The Arymh district was a shadow of its former self, a desolate wasteland where the Unreal Realm had left its mark. Twisted buildings stood like grotesque monuments to destruction, their jagged edges glowing faintly with an unsettling crimson light. Streets once bustling with life were now treacherous, their surfaces shifting with each pulse of unstable energy. The air buzzed with a menacing charge, carrying faint, mournful whispers that mingled with the acrid stench of smoke.

Marinov trudged through the chaos, his robes torn and bloodied, his steps uneven under the weight of Hidayat's limp body slung over his shoulders. Each movement sent fresh waves of pain through his battered frame, but he pressed on, his gaze fixed on the watchtower in the distance. It loomed precariously, half-consumed by a swirling vortex of iridescent mist, its stone walls buckling as though reality itself sought to reject it.

The streets whispered of fear and despair, their silence broken only by spectral screams and the faint growls of unseen creatures. Marinov stumbled over shattered debris, narrowly catching himself before falling. Hidayat stirred weakly, his face pale and twisted in pain, a faint groan escaping his lips.

"Just hold on," Marinov muttered, his voice barely audible above the din of the dying city. "We're nearly there."

The watchtower came into view as Marinov turned a corner. Its base was surrounded by the remnants of a desperate defence—broken weapons, tattered shelters, and the eerie remnants of battles fought and lost. Smoke coiled from its upper levels, obscuring the entrance in a veil of shifting shadows. Marinov hesitated, his senses alert, before stepping into the ashen courtyard.

A figure emerged from the smoky haze. Isaac stood motionless, his silhouette tense, his fists clenched at his sides. As Marinov came into view, Hidayat's body slumped against him, Isaac's expression darkened, his wide eyes reflecting a storm of fury and despair.

"What have you done?" Isaac's voice was low, trembling with restrained anger. He took a step forward, his movements stiff and deliberate, as though barely containing the rage coursing through him.

Marinov's knees threatened to buckle, but he raised a hand, his voice hoarse. "Isaac, listen. Please let me explain—"

Before he could finish, Kalim appeared from the shadows. He placed a firm hand on Isaac's shoulder, his face lined with concern. "Let him speak," Kalim said, his voice calm but commanding. "We need to know what happened."

Isaac's glare didn't waver. He stepped back reluctantly, his body taut with tension. "You'd better have a damned good explanation," he growled, his voice sharp as a blade. "Or so help me, Marinov, you won't leave this place alive."

The ground beneath them shuddered ominously, and the watchtower groaned as cracks spider-webbed across its fragile walls. The air grew thicker, the swirling mist creeping closer like an ominous tide. Marinov, sensing the urgency of the moment, steadied himself and began to speak.

In halting words, he recounted the desperate series of events leading to Hidayat's capture and his subsequent rescue attempt. He described Yocha's sinister plans, the tortures inflicted upon Hidayat, and his own bitter mistakes. His voice cracked under the weight of his guilt, and every word was a plea for understanding.

As he spoke, the world around them continued its descent into chaos. Distant screams echoed through the ruins, mingling with the groaning of collapsing buildings and the hiss of the restless mist. Isaac's furious gaze never left Marinov, though the fire in his eyes slowly gave way to a cold, calculating stare.

"This is madness," Kalim muttered, glancing uneasily at the crumbling structures. "We can't stay here. We have to move."

Isaac's lips curled into a sneer. "Move where? Thanks to him," he spat, jerking his head towards Marinov, "we've lost everything. He betrayed Hidayat. He betrayed us all."

Marinov flinched, his shoulders slumping under the weight of Isaac's words. "I know," he said softly, his voice barely audible. "I failed him. I failed all of you. But I swear to you, Isaac, I never meant for this to happen. I was trying to protect him."

"Protect him?" Isaac's voice was sharp and cutting, his laughter bitter. "You call handing him over to Yocha protection? You're a coward, Marinov. A pathetic, spineless traitor."

"Enough." Kalim stepped between them, his voice firm. "We don't have time for this. Hidayat is injured, and this district won't hold much longer. We need to get him to safety."

Isaac's gaze remained locked on Marinov, the knife in his hand trembling with the force of his grip. "Give me one reason," he hissed, "why I shouldn't kill you where you stand."

Marinov met Isaac's eyes, his expression resigned but resolute. "Because Hidayat needs me," he said simply. "I can save him, Isaac. But only if you let me."

The air grew still, the weight of Marinov's words pressing down on them. For a moment, Isaac seemed frozen, his hand clutching the knife as though it were his lifeline. Finally, with a frustrated growl, he lowered the weapon.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice heavy with reluctant agreement. "But as soon as he's safe, you're gone. Do you hear me, Marinov? You're gone."

Marinov nodded, his body sagging with relief. "Thank you," he whispered.

Isaac turned away, his jaw clenched tightly. Kalim moved to help Marinov steady Hidayat, his expression unreadable. Together, they began to make their way towards the tower's crumbling interior, the faint hope of survival flickering like a fragile candle in the encroaching darkness.

***

The weight of the world pressed down on Marinov, suffocating and relentless. Isaac's lingering anger hung in the air like a bitter fog, every glare a silent indictment. Kalim's stoic demeanour offered no solace, his neutrality a chilling reminder of Marinov's solitude. The shield of composure Marinov had always relied upon was shattered, leaving him exposed, raw, and utterly vulnerable. His hands shook as he reached for another bandage, his thoughts swirling in a chaotic storm of guilt and regret. Desperation clawed at his mind—he had to do something, anything, to atone for the ruin Yocha's manipulation had wrought.

A strangled sob escaped him, unbidden and uncontrollable. Marinov stumbled back from Hidayat's frail, battered form, his breaths shallow and uneven. His sharp, focused gaze was now clouded with despair, reflecting the chaos both within and around him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words fragile and barely audible amidst the distant cries of the collapsing city. "I'm so sorry."

He dropped to his knees, fists clenched as sobs wracked his body. The sight of Hidayat—broken and bloodied—was a living testament to Marinov's failures. Each bruise and cut seemed to scream his complicity, a physical manifestation of his betrayal.

"I didn't mean for this," Marinov murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I never wanted anyone to get hurt."

His head bowed, shoulders trembling as waves of guilt crushed him. He had been a pawn in Yocha's twisted game, a weapon aimed at his own people. And now, Hidayat—the one person he had sworn to protect—had paid the price for his weakness.

A warm, trembling hand on his back jolted Marinov from the abyss of his despair. He froze, startled, and slowly raised his head. Hidayat's amber eyes, shimmering with both pain and unspoken understanding, met his. Though his voice was barely above a whisper, it carried a warmth that cut through the numbing cold enveloping Marinov.

"Arseniy," Hidayat murmured, his tone soft but insistent, "this isn't your fault."

Marinov shook his head, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. "It is," he insisted, his words laced with self-loathing. "I betrayed you. I let this happen."

Hidayat's hand moved to Marinov's cheek, trembling yet resolute. "Yocha manipulated you," he said gently. "She manipulates everyone. You were a tool, not the architect of her cruelty. You're not to blame."

The dam holding back Marinov's grief broke entirely, a single tear cutting a path down his cheek before others followed. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Marinov allowed himself to be vulnerable, to let the weight of his sorrow pour out. Leaning into Hidayat's touch, his tears fell freely as he mourned his failures and the innocent lives lost because of them.

The watchtower's walls seemed to blur in the dim light as Marinov's sobs filled the space, raw and unrestrained. Hidayat's fingers brushed away the tears, the small, comforting gesture grounding Marinov in the present.

"I let her kill him," Marinov choked out, his voice thick with pain. "I let her destroy Nahil. I didn't stop her. I just stood there like a coward."

Hidayat's grip on his cheek tightened slightly, his own eyes brimming with unshed tears. "You're not a coward, Arseniy," he said firmly, his voice carrying an unexpected strength. "You're a survivor. Despite everything, you still fight, and that makes you brave."

Marinov's head shook weakly, his tears mingling with the dust on the stone floor. "I should have died with him," he whispered, his tone hollow.

"No," Hidayat said, his voice firm, cutting through the despair. "Your life matters, Arseniy. It holds meaning. You have a purpose, more than you realise."

Marinov's sobs slowed, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He met Hidayat's gaze again, finding an unexpected clarity and strength within the young man's eyes—a strength Marinov himself had lost.

"What purpose?" he asked, his voice raw with lingering anguish.

"You saved me," Hidayat whispered, his voice hoarse but resolute. "You gave me a chance to survive. And now, together, we can make this right."

Something shifted within Marinov, a faint spark igniting amidst the ashes of his despair. Hidayat's words and his unwavering presence rekindled a glimmer of hope, fragile yet fiercely persistent. Marinov straightened, wiping his tears with the back of his hand.

"I will," he said, his voice gaining strength with each word. "I'll defy her. I'll expose her lies and put an end to this madness."

Hidayat managed a faint smile, his eyes reflecting the same faint hope. "Together," he echoed.

Marinov nodded, a newfound determination settling within him. Carefully, he helped Hidayat back onto the makeshift bed, his movements gentle and deliberate. Rising to his feet, Marinov's mind began piecing together a plan—a dangerous, desperate plan that would require all his courage and cunning. But it was the only way forward.

With one last glance at Hidayat, Marinov turned towards the door. The road ahead would be perilous, but he no longer cared about the risks. He had found a reason to fight, a purpose worth any sacrifice.

As he stepped out into the chaos of the crumbling city, one thought burned in his mind, clear and resolute:

This ends with me.