Memory of Heaven Chapter 1: Chapter 1 Heart Between Two Destinies

Read chapter 1 of Memory of Heaven by MuhammadFitransyah on NovelPedia.

The night sky bathed the feast hall in soft moonlight, casting eerie shadows that moved as if they were part of ancient magic. A thick tension filled the air, as if the very walls were alive with secrets woven into the history of the Voidwrights. “Rinoa,” a voice broke through the festive chatter, deep and resonant, “why do you hide in the darkness? Are you afraid of the storm of power flowing through you, or the haunting memories that threaten to entrap your soul?” She turned slightly, her red hair glinting in the moonlight, a fiery halo against the shadows. “You know nothing of the chains that bind me, Fitran. The paths of my past bleed into my present, leaving scars that run far deeper than the eye can see. The whispers of the Soul Archive still follow me, as relentless as the night.” A shiver coursed through the hall, a reminder of the ancient curse lurking beneath the celebration. Shadows twisted more sharply, stark against the flickering light. “You talk of curses, yet the power you wield could break the chains of fate itself. Don’t you feel the stir of those who once inscribed the glyphs of the ancients?” “The glyphs lament a sorrowful tune, Fitran. They tell stories of destruction and salvation, both of which I dread to bring forth. The memories carry the weight of my decisions, and I fear I am nothing more than a pawn in a game far older than myself,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, heavy with melancholy. Long before the Sundering, the Soul Archive was never merely a repository of memories. It was an adjudicator of existence itself. Names were not identities, but contracts—permissions granted by the system for a being to be recognized, recorded, and ultimately resolved by reality. Those who lost their names did not die. Death implied completion. Instead, they became unresolved entities—errors the world could no longer categorize, beings whom causality could neither erase nor properly sustain. Rinoa was one of the very few who survived the erasure of her name. An anomaly carried forward by sheer contradiction. Even the Genesis Code failed to classify her state, marking her not as corrupted, nor reborn, but as unaccounted for . The tattoos on Rinoa’s arm reacted before she did, hitting her with a low-voltage hum that set her teeth on edge. It was that pins-and-needles sensation you get when your foot wakes up, only it was spreading through her veins, thick and deliberate. The sigils—usually just dormant ink she tried to hide under long sleeves—started to glitch. They strobed against her skin, more like a failing neon sign than a holy glow. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it felt wrong—the same way feel when realize someone is standing right behind you in a dark room. A migraine spiked behind her eyes, carrying the ghost of a name she’d lost years ago. The Archive wasn't judging her; it was just pinging her like a lost server. Rinoa white-knuckled her drink, the cold condensation slicking her hand, trying to stay present. When the hum stopped, she felt exposed. She kept her eyes on the floor, terrified that if Fitran looked too closely, he’d see the truth: she wasn't some chosen hero. She was just a broken circuit. As the air thickened with unseen magic, an almost tangible veil of dread wrapped around them. “Yet, Rinoa, it is in the shadows that one can find strength. To face the buried magic of your heritage is to confront the very core of who you are,” he encouraged, stepping closer, his gaze shining with a mixture of danger and understanding. “Perhaps,” she conceded, “but the scars of the past are permanent, and some truths might awaken nightmares better left undisturbed.” With a sigh, the shadows deepened, and Rinoa felt the weight of countless untold stories pressing down on her, a haunting reminder that the night itself remembered the tragedies whispered in intricate legends. “Yet to ignore them is to resign myself to oblivion,” she murmured, almost to herself, the chill of fate coiling around her heart