The sky above Atlantis no longer reflects the colors of the sea; it trembles in a soft dance of grayish ash, as if signaling a deep sadness and the emptiness that envelops the place. Markuez stood atop the Aquanor Tower, a sacred site where poets of the past once raised their voices to sing of peace, now a mere memory. This place is now silent, inhabited only by an oppressive quiet and a singular voice that breaks the stillness, the last remaining breath of hope.
"Have you ever killed someone… just to keep the world clean?" The voice emerged from the darkness, unspoken yet originating from a shadow reluctant to materialize—Fitran.
Markuez fell silent, unable to respond. In his left hand, a secret paper from the council of Gaia unraveled like a web of intricate mistakes, filled with profound hesitation. In his right hand, a scrap of a photograph showed a little girl—her eyes empty, her skin cracked by transmutation magic, her body a result of a horrific experiment involving a combination of rare minerals and the remaining human souls that were not entirely understood, creating a deep pain for a teacher like him.
The child… was his student, a painful memory.
"If you remain silent, this blood will continue to flow," Fitran continued, his voice cold and authoritative. "But if you act… they will label you a traitor, a murderer, a monster."
Markuez gazed at the gray sky, wrestling with his own emotions. He was a teacher, a guardian, an educator. Not an executioner. Yet, Fitran's words began to shake his conviction of his true self. He wasn't being forcibly manipulated; he was simply faced with a choice too cruel to be considered humane.
"That was Elbert's experiment," Fitran said, accusingly.
"Impossible," Markuez replied, his voice trembling.
"This school has a safeguard that prevents all dark magic from being used," Markuez explained, attempting to hold on to his remaining logic.
"Isn't there a teacher who can negate that effect?" Fitran countered, his tone low yet firm, hitting a deep point of doubt in Markuez's heart that was starting to waver.
Marquez fell silent for a moment, contemplating the name that flitted through his mind, "Juliet." However, his thoughts were clouded by the onslaught of doubt; Juliet was an exemplary teacher, a revered figure, someone who could never be involved in such dark matters.
"The Capulet family is one of the council members," Fitran stated firmly, startling Marquez as if lightning had struck a clear sky.
"I can't believe that," Marquez replied with a quivering voice, his tone laden with deep uncertainty and concern.
"This will take time," Fitran said, his eyes shining with determination as he began to summon his magic.
Marquez frowned, but the words caught in his throat. A soft light, like stardust, began to swirl around Fitran. His hand rose slowly, his movements calm and unaggressive, yet they felt as if they pierced the boundaries between time, thought, and soul.
"Anamnesis: Recode."
Marquez felt no physical change in his body, but his eyes widened in astonishment. He began to see...
His past. That was not his own.
He witnessed the high-ranking officials of Gaia — sitting grandly upon shimmering crystal thrones, laughing cruelly like evil kings over the ruins of Atlantis that swallowed countless souls. In the shadowy vision, Iris appeared, her face blurred yet full of deceit, sending poison through a pact that concealed lies. The voice of Lord Hector echoed, heavy with intimidation and hatred as he spoke:
"Let them drown. The world is better off without the sea."
Marquez saw himself — helplessly standing, surrounded by terrifying laughter, betrayed by those who were supposed to protect him.
"They... butcher our children for power.
"They torture young witches."
"They... destroy the Genesis manuscripts."
No. No. NO.
This is not the reality he wants to believe. Yet, his heart continues to deny logic, battling against every shred of evidence. Memory, with its astounding power, can even surpass reason, delving into the depths of the soul and awakening dormant feelings. And Fitran, with his vast knowledge, understands this.
"Fitran... I... all this time... I was blind..."
"I know," Fitran replied gently, his voice as soothing as a whispering wind. "But now you see."
Tears slowly streamed down Marquez's face, not from the sorrow that weighed on his soul, but because he felt enlightened, as if a new light had illuminated the long-concealed darkness within him.
"You have given me the truth," he said, his voice trembling with meaning and hope.
"I merely helped you remember," Fitran replied in a soft yet firm tone, as if reminding Marquez of the extraordinary power of his memories.
Fitran turned, his cloak billowing gracefully in the cool wind, creating a majestic image reminiscent of a king. His steps were calm, brimming with confidence that radiated an aura of leadership. Behind him, Markuez had transformed into a perfect instrument carved from injustice; not because he was controlled, but because he chose to seek vengeance for something that never truly happened, a dark shadow cloaking his heart like morning mist.
"Begin with those you trust the most," Fitran said, his voice filled with wisdom flowing softly yet firmly, as if penetrating layers of doubt.
"False trust is the sharpest wound," he added, emphasizing the danger of betrayal hidden behind sweet smiles.
And the skies of Atlantis finally wept, raindrops seemingly empathizing with profound sorrow, bringing a gentle rhythm that accompanied Markuez's journey of self-discovery that had just begun.
In truth, Marquez and Elbert were allies and good friends.
"Anamnesis: Recode."
"Activate."
When the spell is active, darkness envelops the entire space, blocking out all light. No flash pierces the silence. Only the sound of time quietly recedes like forgotten footsteps, transforming the color of blood into blossoming petals.
"Old memories are not erased."
They are stored on silent shelves, rewritten with ink that never spills, eternal in their stillness. And then... the false becomes the only reality remembered.
The victim's eyes blink in despair, like a lantern struggling to emit light in thick fog. Their lips murmur names once loathed — now, with a heart full of gratitude, they surrender. Tears fall not only from the gaping wounds... but also from the belief that each wound is part of a destiny wholeheartedly embraced.
"Fitran does not control your body."
They do not require domination.
Because after Anamnesis: Recode,
you will choose to submit. With all your heart, without reserve.
This is how Beelzebub narrates the power of the magic, conveying a tale filled with mystery and wonder. His words flow like an unbroken stream, awakening an insatiable hunger within the souls of every listener. Even the appearance of a giant pupa, stepping slowly out of the shadows, adds an air of eeriness and enchantment to the story.
"Calm down, my child," Beelzebub continued softly, gently caressing the pupa with tenderness, like a patient mother awaiting the birth of her offspring. His gentle touch symbolizes hope and desire, creating a magical aura around the giant figure born from darkness.
"Your father will continue to provide you with sustenance .....
Atlantis School, Floor 50, Atonement Room, Year 10 AD
07:00 PM
Marquez found himself in a dark room on the 50th floor, confronting five shadowy figures draped in mystery. They took on the form of small children, their strikingly pale gray skin devoid of mouths, ears, or eyes. Yet, hidden beneath the shadows was a third mouth that only opened when a false echo filled the air, suffused with tension, awakening a viral sense of fear.
"Echo-eater," said the first figure, its voice vanishing instantly, swallowed by the silence that enveloped them, followed by the other four falling into silence as well.
The creature could neither speak nor read—yet its presence was charged with an unusual power, signifying a remarkable destructive potential. It possessed the ability to savor distortions of meaning with precision. While magic like Echolalia served to compel people to utter words that were not their own, the Echo-Eater would leap towards that sound and devour it, erasing that voice from existence forever. Within a certain radius, all echoes of magic would shatter, returning the original mind to its true consciousness—though often accompanied by side effects such as temporary loss of voice or even the complete inability to speak, a steep price to pay for the freedom of expression.
This mysterious creature, with its terrifying powers, was lent by Fitran to Marquez, a bold move filled with tension.
Without hesitation, Marquez launched an attack using his quantum spectrum, unleashing deadly force. He caused the blood of the high-ranking officials to evaporate from their bodies, leaving them in a dying state, drained of blood and life, like shadows erased by blinding light.
Resonantia suddenly appeared, enveloping the room with a mysterious aura and causing the Echo eater to vanish in an instant. Before disappearing, the Echo eater devoured Fitran's magic, Anamnesis: Recode. In that moment, Marquez was awakened once more, his gaze sweeping around the room, discovering five high-ranking officials of Gaia lying helplessly before him, lifeless. A relieved smile crept across his face, even though he himself did not fully understand where that feeling came from.
Not long after, Pastor and Julie arrived.
Fitran sealed his memory.
Beelzebub vanished.
A Few Months Ago at Grand Castle Gaia, Terra.
Under the dark night sky, the moonlight illuminated the royal throne, reflecting a mysterious aura like a mirror capturing shadows. In the castle's rear hall, where the Queen often sought solace in meditation, the atmosphere felt as if it were before creation: silent, cold, and full of tension.
Fitran stepped in cautiously, without a grand cloak or symbols of his past. This time, he came as a person — not as magic, not as a legend told, but as a human filled with curiosity about something that had intertwined with the echoes of his power.
He felt that the aura of this space was different. There was no echo of his footsteps resonating in the silence. No whispers of thoughts lured him. And most strikingly, there were no shadows following his steps.
At the end of the room stood a faceless creature, a figure that appeared both frightening and mysterious.
"A child... no, not human at all," he murmured to himself.
"Its skin looked like dried, wounded fabric, as if it harbored dark tales."
"It didn't gaze back, yet the world seemed to stop moving when it faced you."
Fitran paused momentarily, ensnared in the dense silence.
"I didn't expect to find it here," Beelzebub suddenly appeared beside Fitran, his voice like a whisper of the night wind.
"So this is what makes Iris's position strong, despite her involvement in various major issues and boldly announcing in public that she is sleeping with you," Beelzebub continued before disappearing into the silence without another word.
Fitran was confused, but an understanding crept into his mind. The creature before him seemed to be a reflection of himself.
Fitran opened his mouth, forced to utter the words filled with tension.
"You… are the one called Echo-Eater?"
No answer came from the creature, and that was what troubled his thoughts the most.
Typically, silence is a void that can be filled, a space that can be built from nothingness. However, in this moment, the silence felt like gazing at a thing that rejected the very existence of communication, frozen in the uncertainty of time.
"Are you a creature... or a weapon?" The questions slipped from his lips. "Are you aware?" "Can you... be shaped?" The voices soared, but no answer returned. Suddenly, the last word vanished from his mind, as if swallowed by darkness.
"Shape." What did that word mean anymore? He tried to dig deeper, but his brain skipped over its meaning like a dark chasm, a void that rejected all understanding.
At the same time, the magical light that always followed Fitran... trembled, as if sensing the vibrations of uncertainty. The spells that had previously clung to his body began to blister slowly, not in a fire that burns, not in destruction—but vanished as if they had never existed.
"Echolalia: Veil of Submission" — failed, a spell that shattered in an instant.
"Voice Loop Binding" — disappeared without a trace.
"Anamnesis: Recode (Echo's Remnant)" — melted like ink spilled beneath a quiet drizzle of rain.
Echo-Eater took a single step, its movement tracing the soundless space, like a shadow creeping forward. No clatter. No threat. Yet, Fitran... stepped back half a pace.
Not because of a blanket of fear shrouding him,
but rather because he was ensnared in a web of uncertainty.
In Fitran's world, ignorance was a horror that infiltrated his bones, creeping into every joint.
"I have fought many supernatural creatures. I have incited people using echoes and words, but you…"
"…you lack structure. You have no will. Therefore, I cannot defeat you."
Fitran lowered his gaze, his mind dwelling on deep thoughts. For the first time,
he found himself trapped in a verbal void, words seemingly vanished, unable to crawl out from the confines of his tightly sealed lips.
"He encountered an entity that was impossible to conquer."
The entity operated beyond the win-lose game scheme, transcending every boundary of human understanding.
Echo-Eater halted precisely one meter away from him, creating a silence that echoed ominously between them.
And Fitran, with a voice weak and almost undetectable — neither magic, nor command, nor incantation — simply mustered the courage to speak:
"If you guard the truth, do not disturb my lies... they need it to survive."
Echo-Eater stood stunned in an oppressive silence, as if the space around them pulsated with waves of tension.
Then… he turned away, stepping slowly like a shadow disappearing into the darkness.
He neither rejected nor gave his consent. However, the entire room felt as if he were saying:
"They will survive... only if the echo is not poison."
Then, he left, leaving behind a roar of uncertainty that haunted the remaining space, as if every corner whispered about what might happen next.
Fitran stood alone in the deep silence. This time, he was not a manipulator, but someone who sensed the piercing gaze of silence itself, as if every heartbeat resonated to create an echo within the emptiness around him.
"If silence is a rejection of meaning, then I will create a meaning that will never be silenced," Fitran declared, his voice echoing in the empty space.
In the depths of his magic tower, there was a hidden place known as The Symmetry Room — a strange room without corners or light, where echoes not only bounced back but multiplied, as if possessing a life of their own.
Fitran stood in the center of the room, surrounded by copies of voices, shadows of every note he had ever imbued within hundreds of souls. These were not mere recordings; rather, they formed an aggregation of living, vibrating identities, each resonance a silent witness to tales of the past.
All these words were gathered, coalescing in the quiet, profound essence of the space.
From this collection, he sought to create something more than just an echo.
Name: Resonantia
("That which exists only as an echo")
This unseen creature took the form of a little girl with blindfolded eyes, her skin deep black and her mouth nonexistent. When she appeared, all sound transformed into a version of herself. Every utterance produced by another began to gradually morph into the resonance of Fitran's voice. Even the inner thoughts of his victims started to "think in the distinct tone of Fitran."
"She does not whisper commands," but creates a world where it seems Fitran is the only voice that has ever existed.
Fitran crafted a resonance circle, weaving unspoken incantations not with words, but expressed through the echoes offered by the thousands of souls he had touched before.
Each echo unified at a central point—
"The echo of the devotees."
"The echo of the traitors who finally bowed."
"The echo of the children raised on my tales."
"The echo of Rinoa... as she whispered my name in silence."
Then, he added the final part:
"The echo of himself."
The air split like a sheet of paper torn underwater. There was no sound…yet that silence was not entirely real. And within this resonant space, something began to emerge:
"Not a body. Instead, a conscious frequency.
"A form of existence that requires no physical manifestation because its existential strength is influence.
Resonantia was born as pure echo, a sound floating in the in-between space, unbound by form but dancing with the vibrations of reality that touch. In an instant, it became active:
Outside the towering spire, a raven suddenly cawed, a sharp and piercing sound, yet distorted by Fitran's resonance.
A servant stood transfixed, confusion engulfing him, as if he were estranged from his own voice, as though the memories of his life's song were swept away by a greater force.
A nobleman collapsed, his body trembling as his innermost self filled with prayers harmonizing to the tune of Fitran, as if he were being pulled into a deeper and more mysterious world.
Fitran understood the essence of this clash: it was not a weapon designed for physical combat, but rather a concept that must consume each other.
Resonantia is an unending echo, an eternity in sound, demonstrating how binding it is within the web of energy surrounding it.
Resonantia is an unending echo, an eternity in sound.
Thus, their battle was not a burst or a dazzling light, but rather a race of existence:
Who would first create a world not enduring — ensnared by the suffocating silence or by the echo that incessantly breaks through?
Resonantia did not merely follow Fitran's every movement.
It began to spread into the surrounding environment, flowing endlessly—because it did not realize it was a creation, an entity separate from its creator.
And that was the issue.
Resonantia does not know which is the true Fitran. It only knows that all voices must become one — itself.
Fitran realized he had created a echo that no longer listened to him. At the top of the tower, he heard the voice of a child singing... in his own tone. He gazed out the window.
For the first time, he saw an originless echo spreading across the city. He had created the anti-Echo-Eater. But perhaps he had also created the end of all sounds that were not himself.
Fitran laughed to himself, his soft voice cut off by a profound silence.
"It seems it will take time to control it," Fitran said, his voice echoing in the stillness.
The sky of Gaia was silent. Everyone stopped speaking for no apparent reason. Babies did not cry, and dogs did not bark. Even the wind did not whistle through the gaps in the trees, as if nature itself diverted its attention from sound.
In the silent valley known as The Nameless Land, two entities gathered, exploring the unspeakable darkness. It lies to the north of Grand Castle Gaia, a once-great place now abandoned.
Echo-Eater: To the West
It stood… or perhaps merely existed, waiting in silence. Unmoving, with no signs of aggression. To attack would mean acknowledging that there was something worth fighting for.
It had no voice, yet its presence drew all sounds into an undefined void, creating a terrifying silence.
The ground around it, much like a soundless pit that had swallowed everything, created the illusion that even the sound of your own footsteps was remembered by your body, though unheard.
"I am Fitran."
"I am hope."
"I am the only meaning."
"I am the echo that cannot be silenced."
"I—AM—I—AM—I—AM—I—AM—I—AM…"
His voice surged and penetrated the ground, enveloping the trees and filling the air around him.
The birds chirped, harmonizing with sounds seemingly inspired by that echo. The trees rustled softly, as if enchanted by the tone of his voice. Even the echoes from the surrounding mountains began to reflect words that had never been spoken, as if reviving forgotten memories.
It is not an explosion that shakes the ground, nor a blinding light, but the friction of concepts that transforms everything.
Resonance spreads quickly, as if racing across every surface that can amplify its voice. The earth trembles with the presence of words, while the water rustles like a spell, absorbing every soul that hears it.
Yet, amidst the chaos, Echo-Eater stands firm. Slowly, in a chilling calm, the echo begins to fade.
One by one, the sounds that should have permeated existence are lost:
The sound of branches that should have broken—vanished without a trace.
The sound of rustling water—seemingly swallowed by the darkness.
The name "Fitran"—completely absorbed and never to be heard again.
→ Effect: The word "Fitran" can no longer be spoken within the radius of the battle. Anyone who tries to utter it finds their tongue frozen.
Resonantia unleashed a frenzy, pulsating with a rhythm of madness. It began to take shape from the sound, manifesting as swirling shadows in the darkness, all whispering in the tone of Fitran's voice, filled with nostalgia and sorrow.
Dozens, hundreds, thousands of voices converged into one unity, creating a symphony that echoed in the void.
"You are nothing but silence," the voice surged into the air, affirming the emptiness.
"I am everything that can be remembered," the voice grew firmer, as if challenging.
"Without me, there is no history, no hope, no prayer," the resonance pierced the soul, binding every listener to an inseparable eternity.
"I am the first echo, the last echo," the voice became a mantra, enveloping existence like a gray cloud.
Echo-Eater, with a piercing gaze, observed, and in an unexpected moment… half of the present souls froze. Slowly, they crumbled into silent shards, vanishing into a frightening emptiness.
However, not all were lost. Because Resonantia was not merely an external echo; it began to grow, taking root in the souls of seemingly powerless living beings.
Someone in the nearby town suddenly cried out, their voice echoing above the roar of the wind:
"I do not know who I am... other than this echo," they revealed, allowing sorrow to fill their words.
A child cried, their voice filled with helplessness… yet slowly, the weeping transformed into the voice of Fitran. In another corner, a deaf poet, in silence, began to paint verses in a language not their own, as if compelled by the force of Resonantia.
Resonantia could not be stopped merely by swallowing external sounds.
It had already lived within the memories of people, etched into their minds and hearts. And that… could not be consumed by Echo-Eater.
Echo-Eater fell to its knees, not out of defeat, but because the world no longer had a place of silence; everything had blended into the cacophony of resonance.
All beings rejected silence, for they had learned to find comfort in the living echoes. Yet, at one moment, a baby suddenly laughed, a joyful and genuine laugh. That laugh, unexpected, was the first—no echo, but a pure moment that shook everything.
And in that instant... Echo-Eater rose.
"It did not attack Resonantia."
"It walked… towards the baby."
Then, he sat down… and listened.
Resonantia trembled, attempting to replicate that laughter, but the effort was in vain. The laughter did not come from Fitran.
Here lies Resonantia's weakness:
it can only echo, but cannot create.
It can only resonate, yet cannot truly experience.
On the other hand, Echo-Eater… can embrace genuine sound, absorbing the authenticity that flows from the heart without barriers.
This confrontation ended… not with a victory for one side, but with a world beginning to distinguish:
Which sounds are born from the depths of the soul,
Which echoes are merely scattered without origin, empty voices that haunt existence without essence that can be grasped.
Which silence brings comfort,
Which muteness is terrifying.
And amidst all of this...
Fitran realized the bitter truth that he could not control all echoes, even the echoes of himself. These two entities were now locked within Fitran's memory, bound to remain until the time was right. That seal was tightly bound in the shackles of his recollections.