Silence hung heavy in the cramped space, the aftermath of violence echoing louder than any spoken words. Moonlight painted stark shadows on the floor, mirroring the dark emotions swirling within Hidayat – guilt, shame, and a simmering anger yet to cool. Isaac stood near the door, his body tense but resolved, the faint outline of a bruise marring his cheek. His eyes were shadowed, reflecting not fear, but a resigned sorrow that cut deeper than any physical wound.

The silence stretched into an unbearable chasm. Cowering in the corner, Hidayat's whispers had faded into ragged breaths, a thin barrier against the crushing weight of self-loathing. Each shuddering inhalation felt like a betrayal, a desperate, pathetic clinging to the life he saw no purpose in. The room seemed to warp and twist, shadows stretching into grotesque claws reaching for his throat. There was nowhere to hide – from the monster in the mirror, or the judgement burning in Isaac's sorrowful gaze.

Isaac remained near the door. His silhouette was a dark smudge against the faint moonlight, yet his presence felt monumental, a quiet defiance against Hidayat's descent into despair. Isaac crouched down. With slow and deliberate steps, he inched closer to Hidayat's huddled form, careful not to invade the protective space he had created for himself. Time stretched and warped, each tick of the unseen clock a hammer against Hidayat's skull.

Finally, a voice pierced the suffocating quiet. "I'm not leaving," Isaac said, his tone soft but laced with undeniable resolve, "Not until your father gets back. Someone needs to be here..."

He paused. The chilling truth hung unspoken between them – someone needs to be here in case you lose control again.

And yet, Hidayat felt no anger. Only a numbing emptiness mirroring the cold floor against his skin, a hollow echo of a monstrous act he both recognised and yet felt removed from. It was as if some other beast, a shadow born of twisted powers and festering resentment, had seized control, making his body a puppet to its grotesque performance.

The silence hummed once more. Isaac made no attempt to fill the void with empty platitudes, his quiet presence a strange sort of comfort. And through the haze of shame, a tiny flicker of something like curiosity stirred within Hidayat. This Arymh boy, beaten but unbroken, was an enigma. His very existence, a stubborn spark amidst the darkness, was a challenge to everything Hidayat had been taught to believe.

The door slammed open, a thunderclap shattering the fragile stillness. Kalim, flushed with anger, stormed in. "If you had anything to do with that ambush..." he hissed, leaving the threat hanging. It was clear he didn't believe in coincidence.

Kalim's presence radiated fury, a palpable force that drove the air from the room. Fear clawed at Hidayat's throat – not for the physical harm, he was used to that – but for the look in his brother's eyes. It was the cold fury of utter disappointment, laced with a disgust that made Hidayat's stomach churn.

Kalim's accusation was a final blow. Hidayat didn't bother to deny it. Instead, he straightened, meeting his brother's accusing glare with a coldness born of utter hopelessness.

"I did cause the ambush," Hidayat's voice was a whisper, barely audible yet laced with defiance. His gaze locked with Kalim's, a silent challenge amidst the heavy tension that suffocated the room. The weight of his admission hung in the air, a confession that shattered the fragile semblance of normality they had tried to maintain.

Kalim's eyes glowed with a deadly intensity, blazing like the inferno of a thousand suns. The disappointment emanating from him was a palpable force, crashing against Hidayat's already shattered spirit like a relentless tsunami. In that moment, it wasn't just a clash of ideologies or childhood resentments – it was a vicious war for dominance, for power and control in a world that had mercilessly stripped away their innocence long ago.

Every fibre of Hidayat's being screamed in resistance as Kalim's anger enveloped the room like a suffocating blanket, threatening to crush whatever remnants of defiance still lingered within him. The air crackled with tension, charged with the unspoken truths hanging heavily between the brothers.

Kalim advanced, his steps deliberate and menacing, each footfall echoing like a drumbeat heralding an impending storm. His gaze bore into Hidayat with a ferocity that bordered on madness, a wild fire consuming all reason in its path.

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of Hidayat's lips, a defiance that defied logic in the face of Kalim's seething rage. "You always thought power was yours to wield," he spat out the words, each syllable heavy with a lifetime of suppressed resentment. "But you forget, the darkness within me is a mirror of your own."

Kalim's hand shot out, fingers curling into a fist that landed with a brutal impact against Hidayat's jaw. Pain exploded across his face, a searing reminder of the physical realm he couldn't control.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, metallic on his tongue, as he straightened once more to face his brother's wrath. The room seemed to shrink, shadows dancing in macabre delight as the siblings stood locked in a deadly dance of wills.

Isaac watched from the edge of the confrontation, his chest tight with the oppressive tension that washed over the room. He could feel the essence of their unspoken history, etched into each expression and posture, as Kalim and Hidayat faced off. Hidayat attempted to speak, but Kalim's furious shout silenced him once more.

The air in the room stagnated, heavy with the burden of years' worth of resentment and frustration. Hidayat could feel his grip on reality slipping, his mind clouding with the weight of everything he had done and everything that had been done to him.

Kalim, in turn, was a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless in his pursuit of the truth.

"You will not escape this," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. "Your deeds will catch up to you, and when they do, there will be no mercy. No forgiveness."

As the room continued to spin with emotion, Isaac could not help but feel a sense of dread creeping into his heart. The air between the brothers was thick with a palpable tension that seemed to stretch on for an eternity.

In that moment, he could see the desperation in Hidayat's eyes, a plea for understanding and forgiveness that was destined to fall on deaf ears. Kalim, on the other hand, appeared as a mountain of unyielding fury, an unstoppable force that threatened to crush everything in its path.

The brothers' brutal exchange continued, their words becoming more and more laced with venom and anger. Each accusation, each confession, and each retaliation echoed through the room like the clanging of metal on metal in a futile battle for control.

The intensity of the confrontation seemed to suck the air out of the room, leaving only an oppressive silence that stretched on for what felt like hours. Isaac watched in horror as the brothers tore each other apart, the once-strong bonds of familial love replaced by a bitter, seething rage.

Hidayat, crumpling under the weight of his brother's anger, stumbled backward, his legs buckling beneath him. He hit the ground hard, the impact sending waves of pain radiating through his body. But it was not merely physical pain that overwhelmed him; the emotional torment of their clash was too much to bear.

Kalim, unrelenting in his fury, continued to stand over his brother, his eyes burning with hatred. "You are a disappointment, Hidayat," he spat, his voice filled with contempt. "A traitor to all we once held dear."

For a moment, Hidayat seemed paralysed. But then, as if summoned by some unseen force, he mustered the strength to stand. His eyes blazed with fury, mirroring Kalim's own.

"And you, Kalim," he hissed, "are a fool. Blind to the truth, and consumed by your own pride."

In that moment, the tension in the room seemed to break, replaced by a deafening silence that hung in the air like a pall over the brothers.

Kalim's face twisted in anger as he stormed out of the room. He slammed the door shut, leaving a lingering echo in the tense silence.

Hidayat, feeling a mix of shock and relief, slowly sank to the floor. He looked down at his hands, trembling slightly as they clenched and unclenched. The weight of his brother's words felt suffocating. They lingered in the air, refusing to leave his mind, stirring up a storm of conflicting emotions. Anger, hurt, and resentment battled against love, loyalty, and family ties. He didn't know how to untangle himself from this internal turmoil.

He moved to the corner, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control of his breathing. In that moment, he felt like an empty shell, devoid of any emotion or connection to the world around him. He fought to regain his composure, but the wounds that had been inflicted ran deep.

The once-bright room now seemed dark and oppressive, the shadows casting an eerie pall over everything. He could still hear the echoes of their confrontation, reverberating through the walls and into his very bones.

Hidayat sank down onto the floor, his back pressed against the cool, hard surface of the wall. The room seemed to shift and sway around him, the edges blurring as his vision clouded over.

He fought back the tears that threatened to spill over, clinging to the frayed threads of his dignity.

But even as he tried to hold them back, one fell like a dam breaking, and then another, each cascading down his cheeks, leaving a hot and stinging trail in their wake.

Suddenly, there was a touch on his shoulder—tentative and hesitant. Isaac. His hand lingered on Hidayat's shoulder, a quiet acknowledgement of their shared pain. His eyes met Hidayat's, filled with a depth of understanding that transcended words.

"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm here with you."

The dam broke. The tears came, hot and shameful. Hidayat tried to hide them, but they streamed freely down his cheeks. Violent sobs wracked his body as he crumpled to the ground. Isaac knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and offering silent support amidst the turmoil. The sound of Hidayat's wails filled the air, drowning out all else and leaving only raw emotion in its wake.

Hidayat clung to Isaac as though he were a life raft, desperately trying to stay afloat in the midst of chaos. He felt as if a part of him had been shattered, and he was no longer sure whether he would ever be able to piece himself back together.

In the silence that followed, Isaac allowed Hidayat to pour out his pain, offering no words of comfort, only his presence. The torn maps, the blood market—everything.

As the minutes stretched on, Isaac's grip on Hidayat's shoulder grew firm, a silent promise that he would not let go. Hidayat slowly calmed, his breaths becoming steadier, his tears subsiding. Isaac remained beside him, refraining from empty assurances, simply providing a quiet presence.

"...What did he break?" Isaac finally ventured, his voice barely above a whisper. It took a moment for Hidayat to register the words.

The question seemed to jolt Hidayat from his daze, and he looked up at Isaac, his eyes red and puffy from crying. He reached down and picked up the torn maps of the Labyrinth, the symbol of his life's work. Hidayat's voice trembled as he spoke, "This... this is what he broke."

Hidayat's fingers traced the jagged edges of the maps, each tear feeling like a personal insult, a slap in the face of his life's dedication. The layout was etched into his memory, every detail of the labyrinthine structure ingrained in his mind. He had spent years studying it, understanding its intricacies, and now it lay destroyed—a physical manifestation of his shattered dreams.

Isaac reached out and took one of the torn pieces from Hidayat's hand, studying it closely. He glanced up, his eyes filled with both determination and sorrow. "I will fix it," he declared, his voice firm and unwavering.

Hidayat looked at him, disbelief etched on his face. "What do you mean, you'll fix it?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

"I mean exactly what I said," Isaac replied. "I will fix it."

It was as if Isaac had sensed the depth of Hidayat's pain and was determined to help. The air seemed to thicken around them, heavy with the weight of their shared grief.

Hidayat watched as Isaac's fingers deftly manipulated the torn pieces of the maps, as though trying to piece together a puzzle. His eyes scanned the terrain, memorising every curve and angle. He began to work intently, his hands a blur of movement as he searched for the smallest connections between the torn fragments.

The room was filled with an almost palpable energy, as though the air itself were infused with raw emotion and determination. Time seemed to stretch and warp, hours passing in what felt like mere moments.

Isaac worked tirelessly, driven by the knowledge that he was mending not just a map, but also the shattered pieces of Hidayat's heart. His fingers danced over the intricate lines and markings on the maps, each one representing years of Hidayat's life's work—his passion and dedication.

As time wore on, Hidayat's scepticism slowly gave way to a vulnerable hope. He watched as Isaac poured his own heart into repairing the map. The finished piece, though imperfect, stood as a testament to Isaac's care.

The bond between Isaac and Hidayat grew stronger with every scrap that was pieced back together. The once-tattered fragments began to fit seamlessly into place, forming a patchwork whole.

Isaac's dedication was unwavering, his hands moving with a precision and tenderness that Hidayat had never witnessed before. When the last piece of the map was finally placed, Hidayat felt a surge of admiration wash over him.

The repaired map lay before them, its frayed edges and hastily stitched seams bearing witness to its destruction, yet also to Isaac's quiet resolve. It was far from perfect, but it was whole. Like Hidayat's own spirit, it had been mended—albeit imperfectly.

He stared at it, a lump forming in his throat. Tears welled in his eyes once more, threatening to spill over. Yet these were not the bitter tears of self-pity or despair that had plagued him for so long. These tears were born of a strange, unfamiliar emotion—a flicker of gratitude fighting to take root amidst the bleakness in his heart.

He choked back a sob, ashamed and confused by this sudden vulnerability. But Isaac seemed to understand, meeting Hidayat's gaze with compassion rather than judgement.

"It's not about fixing everything," Isaac said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "We can't change the past. But sometimes..." he trailed off, gesturing towards the map, "...sometimes, just knowing someone cares enough to try can make the burden a little lighter."

Hidayat's gaze shifted from the map to the scattered papers on the floor, the torn pages reminding him of his own destructive impulses. The echoes of Kalim's accusations still rang in his ears, a relentless chorus of condemnation.

He looked back at Isaac. The Arymh boy met his gaze with a quiet understanding more disarming than any reproach. Shame and gratitude warred within Hidayat, a tumult of emotions that left him feeling vulnerable and exposed.

A sudden urge to flee—an instinct to escape Isaac's unwavering kindness—tugged at him. Yet he stayed put, as if finally accepting that running was no longer an option.

"Why did you do it?" Hidayat whispered, his voice rough with unspoken feeling.

Isaac's eyes never left his. "Because even broken things can be beautiful," he replied.