Izanami stood on the stone altar, her body upright like a goddess of forgetfulness. “Welcome to the space where names, wounds, and time intertwine. You come without carrying regrets, Fitran Fate?”

  Fitran walked slowly, a faint smile on his lips. “Regret is just a burden for those who still care. I only bring will.” He stepped closer, scrutinizing every contour of Izanami's face with cold eyes, formulating strategies in his mind.

  Izanami closed her eyes, a spiral of white breath floating from her palms. “Your will is full of cracks. You could rest among the spirits, but you always choose the path of the traitor.”

  Fitran stopped in front of the altar, his voice sharp as a blade. “Only a traitor clever enough to see that all redemption is a new form of manipulation. You come bearing the ‘Lily Veil’—ready to erase the traumas of the world?”

  Izanami raised her arm, a curtain of light shaped like a lily unfurling above the altar. “Trauma is just a chain for humans. With this veil, I erase wounds, I free them from the spiral.”

  Fitran looked up, his eyes sharpening. “Free or removing the reason to rise? A world without wounds is just a barren field without direction. Humans are not to be pitied.” He stared at Izanami, planning his next move in this dangerous game.

  Izanami gazed at Fitran without a tremor. “What about your own wounds? Don’t you want to forget everything?”

  Fitran looked up, his eyes sharp, “Free or just removing the reason to rise? You know, a world without wounds is just a barren field without direction. Humans are not to be pitied.”

  Izanami looked at Fitran, her heart unwavering, “What about your wounds? Don’t you want to forget everything? You understand better than anyone why this spiral must be cleansed.”

  Fitran smirked, the void aura around him vibrating, “I learned that wounds are the only guarantee this world keeps moving. If you want to erase wounds, you must erase will. And humans, they live because of their pain.”

  Izanami moved her hand, invoking a spell, the light lilies began to fall, touching the ground, “Lily Veil, close all wounds—”

  Fitran stepped forward, pointing his index finger, “Voidwright—Disavow!” A wave of void surged quickly, sweeping away the light lilies. The white flowers turned gray, then shattered like dust in the air.

  From Izanami's lips, a faint smile emerged, “You don’t want to be saved. You just want to sink into your emptiness, dragging everyone into your darkness.”

  With a cold laugh, Fitran replied, “Redemption is just a control tool. You try to rewrite the world as if this suffering can be exchanged for comfort. I don’t believe in a world without struggle.”

  Izanami, her gaze that was once gentle now made the heart race, “Every human has the right to heal.”

  “And every human has the right to choose to remain broken. That is true will,” Fitran scoffed, his voice hoarse piercing through the tranquility that floated in the air.

  Izanami raised both hands, the lily spell enveloping the altar, “Wounds and bad memories turn humans into monsters. Don’t you want them to live without guilt?”

  Fitran held back laughter, the void aura growing larger, “Monsters are created by those who try to erase the meaning of wounds. What’s the point of living clean if you never know dirty?”

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  Izanami, her voice rising, “If so, let’s test it. One duel. If you can withstand the Lily Veil completely, I will acknowledge your will. If not—I will take all trauma and you will become my spirit.”

  Fitran nodded slowly, his cold eyes challenging, “An anti-deity agreement. I’m ready.”

  The altar space seemed submerged in a sea of glowing lilies. A spiral curtain encircled their small world, creating a magical aura that was chilling. In the center, Izanami stood, the redemption spell echoing deep into the soul. In the corner of the room, Fitran drew intricate voidwright runes, his gaze sharp piercing the essence of the world, intimidating.

  Fitran, the void aura dancing around his body, “Do you know why redemption fails? Because no one truly wants to lose their wounds. Wounds are identity.”

  Izanami, her robe fluttering like an energetic wind, light dancing at her fingertips, “Identity should never be paid with eternal suffering. With the Lily Veil, I offer a new birth.”

  Fitran, his voice growing colder, “Then you’re trying to make everyone blind to reality. The world is born from a compromise between evil and hope.”

  Izanami, the glowing lilies surrounding Fitran, “The final redemption. All your bad memories, all sins and failures, let the lilies cover them.”

  Fitran, his voice thinning, “Voidwright magic is not an escape. It is a refusal to be forgotten. — Now, activate Astral Theorist.”

  The circle of astronomical runes glowed above Fitran’s head, creating a symphony of light that fought against the darkness of the altar. The light of the lilies and the void star light clashed, two energies biting at each other, creating tension in the air.

  Fitran closed his eyes, his voice echoing, “World, you are trapped in the illusion of instant healing. Wounds are the path that must be taken, not an obstacle.”

  Izanami, her voice melancholic, “Is there not a part of you that longs for peace?”

  Fitran opened his eyes, black light igniting from his pupils, “Peace is a slow death for a great soul. I rise to remember every failure, turning it into a weapon, not a burden.”

  Izanami stepped forward, the lilies sticking to Fitran’s body, the redemption spell awakening a vibration of energy, “In the name of the deity of redemption, I take all your guilt.”

  Fitran bowed his head, his body trembling against the onslaught of magic, “You can only take what I allow. The rest, I will use as fuel to destroy your hope.”

  Izanami, anger radiating, the lilies turning blood red, “You are a creature that chooses darkness. You are the one who rejects the light, hoping the world remains standing.”

  Fitran, a faint smile, spoke in a cold tone, “The world doesn’t need false light. What it needs is only will and the decay that holds each other. You talk about hope, Izanami, but hope is a trap.”

  Izanami, her face now filled with rage, the lilies swirling into a tornado of light, “I will destroy your despair, Fitran! A new world will be born without you! Your attachment to shadows will only dim the light!”

  Fitran, with the void aura rising to the sky, replied firmly, “Astral Theorist—Reverse Trauma!”

  The void star circle shattered the redemption spell, creating a distortion that reflected the light of the lilies into wild shadows. Every wound and trauma that was attempted to be erased turned back, becoming a strengthening spell flowing within Fitran’s body. The altar transformed into a battlefield: debris scattered, every crack displaying shadows of the past, failures, and betrayals. The echoes of the battle revived dark memories.

  Fitran stepped slowly toward Izanami, his voice cold and full of determination, “I told you: every wound you try to cleanse, I will return as a source of strength. Humans should endure under the mud, not pretend to live in an eternal flower garden.”

  Izanami looked at him, losing hope, her voice weakening, “No one wants to live eternally in wounds. Wounds are a burden, not a strength.”

  Fitran stopped right in front of Izanami, disaster in his eyes, “That’s the difference between me and all other redeemers. I don’t care if you hate me, what matters is the world keeps moving. You, Izanami, only want the world to accept you as a good mother. But this world never needed a mother; it needs strength, even if it must come from wounds and darkness.”

  The redemption spell faded. The lilies transformed into shadows and faded, leaving the altar dark again. Only the sound of Fitran’s breath remained, moving in silence before a greater storm arrived.

  “The world may forget my name,” Fitran whispered softly in Izanami’s ear, his voice rising in the silence, “as long as they never forget the wounds that make them live.”

  Izanami closed her eyes, speaking in a broken voice, “If the world chooses wounds, I have no place left.”

  Fitran walked away, the void aura following his steps, leaving a trail of wounds on the floor. “A goddess of redemption without a world willing to be forgiven,” he muttered mockingly, “is just a new shadow in the spiral.”