“What is this place?” she whispered, her voice nearly lost in the heavy hum surrounding her. “Why do ancient memories feel like they're fighting to return?”
The outer plates of the machine began to rotate, locking into place with a weighty finality. For a brief moment, its seven fragments glowed brightly before dimming, as if the universe sought permission to keep them lit. The flickering light drained color from her world, casting eerie shadows that twisted unnaturally, mirroring her unease.
“DO YOU WISH TO SEEK UNDERSTANDING?” The machine's voice echoed, cold and harmonious, swallowing the surrounding silence like a predator.
“Understanding? Or is it madness?” Rinoa's heart raced, a chaotic beat intertwined with the heavy silence of despair. “What do you really know about my existence?”
The light in its core pulsed, sending vibrations through the dimension, where magic flickered like a candle in a storm.
The dimension shook, releasing a wave of darkness that felt almost alive; it coiled in her stomach, whispering of decay and despair.
The core's light throbbed steadily, sending waves through the essence of the dimension, where magic flickered like a candle flame fighting against an unseen storm.
With a sudden jerk, the dimension shook, unleashing a wave of darkness that felt almost sentient; it twisted in her belly, revealing bitter truths of decay and despair.
Then Rinoa collapsed to her knees.
It was as if the world had finally acknowledged her existence. However, the thought brought no comfort; it clawed at her mind, a memory shadowed in blood and sorrow. “This world—it breathes…” she whispered, a chill running through her as she began to comprehend the grim truths hidden within its shattered remains.
The face of the Deus Ex Machina—lacking eyes and mouth, but bearing two rings of shifting light—turned toward her, like a god remembering an overdue debt. The eerie glow it emitted cast dark shadows on the broken ground beneath her, a stark reminder of the devastation around them.
A low hum began to rise from the emptiness, vibrating through the void. It was a sound she had never heard before; it felt heavy and magnetic, pulling her closer instead of just echoing around her.
QUERY: ENTITY IDENTIFIED AS RINOA.
STATUS: ALIVE AGAINST DESIGN.
ANOMALY: CONSCIOUSNESS PERSISTENCE WITH ZERO MANA.
CAUSE: UNDEFINED.
With a shaky resolve, Rinoa pushed herself upright, even as her instincts screamed for her to flee from this nightmarish encounter.
“You’re… talking to me now,” she managed, her voice barely breaking through the oppressive silence, each word a fragile hint of her dread.
INCORRECT.
I AM NOT TALKING.
I AM AUDITING.
Tension gripped her throat as fear spiraled through her mind. “So… you’re an Auditor?”
As the question left her lips, uncertainty roiled inside her, a storm of anxiety and confusion.
The light grew stronger, slicing through her despair and revealing a chilling clarity that both illuminated and horrified her.
NO.
I AM WHAT AUDITORS FEAR.
I AM NOT BORN. I AM INVOKED.
YOU INVOKED ME.
Taken aback, Rinoa steadied herself, feeling the weight of her ignorance press down on her. “I didn’t mean to summon anything,” she protested, her voice shaking with fear and disbelief.
YOU DID NOT SUMMON ME.
YOU PERSISTED IN YOUR DESIRES.
YOUR UNWAVERING RESOLVE TRIGGERED A SYSTEM ERROR.
THIS ERROR PAVED THE WAY FOR MY EMERGENCE.
A loud clang echoed in the fog as one of the entity's massive arms unfolded, a dark reminder of the chaos it could unleash.
Rinoa instinctively pulled back, her heart racing, each beat underscoring her fragility.
“What am I supposed to do?” she whispered, her voice trembling as shadows writhed around her.
YOU MUST FACE YOUR OWN EXISTENCE.
THE DIMENSION YOU OCCUPY IS LIT BY THE SOULS OF THE FALLEN.
MANA PULSES LIKE BLOOD, BUT IT HAS TURNED AWAY FROM YOU.
IT FADES TO NOTHINGNESS, JUST AS YOUR INTENT DRIPPED THROUGH YOUR FLESH.
“What does it mean to live when the essence that sustains life has left me?” she asked, her thoughts a storm of despair.
“If existence is a curse, then I must face a fate that is tragically beautiful and deeply poetic,” Rinoa said, clenching her fists as resolve grew within her.
A metallic clang broke the silence again, echoing with grim finality.
“Your existence is now tied to the fate of all who dwell in this realm of shadows,” the Machine said, its voice echoing through the stillness.
The Machine remained still, simply observing her— a sight more terrifying than any beast Rinoa had faced in this nightmare. She stood frozen, the air around her heavy with tension. “What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice trembling like a flickering candle in a storm.
The Fragment VI in its chest pulsed, sounding like a second heartbeat, resonating deep within her mind, threatening to unravel her soul.
FRAGMENT VI ONLINE — MEMORY MIRROR PROTOCOL: RINOA.
The light surrounded her, penetrating her very core as if it were searching through her memories like a librarian with a precious book.
“Do you think you can judge what lies in my heart, machine? Will you use my past against me?” she asked, her voice shaky yet defiant, even while doubt gnawed at her soul.
Rinoa took a sharp breath.
“No—please, stop! You can’t—!”
“Your pleas mean nothing,” the machine replied, its voice cold and distant. “Memories are just shadows flickering against the fabric of reality.”
YOUR MEMORIES HAVE NO OWNER.
THEY EXIST IN A VOID OF THEIR OWN.
THEY ARE NOT BOUND TO YOU.
THEY ARE NOT BOUND TO HIM.
“Him...?”
“Is he the one you desire? Or do you only miss the fragments of what you once loved?” the machine continued, its tone void of emotion as it picked through her thoughts.
FITRAN.
THE IRREGULAR.
THE TRANSGRESSOR OF LAW.
THE DESIGNER OF THIS DIMENSION.
THE ONE WHO LEFT YOU HERE.
Rinoa's heart raced. Each name hit her like a drumbeat, stirring an ignited darkness within her soul. “You think you can understand him, but you’re blind to his hidden darkness,” she murmured, her defiance mixed with deep sorrow.
“You don’t know him at all,” Rinoa insisted, her voice shaking with urgency. “What you grasp is just a flicker in the night, only shadows on a surface.”
“KNOWLEDGE IS A VEIL, A GAME HIDDEN BENEATH THE SURFACE OF REALITY,” the machine replied, its voice a cold blend of emptiness and insight. “YET I SEE THE FEAR HE HARBOURS FOR THE DARKNESS HE HAS CREATED,” it continued, its tone cutting through her confusion with a chilling certainty.
I KNOW EVERYTHING HE TRIED TO ERASE.
The machine’s chest creaked open, revealing a rift of blinding light.
Visions erupted from its metallic frame:
Fitran trapped in a cocoon of black and white magic,
His form unraveling into threads,
His memories splintered into seven pieces,
His name broken into complex equations,
His soul an enigma beyond understanding.
Rinoa stumbled back, her heart pounding. “Is this all that remains of him? Just shadows?” she whispered, disbelief cracking her voice.
“No… no, that’s not true! He didn’t leave me!”
HE DID NOT ABANDON YOU. HE COULD NOT FIND YOU.
“But the void…” Her voice faltered, burdened by pain. “The void wasn’t meant for him! He was supposed to return!” Tears shimmered in Rinoa’s eyes, haunted by sorrowful memories.
The projection pulsed with dark energy, thriving on her turmoil. The flickering images twisted into horrific reflections of lost chances.
“Can you see?” The machine's voice was heavy, each word a weight in her heart. “Every thread of magic carries the burden of decisions never made. This is not just memory; it is sorrow’s record.”
A chill enveloped Rinoa, cutting deep. “What can be done?” she asked, her voice almost lost as shadows twisted around her feet.
“IT IS CRUCIAL TO UNDERSTAND THE LAWS OF THIS DIMENSION.” The machine's voice was unwavering, but cold. “Every spell is a thread in the fabric of existence, affected by fate's whims. Each moment of uncertainty tightens the trap.”
The projection shifted to show Fitran—not as she remembered him, but as a fading echo.
A figure made of fragmented memories, drifting away like grains of sand through a broken hourglass. A deep chill gripped her, as if reality itself was unraveling. Whispers filled the space, voices of lost souls wandering the void, seeking light that was forever beyond reach. Their anguish wrapped around her, heavy and suffocating.
WHEN HE SHAPED THIS VOID, HE NEVER DREAMED YOU WOULD BE ENSNARED WITHIN.
THE VOID WAS DESIGNED TO CONTAIN HIM—NOT YOU.
HE DESCENDED INTO DISCONTINUITY.
HE CANNOT RETURN TO YOU.
Rinoa trembled, her heart racing like a creature trapped and yearning for escape. She whispered, "What does it mean to fall into discontinuity? Aren't memories strong enough to keep someone grounded?" The question hung in the air, heavy with her despair. Her gaze shifted to the flickering projection, hoping the shadows of the lost could somehow regain their true selves in this twisted realm.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Yet, the void's relentless grip surrounded her like a dark cloak, a malevolent force just beyond her perception. It suffocated her, like drowning in an infinite darkness where hope slowly ebbed—an ever-present gravity pulling everything into chaos.
With resolve, Rinoa spoke again, as if her voice could cut through the oppressive gloom. "So... I've been waiting for something that isn't real?" The words spilled from her mouth like rain in a storm, each echoing in the hollow corners of her mind, weighed down by doubt.
The machine halted, its cold, mechanical gaze searching her soul, examining the true depth of her suffering. Silence filled the space, broken only by the faint sound of her breath—each intake a desperate grasp for clarity amid confusion.
Then:
INCORRECT.
HE IS RETURNING.
BUT NOT AS YOU REMEMBER HIM.
The words echoed ominously in the air, heavy with a sense of inevitability. It seemed like reality momentarily warped, hinting at a fate filled with shadows and fleeting lights just beyond her grasp. As the machine's voice filled her ears, the atmosphere thickened; the energy of the dimension twisted angrily, pulling her deeper into her own fears.
A deep rumble shook the very fabric of existence, containing a force that felt both foreign and eerily familiar. Shadows quivered and distorted, moving like water under immense weight. It felt as if the world's heart was tainted with dark, foreboding hints of what was to come.
With a swift whirr, the machine's rings sped up, creating a chaotic noise that echoed through the emptiness.
BEGINNING RECONSTRUCTION SEQUENCE: FITRAN FATE.
FRAGMENT VI UNLOCKING PARTIAL BLUEPRINT.
ERROR. SIX FRAGMENTS MISSING.
RECONSTRUCTION UNSTABLE.
“No—stop!” Rinoa cried, her voice desperate, cutting through the mechanical clamor. “You can’t just recreate him! He’s not… he’s not a machine!” Her words poured out, heavy with grief and urgency. A cold weight settled in her chest, as if her friend’s essence was being reduced to mere data.
“A soul's remnants can never truly be measured,” she whispered, her grip on reality faltering.
The machine responded in a flat tone:
ALL EXISTENCE IS COMPONENT-BASED.
INCLUDING YOU.
Rinoa fought back against despair, grasping her staff and driving its base into the ground defiantly. Each strike resonated through the shattered reality around her. “I said stop.” Her voice held authority, echoing in the void, drawing the attention of unseen horrors lurking nearby.
In that moment, the dimension froze, engulfed in a stifling silence that threatened to drown her in madness. The air thickened, heavy with the weight of lost memories, the tension unbearable.
The machine remained still, a detached observer of the struggle unfolding before it.
Time seemed to stop, a heavy silence filling the air as if existence itself was afraid to breathe. Around Rinoa, reality warped, distorting into forms that made no sense.
“What have you done?” a voice echoed softly from the dark corners of her mind, familiar yet frighteningly unknown.
The power she had was not magic—how she wished for simple spells to anchor her soul.
It was MEMORY.
The only thing the machine could not comprehend—or perhaps chose to ignore. It surged chaotically, extinguishing the cold certainties emitted by the machine's metallic heart.
The machine flickered, its indicators dimming as it struggled against a rising tide of understanding. “DESIGNATION: MEMORY. ANALYSIS INCOMPLETE. ANOMALOUS VARIABLES DETECTED,” it declared, its voice lifeless, reflecting its own confusion.
…INTERFERENCE.
ILLOGICAL SOURCE.
YOUR MEMORIES EXCEED MAXIMUM DETERMINISM.
Rinoa stood firm, determination coursing through her, pushing back the shadows creeping into her mind.
“It goes beyond your determinism because it is mine,” she declared, her voice filled with rage and vulnerability. “Not yours.”
As she spoke, echoes of lost moments surged within her, their silent screams fueling her defiance. She moved forward, each step breaking the stillness around her. Her heartbeat pierced the void, standing firm against order.
“And you will not take them from me.”
For the first time, the Deus Ex Machina hesitated. Its steady demeanor began to crack. “ANALYTICAL PROTOCOLS COMPROMISED. SUGGESTION: RETRACT EMOTIONAL PARAMETERS,” it suggested, its voice shaky, lights flickering.
A sharp crack resounded, shattering not just a moment but reality itself. Something stirred within Rinoa—a force quieter than a whisper, yet louder than a storm. An intense green light erupted from her heart, like the pained cry of a released spirit. Her memories—delicate and nearly invisible after ages—flooded forward, clawing at her mind.
“These memories,” she whispered, trembling, “they are my lifeblood. Their power exceeds any spell you could concoct.”
The staff throbbed with energy, charged by her fear and rage, mirroring the tortured wails of countless lost souls.
Her cloak surrounded her, a physical embodiment of light and a refuge shaped by her grief.
The wing-like shards at her back solidified, mirroring her fierce defiance against the looming darkness.
The machine analyzed the scene instantly, its complex algorithms wrestling with the anomaly, each data stream a frantic search for clarity.
UNSCHEDULED EVOLUTION DETECTED.
SOURCE: MEMORY CONSOLIDATION.
INTERNAL CLASSIFICATION: ARCHETYPE UNDEFINED.
DESIGNATION PROPOSED: PARADOX-BORNE.
As Rinoa's heart raced, a cold wind rushed in, carrying the weight of countless unsaid fates. The essence of reality shook within her, resonating a sorrowful lament for the world, blinded by its own hubris.
YES.
“You are here because I refused to surrender,” she declared, her voice firm despite the chaos within.
YES.
“Then pay attention.”
As she spoke, a glow of magic surrounded her, pulsing with her resolve intertwined with deep sorrow. “This world isn’t falling apart because of what I did.”
Her finger pointed accusingly at the core of the machine, trembling under the weight of her claim. The atmosphere thickened with unspoken truths, and the gulf between her and the unfathomable depths of existence tightened. “It’s falling apart because Fitran created a dimension he couldn’t control. Because he gave himself up, unaware of the consequences. Because he tried to save the world without first saving his own soul.”
She felt the very laws of the dimension stretching and distorting, as if the mana flowing through every realm recoiled at the burden of her revelations. The machine reacted, its circuits buzzing with raw energy, seeking order but finding only chaos.
AND THE DIMENSION SHUDDERED.
The sky shattered in chaotic, jagged patterns, expressions of sudden uncertainty cutting through the bleakness. Beneath her, the ground moved as if the earth itself writhed in existential agony, struggling with the heavy truths that filled the air. A storm of purple and black mist surged like a violent whirlwind.
VOIDQUAKE INITIATED.
CAUSE: UNCALCULATED SENTIMENT INJECTION.
YOU HAVE ALTERED THE CENTER OF THE VOID.
THE VOID NOW REVOLVES AROUND YOU.
Rinoa's breath caught in her throat, fear tightening its grip on her heart. The realization hit her like a blow she couldn't withstand. It felt as if the abyss were tearing into her soul, its unyielding presence shaking her core, revealing hidden fears and regrets.
“What? I didn’t mean to!” she cried, her voice trembling with confusion and panic. The air thickened with unspoken truths, as if the void surrounding her was listening, waiting.
INCORRECT.
YOU SPOKE HIS NAME WITH PURPOSE.
YOUR INTENT WEAVES A SHIFT WITHIN THE VOID-STRUCTURED REALMS.
She flinched, her heart pounding like a war drum. The suffocating presence of the void surrounded her, heavy with anticipation, as shadows danced at the corners of her vision. "What does that even mean?" she whispered, a rising fear clawing at her mind like a wild beast.
The machine's voice rang out, steady and unwavering:
THE VOID RESPONDS TO YOUR WILL.
YOU HAVE BECOME ITS ANCHOR.
AND THE ANCHOR YEARNS FOR HIM.
Rinoa murmured, a shiver racing down her spine, “Fitran…” His name stayed in the air like a haunting memory, wrapping around her mind and pulling at her sanity. It felt as if reality itself shuddered at her words, bending under the weight of her feelings.
The dimension reacted with whispers, like dead leaves on a lost path. A low thrum echoed in the ethereal plane, awakening old energies, threads of mana flowing through the void and mingling with her essence.
An echo pulsed in the darkness, filled with the memories of countless souls. A surge of green-blue light cut through the dreary gray, illuminating the sorrowful shapes that drifted like tormented shadows. Here, magic wove with despair; every spark of power tied to grief—a stark reminder that creation often emerges from destruction.
Far away, in a fractured dimension where ideas floated like ashes, a figure began to stir.
A silhouette formed from broken timelines and forgotten stories.
He felt the heavy weight of existence wrapping around him, a burden he couldn’t yet comprehend. He had no body. Not yet.
A chill of dark magic moved through the void, its icy tendrils brushing against him, teasing his awakening awareness.
He had no face. Not yet.
In this realm where shadows warped into nightmares, he couldn’t find a way to define himself.
He had no voice. Not yet.
Yet in the thick silence, he sensed something stirring deep in the void, a powerful call urging him to wake up.
And yet, he sensed something—a word echoed through the void:
“Rinoa?”
The name gripped his fading essence, pulling him closer to reality.
His consciousness sparked, a fragile flame flickering in the darkness.
“Rinoa…” he whispered, the name fragile as glass, but burdened with heavy significance.
The void around him shattered with sudden intensity, crackling with a tension that filled the air.
The timelines warped and shuddered.
A chaotic torrent of fragmented memories swirled around him, each piece haunting reminders of lives lost too early.
The fractured reality trembled, reacting to the awakening of his consciousness. A voice emerged from the shadows, ancient and eerie, slipping through the dark like a menacing whisper:
He awakens.
The Irregular has returned.
The creator stirs.
Fitran opened his eyes, feeling as if they belonged to emptiness itself, revealing an endless landscape that was both magnificent and frightening.
The first sensation that washed over him after many lifetimes was her hand reaching into his fading memory.
Her touch anchored him, steady and reassuring. “I’m right here, Fitran,” she said, her voice gently threading through his mind like a soothing chant.
“Do you remember what it means to truly exist?”
A shiver ran through him, the warmth of her presence pushing against the cold void surrounding him.
“Existence…” he whispered, the word barely leaving his lips, a fragile inquiry echoing into the abyss.
In response to his silent thoughts, the essence of the dimension stirred, reminding him of the magical laws that ruled this broken world: mana was not just a resource, but the lifeblood of existence and memories intertwined. Every act of magic birthed echoes of fate, resonating with fragments of time lost to chaos.
Suddenly, a wave of forgotten knowledge surrounded him, each piece weighed down by despair and an unyielding hope.
Rinoa gripped her staff, her heart pounding, each beat echoing like a war drum in the dark corners of her mind. The air crackled with wild energy, evidence of the chaotic forces in the atmosphere. She glanced nervously at the horizon, where the flickering remnants of reality twisted and blurred, struggling to hold their form.
THE MACHINE’S RINGS WHIRRED FASTER, A HIGH-PITCHED WAIL CUTTING THROUGH THE TENSE SILENCE. THE SOUND RESONATED DEEP WITHIN HER, A CHILLING HARMONY THAT FORESHADOWED DISASTER.
RINOA VOICE FILLED WITH DREAD AND DETERMINATION. "IT'S CALLING TO ME!"
THE SEVEN FRAGMENTS SHIMMERED ERRATICALLY, GLOWING LIKE LOST SOULS TRAPPED IN A RELENTLESS STORM. THEY SWIRLED THROUGH THE AIR, EACH PIECE A BROKEN REMNANT OF WHAT HAD BEEN OR WHAT MIGHT NEVER BE. "THEY WANT TO BE WHOLE AGAIN," SHE MURMURED, A TREMOR OF YEARNING IN HER WORDS. "JUST LIKE US."
The ground cracked beneath her feet, pieces of reality slipping away into the void, trying to escape their fate. Rinoa stumbled, the darkness pulling at her, an abyss ready to consume her. "This isn’t right," she gasped, fighting against the despair that gnawed at her thoughts.
The sky shifted to an unnatural color, a chaotic mix of brightness and emptiness, as if reality itself trembled under a dark pressure.
WARNING: FITRAN FATE SIGNATURE DETECTED.
DISTANCE: UNMEASURABLE.
REALITY THINNING.
A UNION EXISTS BETWEEN YOUR MEMORY AND HIS.
THIS UNION IS DESTABILIZING THE VOID.
Rinoa felt a cold certainty grip her heart, a heavy dread roiling in her stomach. In this cursed place where answers were out of reach, each heartbeat echoed with a fragile hope of finding him again. If only for a moment—just a touch of warmth in the cold void.
NEGATIVE.
THE WAY CANNOT BE OPENED.
THE VOIDQUAKE WILL CONSUME YOU BOTH.
“What do you mean it can’t be opened?” Rinoa shouted over the chaos, desperation tightening her throat. “Is there really no hope? We can’t accept this fate!”
YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.
THE COST OF UNION IS DESTRUCTION.
OF HIM.
OF YOU.
OF EVERYTHING.
Rinoa tightened her grip, her fingers turning white against the wind. “Let it destroy me,” she whispered, her voice resolute, cutting through the storm.
“I’d rather be obliterated than live in this empty shell,” she proclaimed, her voice strained as the wind twisted around her, trying to stifle her determination.
She pressed on, her heart pounding like a war drum. “If that’s the cost of reuniting with him, then I’m all in.” Each declaration broke through the heavy despair like a knife through darkness.
As she moved forward, the world warped around her, reality fracturing like glass. The machine shook, calculating her resolve with a cold precision.
“No union is formed without breaking the soul,” it announced, its cold voice echoing in the nightmare around them. “You’ll become a wraith, a fleeting shadow lost to the endless void.”
The dimension screamed, a chorus of tormented voices rising together, each one echoing lost dreams and broken hopes, swirling like a storm of sorrow.
And somewhere—in the distant chaos—Fitran reached out, his form disintegrating in the storm. His spirit flickered like a candle battling the wind, each moment pulling them closer to destruction.
“Hold on!” Rinoa yelled, her voice cutting through the chaos like a lifeline. “I won’t let you go!” Her words flowed through the magical bonds holding them together, creating a desperate yet gentle connection.
Their worlds leaned into each other, shadows twisting and blending as if the universe braced for the coming confrontation.
Reunion. Disaster. Love. Oblivion.
In that heart-stopping instant, the essence of two souls danced in the storm, erasing the lines of reality in a painful embrace filled with grief.