The air in the cavern hung heavy, a cloying mix of damp earth and the metallic tang of blood. The rhythmic drip of water echoed faintly, a grim metronome to Hidayat's laboured breaths. His arms ached fiercely, his wrists raw and bruised from the chains that suspended him. Each ragged inhalation was an ordeal, his chest heaving as his shoulders screamed in protest. Yet the physical pain was secondary. The weight pressing down on him came not from his body, but from his soul.

Muffled sobs and angry mutters rose from the shadows, the unseen voices of other prisoners cursing his name. Their words cut deeper than any whip, each accusation another stone in the crushing burden he bore. Guilt wrapped itself around Hidayat, squeezing tighter with every whisper, every anguished cry.

The chamber itself was a grotesque reflection of his despair. The circular room was carved into the earth, its damp, uneven walls illuminated by flickering torches. Their light cast jagged shadows that danced like spectres, an unsettling accompaniment to the grim atmosphere. The stench of blood and rot clung to the air, filling Hidayat's lungs with every shuddering breath. He had been stripped of his Yorymh finery, his body now a patchwork of bruises and cuts, each a testament to his failure.

In the stillness, memories clawed their way to the surface of his mind. Faces of those he had failed—terrified, bloodied, lifeless—flashed before his eyes. The lifeless stare of Nahil. The betrayal etched in his father's gaze. They haunted him, their silent accusations louder than the voices around him.

"You look pathetic," a voice growled, slicing through the oppressive quiet like a blade. Hidayat forced his head to lift, his vision swimming. A tall, gaunt figure emerged from the shadows, his face a mask of contempt and fury.

"I know you," Hidayat rasped, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. Recognition flickered weakly in his mind—an Arymh elder whose family had been caught in the crossfire of his catastrophic choices.

The elder's lip curled in disdain as he spat onto the ground. "Yes, you know me. You know what you've taken from me." His voice dripped with venom. "You, the prodigy of the Yorymh. The harbinger of ruin."

Hidayat flinched at the words. "I never meant for this... for any of this," he stammered, his voice trembling. "I didn't want anyone to suffer."

The elder let out a harsh, mirthless laugh that reverberated around the chamber. "Didn't want anyone to suffer?" he sneered, stepping closer. "Do you hear yourself? Do you understand what you've done?" He grabbed a fistful of Hidayat's hair, forcing his head up to meet his glare. "Look at me!" he barked. "Look at what you've destroyed!"

Tears welled in Hidayat's eyes, spilling down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he choked out, the words frail, meaningless. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" The elder released him with a shove, his disgust palpable. "Your apologies are worth less than the dirt on this floor." His voice dropped, becoming a low, menacing growl. "You are a curse, a plague. But unlike you Yorymh monsters, we Arymh still believe in justice. And you will face it."

He gestured sharply, and two hulking guards stepped out from the shadows. Their expressions were cold, unfeeling. Without a word, they seized Hidayat and dragged him through the cavern, his weakened body offering no resistance.

The cell they threw him into was as unrelenting as the rest of the place: damp stone walls slick with moisture, the acrid stench of decay thick in the air. A single torch flickered weakly in the corner, casting jagged, shifting shadows that seemed to mock his torment. Hidayat collapsed onto the hard ground, his body trembling from exhaustion and pain.

Time lost meaning in that lightless void. Days blurred into an endless nightmare of isolation and torment. The screams of his fellow prisoners tore through the air, their agony a constant reminder of his failures. The Arymh elders came often, their words laden with hatred, their condemnation unrelenting.

Each visit was a fresh assault on his battered psyche. They catalogued his sins, described in brutal detail the lives destroyed by his existence. They painted him as a monster, an aberration that deserved only suffering. And as their venomous words burrowed deeper into his mind, Hidayat began to believe them.

Alone in the suffocating dark, doubt consumed him. Was he truly beyond redemption? Had his existence doomed not only himself but all who had crossed his path? The guilt gnawed at him, threatening to hollow him out entirely.

But through the relentless tide of despair, one image persisted. Isaac. The boy's face appeared in his mind's eye, his green eyes filled with unshakeable faith, his voice a lifeline in the chaos. Hidayat clung to the memory of Isaac's belief in him, his hope that he could be more than the monster the world saw.

It was a fragile thing, that flicker of defiance. But in the depths of the Arymh's pit, where even the smallest spark could stave off the darkness, it was enough.