Rinoa sat wearily, her fingers clutching a small necklace—a Spiral artifact shaped like a fragment of blue crystal, bound to an old silver chain. The light within the crystal pulsed gently, as if signaling that a legacy from a bygone world still lingered, albeit nearly extinguished. “Look at this, Sayyida,” her voice trembled as she spoke. “This light… it seems to hint at hope, even as its color begins to fade.”

  Sayyida glanced at the necklace, a bitter smile on her lips. “So this is… the remnant of the Stones, or the legacy of the Spiral you promised would never fade?” she asked, doubt etched clearly in her gaze.

  Rinoa caressed the surface of the crystal gently, observing the blue gleam dancing upon her fingers. “This… is a part of the Core of Remembrance. Each Spiral family keeps a shard, or at least that is what our ancestors have told us. It is said that as long as this artifact shines, the name of its owner will never vanish from history. But now I find myself questioning that, Sayyida.” She let out a heavy sigh, as if the weight of the universe was pressing down upon her shoulders. “In this long span of history, how many shards have faded? How many names have ultimately disappeared without a trace?”

  Sayyida sat down slowly, her voice now softer, as if each word that escaped her lips was heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. “My family holds a precious fragment. Yet, when Gamma fell, that artifact shattered—and with it, our name, all our achievements and sins, vanished from the records of the spiral tower." She bit her lip, the turmoil of emotions within her starkly evident. "The Spiral world promises eternity, but history is forever penned by the victors, relegating this artifact to a mere gravestone for the vanquished souls.” Her voice faded, echoing a profound sorrow.

  Rinoa gazed at the sky, her eyes seemingly vacant yet harboring the embers of painful wounds. "Do you remember the time when Stones and Atlantis still stood intact?" she asked quietly, looking far away as if she wished to dive deep into past memories. "The magi engaged in endless debates about the meaning of the Spiral, convinced that the artifacts and the legacy of runes could stave off death. They failed to realize that we were merely prolonging our suffering.” Her hand gripped the artifact tightly. "Now, after thousands of years, I can conclude but one thing—what remains of the Spiral is nothing but memories, trapped in an unending struggle, neither crystal, nor heritage, nor even blood.”

  Sayyida offered a bitter smile, her eyes reflecting a profound fragility, as if inviting honesty with every blink. "Indeed, our world is strange," she said, her voice trembling with emotion, "since the days of the Ancestors, all kingdoms have fought fiercely to possess the Core of Spiral. They revered it as the key between life and death; yet what does it all mean if that core merely leaves behind small fragments?" She gazed at the tent with a vacant stare, absorbing the memories of the surviving souls that remained. "Now, that artifact has become a mere reminder for the few of us who still endure. The Spiral is a dream carved from shards of trauma, far from eternity, trapped in memories that haunt endlessly."

  Rinoa wiped her eyes, clutching the artifact closer to her chest, struggling against the suffocating dread. "Sometimes, I ask myself," she said softly, her voice nearly a whisper, "why do we still care for these objects, for a history riddled with deceit? Why do I clutch it as if the fate of dozens of souls relies upon it? Perhaps, holding on to something—whatever it may be—gives us a flicker of hope?"

  Sayyida gazed deep into the darkness, her voice carrying the whispers of the past. "Because as long as humanity clings to something—be it crystal, name, or hope—they have yet to succumb," she asserted, emphasizing each word with conviction. "The Core is not merely a source of strength; it is also a reminder. That although the history of the Spiral is steeped in blood and betrayal, there will always be one soul that refuses to let everything be forgotten." She looked at Rinoa with intensity. "Until the last artifact fades, there will always be those who strive to rewrite this tale."

  Rinoa regarded Sayyida, a flicker of hope discernible in her eyes, her soft voice resonating amidst the night's cacophony, "Do you still wish for the artifact to rise anew? Or has despair truly taken hold of you?" The beat of her heart mirrored her uncertainty, painting a picture of an inner struggle that was hard to contain. "Is there a glimmer of hope in each memory we carry, or are we merely adding the burden of wounds that run too deep?"

  Sayyida replied with a faint smile, her eyes shining with determination, “Many doubt the power of this artifact. They whisper that all of this is nothing but a waste of time, a hope that evaporates with the passage of time.”

  Rinoa furrowed her brows, her voice trembling with emotion, “But we shouldn’t give up, should we? What are we if we lose faith? This artifact… it might save more than just a glittering stone that seems meaningless.”

  Sayyida nodded slowly, “Though I do not believe the artifact can change the world’s fate, within it lies our stories—history, hope. And if only one name can I leave behind, one light to endure this night—then perhaps that is already more than enough.”

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  The night wind whispered gently, carrying dust and the scent of blood into the tent. The Spiral crystal clenched in Rinoa’s hand emitted a soft blue light, its glow dancing upon the walls, casting the shadows of two women who survived in their own way. “Look how far we have come, Sayyida,” Rinoa said, her soft voice muffled by the gentle sighs of wounds still fresh. “All of this for those who have departed.”

  “We fight not merely to remember, Rinoa, but to ensure they do not sink into darkness,” Sayyida replied, her spirit gleaming in her eyes. “There is eternity in every sacrifice we make.”

  Beyond the ruins of Stones, Gamma, and Atlantis stood as silent witnesses—hinting that in the long tale of the Memory of Heaven, immortality was not merely the right of the gods and those who achieved victory. Sometimes, immortality emerges from small fragments, deep wounds, and the courage to believe in a simple artifact. Rinoa gazed at the artifact, feeling the pulse of energy tightly woven with her soul. “Those who come after us must know that we fought and how we did so.”

  “And that we do not merely battle the visible enemies but also the cycle of forgetfulness,” Sayyida added, her eyes shining with determination. “We are building a legacy. Each flicker of this flame represents something far greater.”

  Amid the echoes of war and the breaths of survivors, the crystal shimmered slightly brighter—as if refusing to extinguish for as long as there were memories left. Rinoa lifted her head, defying her fear, and with courage, she proclaimed: “I have lived. I have fought. And I will not be forgotten.”

  Suddenly, Rinoa was struck by a vision, a glimpse of her past, a memory that seemed to greet her from the depths of time.

  **

  Rinoa gazed at the open school window's mirror, her reflection faintly shimmering on its surface. Outside, trees blossomed with bright green leaves, while the joyous laughter of children playing mingled with the rumble of aether machines from the engineering workshop across the field. Her school uniform was neatly arranged, a blue ribbon perfectly tied at her neck, and the hem of her skirt danced gently each time the wind blew. Her hands busied themselves, scratching away with a pen on a notepad—perhaps a poem meant for someone special. Suddenly, a deep yet warm voice jolted her from her reverie.

  “Why do you always pour your thoughts into poetry, Rinoa? Does this world need words more than it needs action?” Fitran stood in the classroom doorway, his hair tousled, his engineer's uniform worn and stained with oil and metal, making him appear as if he had stepped from another realm. With one hand, he lifted a scroll of design paper, while in the other, he clutched a warm tea can, as if he always required two worlds to find balance in his mind.

  Rinoa smiled, closing her notebook and stepping closer, her head bowed slightly with a hint of embarrassment that warmed her cheeks. “This world always needs more hope, Fitran. Words can serve as a foundation, just as the machine you’ve created.”

  She looked at Fitran’s hands, marked by dedication, hesitating slightly, “What have you made today?”

  Fitran exhaled deeply, lowering his design paper onto the table beside him.

  “A prototype of a perpetual energy generator. Or at least, that’s my theory.”

  He chuckled softly, his voice a blend of weariness and smoldering enthusiasm.

  “I dream of a time when no one will feel hunger or struggle for water. A time when everyone can live free from fear of tomorrow. Yet all of this… is merely a concept.”

  Rinoa gazed deeply into Fitran’s eyes, feeling her heart pound like a string caught in the wind. “The world you envision… is truly beautiful. But if no one believes, who will bring it to fruition?”

  Fitran raised an eyebrow, challenging her. “You talk as if belief alone suffices. If I were to fail, would you still have faith in me, Rinoa?”

  Rinoa stepped closer, clutching Fitran's oil-stained sleeve, entirely unbothered by the grime. “I believe in you. For the world will only change if someone possesses the stubbornness to refuse to give up.”

  Fitran fell silent for a moment, then gazed at Rinoa as if he could see his entire future vividly painted in her eyes.

  “Then tell me, what does your ideal world look like, Rinoa?”

  Rinoa took a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the blue sky stretching beyond the window, her voice flowing gently like a melody rarely sung by anyone.

  “My ideal world... is one where no one is forgotten. A realm where every soul—even the smallest and weakest—can feel their existence holds meaning. No need to be a hero, no need for immortality... as long as no one feels alone.”

  Fitran smiled softly, setting his tea can down on the table before pulling out a chair to sit beside Rinoa.

  “And if one day this world should crumble, and only one memory remains, what would you choose to keep in your mind?”

  Rinoa fell silent, her eyes fixed on the small pendant she had drawn from beneath her collar—a trinket strikingly similar to the Spiral artifact she now clutched tightly.

  “I wish to hold onto moments like this,” she declared, her voice rich with emotion. “In times when we still have faith in wonders, when hope feels undeniably real.”

  Fitran gazed at the artifact intently, respect filling the corners of his heart, along with a flicker of jealousy for something he could not create with mere hands and reason.

  “Never let that trinket go, Rinoa. For one day, when I am no longer here, it may be the only thing that reminds you that you were loved.”

  Rinoa felt her eyes widen, her cheeks flush, and she paused, the weight of that moment heavy upon her before she slowly replied, “I shall not forget you, Fitran. The world may change, cities may crumble, but your name and your dreams will forever be etched in my memory.”

  Fitran nodded slightly, bowing his head, striving to conceal the turmoil churning within his heart. “Then let us build a world steeped in love, even if just for a single day.”

  **

  “Fitran, where are you now?” Rinoa asked, her voice shattered by an overwhelming sob that she could no longer contain.