Chapter 466 Last Letter to Rinoa
Fitran prepares a paper. Not a magic paper. Not a pactum. Not an official scroll that will be sent via artifacts or spirit birds. Just a plain sheet of paper he found behind a stone—forgotten, unremarkable. In the dim light, the shadows around him move as if signaling something long lost, waiting to be remembered again.
But today, he wants to write not with glyphs, not with the Void, not with Concepts. Every word born from the pen seems to warm the darkness in his heart, igniting the dimming hope.
As he reflects on everything, he realizes that he wants to write... with loss.
"Rinoa."
That name still feels foreign on his tongue. Not because he has forgotten it, but because the world has stopped mentioning it. Like morning dew evaporating with the arrival of noon, only memories remain in a hollow form.
Every memory stored, like shards of the past, reminds him that in every archive, her name is absent. In every glyph, her identity is erased. Even in the Gödelian Codex, only the shadow of her body remains—no voice, no end. He feels like a spirit floating between worlds, trapped between presence and absence.
Yet, in the midst of that darkness, today, Fitran writes it down one more time. Not to bring her back, but to remember that she once existed. In every stroke, he tries to weave back the threads of memory that have been severed, even though it feels like struggling against a fierce wind.
As he nears the end of the letter, he realizes the importance of this communication. "I don't know if this letter can reach you."
"But I'm writing it not for you to reply."
"I'm writing it... so that I'm not the only one silent."
In the midst of doubt, his hand trembles. Voidling floats gently on his shoulder, as if holding back a cry that cannot escape. Every second feels heavy like dark clouds hanging, waiting to burst into rain that never comes.