruction—when their voices had vanished, when their names had been erased, when their magic could no longer be remembered…
They still held each other's hands.
And in that moment, a small tremor appeared in the air.
So small, yet so precious.
So faint, but felt deep within their souls.
Yet pure, like morning dew untouched by sunlight.
Not born from magic, not from energy, but from a consciousness that refused to be dissolved. Rinoa—though her eyes were still blurry and her voice spoke in a language that was not her own—grasped Fitran's hand tightly. She slowly bowed her head, feeling the warmth radiating from her temples, and then pressed her forehead against Fitran's, as if trying to express all the feelings buried between them.
In the profound silence, the atmosphere seemed to freeze, and no light illuminated the surroundings. Yet, amidst the enveloping darkness, there was a soft pulse that could be felt. This pulse continued, carrying a flicker of hope through the rubble that remained.
Seconds passed—though it felt like centuries, and no one could be sure—when suddenly Fitran heard something. The sound was so faint, almost imperceptible, yet it resonated with an unexpected clarity.
It was neither magic nor an echo.
Its voice, gentle and full of meaning, spoke softly:
"I am still here… Fitran."
It was Rinoa's voice, fighting against the void that surrounded them.
Fitran turned slowly, tears streaming down his cheeks, not out of joy, but because he could still feel something amidst the darkness that enveloped him. In the bleak sky above them, for the first time in what felt like an immeasurable span of time… a mist began to unravel, allowing a sliver of light to pierce through the darkness.
The sky remained mute, as if reluctant to share its secrets. Reality continued to slip aimlessly—flowing like a river that had lost both its source and its mouth, devoid of clear purpose. Rinoa sat on the ground, her forehead gently resting on Fitran's shoulder, still shaken by the impact of Lachrymaria that had shaken everything she once believed about herself and her existence.
Fitran held her slowly, his hands trembling as if afraid of losing her. Even in his embrace, he wasn't entirely sure whether he was holding Rinoa… or just her faint shadow in the darkness.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice melancholic in the air, uncertain to whom it was directed. "We cannot fight the void… not just with light alone."
He stared at his trembling hands, gradually lifting his gaze to the sky. A void began to creep from the horizon, a terrifying darkness—not the magic of Arboreus, but absolute nothingness emerging from the very fractures of reality, spreading cruelly like thick fog.
And he knew: there was only one path left.
One forbidden door.
One power that not only repairs but erases the structure to reshape everything that exists.
Fitran touched the ancient seal on his chest, feeling the chime of energy he had long locked away: the symbol of the Voidwright that had lain hidden in darkness, a sigil from the Harut and Marut, mentors without form who whispered only in the echoes of indistinct thoughts.
"If I open this… I might not return as my true self."
Yet he could not allow this world to fall into a mere replica of the illusion of Arboreus, betraying all that had ever existed.
He gazed at Rinoa once more, as if trying to remember every detail of her face that now blurred into shadow.
Then, with newfound resolve, he stood up.
Drawing Excalibur, the luminous sword that held many tales, he plunged it into the ground with a force that seemed to move the entire world.
The earth cracked not from the blade, but because reality rejected the shape of the sword, dismissing everything he had created. This world no longer recognized form, but when the Voidwright entered this arena… reality was compelled to remember.
With a voice that was not a voice, and a language from a time before words were born, Fitran began to chant the incantation.
"Inscriptum Nihilia: Almagest Reversō."
(Inscription of Emptiness: Restoration of the Supreme Law)
The sky opened up. However, it did not reveal another star-filled sky; it opened into emptiness, an infinite void without boundaries.
From the depths of Excalibur emerged a magic circle known as the Voidwright: colorless, neither black nor white. This emptiness seemed to steal the meaning from everything it beheld, siphoning the hues and essence of the surrounding world. The circle began to grow, expanding with unbounded power… and the world started to tremble.
The earth inverted, creating an unspeakable illusion. The sky unraveled like fabric left in flames, producing dew that dried into fine dust. River water transformed into whispering words, a resonance from the Arboreus beings who screamed in silence, hovering as symbols that fluttered about—as if they were ancient codes from a forgotten world.
Rinoa gradually awakened from the darkness, observing the world around her folding like burning paper filled with shadows. Amidst the chaos, she saw Fitran, standing with a body that was starting to crack, resembling delicate porcelain encasing something too bright for ordinary human eyes to capture.
"Fitran…!" she screamed, her voice soaring with hope.
Yet, that voice never reached him, snatched away by the fog that enveloped reality.
Fitran looked towards her and stepped forward. With each step, he felt as if he was burning away parts of himself, erasing traces of who he once was. His hair faded, as if swept away by a somber breeze. His fingers vanished, dissolving into shadows consumed by the morning sun's sting. Yet, amidst that emptiness, the world began to take shape once more.
The trees stood tall, stretching their branches towards the now brightening sky. The voices that had disappeared began to emerge again from the air, their melodies lifting the weight of time that had previously come to a standstill. Time resumed its ticking, as if granting new life to everything around.
However… Fitran began to lose his name.
He stood at the center of the Voidwright circle, his body glowing from within with a light that was almost blinding. Arboreus Nihil, not yet fully destroyed, writhed in anguish, its form drawn into the deepening vortex of the Void. It screamed, clawing at the cold earth, casting new illusions in hopes of returning to the self he once was—only to have it all swallowed by the Voidwright Seal that Fitran had embedded as a sacrifice.
Reality had been locked away once more. Arboreus could not thrive in a world that recognized boundaries. Yet that boundary had been chiseled anew by Fitran's own hands.
And the cost of that…
Was himself.
Rinoa ran breathlessly towards the center of chaos, discovering Fitran kneeling on the ground, half of his body missing, his face blurred like morning dew slowly evaporating.
"No… no…" Rinoa held him tightly, yearning for the figure he once was.
Fitran slowly opened his eyes, trying to focus on the figure in front of him. He could see her, but the name was obscured by the emptiness creeping within his mind. The world recognized Rinoa clearly, yet he no longer had the words to name her.
Despite his tragic state, Fitran smiled faintly, his face filled with a sense of gratitude that was nearly imperceptible.
"...You... are still here," he whispered, his voice barely audible yet filled with the warmth that remained.
Rinoa fought back tears, embracing his body, now only half of what she once knew, as if trying to restore the erased memories.
"Fitran… I'm here. You're not Void. You're more than that," she said, trying to reassure him, hoping her words could fill the emptiness within Fitran.
Above the sky, the Voidwright circle began to fade, slowly disappearing. The structure of the world reformed, but now it would remember Fitran in a form that could not be written, as an eternal memory.
Fitran staggered, one of his arms shattered and hanging helplessly by his side, his eyes dull as he gazed at the world with an empty stare. He was trapped in the darkness of his memories, unsure of who he truly was. Even the name of the woman holding him, Rinoa, felt like a distant mystery. Yet, deep within the recesses of his heart, there was a flicker of life that resurfaced every time she turned to him and offered her gentle smile.
"Just a little more, Fitran," Rinoa whispered softly, her voice soothing as if calling him back from the abyss. "Just a little longer, and we can sit beneath the real sky, not the false one cast by the ancient trees overshadowing us."
Fitran blinked slowly, attempting to grasp a faint memory that perhaps lingered within him. Like the wind carrying a soft whisper, the name touched something deep inside, even if it had been forgotten.
"…Fitran?" he spoke softly, each syllable feeling foreign on his tongue but intimately familiar in his heart. That name was a window opening light into the dark space where memories may be hidden.
Rinoa merely smiled with understanding. She knew well that memories cannot be forced; they can only be guided, like a lost child searching for the way back home to an elusive place, led by the light still present in his soul.
Each step they took out of the Forest Labyrinth was a fragment of memory that Rinoa carefully replanted—reviving forgotten traces. At the sparkling river's edge, where sunlight danced upon its surface, she reminisced about the small wooden boat they once sailed together, their laughter echoing against the calm flow of water. Beneath the towering trees, she softly sang again the childhood song that Fitran used to sing when he was frightened, her gentle voice rising like a soothing balm against the dark shadows that haunted him. Amidst the bright flowers that bloomed once more, Rinoa whispered the names of the victims whom Fitran had mourned in silence—clutching the memories of loss and pure love, so he would know that his soul had once borne such a heavy and tremulous burden.
And every time Fitran's gaze turned vacant, Rinoa looked at him gently and spoke softly:
"You are Fitran Fate. A man who chooses truth even when trapped in darkness. Who loves not out of hope, but with unwavering loyalty."
Step by step, the forest faded behind them, the shadows of the trees that once pressed in around them now vanished into glimmers of warm light. The birds began to sing, their melodies merging beautifully with the gentle whispers of the wind, carrying the rich, fresh scents of the earth—tangible and real, not merely an illusion.
At last, they emerged from the Labyrinth Forest, where the remnants of their footsteps in the dark woods had become nothing more than memories.
Rinoa gently lowered Fitran onto the warm flat stone, warmed by the sunlight, as the light danced softly against their skin. She sat beside him, her hands trembling as she smoothed back the hair of the man who was slowly growing it back, a symbol of rebirth amidst the darkness of his ruined Voidwright.
"Forgive me," Rinoa whispered with a trembling voice, "for not being able to prevent you from going through this all alone."
Fitran gazed deep into her eyes; their once-empty depths were now filled with a subtle tremor of hope. Within his gaze, something slowly shattered inside him—a soul resonance that could no longer be silenced by the darkness of the Void.
"Why are you crying?" Fitran asked, his voice weak yet filled with profound curiosity.
Rinoa held back a sob, her voice muffled by fear. "Because I'm afraid you won't come back."
Fitran, with trembling hands, lifted his fingers and touched Rinoa's cheek. His touch was slow and tentative, yet still palpable—a connection that reached deep into their souls.
"…I know… these tears belong to you," he said softly, his voice like a gentle whisper piercing the stillness of the night.
Rinoa nodded, her breaths hitching, then let out a small laugh—a laugh that trembled in the silence. "And this smile… belongs to you."
As the sun finally set behind the forest, leaving the sky aglow with orange hues, Fitran closed his eyes. He felt the warmth gradually fade, then opened them once more.
And for the first time, he spoke his name with unwavering confidence:
"…I… am Fitran."
Rinoa remained silent. She just held him—tight and calm—as if to say that no matter how many times the world might crumble, as long as they could walk out together, their love would always find its way back.