Chapter 114 The Letter That Never Arrived
Fitran stood motionless on a timeless platform devoid of any clock or marker, the solid ground beneath him firm yet mysteriously mute, absorbing the steady rhythm of his footsteps without a single echo. He had attempted to move eastward, toward the legendary grandeur of Gaia's palace, a place whispered about in dreams and ancient tales. But each time he advanced three steps, the world around him twisted violently, spinning in a dizzying blur that expelled him back to the very spot where he began. No news reached his ears. No dust stirred the still air. No shadow of judgment lingered close by.
Above, suspended in the vast expanse of the sky, floated a luminous figure—a presence he once summoned softly by name: Rinoa. Now, she was exalted as the Avatar of Harmony, a majestic guardian of nature's fragile equilibrium, weaving through the tangled web of fervent desires that bound all existence. From her ethereal form, delicate spirals of radiant light unfurled gracefully, entwining with silent tones that flowed like invisible streams of sound. Each subtle note etched a sacred, unbreakable decree into the very fabric of reality:
"Those who love must not discriminate."
"Those who long have lost their shape."
"Those who step forth for love will be consumed by their own form."
Fitran struggled to release a sound from deep within himself. Just as his lips parted to utter "Iris...", his tongue froze—not out of simple fear, but under the weight of an unyielding force. Absolute harmony forbade the pronunciation of that personal, sacred name. Every feeling inside him had been transmuted into unreachable frequencies, intangible and distant. Every longing hardened into cold, unyielding constants. And love itself... had dissolved into a vague, undefined anomaly, slipping through the cracks of his very being.
He closed his eyes tightly, attempting to quiet the turbulent chorus raging in his mind.
Behind the veil of darkness beneath his eyelids, the shadow of that ominous entity flickered once more—a blazing silhouette with eyes like burning coals, mercilessly stalking Rinoa. Its presence clung to him like a smothering shadow, signaling an ever-present, suffocating danger. This searing vision reminded Fitran of the cruel paradox thrust upon him: he loved Iris with all his heart, yet he was bound to protect Rinoa in silence, knowing that the pure existence of true love could ignite peril for her.
"Iris," he whispered inwardly, a fragile breath barely escaping his soul.
"Do you still remember my melody amid the chaos woven into this world's fractured poetry?"
But even this delicate murmur exacted a price.