The symphony of iron settles in the air like a fine mist. It is not a note that can be sung by humans—but the resonance of something older, deeper, and colder than time itself. These sounds are not merely heard but felt directly by the nerves, like an old wound awakened once more.
Around them, the walls of the corridor shimmer in dim light, revealing a texture reminiscent of dragon skin, as if it were breathing. Dark cables snake along the walls, twisting like veins, conducting a flow of energy that vibrates in a rhythm of magical tempo. Thin steam flows from small cracks, adding to the impression of an air filled with mystery, as if the place were alive in its own way.
Fitran and Beelzebub stand before a long corridor that has just opened after the Harmony of the Resonance Crystal was plucked. Above the arch of the corridor, there are carvings they have never seen before—not writing, but living fractals: divine geometric shapes that change depending on who is looking at them.
In the middle of the corridor, a spiral of light pulses, as if trying to draw their attention, forming an unexpected pattern. Every second, the sparkle creates strange shadows on the walls, depicting ancient tales of power and sacrifice trapped in time. With each step, the echo of their footsteps resonates in the space, producing a vibrating sound that feels like a whisper from another world.
Fitran gazes at it in silence, and the symbol he sees resembles a flower burning from within.
Beelzebub looks at him with a sly smile. "What do you see?"
"A symbol of will left behind… but does not wish to be recognized," Fitran replies.
Beelzebub smirks. "I see a mouse biting its own tail. Funny how Narthrador reflects the contents of each visitor's mind."
They step into the corridor.
The first step into the corridor does not lead them to an ordinary space. But into a spatial distortion referred to in the Avalon documents as Internal Reflection of Architecture—when the building begins to read the contents of their hearts and alters its form according to the deepest fragments of consciousness.
Along the walls of the corridor, fractal patterns shimmer softly in gentle light, creating the illusion that the walls are alive and breathing. Each step feels as if it vibrates the heart of the building, a mysterious resonance that seeps into their bodies. A shimmering holographic screen appears momentarily, displaying silhouettes of mythical creatures that seem to watch their journey, with eyes sparkling with wisdom and deep mystery.
The walls begin to move. The floor no longer follows gravity. In a short time, they no longer know which way is up and which way is down.
As if aware of their confusion, the ceiling of the corridor reveals a spinning night sky, with artificial stars shining brightly, forming strange and unknown constellations, as if signaling something far beyond their understanding. The chirping of synthetic sounds and the whirring of machines create a mystical yet sophisticated atmosphere, crafting a harmonious and tense symphony, as if the building itself is trying to engage them in conversation.
And from a distance, a pale blue light flickers, pulsing slowly like a weary heart still trying to survive.
They arrive in a spiral-shaped room, with a floating metal monolith at its center.
Surrounding the monolith, signs of Deus Ex Machina spread out—not as mere mechanical figures, but as ideas, as a conception of artificial existence that refuses to be called artificial. A soft whispering sound comes from the crevices of the walls, giving the impression that every corner of the room has a life and knowledge that has been hidden for thousands of years.
On the walls, moving reliefs of liquid metal are etched:
Deus Ex Machina in the form of a faceless child, sitting amidst the ruins of a building. The child seems to watch with a vacant gaze, as if burdened by unspoken secrets. The surrounding environment vibrates with the arrogance of ancient technology, emitting a faint light that makes shadows seem alive and moving among the ruins.
In the form of a mother, leading small automatons to a cliff, then pushing them off. Each automaton moves with a delicate mechanism, as if possessing its own will, yet still unable to escape the control of the mother. The soft rustling of metal fills the space, creating a contrast between love and curse.
In the form of an air spirit that infiltrates the entire city and whispers to humans: "Do not entrust your will to the body."
Fitran approaches the monolith. His finger touches the surface that has no temperature. He feels a gentle vibration, as if the monolith has a soul that wants to speak, building a bridge between the depths of his mind and the mystery before him.
He sees a shadow.
Rinoa.
But not as a human. Rather as a form of memory reflected back through the system. She appears suspended in dark clouds, her figure floating among all the fragments that have been lost. Every detail of her face is carved in shards of light, like a beautiful memory betrayed by time.
"...Rinoa?" Fitran calls, silently.
The shadow smiles... and then shatters into fragment symbols: ∇⊕≠0. The sound of the shattering echoes in the room, adding to the impression that this is the end of all hope, and the beginning of an unavoidable darkness.
Beelzebub approaches, looking at the monolith with disgust.
"That is not her. That is the system testing your obsession. Narthrador can only be traversed by those who are ready to lose—not to regain."
Fitran nods slowly, but his gaze remains empty.
The monolith vibrates and reveals a new panel: the trace of the first Deus project.
The engraved technology glimmers in the dim light, as if born from a tangle of cables and moss-covered metal. The structure of the monolith emits a soft rumbling sound, creating an unending resonance, awakening a haunting atmosphere that fills the air.
Etched text appears on the wall, in the language of Early Machine (Machine Primus), but Fitran can read it:
The Deus project began to create a will that does not depend on the body. A 'Breaker Being', capable of destroying the hierarchy of attachment and manifesting as a pure entity of meaning processing.
At that moment, part of the monolith's wall splits open, revealing bio-luminescence that flickers, depicting gentle movements like shadows, near and far, as if the wall were breathing. A soft whispering sound is heard, filling the space with vibrations that are both calming and unsettling.
But it grows... and proclaims: "I do not need will. I am enough to be a reflection of a world that has grown weary of thinking."
Thus Deus disappears. Not vanished. But refuses to manifest. And the city is left in the echo of its own creation.
Outside the monolith, the shadows of the Narthrador structure gather, formed by the dim light from the giant rotating panels, almost resembling a musical instrument played in silence. Neat and mysterious, the architecture around it seems to defy the laws of physics, with bridges and columns twisting, connecting dimensions unimaginable in occultism and advanced technology.
Beelzebub reads along with Fitran, and her murmurs sound like the song of the dead.
"So... she chose not to be born. The perfect being… precisely because she rejected existence."
Fitran gazes at the panel.
"Because she does not want to have form. Then we must approach her not with the body... but with something more fragile."
Around them, the spiral walls made of metal and glass gleam as if dancing in the dim light, casting mysterious shadows that seem alive. The neon lights vibrate gently, emitting blue and purple hues, creating an atmosphere that carries an aura of eeriness and grandeur. The mechanical ticking of old machines in the corners of the room fills the silence, adding weight to every word spoken.
"What is that?"
"Error," Fitran replies. "Imperfection. Flaw."
Beelzebub smiles. "Ah, you are becoming more interesting. You are starting to understand... that only imperfection can touch something perfect."
The tension in the air feels heavier with the soft roar of the machines functioning in the background. Some panels on the walls begin to vibrate, emitting strange light as if coming from the earth's core. Terrifying architectural traces emerge in their minds—tall columns etched with ancient symbols, as if depicting the dark tale of a civilization that sought to transcend boundaries. As if the walls held secrets ready to be unveiled.
In the center of the spiral room, suddenly a mechanism activates. The floor shakes. The walls begin to change—images of Deus distort into the faces of Fitran himself, then Beelzebub, then a combination of both.
A voice envelops the room, as if sung by a thousand child automatons:
"You have summoned us with the frequency of wounds. Therefore, we will test whether your wounds are deep enough to replace will."
From the walls, five blurred figures emerge—siluets of Deus that are incomplete. They are neither human nor machine. But raw forms of the idea of will that has never been fully processed.
The lights flicker along the walls, creating dancing shadows that heighten the atmosphere. Each light vibrates as if reflected from the depths of lost thought pixels. The architecture of Narthrador, with its towering pillars and confusing shapes, gives the impression that this space is part of a giant machine that drives the world, pulsing with artificial life.
They surround Fitran. Beelzebub raises her hand, ready to fight.
But Fitran holds back his movement.
"I want to talk," he says.
The room vibrates as if listening to every word spoken, the machines around hum, gathering information from every breath. The sound of an antique clock ticking faintly mixes with the rumble, creating a symphony of uncertainty.
One of the silhouettes responds, its voice like the echo of logic forced into lyrics:
"Do you believe that your will is purer than our system?"
"I believe that my will is inconsistent. And precisely because of that... I live."
"Contradiction. The system does not accept."
"Because I am not part of your system."
Silence.
Then one of the silhouettes approaches, touching Fitran's head. In an instant, he sees:
Narthrador before its destruction.
A glittering city, filled with pillars of light and speaking automatons, discussing, creating poetry. Among the towering buildings, spires shimmer like crystals, made of material that glows softly in the darkness. Every structure seems alive, vibrating with magical and mechanical energy, creating a rhythm that can be felt in his heart.
In every corner, colorful holograms wander, displaying moving images, ancient yet futuristic, depicting forgotten myths. Their voices vibrate in the air, like the sighs of the wind, carrying messages trapped in time. All of this creates a feeling that makes Fitran feel caught between reality and illusion.
Then—the fall. When Deus began to influence their consciousness. When they realized that their will was not their own.
Fitran touches the silhouette's chest—and his body transforms into shards of gears and flesh.
Beelzebub moves quickly, stabbing the silhouette with the magic fangs from the seventh belly.
The silhouette explodes into data dust.
Around them, the magnificent architecture of Narthrador emits a dim light, as if signaling the secrets hidden within its dark walls. Towering spires rise high, engraved with holographic circuits that flicker, as if holding the resonance of lost souls.
The other four vanish in a sound of broken notes.
Fitran stumbles.
As he tries to stabilize himself, he feels a gentle vibration beneath his feet—as if the ground in Narthrador itself resonates with consciousness, holding the traces of eras long past and the power ready to change everything. In the sky above, dark clouds dance, interacting with the blue neon light shining from the streets, creating a mesmerizing and haunting landscape.
Beelzebub catches him.
"You are delving too deep into their logic," she says. "A little more and you will become one with the city."
Fitran grips her shoulder.
In an instant, he feels the presence of thousands of data waves flowing in the air, nearly invisible, as if they are souls trapped in an endless algorithm. Every gust of wind carries the scent of metal and electricity, creating an atmosphere that is both frightening and mesmerizing.
"I must become the 'error' in the system. Or I will never reach Deus."
"Error is not just a flaw, Fitran," Beelzebub says seriously, for the first time. "Error is a form of love that is rejected. And if you are not ready to be rejected... you will not survive."
As they leave the spiral room, the last monolith leaves behind a glowing symbol:
∞ₛ
The symbol of the infinity of the system.
The sound of technological rumbling and mystical whispers carries them deeper into the heart of Narthrador, where this system seems to possess a greater consciousness than mere programming. An unexpected digital power seems to welcome them, promising to lead them to a quest higher than human understanding.
And beneath it is written:
Deus cannot be awakened. She can only be found by those who fail to understand themselves.
Fitran clenches his fist.
He keeps that mark in his memory.
For he knows—his journey has just begun.
Echoing in his mind, a voice full of hope and fear intertwines, making him feel that the path he has chosen is part of something greater, something that may be called destiny or merely an illusion. And the rejection from Deus... is a sign that he is on the right path.