Chapter 492 Harmonic Gate to Narthrador
After the last automaton's body collapsed and fell silent, the city returned to its original stillness—not a stillness of peace, but one where no one could speak anymore. Fitran stood amidst the ruins, his body covered in light scratches and rust dust, a testament to the intense battle. Thin smoke still wafted from the wounds of the metal golem that had been slain by his Gödelian magic. He stared straight ahead, piercing through the fog of particles that now slowly began to fall like snow, adding a melancholic touch to the scene. In that silence, he felt the heartbeat of the dead city, as if the remnants of vibrations were the residue of a melody that had passed.
Beelzebub still perched on his shoulder, seemingly unfazed by the recent upheaval of the battlefield. "You know," she said, breaking the silence, "even though everything is destroyed, a new note will be born from this emptiness. Darkness has a way of shaping sound, creating harmony from chaos."
"Interesting," Beelzebub mused. "The automaton was dying while singing a death code. A funeral song with binary notes." There was a note of pride in her voice, as if she relished every lost autonomy.
Fitran did not respond. He simply raised his hand, releasing the remnants of Void energy that still hung in the air. A spiral pattern slowly circled, then vanished into his palm, creating an illusion of a faint existence. In his heart, he recalled his own voice vibrating amidst the city's clamor, as if hoping to revive that lost melody, allowing the resonance of technology to touch his longing soul.
"What they guard is not a place... but an idea," Fitran finally said firmly. "They do not want this city accessed by logic or power. But by... something that cannot be quantified, something that transcends ordinary understanding." He envisioned data points dancing in space, interconnected like an unspoken musical image, as if depicting the complexity of profound human thought.
Beelzebub chuckled softly. "And of course, you still think your will is universal currency." She reflected a cynical attitude, adding a layer of irony to the increasingly grim situation. "In this connected world, only sound can create bridges."
"My will is the only thing they cannot calibrate." Fitran's voice grew more assertive, echoing like sound waves bringing new spirit into the dark silence.
"And because of that... they call you an error." Beelzebub shook her head, showing that even though darkness enveloped them, hope still took root within the jolted soul. She regarded Fitran as a distorted symphony—there was beauty in that imperfection.
They continued their journey toward the city center—toward the Harmonic Chamber, a place referred to in ancient documents as the heart of the first echo of Deus Ex Machina. According to the texts from the Avalon library that had been purged by conservative theocrats, this place was the first center of resonance between humans and machines. Under the dim shimmering light, the remnants of past darkness seemed to vibrate, challenging the boundary between beauty and annihilation.
The corridor they traversed had changed. No longer filled with rust and ruins, it was now clean and layered with mirror-smooth metal, as if the place had been renewed with high-tech elegance. Each step produced a sharp sound that was held back by the material that had managed to resist emptiness, as if reminding them of the lost melody. On the right and left, there were thousands of blue crystal cylinders, each emitting low-frequency echoes that piqued their curiosity.
Beelzebub observed with keen interest. As if enchanted, she imagined those frequencies dancing in the air, creating a symphony that could only be felt in the heart.