There was no sound as Fitran wrote with his fingers in the air. Just a single curve, like a silent scratch left in the sky without clouds.
Σ
Its shape is simple, yet its meaning is now much deeper; it is no longer just a symbol of quantity, but a representation of a complex and unexpressed emotional journey. Yet there is one reminder—that everything she experienced, loved, let go of, and cried over… cannot be totaled.
She first realized this on the walls of the ancient city of Lesva. There, a child was drawing something in the dirt, faint lines that seemed to be trying to tell a story:
"What is that?" Fitran asked, his curiosity uncontainable. In the child's voice, he heard a resonant vibration of sadness, something akin to the heavy burden in his heart, as if the child also bore a deep loss.
"I don't know, Uncle," the child replied softly. "I just… want to write something so I remember Mom." Those words flowed simply, yet tore at his heart; he seemed to see the shadow of his Mother who had passed, a figure full of love now only a blurred memory swirling in his mind.
And the symbol she etched was Σ.
The next day, in the silent ruins of Elysvarre, he saw the glyph faintly carved behind a lonely throne. It was not written in ink, nor carved in stone, it just appeared… like an old wound that could not be polished. Seeing it caused a pain that spread in his chest, as if shards of glass were left from a shattered dream—every time he remembered them, it felt like burying himself in endless fragments of sorrow and an unending dance of grief.
Beelzebub began to count—symbolically, each number felt like an open wound reopening. "We have lost Sheena, Rinoa… even Iris." "We have lost names, systems, pactum, even logic." "Yet, we are not completely destroyed," Beelzebub said, emphasizing the importance of resilience in the face of unexpected loss. Her voice rose, reflecting a determination to endure amidst the emptiness.
"Because unfinished love," she continued in a deep tone, "is the only variable… that cannot be simplified." Pain coursed within her, heavy like dark clouds shrouding her soul, pressing down on every hope. Behind all the losses that tore at her heart, there was one bitter truth binding her to reality: love, though immeasurable, ties all the threads of these lost stories.
In the small town of Nirval, forgotten by time, there stood a towering memorial stone to commemorate the victims of the war of the old generation glyphs. The stone, cold and unadorned, bore no names etched—only a number rising with deep sorrow:
12,418 souls.
But as Fitran approached, he saw the sign Σ at its base. In the dimness enveloping the place, he could feel the shadow of sadness covering his heart like a thin fog blocking the morning light. His gaze seemed obstructed from the rays of hope that should have been present. No results. No description could capture the pain felt.
Only a soft whisper from within himself:
"I don't know how many I have let go." "I only know… everything leaves behind a form of love that I cannot black-and-white," he revealed, a sudden pain stabbing at his chest, recalling all the beautiful memories that now seemed to vanish—like morning dew evaporating under the sun, never returning to its origin.
Beelzebub and Fitran sat side by side on the ruins of the old magical order, where the clamor of magic seemed to fade away.
No glyph. No pactum. Only a sky obscured by a shroud of dark clouds and air carrying the damp aroma of wet books from the collapsed library, creating a profound atmosphere of loneliness for Fitran. He felt as if every breath of wind was the sound of tears suppressed within a soul longing.
"If all feelings cannot be summed," Beelzebub said with a contemplative murmur, "what is the purpose of the symbol Σ itself?"
Fitran gazed at the symbol faintly drawn in the dirt, feeling it as if it were a fragment of his shattered soul, piecing together the parts of loss too precious to forget:
"Because Σ is not for summing," he whispered, as if those words carried a rich meaning in the tranquility of the night. "But to acknowledge that we once tried," he replied gently, radiating warmth that penetrated deep into the soul, realizing that within that acknowledgment lay profound beauty and unspoken pain. Each word seemed to embrace all the feelings of loss he had ever experienced, bringing home all the neglected memories, while imagining that even though everything had vanished, his love remained alive in some abstract form.
"It is not the result that makes it valuable… but the courage to continue loving even knowing there will never be a resolution," he added, embracing the essence of the remaining hope in the emptiness. In every phrase, there was a deep longing to grasp again what had gone, even if only in the form of a faint shadow or an unreachable dream.
With great diligence, Fitran began to gather the shards of the glyph that had slipped from his hands, immersing himself in the process of sifting through memories: – Glyph from the first pactum, reminding him of a sweet and hopeful love promise, etched in every heartbeat. – Glyph from Sheena's last letter, words that now remained only as empty whispers, dancing in the silence that pierced the heart like soft yet sharp cashmere. – Glyph from Rinoa's Void magic, making him feel how much empty space could be filled, yet remained hollow like the night sky after rain, waiting for stars that never returned.
He carved all these fragments into the damp clay, without ambition to repair or unite, but rather to let every depth of the wound flow into the form of scratches. In that carving lay various feelings—pain that ran deep, sadness that seeped into him, trapped in chaotic memories, creating stories that remained unexpressed.
In the center of that circle, he wrote, a painter of souls with ink of feelings:
Σ = ?
"It is not I who will provide the result," he said with a trembling voice, piercing the silence of the night. "But love that continues to flow even if broken." Now, after accepting all the losses he felt, he realized there was a power that remained lit within him—like a dim light struggling to survive in the darkness, reminding him of the hope still present, peeking from behind the shadows of sorrow.
Unbeknownst to them, the effect of the glyph spread, like ink flowing over invisible paper.
Pactum Gaia began to unravel, swaying in uncertainty, creating chaos that threatened the stability of all that was known.
The glyph that was once neutral now turned wild, birthing uncontrollable meanings, tearing apart the boundaries that had been set.
Formal mantras, once orderly and rigid, transitioned into poetry flowing gently, like tears that could not be held back, creating a melody of sorrow echoing deep within Fitran's tortured soul.
Artifacts began to sing names that were not registered, their voices evoking a resonance of loss, haunting every corner of Fitran's heart, stirring up memories buried in shadows.
The world rejected Σ… because Σ cannot be counted. Fitran felt his heartbeat thundering, as if each beat reminded him of all that was lost forever. From the center of the glyph Σ, a new Voidling formed, manifesting as a figure that depicted unspoken vulnerability. Unlike the previous ones, this Voidling was larger and had a more touching aura, as if radiating the depths of sorrow and hope encapsulated in one entity. Its eyes, like an endless ocean, reflected an unending sadness. Its face, though resembling Fitran, appeared younger and more fragile, as if representing a part of Fitran that had been swallowed by loss.
"Who are you?" Fitran asked, his voice trembling with uncertainty and anticipation, like a sailor lost at sea in a storm, longing for the guiding star lost in the night sky.
The Voidling formed a single sentence:
"I am you who continues to love… even if none of them return," the Voidling replied, its voice traversing space, the essence of its words seemed to awaken pain and comfort within Fitran—like every letter spoken grasping his heart tightly, inviting the hidden memories in the corners of his soul to feel again.
And Fitran knew: this is the form of Σ itself. Not a physical being, but a manifestation of the will that continues to call… without answer, like a ghost trapped between lost memories, echoing in the painful silence.
Σ never completed anything. It only unites what cannot be united, reminding Fitran of the quiet afternoons that painted shadows on his helpless face, when arrivals and departures without clarity felt like dew that never dripped to the earth.
Yet it is precisely from its incompleteness, Living between deep longing and fragile hope, love becomes a faint light behind the darkness of the night enveloping her soul, striving against all that is lost, as if illuminating the corridors that have fallen into darkness.
Not as a result. But as courage—the courage to continue loving even though her heart has been torn, creating a beautiful mosaic from the fragments that remain.