Chapter 603 Heir to the Wounds of the World

The air beneath the Temple of Mount grew cold after Rinoa's return from within the roots of the Tree of Life. But for Fitran, the chill did not come from the temperature—it stemmed from awareness. Something had shifted. Not outside, but within himself.

It was as if, though his body was bound in place, his mind wandered inward, exploring the labyrinth of shadows formed by wounds and hopes. Within the incantations taught by the Tree of Life, he seemed to hear the gentle whispers of a mother, filled with love and pain. In every heartbeat, there was an unspoken question: was he truly ready to accept this legacy? A call from the depths, leading him to await answers while simultaneously distancing himself from the fear of what might be revealed.

In moments like these, memories of Sheena flashed through his mind. He recalled her soft smile, her exotic gaze. When they shared stories beneath the moonlight, Fitran felt connected to something greater than himself. Their love was not merely an illusion; it was a promise etched in the same wounds. Yet, he also felt how quickly time passed, as their joyful laughter transformed into the shadows of noon. This was not just about accepting wounds, but also about embracing the love that came with them.

He gazed at the cracked Proto-Speech pillar, then touched a small fissure. The Proto-Speech symbols beneath his fingers began to glow, and ancient writings wove themselves into a single sentence:

ꦥꦼꦮꦫꦶꦱ ꦭꦸꦏ ꦣꦸꦫꦤꦺꦴꦭ꧀ꦠꦺꦴ — The Heir of Duranelto's Wounds (He who inherits the wound before it is named)

Fitran fell silent. His breath froze in the stillness. He did not fully understand what the writing meant. But his soul... knew. The part of him that he could never touch—that could not be extinguished by magic, sword, or logic—knew the truth that was now slowly surfacing. How could he explain to Sheena—at the moment their gazes met, sincerity was always there, even if obscured by unspoken pain? He longed for those unexpected moments when their togetherness touched the hidden parts of their souls, traversing the dark corridors within each other's hearts.

In uncertainty, a shadow emerged in his mind. Sheena's name crossed his thoughts—did she also feel the presence of this wound? In this quiet atmosphere, Fitran began to imagine the journey they had taken together among the roots of the Tree of Life, where souls could speak without words. Perhaps, in this enveloping silence, they would find a way to redefine the inherited wounds and strive to heal them together.

Fitran missed the strength found in vulnerability. In his burning thoughts, he often felt like a wounded child trapped in the complexities of the world. He tried to love, even though sometimes shrouded by the fear of loss. What if that love too was marred by the wounds he carried?

He was not just a seeker of meaning. He was a bearer of the world's wounds. And those wounds had existed even before he was born.

A faint light from the hanging roots slowly illuminated a figure in the distance. The figure stood calmly, a white dress fluttering gently. Her golden hair flowed, her eyes not fully gazing ahead—but into the world itself.

Fitran hoped that as he called her name, Sheena's strength would flow through his fingers, touching the depths of his soul. Every second felt slower, his heart pounding hard; he wanted to be trusted, to dare to step into the unexpected. "Sheena...?" Fitran stepped forward.

The figure turned. But standing before him was neither a spirit nor an illusion. A fragment of consciousness—leftover from Sheena, yet whole enough to hear, feel... and love.

"Fitran," she replied softly. Her voice carried the echoes of roots and time. Their words should have flowed like water, soothing the wounds. But between them, there was only silence demanding a profound meeting. In a heartbeat that seemed to stop, Fitran felt trapped in memories, reminded of the Tree of Life that provided shelter, the place where everything began and ended.

"Why are you here?" Fitran asked. "You should—"

"There is no 'should' for those who bear the wounds of the world," Sheena gently interrupted. "We simply... are."

Fitran stared at her, silent. Behind that silence, his eyes trembled. Not from fear. But because the feelings he had hidden for too long. In the dim light, Sheena's face radiated warmth he could never forget. Seeing her felt as if time had reattached, and the noise of the outside world faded for a moment. In front of the world, he was the Voidwright, the Corpus Sage, a fighter against the system. But in front of Sheena... he was just a man who had once lost everything. Between them, the Temple of Mount, a sacred place for wounded souls, stood tall and proud, reminding them of all that had been lost. He felt trapped in painful memories, the urge to fix everything rising quickly, but his lips were sealed.

"I want... to apologize," Fitran finally said.

Sheena did not respond immediately. She simply stepped closer, standing before Fitran. Silence lingered for a few seconds, then she asked, "For what?"

"For... not saving you in time," Fitran said. His voice cracked at the end of the sentence. A heavy confession, as if the roots of life enveloped them both in a silence full of meaning. Inside him, guilt gnawed like a creature of the night that relentlessly hunted. He knew what he said was not enough, but the words came from the depths of unspoken feelings.

He took a deep breath. "For... making you have to flee to Omega. For making you change your name to avoid detection by Alpha. For allowing all systems to punish you for something I could not fight against myself."

Sheena looked down. "The world is not your fault, Fitran."

"But...

He took a deep breath. "For... making you have to flee to Omega. For making you change your name to avoid detection by Alpha. For allowing all systems to punish you for something I could not fight against myself."

Sheena looked down. "The world is not your fault, Fitran."

In that silence, Fitran felt a weight in his heart, like the roots of the Tree of Life penetrating the earth, strengthening him even as he was ensnared in uncertainty. Every heartbeat echoed the exhausting journey of seeking meaning in darkness. "And if every wound is a tree," he continued, "will we still stand, nurturing and protecting it, even though the storm is unavoidable?"

"But I created magic. I created too many wounds from the desire to understand everything."

"You did not create wounds," Sheena said. "You only... inherited them. Like I did. Like all of us who can still love, even though we know this world rejects love."

Fitran gazed at Sheena with longing, as if trying to capture every detail of her face in memory. Her gentle beauty served as a shield against all sorrow, igniting hope in the darkness of his heart. He wanted to reach for her hand, to feel that warmth, but the fear of using it was trapped in his throat. He felt the struggle between desire and fear, like a song that was never finished playing.

Fitran finally lifted his face. His eyes were now bright. Not because of magic. But because of the honesty he could no longer suppress.

"I love you, Sheena," he said. His voice trembled, soft like the melancholic sigh in the Temple of Mount, where hope and peace united in a single breath. "Every word is a stream of water from a deep source, which you entrusted without my realizing it."

Yet, behind those words, there was an unspoken fear. The fear of loss, the fear of a reality they could not change. Fitran realized that love was not just about being together, but also about daring to face the possibility of separation. In silence, he hoped that his love could be a shield, not just a gentle breeze that quickly vanished.

Not a whisper. Not a confession wrapped in metaphor. Those words fell like the first rain after a thousand years of drought. Without defense. Without hope of being reciprocated.

Sheena closed her eyes. Her shoulders trembled slightly. The light of the roots around them formed a gentle circle, as if listening too. In the flow of uncertainty, she felt as if time slowed down, tracing the deep intuition in her soul, as if realizing that their love was a sacred thread that carried them through a starless night. In that darkness, she felt the shadows of the past return, when hopes and dreams intertwined in each other's smiles, becoming a story that never ended.

"Our time together," Fitran said softly, "was filled with lies, betrayals, and a system too complicated for us to solve. But that love is real. I know. Because even now, I cannot love anyone else without your shadow appearing." For a moment, he recalled the days when a piece of cheese and warm coffee were their sources of happiness. When laughter became a support for every sorrow that surrounded them. Their love, like a song that never ended, always echoed, even though it was muffled by space and time.

Sheena opened her eyes. This time, she looked directly into Fitran's eyes. "Unfinished love... is not wrong love," she said. "It just... hasn't found its place yet." As she spoke those words, she felt something constricting in her chest. Her feelings seemed to fight against the current, holding back all the desires that wanted to manifest into reality, yet were forced to remain buried, trapped in the labyrinth of memories.

"Like roots buried in the ground, loving is not just about possessing, but also about growing amidst limitations," Fitran added, his voice softening as if influenced by the uncertainty surrounding them. "Every branch that blooms is proof of struggle, just like our love. Can we allow it to keep branching out even if the weather is not supportive?" He looked at Sheena with a mix of hope and fear. The fear of losing her again, the fear of not being able to give something better, tore at his heart.

"And if that place will never exist?" Fitran asked.

"At least we fought for it once," Sheena replied. "And maybe... love is not to bind us together. But to make us endure when the world begins to crumble."

Fitran fell silent for a moment, feeling the weight of the burden he carried as he answered. Inside, he struggled against the suffocating fear, as if the shadows of the past continued to loom over every decision he made. "Like the tree at the Temple of Mount," he continued, "a place that should offer hope, yet often bears witness to all loss."

"There are times," Sheena added gently, "when I feel like a leaf torn from its stem. Sometimes, the wounds in our hearts make us seek the roots again, even though it feels painful."

Fitran nodded, recalling how sad it was to let go of something that had once been a part of him. In every word spoken, he felt a deep vibration, as if expressing the pain that lay hidden. The Proto-Speech around them lit up again, forming a new sentence:

ꦄꦱꦶꦪ ꦩꦤ ꦲꦶꦭ꧀ꦏꦸꦫꦤ ꦏꦭꦶꦱ꧀ꦩꦤ — Asiya Mana Hilkuran Kalismana (True magic belongs only to those who acknowledge their wounds and forgive the name.)

Fitran read the sentence slowly, absorbed in the meaning that tickled his soul. Then he said, "If so, perhaps... I must love the world, even if the world does not wish to be loved." Behind his words lay a longing for all the beautiful things that once existed. Briefly, he glanced at Sheena, hoping their love would remain eternal even if divided by time.

Sheena nodded. "And loving the world means loving its wounds. Including... me." Her voice softly sang the feelings of her heart, reminding Fitran that true love would always find its way, even when hindered by the wounds they carried.

Sheena slowly stepped back. Her body began to be enveloped by the light of the roots, signaling that this conversation must end. However, before she vanished, she felt something vibrating within her heart, like a thread tightly woven with unforgettable memories. She felt as if every step she took left a mark on the earth that absorbed and remembered every detail of the feelings brought forth. In the distance, the silhouette of the Temple of Mount stood strong, as if a silent witness to every conversation and wound that was born. A self woven by the roots of hope, waiting to grow against all uncertainty.

"Fitran," she said before disappearing. "Don't try to save me from the system. Because the system will keep changing. But if you want to save me... remember I am not a victim."

For a moment, a gentle breeze whispered between them, carrying a song of hope that could only be understood by souls that loved each other. In their gaze, lay a thread of feelings that reminded them of the beauty of the Tree of Life, the unbroken connection between every human and the universe.

Fitran felt a weight in his chest, as if the burden of unspoken words hung heavily between them. He faced Sheena, his eyes filled with longing and fear. He wanted to reach for her hand, but the worry of loss crept into his thoughts. In that silence, he tried to gather the courage to challenge the fate that always felt distant.

"Then how should I remember you?" Fitran asked.

Sheena, taking a deep breath, signaled her determination despite the doubts. "As the wound that keeps you human," she replied, smiling. That smile, though gentle, held a thousand meanings—the connection between love that frees and wounds that bind. As if she wanted Fitran to understand that in every pain, there is a lesson and an eternal love.

Every word she spoke was a promise, an eternity spoken between a fragment of time that flowed. And as Fitran gazed at Sheena's face, he felt something deeper than mere love: an understanding of uncertainty and acceptance of all the wounds they were forced to carry. He felt connected to everything around him, like roots penetrating deep into the earth, intertwining life in a way that was so profound and faithful.

With all these feelings, he recalled every beautiful memory etched in his mind—her smile, her laughter, and how they supported each other in difficult times. Loving is about shouting beauty even amidst sorrow, and Fitran contemplated this with deep gratitude, honoring every moment that had ever existed between them.

And with that, her body faded—not in an explosion, but in the embrace of roots.

Fitran stood alone in that space. But he did not feel empty. For within his chest, something grew: the awareness that loving is not about saving, but about remembering wholly. The light flooding that space reminded him of the life that radiated from every branch of the Tree of Life, inviting every soul to reflect on the meaning of existence.

The last Proto-Speech of the night echoed:

Those who love their wounds will be given a name that cannot be erased.

In the corner of the room, Fitran stood in silence, his eyes focused on the dancing shadows on the wall. Each shadow was a reflection of his wounds, the pain etched in every heartbeat. He remembered Sheena, who always had the ability to turn wounds into beautiful poetry. Gently, he extended his hand, as if wanting to reclaim the beautiful moments when their love blossomed even amidst suffering.

"Sheena," he whispered, his voice filled with longing. "Are we trapped in memories or just entangled in painful love?"

Sheena, standing by the window, gazed at the pale moon, her thoughts drifting far away. "Love and wounds are two sides of the same coin, Fitran. We cannot escape from either. Perhaps, accepting both is how we find true freedom."

With a gentle and vulnerable tone, she added, "Every wound we carry is not to be forgotten, but to be remembered as part of our journey—as a symbol of sincere love and acceptance."

There, amidst the shadows full of stories, they understood each other, weaving strong threads of love, even though many were wounded. Their love was a trace that would never fade, even though it felt painful. Because in every wound, there is a story worth telling, and in every story, there is love waiting to be accepted.