The watchtower groaned under the relentless wind, its broken frame trembling as if expecting collapse. Inside its dim chamber, Hidayat stood near a guttering torch, his amber eyes reflecting the unsteady light like dying embers. Next to him, Isaac's slender figure lingered, as if summoned there by nothing but desperate resolve.

"It's possible," Isaac said softly, his voice as hushed as the swirling gusts beyond. "We could enter the Labyrinth again. Maybe there's still a path we haven't taken."

Hidayat's gaze flicked beyond the fractured window, into a sky distorted by his own power—a place where existence itself threatened to unravel. Talk of returning to that Unreal Realm, equally enchanting and merciless, sparked something in him, a faint glimmer of hope amidst the bleakness he wore like a cloak.

"Isaac," he whispered, his voice unsteady, "you truly think another route remains, a song yet unsung?"

Isaac nodded, his own conviction steady despite the restless chaos looming outside. "I do. As long as we keep trying, there's hope."

They moved quickly, collecting what supplies they had: a feeble lantern, glowing vials that pulsed with faint power, and blades made from fragments of a world now on the brink. Each object felt like a statement of defiance—a promise that they would not bow to the encroaching darkness without a fight.

As Isaac handed Hidayat a worn rucksack, their hands touched—a momentary link of comfort and solidarity. "We shape our destiny," Isaac said, eyes calm even as the tower rattled around them. "We're no mere pawns of fate; we can piece together this fractured reality."

Hidayat's resolve hardened, though the floor itself seemed to protest under another violent quake. Dust sifted from the ceiling, and an uneasy hush pressed in.

"Time's running short," he said, bracing himself against a trembling wall. His voice was low, yet it thrummed with urgency.

"Then let's move faster," Isaac replied, keeping the rucksack close as though it might hold them steady in this crumbling world.

They shared one final look—a silent promise etched on their faces—before the city outside roared, as if determined to consume them. But there, in the failing heart of the tower, the two of them stood firm, preparing to face the shifting nightmare of the Labyrinth once more.

As dusk settled, the tower's small windows offered a final, pale glow. The hush inside felt like a warning of the coming storm. Hidayat watched dust clouds stirring on the horizon, dread coiling around his heart like a tightening vice.

A distant clatter, growing louder, revealed the approach of marching footsteps. Isaac's face grew taut as he caught sight of advancing Arymh forces through the window. The stones of the tower vibrated under their relentless steps.

"They've found us," Isaac said, his voice edged with alarm. Their eyes met in the dimness, reflecting the twilight and their shared fear.

Hidayat stood rigid, the hope Isaac had sparked now threatened by the reality of the soldiers' arrival. They were trapped. Every thudding footstep felt like a hammer blow to Hidayat's spirit.

In the gloom of the tower, the soldiers formed a hostile line, torchlight skimming off their armour and casting long, menacing shadows at Hidayat's feet. Their fear and loathing mirrored the devastation he had unleashed.

Hidayat looked away from their accusing glares, turning instead to Isaac, whose green eyes still shone with a muted resolve. In that moment, they exchanged a look freighted with silent goodbyes and gratitude.

"It has to be me," Hidayat murmured, voice low. Each syllable weighed on his chest like a stone, but he spoke with calm certainty. He understood now—his life was the crux on which their broken world balanced.

Isaac reacted instantly, stepping forward in protest. "Hidayat, please!" he cried, heartbreak cracking his voice.

Yet Hidayat, with an odd gentleness, halted Isaac with a single touch. Tears traced down his cheeks—not for himself, but for the innocent lives ensnared in this catastrophe. Resolute, he raised his arms in a gesture of surrender, focusing on the volatile energies surging inside him.

As he let those forces swell, a shimmering aura took shape around him, its glow beating like a heart nearing its final gasp. Overhead, the cracked sky paused in its self-destruction, as if compelled by Hidayat's silent command.

"No! You can't!" Isaac shouted, reaching out in desperation. "There must be another way!"

Hidayat turned, sorrow radiating from his amber eyes. "It's the only way," he said. "I can't let the world suffer for my existence." His voice was tired yet resolute. "Promise me—live on, and find a way to mend all that's broken."

With those words, Hidayat surrendered to the darkness. His form became ghostlike, unravelling into a haze of iridescent motes that swirled upwards, vanishing into the night. A hush fell over the watchtower, as if the world held its breath in mourning.

Isaac's agonised shout shattered the quiet. "It can't end like this!" he pleaded, voice raw with despair. "We can find another way!"

But Hidayat's fading smile only deepened into something gentle and tragic. "Goodbye, Isaac," he said softly. "Look after them... and yourself."

A maelstrom of radiance engulfed Hidayat then, forcing Isaac to shield his eyes from the blinding brilliance. As it ebbed, Hidayat's essence drifted upwards—translucent shards of existence dispersing into the air. A solemn stillness followed, like the silent hush after a final breath.

Yet in that instant of departure, a change crossed Hidayat's face. His gaze, locked on Isaac, was full of shock and betrayal. "What did you do?" he breathed, the words barely audible, threaded with disbelief.

Isaac's features, once etched with grief, hardened like stone. The fear and hope in his eyes were replaced by something stark and unyielding—a resolve honed by desperation.

"I did what had to be done," Isaac said quietly, his voice stripped of warmth. "To save you... to save all of us, I had no choice."

He turned away, standing with his back to both the soldiers and the encroaching darkness. In that posture, Isaac looked as immovable as the watchtower's ancient stones. "Even if it means breaking every vow we made," he concluded, his words a sombre acceptance of fate's toll.

In that moment, Isaac stood alone with the consequences of his actions. Hidayat's fading glow had been a testament to a final sacrificial act, but the manner of its occurrence spoke of a deeper betrayal. Amid the crumbling remains of a once-stately city, Isaac's decision stood starkly between salvation and destruction—impossible to retract, heavy with the echoes of a world unravelling.

***

Isaac stood alone among the ruins of Arymh. Where laughter had once echoed through lively streets, only an eerie hush lingered, haunting him like a forlorn spirit. Shadows clung to the crumbling walls, and the air felt heavy with grief for Hidayat—his lost love—whose death had carved an abyss in Isaac's heart so deep that no light could reach it. The ground itself trembled with each of his heartbeats, reflecting the instability of the Unreal Realm and mirroring the turmoil that consumed him.

In the faint moonlight, Isaac's pallor appeared almost translucent, his once-vivid green eyes dulled and rimmed with red from countless shed tears. Dust swirled around him, each shimmering fleck seeming to mock him with reminders of the life he should have shared with Hidayat, had fate not torn it away.

Unrelenting whispers of 'what if' and 'if only' coiled through his thoughts, forming chains of self-reproach that held him captive. Each shallow breath drew in the stifling air, tainted by the strange energy that merged with his grief and warped his surroundings. Buildings around him twisted inward, as though clawing towards him with ghostly hands.

In that dreamlike haze, Kalim approached with a bearing of quiet determination. Against the backdrop of chaos, his presence felt oddly grounding—though sorrow, too, weighed upon his broad shoulders. His brown eyes, typically burning with fierce resolve, now held a tempered sympathy for the younger man before him.

"Isaac," he said, voice firm but tinged with the same grief that hung over the fractured sky. He reached out, his calloused hand hovering near Isaac's shoulder—an unspoken offer of support in the midst of despair.

The air itself seemed to quake with tension as though Kalim's unspoken plea urged them both not to abandon their humanity, even in a world where 'humanity' felt as fleeting as the kaleidoscopic lights dancing along the Unreal Realm's boundaries.

Yet Isaac remained motionless, as if carved from sorrow and regret. He knew Kalim was there, felt his unwavering gaze, but an unbridgeable distance had opened within him—an abyss that threatened to devour the last of his will. The Labyrinth beckoned him with promises of oblivion or redemption, and he found himself terrifyingly eager to answer that call.

Kalim's voice carried the weight of his own hardships, every word reflecting a life shaped by the discipline of Yorymh and the vibrancy of Arymh—a harmony of strength and compassion. "Isaac," he began softly, as if weaving a thin thread of gold through the darkness around them, "I've walked through shadows thick with loss. I know how grief can cling to you like a second skin."

He paused, searching Isaac's face for any flicker of response. "But every step we take, no matter how painful, proves our resilience. Our humanity remains our greatest shield—even when it feels like it's in tatters."

A brittle laugh escaped Isaac's lips, jagged and broken. "Humanity?" he echoed bitterly. "How did humanity help when it couldn't save Hidayat? It hasn't undone the fate that stole him from me."

Isaac rose abruptly, and the shifting light made his outline blur, as though he was merging with the fractured reality around them. "You talk about understanding," he said, his voice trembling with anger and grief, "but you can't possibly understand how deeply I loved him, or the desperation gnawing at me."

Kalim drew in a measured breath, steadying the tempest within. He recognised Isaac's fury—he'd known a similar rage himself. "I understand more than you realise," he replied gently. "Love can create and destroy. It binds us, but it shouldn't blind us to what lies ahead."

Isaac let out another harsh laugh, as if scornful of any hope. "Ahead? There's no path ahead without him—only an endless maze of regrets and unanswered prayers."

Kalim's face flickered with frustration, fighting the sorrow etched into his features. "Isaac, don't let your heart become a labyrinth too," he implored. "We have to face what's coming, faint as the promise may be."

"Face it?" Isaac's voice rose, a collision of despair and anger. "A dawn only shows me the void he left behind."

"Then we'll cross that void together," Kalim insisted, his firm composure a counterpoint to Isaac's anguish. "I won't let you navigate this alone."

"Alone is all I know," Isaac said, voice final and hollow, turning away from Kalim's outstretched hand and the empathy it offered. Darkness within him surged, feeding on the remains of a once-bright bond between them.

Isaac recoiled as though Kalim's hand carried fire, the air thick with the tension of a bond stretched to breaking. Every word Kalim spoke, every attempt at understanding, felt like salt in the raw wound of Isaac's grief.

"Forgive me," Isaac whispered, though it wasn't Kalim he was apologising to but rather a memory beyond any reach. He spun away, footsteps unsteady yet resolute, each stride distancing himself from compassion—and from Kalim's silent plea not to walk this path alone.

Kalim reached out once more, his voice a quiet plea. "Isaac, please—don't do this."

But Isaac was already moving on, haunted by the echo of Hidayat's laughter. He stumbled toward the Unreal Realm's labyrinthine entrance, where reality's seams were dangerously thin and shifting.

Faint lights shimmered around the Labyrinth's threshold, beckoning him with a promise of either oblivion or uncertain salvation. Isaac crossed over, a phantom wind enveloping him, the world wobbling in a sickening surge of colour. Buildings and streets twisted into an uncanny tableau, matching the tumult inside him.

From behind, Kalim called out—a muffled clap of thunder in the distance, trying in vain to tether Isaac to the real world. But the void left by Hidayat's death was a chasm no plea could bridge.

Rooted at the Labyrinth's entrance, Kalim watched Isaac's blond hair vanish amid the swirling lights. Despair furrowed his brow, each line speaking of struggles faced and lost. His hands trembled with a helplessness he scarcely recognised, for the Unreal Realm had taken Isaac, swallowing him into its heart.

Silence settled, wrapping around the broken city like a suffocating veil. In that solitary moment, Kalim wrestled with the enormity of Isaac's choice, haunted by the dread of what might follow—an omen shadowing his thoughts like a pair of dark wings unfurling in the night.