Chapter 631 The Trial of the Unwritten Ancestors

The night never truly arrives in this underground city. There is no sky. There is no time. Only the pulse of roots and the red light from blood crystals quivering within stone bones. Yet for Fitran, that night felt real—because at long last, he was summoned to face the judgment of unwritten history.

After the duel of honor, the city elders would not allow him to leave. The dim light from lanterns floating in the air cast dancing shadows on the stone walls, as if recounting ancient tales and the lurking fears that haunted them. The hiss of the wind seeped into the narrow corridors, swaying the cobweb curtains clinging to the walls. Nearby, two elders clad in intricately patterned robes whispered to each other, deliberating their decision, their expressions revealing reluctance and worry.

"You have withstood our spears," said the leader, an elderly woman draped in shards of steel.

"But now, you must fight not to defend yourself,

but to determine whether the world deserves to embrace your will once more."

Fitran, with his sturdy build, gazed at the elders one by one, determination flickering in his eyes. He felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, every fiber of his muscles trembling, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. As he began to move, his steps were nimble and smooth, as if gliding over a cold floor. The chilly wind billowed the edges of his dark cloak, enhancing the atmosphere around him. Meanwhile, a whisper floated among a group of youths watching, "Will he truly be able to change our fate?"

They led him to the innermost part of the city: the Forgotten Blood Temple. This temple stood majestically, surrounded by tall, moss-covered walls that added to its ancient aura. At the entrance, intricate carvings depicted battle after battle, weaving tales of courage and betrayal.

In the center of the temple stood five stone pillars, each bearing symbols that had never been taught in the Corpus or Proto-Speech. Yet Fitran recognized them instantly—these symbols flowed in his blood: As gentle light illuminated the pillars, parts of the symbols gleamed with a deep crimson hue, as if intertwined with the souls trapped within the stones.

: the unwritten will

: unspoken truth

: inherited wounds

: discarded name

: rejected knowledge

Before the pillars sat five ancestors, semi-physical entities that were the remnants of the souls of the great warlord of Gamma—they were neither dead nor alive, but existed because the world had not allowed them to be forgotten. With their upright postures and menacing auras, every movement they made radiated immense energy, as if the entire temple throbbed in sync with their heartbeats. One by one, they fixed their gleaming eyes on Fitran, filled with hope and anticipation.

"Remember, Fitran," echoed the voice of one ancestor, "that every choice bears consequences. Are you ready to lift this burden?"

As those words were spoken, some pillars began to tremble, a red light flaring from the cracks in the stone, casting a glow that pierced the darkness of the temple and created a mystical ambiance.

Fitran felt his blood surge, as if he were connected to the symbols on the pillars. He could sense power entering his body and could not help but smile as the red light swirled around him. "I am ready," he responded confidently, standing tall and prepared for battle.

The first ancestor stepped forward. His voice was deep, resonating from the belly of the earth:

"You, Fitran Fate… have erased more names than history can remember. If you wish to walk bearing the name Sheena, carrying Rinoa's will, singing the song of the roots… then you must reveal: who you are without the Corpus. Without the Void. Without a name."

Fitran nodded, his body tense, yet a bitterness lingered in his gaze. He could feel the heavy atmosphere, filled with the hopes and concerns of the ancestors surrounding him. The voices around him created a rhythm, as if preparing his soul for the impending challenge.

Onlookers at the edge of the arena, with bright eyes and pounding hearts, watched every move Fitran made. "He has to be able to do it," whispered one of them, "without memory and name, but with the strength of his soul."

"If I must fight as a human, then I will show that it is the wounds of humanity… that keep the will alive."

As those words were spoken, a gentle blue light began to envelop Fitran's body. A magical aura surrounded him like a soft mist, shimmering with ever-changing colors, creating delicate shapes that danced in the rhythm of battle. The ornaments around the Forgotten Blood Temple seemed to vibrate, a magical resonance gathered from the bloodstains of past warriors.

With every movement, Fitran felt the power flowing through his body, supple and strong, as if he were part of the very earth he stood upon. The temple, with its bloodied walls interwoven with moss, created a stark contrast, standing grandly with a blend of majesty and trauma. Etched into the bricks were the images of warriors, seemingly watching, illuminated by the shimmering light radiating from Fitran.

Without weapons, without magic, Fitran stood in the center of the ancient arena. The ancestral spirits attacked him not with weapons, but with the echoes of words never spoken.

Like the sound of thunder touching the earth, the words shattered the silence, gliding through the air as a vibrating wave of blue-green energy. Each syllable held immense power, and the soft, pulsating light filled the arena, redefining the existing boundaries. The audience could feel the vibrations in their chests, like the heartbeat syncing with the impending strength.

"Look at him! He doesn't even hold a weapon, yet his power is palpable!" exclaimed an observer in disbelief, his eyes wide as he witnessed the light enveloping Fitran.

Around him, the arena began to tremble as the ancient roots that formed the ground seemed to come alive, responding to every word spoken. The architecture of the Blood Temple was astounding; its walls soared with carvings that appeared to speak, displaying the fierce gazes of warriors. A bright purple light radiated from Fitran, replacing the lost weapon and creating the illusion that something far greater was preparing behind him, unseen yet profoundly real.

✦ Verba Silenti: The Crushing of Unspoken Oaths

A memory attack. It showed Fitran the oaths he had once made... and forgotten. Each oath transformed into crystal blades that sliced through his body without drawing blood.

Fitran did not resist. He accepted each wound, one by one, and said:

"I... have indeed forgotten them. But today, I will not deny them any longer."

The ancestor paused. He retreated, and his body shattered into shining roots. As the ancestor's body broke apart, the light emanating from his roots created golden rays that danced through the air, surrounded by a soft blue-green aura.

"Congratulations, Fitran. You are beginning to discover your true self," a distant observer whispered. "You must continue forward; your true self is still buried within," she added, her voice filled with hope.

As the ancestor's body shattered, the architecture of the Forgotten Blood Temple appeared more magnificent. The pillars, made of shimmering black stone adorned with deep red blood carvings, vibrated as if responding to the ongoing battle; it was as if they were witnessing from great heights, holding the secrets of the past.

Fitran took a deep breath, feeling a new strength coursing through him, intertwined with the pain brought by resurfacing memories. Standing taller, he prepared to face the next challenge, his head held high and his eyes shining with determination.

The second ancestor appeared, her form nearly like a shadow. Her eyes were hollow, and her voice resembled the sound of sand.

"You are forging power from the truth you choose for yourself. But what if the world chooses a different truth? Will your will still endure?"

As the words were spoken, tension filled the air. With a graceful motion, the ancestor's hand swept through, creating a swirling maroon energy wave. The luminous effect from this attack surged forward, resembling fiery waves rushing toward Fitran.

"Be careful, Fitran! His attack carries a painful truth!" shouted a stunned witness. His voice trembled with anxiety, reflecting the tension within the temple.

Fitran responded by raising his hand; just before the energy wave struck him, he focused his energy to create a shimmering shield of white light, reflecting much of the incoming assault. The glowing light from the shield danced with beautiful colors like a rainbow, enhancing the elegance of the ongoing battle.

The Forgotten Blood Temple quaked with the presence of energy rekindling the space between them. The ornaments on the walls seemed to race, displaying ancient symbols that vibrated in sync with the intensity of the fight. Now more confident, Fitran began to move more freely, his body gliding gracefully as he dodged every approaching attack.

Thesis Contradicta: Mirror of the Rejected World

Fitran was forced to confront a version of the world where all his decisions ended in disaster:

Rinoa was hated by the world.

Sheena was killed for refusing to hide.

Stones crumbled due to the Void magic he had unleashed.

"You call that an alternate reality?"

"No," replied the ancestor. "This is a reality that almost happened."

Fitran groaned as his body collapsed. But he rose again:

"If all my worlds fail... then I will still embrace their will. For it is not victory that makes them valuable… but their love that remains intact, even when everything goes wrong."

Around the Forgotten Blood Temple, towering red pillars with intricate carvings cast eerie shadows. The temple walls were adorned with ancient ornaments that shimmered, depicting the intense battles between dark forces and light. In that moment, Fitran felt a powerful vibration of dark energy gathering within him, like a turbulent ocean waiting to be unleashed.

As Fitran gathered his courage, blue light seemed to surge from the tips of his fingers, forming a spiraling glow before erupting in a thunderous explosion that shook the entire temple. "Look, the power of the Void!" shouted a follower from the shadows, mesmerized by the dazzling light. "He can change fate!"

The shadow collapsed. The second ancestor transformed into crystal dust and disappeared. With a strong fist, Fitran shifted his stance, his body poised gracefully like a warrior readying himself for the next battle. His breath was heavy yet filled with determination, shattering the fear that gnawed at his heart.

The third ancestor remained silent, only staring at Fitran as if piercing through his soul with eyes that sparkled like stars in the night sky. The space around them was filled with mysterious shadows, illuminated by the faint light filtering through the stained glass windows of the Forgotten Blood Temple—a grand structure adorned with towering pillars and intricate carvings telling ancient tales.

Then… she entered Fitran's body. As the magic flowed through him, it enveloped him like a sea of blue-green energy, creating a shimmer that reflected the light like moonlight. Fitran's face lifted, sensing a powerful shift within, and his body trembled as if swept away by an unseen current.

Fitran fell deep into a mental landscape. There, he saw his younger self—not as Voidwright, not as a warrior, but as a boy who once longed to touch the light. Surrounding him was a soft orange sky, seemingly depicting a fervent hope, yet always just out of reach. A gentle breeze carried the scent of nostalgia, reminding Fitran of the beautiful moments he had experienced in the past.

The boy looked at him and asked:

"Why did you leave me?"

Fitran was unable to respond, his eyes filling with tears. Memories flooded back of when he used to run through the park, playing in the sunlight. Those moments were etched in his heart, like a beautiful mosaic serving as a reminder of the sincerity and happiness that had long been lost.

"You shape magic, systems, Corpus, power,

but I… I just want to embrace the world.

And you let me die."

Fitran held the child tightly, bowing his head in deep emotion. For the first time, it was not a farewell. There was a warmth that spread between them, as if the energy of their embrace created darkness that manifested into a shining white light.

"I have returned. Not to be a hero. But to listen to the voice I have long ignored."

The child smiled… then vanished into his being. As this occurred, a soft blue light flickered, seemingly flowing out from within Fitran, creating a glowing pattern as if separating reality from illusion. The third ancestor did not reappear.

The last two ancestors did not come either. A sense of emptiness enveloped the atmosphere, as though the air around Fitran had grown heavier. He gazed towards the sacred space of the Forgotten Blood Temple, where the walls were adorned with intricate carvings depicting the history of struggle and sacrifice. Tall columns with deep red ornaments blended with black, creating a dramatic contrast as if the Temple itself stood in silence, witnessing this pivotal moment.

Some sparkling lights from the gemstones surrounding the altar reflected shadows dancing on the walls. Fitran's fingers trembled as he felt the presence of an ineffable power. Only their voices spoke:

"You have not defeated us. But you have allowed us to speak. And that is a power that cannot be captured in any spell."

Yet, the voice radiated warmth, pushing back the shadowy remnants of what had been left behind. The room seemed to vibrate as a gentle light began to emanate from Fitran, creating a swirling circle of purple and blue hues. The reflections of this light hinted at deeper meanings beyond mere words. The onlookers by the altar sensed this change, exchanging anxious glances with expressions of concern.

The roots surrounding Fitran slowly ignited, penetrating the temple floor with an eternal legacy of magic. They formed a Proto-Speech sentence, legible only to those who had defeated their own inner struggles:

ꦏꦺꦴꦢꦺ ꦥꦸꦤ꧀ꦢꦺ ꦲꦶꦤ꧀ꦢꦺ ꦏꦱꦶꦃ — Kode Pundé Inde Kasih

(The name not written… is the name that cannot be destroyed.)

As this mantra was uttered, the room was illuminated by a soft rolling golden glow, creating a stunning light effect that made it seem as though time paused momentarily. The audience was captivated by the splendor of this transformation. Some shouted excitedly, "Look, she's doing it!" Others appeared to tremble in awe, while still others knelt in hope and prayer, wishing that the magic presented by Fitran could unravel the myriad mysteries hidden within this temple.

Meanwhile, Fitran's figure stood tall and impressive, fully connected to the flowing energy around him. His hand movements were gentle yet powerful, radiating a calming aura. Each of his breaths seemed tentative, as if he were a bridge between the visible and the invisible worlds, connecting souls trapped in uncertainty.