Several nights after the council meeting, as rain fell like the mournful sigh of a weary sky, Rinoa sat alone at the pinnacle of the Northern Tower, enveloped in the solitude of the storm. In her hand, she clutched a small piece of stone—jet black with faint blue veins, the sole remnant of Gamma that she had managed to salvage from the ruins of the Heaven Wars. The stone felt cool and heavy, an inescapable burden of memories that weighed on her heart like the clouds above.
Suddenly, Fitran emerged from the shadows, quietly, like a dim beam of light piercing through the thick darkness of the night. He seemed almost ethereal, a ghost of hope in a world shrouded in twilight.
"Did the council allow you to be here?" he asked softly, his voice resembling the whisper of wind rustling through the trees, blending seamlessly with the sounds of the rain.
"They allow my death... if I am wrong," Rinoa replied, a sneer creeping into her voice like a bitter shadow. "But that's not the issue. I... don't know where Gamma is. I have searched every corner of existence, mapped all continents, even traversed the vast voids beyond the folds of the atmosphere," she continued, despair tightening its grip on her heart like iron chains.
She gazed deeply at the small stone, allowing it to anchor her thoughts, before turning her attention back to Fitran. "But you know, don't you?" Her question hung suspended in the damp air, trembling as it awaited an answer she might dread to hear.
Fitran did not respond immediately. He merely closed his eyes, as if feeling for something intangible, gathering strength from the shadows that danced around him, nurturing the silence of the night.
"Gamma is no longer in this world," he finally said, his voice weighed down by the gravity of his words. "He was torn from reality when 'The Heaven Wars' ended, his essence scattered among the crevices of existence itself. Time does not flow in that void; light does not dare to penetrate its depths. Only those who have ever erased something from existence… can hope to find him again."
Rinoa fell silent, a profound hollowness settling within her as she stood amidst the raging storm of despair that threatened to consume her. Finally, with a voice barely above a whisper, quivering with an unsettling mix of inquiry and accusation, she asked:
"Because you were the one who erased Gamma?"
Fitran's gaze locked onto hers—his black eyes, deep and unfathomable, resembled an abyss filled with hidden truths and the weight of unspoken darkness.
"No," he replied firmly, his voice reverberating through the oppressive silence that enveloped them. "I erased his last people when they dared to defy the new order. I witnessed their destruction, and… I was the one who scrubbed their final signature from the sacred parchment of history."
A shiver ran through him as he spoke, his voice almost fading into a whisper, cutting through the heavy darkness surrounding them:
"Because of that, Gamma did not reveal himself to the passage of time; instead, he succumbed to the gnawing grip of regret. And only I—burdened with the weight of that reality—can lead you to that forsaken place."
Rinoa trembled, not from fear, but from a profound realization that washed over her: this journey was not merely scientific; it was an exploration of the spirit and the depths of existence. It required a bravery she had yet to summon, a leap into a shadowy realm that had been erased not only from the physical world but also from the collective understanding of humanity.
"Then," she said, hope flickering in her voice, "take me there."
Fitran gently placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, an unspoken gesture of solidarity. Before them, an ancient glyph began to shimmer into existence, ethereal and devoid of color, resonating with a barely perceptible hum. A subtle crack formed, reminiscent of a bitter smile, and a strange aroma wafted through the air—an unsettling blend of forgotten metal and the haunting whispers carried by a long-lost wind that once echoed with sorrowful cries.
"Prepare yourself," Fitran's voice struck a serious tone, resonating with gravity. "Gamma is no longer just a location; it is a memory of a place that has been forbidden to be recalled."
As they took their first tentative step into the crack, the world around them seemed to bow in reluctant submission, hesitant to witness the transformative journey that lay ahead.
"But I will not invite you if you do not change your job," he added, his words firm and non-negotiable, sealing the inevitability of the path before them.
The chamber of the Atlantis Council was enveloped in an ethereal blue glow, the light pulsating gently from the floating crystals suspended in mid-air, each one casting intricate shadows that danced across the ornate walls. The elders occupied their hovering chairs, adorned in flowing robes of shimmering purple and white that seemed to capture and reflect the light, creating an effect akin to glistening waves beneath the surface of the sea. The deep-set wrinkles etched into their faces were testament to their wisdom and countless years of experience, while their eyes, sharp and glinting like finely carved engravings in ancient stone, held an indomitable spirit, ready to confront any challenge that dared to approach.
As the grand doors of the hall swung open with a soft creak, an abrupt hush fell over the gathering, swallowing every sound and conversation like a dark tide. An oppressive silence filled the atmosphere, heightening the sense of anticipation as all eyes turned toward the figure now stepping inside—Fitran. Unadorned by a robe or insignia, he entered without the traditional trappings of formality, his very presence causing a charge in the air, reminiscent of the unsettling stillness that precedes a tempest. The tension thickened; some council members felt their heartbeats quicken, instinctively reinforcing their mental shields as if arming themselves for an impending storm. Amidst this charged environment, one of the elder women, Lady Iphesia, visibly tightened her grip, her fist clenching resolutely beneath the table, manifesting the palpable unease that enveloped the entire room.
The Chair of the Council, Arkanor Trevis, with an air of both interest and caution, leaned forward from his perch. His calm yet assertive voice cut through the weighty silence, slicing into the tension like a blade.
"Lord Fitran... why do you come to our tower unbidden?"
Fitran stood resolutely in the center of the dimly lit chamber, his figure striking against the backdrop of aged stone walls adorned with intricate runes. His posture was unwavering, conveying an air of quiet confidence. He did not bow or kneel, yet his tone carried a formality laced with grace, breaking through the oppressive heaviness that filled the air like a dense fog.
"Because I wish to be a part of this tower. As a temporary instructor," he declared, his voice resonating with conviction.
The room erupted into a cacophony of murmurs, a discordant chorus that shattered the tension. Some voices laughed with cynicism, while others shot him glances of disdain, as if he were proffering a vile potion rather than a treasure of knowledge.
"What can someone who only knows how to erase teach?" exclaimed Lord Drellmir, a master of sigil and mentalism. His skepticism dripped from each syllable, tainting the air with its sarcasm.
Fitran raised his hand with an aura of tranquility, and in response, a streak of gray light erupted, swirling and crackling with mysterious energy. This ethereal glow caught the eye, not as mere illusion or mundane magic, but as fragments of the Void Language—a script steeped in secrecy and whispered longings, understood only by those who had once pleaded with silence to obliterate their torment.
"I can teach you things you do not understand. I can open a door to a part of reality you believe does not exist. But more importantly... I can guide one student who yearns to venture into the inferno of history and emerge with their hands unscathed."
He paused, his piercing gaze challenging the assembly, compelling them to confront the gravity of his words, before continuing with unwavering resolve:
"Rinoa. You perceive her as unstable, yet she possesses the potential to unlock a revolutionary form of magic. If she wishes to study Gamma, she requires my guidance."
The Chairman exchanged skeptical glances with the elders, their brows furrowed in contemplation as uncertainty danced in their eyes. The cavernous room seemed to draw in around them, amplifying the weight of Arkanor's voice as he finally broke the stillness, each word reverberating through the tense air:
"And what assurance do you have that you will not absorb, damage, or... eliminate more than what is necessary?"
Fitran regarded them with cold, piercing eyes, his gaze as sharp as a blade cutting through the veil of fear that enveloped the room. "None," he replied, his voice firm and unwavering, striking like a hammer on an anvil. "Just as there is no guarantee that you will not suffocate other gifted students beneath your dead traditions and paralyzing fear."
The atmosphere thickened with silence, heavy and oppressive. Yet, this quietude was infused not with dread, but with a profound understanding among those gathered—his words rang with undeniable truth, echoing in the recesses of their minds.
At length, Lady Iphesia inclined her head ever so slightly, a gesture laden with careful deliberation, the decision etched in the lines of her face. "Then you will teach," she pronounced clearly, her voice a calm yet firm decree. "Not magic—but an 'understanding of emptiness.' Space, memory, and the wounds of the world shall be your focus. An academic experiment... fully controlled by the Council."
Fitran acknowledged her decision with a slight, respectful bow, a minimalist gesture that carried profound significance. "Thank you, Guardians of Atlantis," he said, his tone soft yet imbued with sincerity, a quiet reverence for the significance of the moment.
Before leaving, he turned back, his deep gaze piercing through the shadows of uncertainty that enveloped the room. "This is not a betrayal of principles," he continued, his voice steady and resolute. "It is an acknowledgment that the world needs a new path, even if that path emerges from the depths of emptiness."
For the first time, Fitran's firm steps resonated like the sound of a teacher imparting wisdom rather than an executor delivering judgment, filling the space with an unexpected sense of hope that danced in the air like the glimmers of light fading into twilight.
The 7-Δ classroom was a stark departure from the vibrant learning environments typically found within Atlantis Tower. This particular space exuded a unique and eerie atmosphere. The dazzling stone tables and the familiar illuminating glyphs that generally adorned the study area had vanished, replaced by a heavy ambiance steeped in darkness. The only source of light was a large window that overlooked the magical abyss where the continent of Gamma once flourished, now obscured by a thick fog and unsettling cracks in reality that seemed to pulse with a life of their own.
As the students began to trickle into the room, their steps echoed with a tentative hesitance, each footfall steeped in uncertainty. A heavy silence enveloped them, punctuated only by the occasional anxious whisper slipping between them like a shadow. Most cautiously claimed seats at the periphery, instinctively distancing themselves from the intense scrutiny of their peers—their eyes reflecting a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. These were not just any students; the majority were the highest achievers, handpicked by the Council for purposes both secretive and unsettling, tasked with uncovering the strange truths that loomed heavily in the air.
In stark contrast to the nervous energy of her classmates, Rinoa sat resolutely in the front row, where she had positioned herself well before the others arrived. Her hair was disheveled, a chaotic tangle that spoke of sleepless nights, while her left eye, swollen and glistening with unspent tears, conveyed a profound sadness. Yet, beneath her fragile facade, a flicker of fierce determination burned brightly—a glimmer of an unyielding spirit, reminiscent of a phoenix yearning to rise from the remnants of ash. She was driven by a singular, burning desire: she wanted to know.
As if on cue with the charged atmosphere, the door to the room creaked open. The entrance was not heralded by a dramatic bang, nor was it accompanied by any sense of grandeur.
Fitran stepped inside, his demeanor serene and unassuming. Each movement was graceful, nearly blending him into the very floor as if he defied the need for sound. It felt as though the room itself held its breath, neither acknowledging his presence nor daring to interrupt the stillness. He positioned himself at the front of the classroom, his eyes sweeping over the assembled students with an observant intensity, as if dissecting each emotion mirrored on their faces.
No formal greetings followed; no overture of welcome disturbed the heavy silence that settled like a fog over the gathered crowd.
He stared blankly at the back wall for a moment, his gaze penetrating and contemplative, before he finally broke the silence with a voice barely above a whisper:
"Welcome to emptiness."
A ripple of surprise and confusion spread among the students, their eyes darting from one face to another. In the midst of the stillness, a young man from the Pyromancy Division could hardly contain himself; a snicker escaped his lips, laced with a dismissive bravado. "If it's empty, why are we here?" he blurted out, his voice slicing through the silence.
Fitran turned his gaze toward him, revealing an enigmatic calmness that did not betray anger or a desire for retribution. It was as if the weight of gray skies accompanied him, and with a steady voice, he replied, "You're right. This class is indeed empty. But it is precisely because it is empty that you can fill it with something that has never been taught elsewhere."
With deliberate slowness, he raised his hand, summoning forth a fragment of the Void that floated delicately in the air before them. It was an intricate carving, a marvel of existence that was neither fire, nor ice, nor aether—an ethereal formlessness that resembled cracks in possibility, hinting at a wellspring of untouched potential.
"Voidwright is not about destruction," he proclaimed, his voice resonating throughout the hushed classroom, "but about nullifying obligation. When the world insists you must be this way or that way—Void challenges that directive, asking, 'Why?'"
Some students eagerly began to take notes, their pens moving swiftly as ink met paper, while others remained engulfed in confusion, their brows furrowed in thought. Yet amidst the flurry of writing, Rinoa sat motionless, her focus entirely absorbed by her own hands, as if searching for answers concealed within her fingertips.
"Then," a female student from the Chronomancy stream ventured, her tone imbued with curiosity, "what does time mean for a Voidwright?"
Fitran turned, his gaze sharp yet profoundly understanding, cutting through the atmosphere like a blade. "Time is an illusion that skillfully shapes trauma. The Void simply asks: if all wounds can happen at any time... why must you live in the same wound over and over again?"
As his words sank in, the room fell hushed, a palpable silence wrapping around them like a thick fog. The sound of pens scratching against paper became the only melody breaking the stillness, drawing even the skeptics into its spell as they absentmindedly nibbled on their pens, their minds slowly captivated by the weight of new ideas.
Fitran stepped forward into the center of the room, commanding attention as though he were a specter summoned from the depths of their darkest fears. He didn't speak like a mere instructor following a set syllabus; instead, his voice wove through the air like a shadow tracing the outlines of forgotten nightmares, delving into the profound depths of unspoken thoughts.
"Your first task: Write down a memory you most want to change. Not to erase. Not to avoid. But to change," he declared, his voice imbued with unwavering determination.
"And remember... it will not be magic that you use, but the courage to redefine the reality that has shaped you." His words reverberated through the room, a mantra that guided them from the realm of uncertainty toward newfound strength. One by one, heads began to bow, books opening with the soft rustle of pages, fingers trembling over pencils as they poised to record their thoughts, each stroke on paper filled with a blend of hope and apprehension. All, except for Rinoa, who remained transfixed on Fitran, her eyes glimmering with unasked questions.
Softly, she whispered, "What if I don't want to change anything... because everything has made me who I am?" The once-vibrant room descended into an immediate hush, a palpable tension hanging in the air, as if clarity itself had been woven into the silence. Fitran paused, his gaze piercing, delving deep into Rinoa's soul as if he could unravel the very essence of her being.
"Then you are already in front of everyone here," he replied, his voice a soothing balm, calm yet profound. "Because you know, what needs to be changed... is not your past. But how the world treats it."
"If I let this go," Halven stammered, his hands quivering as they cradled the pendant, its surface shimmering faintly under the dim, flickering light. "I don't know who I am anymore..."
Fitran remained unmoved, his gaze a steadfast anchor amidst the swirling emotions. "Then you are standing on the edge of the Void. And there— we learn," he said, his words steeped in a wisdom that resonated throughout the room.
One by one, the students were beckoned to place their cherished items in the center of the floating glyph of the Void, which pulsed with an ethereal light that danced like stars against the encroaching darkness. The glyph held not the power to burn or destroy; rather, it possessed the ability to erase attachments. What was relinquished from those items was not merely power—but memories that created their meaning.
Suddenly, Auren, one of the students, felt an overwhelming wave of emotion crash over him. He found himself weeping openly as he watched a delicate pair of family earrings begin to "vaporize" from his mind, as if they were being irresistibly pulled into the void's gaping maw. "I… I don't remember why these earrings are important…" he whispered, fear etching deep lines across his flushed cheeks, tears cascading down like the unrelenting rain.
"Because you believe your memories are yours," Fitran murmured, his voice akin to a whisper in the wind, carrying a weight of ancient wisdom. "Yet, often they are merely wounds passed down to you. Do you truly wish to inherit them?"
Suddenly, the room was enveloped in a chilling silence, the tension palpable as if the very air had thickened. Several students began to panic, their faces a canvas of confusion and despair, eyes wide with dread. Some fiercely clutched their belongings, gripped by a profound fear, unwilling to release the remnants of their past. In the midst of this turmoil, Veres, unable to contain his growing anguish, leapt to his feet and unleashed a torrent of searing lightning toward the ominous glyph. The brilliant blue energy shot forth, illuminating the room in a flash, only to dissipate as it collided with the edge of the glyph, swallowed by its dark aura. "This is torture, not a lesson!" he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the silence, infused with raw frustration.
Amidst the trembling crowd, Rinoa stood confidently, her presence a stark contrast to the chaos around her.
"If you're afraid of losing it, perhaps what you're really trying to hold on to isn't the item itself… but the fear of losing the version of yourself that is tied to it."
All eyes turned toward her, a palpable tension slicing through the air as reactions split between confusion and simmering anger. Veres's face flushed a deep crimson, his features etched with raw feelings of rage and hurt. "You're only saying that because you have nothing to lose!" he shot back, his voice trembling.
"That's precisely why," Rinoa replied coldly, her words cutting through the chaos like shards of ice. "I understand how light it feels to walk unburdened. Yet, I also feel the loneliness that encroaches upon me. Do you wish to replace that weight with your burning anger? Go ahead."
Fitran, his gaze resolute and unwavering, raised his hand, halting the ominous glyph that pulsed ominously in the air, casting flickers of light and shadow.
"Enough for today. You are free to reclaim your belongings... or let them remain lost, submerged with the memories that weigh down your heart," he declared, his voice resonating with authority.
Some individuals stepped forward quickly, their hands snatching at items with expressions that danced between hope and trepidation. Yet, surprisingly, Auren remained still, rooted to the spot.
He walked away, each step calm but infused with profound intent. It was as if he was shedding the weight of every burden he'd ever carried. But he also moved like a newly reborn soul, eyes wide open and ready to embrace the world anew.
In that moment, Fitran realized something profound: Void does not destroy. It merely offers choices. And that is what makes it the most dangerous.