It had been a long time since Fitran set foot in the Palace of Light, the very place where Iris once stood on the eastern balcony, her gaze fixed on a horizon that promised nothing but silence. Beneath a sky gradually darkening from the distant echo of the resurrected Voidwright, Fitran's name was whispered only in prayers that sought no reply. Since his fierce battle against the Leviathan, his heart had felt hollow, as if a fragment of his soul had been irretrievably lost.
The Palace of Light itself stood majestic amid the chilling darkness of night, its gleaming marble walls adorned with intricate, delicate ornaments that seemed to catch and hold the fading light. Towering pillars stretched toward the heavens, their surfaces carved with symbols of eternity that shimmered softly under the ghostly moonlight—silent reminders to every visitor of the beauty and hope that once flourished here. Yet, without the presence of the one he loved, the grandeur of the palace lost all meaning, stirring a bittersweet sorrow that seeped into the cold night breeze. This wind tore through the silence, shaking the leaves and orchestrating a mournful symphony that echoed along the marble corridors.
She did not come.
She did not leave.
His heart was like smoke, dissipating and vanishing into the stillness—like the final reverberation fading through the endless, silent corridors of time.
On the other side of the world, Fitran wandered amid the trembling fractures of reality, as if threading the delicate strands of unwritten laws that once bound him. The air around him hung heavy and dark, pierced by a thin, swirling mist that moved with an eerie grace—dancing restlessly in search of a fragile crack through which to slip away—like a world out of sync with the stifled rhythm of his heartbeat. The boundaries between dimensions flickered in shifting hues, casting ghostly shadows that wove a hazy tapestry of his past life—shadows that swallowed every corner of existence.
He gazed upon the distant world like a forgotten wanderer, once enamored with this earth but now able only to brush the faint outline of his own fading silhouette.
They were two souls, once intertwined beneath the shimmering ruins of stars, who now remembered each other only through heart-wrenching silence.
"Do you remember?" the wind whispered through Iris's hair, carrying the delicate scent of lavender—an aromatic thread that wove memories of beautiful nights long passed. Each sigh of the breeze bore a message from the past: moments when happiness and hope danced together beneath a sky peppered with radiant stars—when light still fought valiantly to pierce the encroaching shadows.
"You told me the world was too fragile for eternity. But I still want to be eternal... by your side."
"I remember," murmured the rain, each drop falling softly onto Fitran's tattered cloak, worn thin by countless journeys through endless dimensions. The rhythmic patter filled the silent night, weaving through the heavy atmosphere and deepening the somber mood. With every delicate fall, memories of their fleeting meetings and sorrowful farewells unfurled—vivid, piercing echoes etched into the very heart of the darkness.
"You once said there was no place for light within the heart of darkness, yet here, beneath this thick and impenetrable night, you still kindled that faint lantern for her, defying the shadows."
They never exchanged letters, nor sent messages across the void.
Yet the universe listened intently, preserving every unspoken word in the cracks of the weathered, suffering stones and the gentle trembling currents of the rivers. The water whispered mournful songs that blended sorrow and hope—as if weaving a fragile thread to unite two distant souls, separated by the vastness of time and space.
"Are you happy now?" The soft glow of the moonlight breathed the question gently onto Iris's pale face, framed by the towering shadows of ancient trees that stood as silent sentinels, seemingly attentive to the quiet confession. Outside, the wind moved softly through the branches, carrying the familiar, earthy scent of damp soil freshly kissed by rain, while dew sparkled like scattered glass on the emerald leaves. The cold night air wrapped around the scene, thick with melancholy, as if time itself had stilled—allowing that single question to echo endlessly within the hush of the darkness.
"What is the price of being everything, if it means losing the one thing you long to hold?" Under the vast canopy of stars, bathed in the gentle silver glow of moonlight, a heavy silence settled around him. The melancholy of the night seeped into the air, touching his somber face with shadows of deep reflection. Each step stirred the wet grass, its cool blades brushing against his shoes like whispers of the earth, sending a chilling sensation that seemed to seep into his very soul—an unyielding reminder of life's fragile and uncertain nature.
"Does she forgive me?" Fitran's whisper barely rose above the stillness of the ancient ruins, where massive stones lay scattered like timeless sentinels, their surfaces slick with glistening green moss that thrived in the dampness. The weight of history pressed down on him, a suffocating burden as if the echoes of countless forgotten moments were bearing heavily upon his shoulders. Above, dark clouds gathered, draping the sky in brooding shadows that stretched across the ruins, deepening the chilling stillness. "Or do I truly want to be forgiven?" A sudden gust of cold wind swept through the stones, biting into his skin and causing a shiver to ripple down his spine—an acute reminder of his own vulnerability amid the relentless shadows of his past.
Time drifted slowly forward, accompanied by the soft rustle of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze and the distant murmur of flowing water, composing a quiet symphony of nature's persistence. Empires rose and crumbled in the distant past, their fates shaped by the eternal dance of light and darkness. One by one, the stars dimmed and vanished into the vast silence of night, stirring a profound sorrow in hearts weighted with longing. Fitran and Iris moved onward together—not seeking reunion nor escape—bound by an invisible thread on a journey that held no clear destination, haunted by memories that refused to be forgotten.
Their love was not a blazing fire to consume or a frozen wasteland to wither away in numbness. Instead, it lingered as a faint echo, suspended between life and death—neither fully vibrant nor entirely extinguished. Within the shadowed ruins that haunted their souls, this fragile love wove itself like a delicate thread, stretched taut between tangible presence and agonizing absence. Time and again, it was sacrificed silently—lost in suffocating spaces where no words could fully express the depths of their emotions. Iris found herself ensnared in a labyrinth of doubt and longing, trapped in the question of whether Fitran's love was real or merely her own shadowed yearning, a ghost with no shape filling every silent corner of her heart.
Until this day, Fitran had never spoken his love aloud. Yet each glance he cast carried a luminous warmth beyond words—a soft light that glimmered quietly, whispering feelings locked deep within. As dusk smeared the sky with strokes of molten gold and crimson, their spirits entwined in a heavy silence, drenched in longing and unspoken hope. The stillness around them pulsed like the ticking of a distant clock, echoing through the quiet as if time itself mourned the pain unvoiced between them.
Somewhere beneath the vast, empty canopy of night, they each stared toward the horizon, haunted by the same unanswerable question. The darkened morning loomed, indifferent and cold, its shadows stretching long from a weary night that offered no promise of a new dawn.
"If I were to reach out now... Amidst the tangled fog that blanketed the land, hope seemed to gather delicately in a single touch. Would you return, or would the world crumble under the weight of your absence?" The trembling silhouettes of the ancient trees shuddered as if sensing the significance of this whispered question, deepening the chilling stillness that hung heavy in the air.
Iris recalled the moment she had appointed Fitran as Royal Guard, laying the legendary sword Excalibur in his hands. Its blade shimmered with an ethereal glow, casting ghostly reflections across the towering walls of the throne room. Now, that vast chamber felt unbearably empty, a cavernous silence pressing upon her like an unseen shroud. Time itself seemed suspended there, trapping her in memories that refused to fade.
The echoes of footsteps from long-past nobles reverberated faintly among the marble pillars, yet through the distant clamor, Iris heard only one step—
the steady, resolute step of someone no longer present within the palace walls, yet whose presence lingered in every sliver of light that filtered softly through the stained-glass windows. That day remained etched vividly in her mind, as if the very fabric of time had bowed to preserve that fleeting, precious moment.
"Fitran Fate..."
"Fate?"
Iris found herself puzzled by his surname, Fate. Ancient manuscripts—known only to a select few—spoke of a clan steeped in enigmatic history and hidden power. Yet, at that moment, she chose not to delve deeper into the mysteries that name carried, letting the question rest silently in her thoughts.
"Your name, Fitran Fate, will be etched not only in Gaia's lawbooks but also within the queen's heartbeat, forever intertwined with the destiny that awaits."
Those words carried more than mere ceremony; they bore the profound weight of responsibility resting on a guardian's shoulders. Iris understood that this appointment was not just a bestowal of a title but a binding of destinies, an unbreakable covenant between them. Before her stood Fitran, draped in a pristine white robe that starkly contrasted with the faded scars and fresh wounds marring his body. He was resolute—no smile, no bow—yet everyone present knew that as Iris fastened the silver emblem upon his chest, she was choosing far more than a protector. She was choosing destiny itself.
"You didn't save me that day. You saved who I could become."
Though those words had never passed her lips, they were etched deep within Iris's soul, resonating endlessly like a silent anthem beneath the surface of her thoughts.
Fitran spoke no oath, yet in the stillness of that moment, he communicated a promise deeper than any spoken vow. He accepted the throne's heavy burden and the profound loneliness that came with it. From that day forward, the world around them shifted. Each threat that dared approach was met by Fitran's unwavering courage and quiet determination: an unseen bastion standing firm against the encroaching shadows, guarding the queen from the darkness lurking just beyond the edges of light.
Now, without Fitran by her side, Iris wakes each night gripped by a suffocating fear, haunted by relentless nightmares that claw at the edges of her mind. In the inky darkness of her dreams, she is drawn back to that day—the day when a steadfast figure stood unwavering in the heart of the crown room. For that fleeting moment, the world felt like home, bathed in a gentle warmth and a fragile sense of safety that has since slipped through her fingers like mist.
"If I had known time would steal everything…"
whispered Iris into the cold, silent night air, her voice trembling like a fragile thread lost in the vast emptiness.
"…maybe I would have held him then. Just for a little while, wrapped in the warmth of an embrace strong enough to erase all pain."
But she did not. Now, all that lingers is the haunting echo of a knight's final footsteps—each one resounding through the hollow corridors, trembling against the cold, stone walls of a palace too long abandoned to silence. He left everything behind, sacrificing all for something far greater: a truth dimly flickering in the shadows of the past, or perhaps, an unbearable void daring her to face it alone.