Above the crumbling ruins of an ancient observatory tower, two figures stood poised against the encroaching night. The gentle whisper of the wind stirred their tattered cloaks, as if it were a guardian nurturing the echoes of forgotten history. Above them, the sky, a canvas smeared with dusk, trembled subtly; its swirling colors cracked and faded, creating an atmosphere thick with melancholy and shrouded in mystery.
Fitran's gaze was fixed upon the fading horizon—a desolate expanse that stretched out before him, empty and flat, mirroring the profound emptiness within himself as he grappled with his lost path. Behind him, Rinoa stood, her breaths heavy and labored, her body trembling slightly, a physical manifestation of the tension that hummed like an electric current in the stillness around them.
"What are you doing here, Rinoa?" Fitran asked coolly, his voice slicing through the silence like the chill of falling snow on a dark night. He made no effort to mask his disappointment; her presence felt like a haunting reminder of the shadows that plagued his existence. "You know I'm not a bearer of miracles. I'm merely a bringer of erasure."
He lowered his head slightly, pausing to gauge Rinoa's reaction, the weight of the past clinging to his thoughts like an unwanted shroud.
Rinoa stepped closer, each movement imbued with a heavy significance, as if she bore the weight of the world on her shoulders. "Fitran, I didn't come to be saved," she asserted, her voice quivering yet firmly resolute. In her eyes, there flickered a spark—an ember of defiance, as though the very earth beneath her feet was weary of carrying the burdens of her pain.
"I want to understand," Rinoa declared, her voice trembling with determination, each syllable ringing like a distant echo in the silent abyss. The tension in the air thickened, wrapping around them like a shroud, causing Fitran to raise his gaze. His eyes, icy and unyielding, bore into her with a stark skepticism that felt like an unrelenting storm. "Understand? What can you comprehend from this empty world?" His words dripped with disbelief, transforming the atmosphere into a frigid expanse of doubt.
Despite this, Rinoa fixed her gaze upon him, a distant hope flickering within her like a fragile flame striving to pierce through the suffocating darkness.
"I know," he replied softly, a hint of warmth battling against the chill in the air, yet his spirit burned brightly, resonating with the unquenchable desire for clarity. "But I am not here to be saved. I am here… to understand." With a tremor in her gaze, she locked her eyes onto Fitran; that faint hope rekindled memories of light daring to break through the oppressive shadows that loomed around them.
Fitran turned away, his cold eyes reflecting an inhuman emptiness, a void unfilled by empathy or rage. There was neither anger nor sympathy in his demeanor—only an absence that mirrored the grief of one still entrenched in the dark night of their own soul, as if he were a spectral reflection of the sorrow that haunted them both.
"Do you even grasp what you seek?" His voice was flat, each word carving a widening chasm between their spirits, a gulf filled with unspoken words and unresolved questions.
"What does it feel like to be trapped in powerlessness, yet still struggle to breathe life?" Rinoa asked, her voice quaking as it wrestled with the depths of her soul, forced to reveal its hidden pain. "What does it feel like to be an empty space in a world full of color and courage?"
The questions flowed from her lips, each one piercing with profound sincerity, as though every word carried fragments of her very essence, interwoven in a tapestry of unspoken tension that hung heavily between them.
Fitran fell silent, his face a blank canvas, void of expression, as if he were trapped within the creases of his own convoluted thoughts. He absorbed Rinoa's words, each syllable a weighty burden that pressed down on him, binding them together in a shared mire of uncertainty.
"You want to know, don't you?" he finally voiced, his tone deep and melancholic, echoing through the stillness of the night like a distant cry reverberating off unseen walls. His gaze was cast into the shrouded darkness, seeking answers in a realm where they seemed nonexistent. "Being me... feels like being the echo of a voice that never truly existed. I erase my footprints, trying to obliterate my trace along a shore where the sand slips away beneath my feet."
He paused, a heaviness settling on his chest, as if the very air thickened with unspoken sorrows. "Every word spoken amidst the transient moments marks the quiet end of something that may have once flourished."
He exhaled heavily, his breath cascading like dried leaves spiraling to the ground, attempting to shed an invisible weight from a heart that had long known suffering.
Rinoa managed a faint smile, though the blood at the corner of her reopened lip spoke of a wound that stubbornly refused to heal. She shifted her body slightly, uncertainty etched deeply across her features. Yet, she refrained from wiping away the blood, as if each drop served as a poignant reminder, preserving the pain of the long journey she had endured.
"It's funny," she said, her eyes alight with a flicker of yearning, a reflection of the quiet glow from deep-seated memories. She waved her hand lightly, as if attempting to unshackle herself from the chains of pain that held her fast. "I'm the opposite; in every loss, I find new seeds to sow in this heart of mine."
Fitran's voice dropped, thick and cold, "Those seeds will only wither among empty hopes."
Rinoa stood firm, undeterred, "My magic ignites, while my soul slowly dims—like a star losing its light, beginning to dissolve into the encroaching darkness. I cherish this world, even though each fleeting day demands a piece of my spirit, returning to me in forms difficult to grasp."
"You see your life merely as fuel," Fitran stated, his tone flat and heavy, each word layered with the weight of profound desolation. He cast his gaze toward Rinoa, searching for a glimmer of hope, but all he found was an abyss of nothingness. "And you, Rinoa, wield your emptiness like a weapon," he pressed on, enunciating each syllable, his voice steeped in the icy chill of despair.
For a moment, Rinoa fell silent, her thoughts swirling around the implications of Fitran's words. Her expression softened, revealing a glimpse of understanding, as her eyes mirrored profound empathy, tracing the shadowy corridors of their intertwined souls. "I'm trying to understand, Fitran. Perhaps there's a way to unearth meaning amid our emptiness," she replied gently, her voice a soothing balm aimed at easing the tension that hung heavily between them.
A hush enveloped them like delicate snowflakes falling softly, sealing the unspoken divide with a bandage of tranquility that shimmered with the faint glimmer of hope. Despite this fragile serenity, an electric tension still lingered, reverberating with the magnetic pull they felt towards one another.
Finally, as if summoned by an invisible force, Fitran stepped closer, his forward movement cautious, as if his feet were entrapped by Rinoa's enchanting presence. The world around them seemed to pulse with life, holding its breath as a charged atmosphere wrapped around them. "There's something frightening about touching you, Rinoa," he murmured, his voice barely breaking the silence, keenly observing the flicker of emotions dancing across her expression. "It's as if the world would shatter if we crossed this boundary." His gaze locked onto hers, ensnared in an intoxicating silence thick with unexpressed emotions that enveloped them like a cloak.
"You know, Rinoa," Fitran continued, his voice trembling like the wind rustling through the leaves, whispering secrets that only the trees understood. "To me, you are more magic than anyone. You are the light piercing through the deepest darkness, igniting hope in the most unexpected places." His words hung heavily in the air, laden with a melancholy that resonated deeply, echoing in the painful silence that enveloped them.
Rinoa fell silent, her eyes fluttering closed as she allowed each of Fitran's words to pierce her soul, like thunder splitting the night sky accompanied by vibrations that shook every corner of her heart. She felt an intense significance in his words, believing they were not mere utterances, but a sacred mantra that resonated between their souls.
"In my eyes... you are not the end," Fitran proclaimed in a cold voice, each syllable carving the air like a chisel against stone. "You simply have not begun yet." He paused, his gaze shifting downward as if he were rummaging through the shadows of his own thoughts for painful answers. "You are the unspoken bridge of hope, even while eternally ensnared in darkness."
"You still have time until tomorrow, and I will wait for you faithfully at the gate," Fitran added, his voice imbued with a flicker of hope.
However, as Fitran lowered his head, an invisible weight bore down upon him, as though the very fabric of the world pressed against his shoulders, stretching him beyond his limits. The sky seemed to constrict, its vibrant blue muted under the encroaching gray clouds, revealing only the faintest hint of a distant promise. A heavy silence enveloped them, and Rinoa's departure faded into nothingness, like the final glow of a sunset swallowed by the approaching night.
Fitran stood there, quieter than ever, his gaze fixed outside in a stillness that seemed to anchor time itself within the empty space around him. He felt a sharp sense of loss—like a beloved book with its pages turned but never to be read again, its story now lifeless and meaningless.
In that oppressive silence, the bitter reality of shattered hopes for a job change loomed large. Rinoa stood there, utterly unable to wield the magic that so many took for granted, while a gnawing void deep within Fitran's soul expanded relentlessly, resembling a bottomless chasm poised to engulf him entirely. It felt absurd how destiny unfolded its merciless design, leaving him grappling with a sense of futility. Despite his numerous attempts to bridge the distance between them, every effort proved fruitless, as if he were trying to grasp water slipping through his fingers.
Because Rinoa dont had a Mana Core, she was condemned to pay an agonizing price for her magic, sacrificing her very life force as fuel with every spell she cast. Each incantation bore the burden of her suffering, leaving her with wounds that etched pain deeply into her being. The healing she offered to others was more than a mere act of compassion; it was a heart-wrenching exchange, stripping away fragments of her own life, each act an echo of the light she would eventually forfeit.
"Rinoa is not an eternal flame. She is but a fragile candle, keenly aware that her light will one day flicker and fade. Yet, despite the weight of this knowledge, she continues to burn with fierce tenacity, casting her warm glow to illuminate the path for those who wander in darkness, however fleeting that illumination may be," Fitran murmured, his gentle voice resonating in the suffocating silence surrounding them.
Not only is Rinoa devoid of a Mana Core, but her body revolts against foreign mana with excruciating force. This painful rejection leaves her completely isolated from the world's intricate magic system. If the magical realm resembles an expansive ocean in which sorcerers glide and thrive, then Rinoa is akin to a shipwrecked sailor, desperately gasping for air, each attempt to touch the mystical waters leaving her on the brink of drowning.
Whenever Rinoa encounters a place saturated with high magical energy or attempts to absorb mana from her surroundings, her body reacts as if she were suffering from a deadly allergy: a fever rages uncontrollably, cruel convulsions ripple through her limbs, nausea compels her to expel blood, and her muscles ache as if set ablaze from within. Thus, when Fitran activates Parallel Paradox, or when Rinoa is engulfed in the effects of Ordo Silens and other area spells, the agonizing pain slices through her body like a merciless storm. Yet, she bears this torment in silent resilience, shielding others from the depth of her suffering.
"Every spell Rinoa casts seems to drain ten agonizing years from her life,"
"Yet, even amidst her suffering, no sorcery can rival the profound beauty and emotional strength that radiates from within her like a beacon of light in darkness."
And although many admire her as an extraordinary sorceress, none can truly penetrate the shadowed depths of her heart.
Both literally and emotionally, she exists in a realm of her own.
That is the woman loved by Fitran.