Isaac's figure stood alone in what used to be Arymhi. Now it lay in ruins, a broken husk of a world torn apart by cataclysm. The vibrant murals that once adorned the Arymh districts were reduced to smeared colours on warped buildings. The winding streets, once alive with the aroma of spices and the laughter of artisans, had surrendered to an almost oppressive silence—so pervasive that it felt like one more layer of this distorted reality.

With each step, Isaac's boots crunched over debris crumbling beneath him like the city's bones. He wandered through the shattered scene, his green eyes dulled by grief yet lit by a spark of determination. When he called out, his voice seemed an intrusion into the hush that muffled the devastation.

"Hidayat!" he cried, the name echoing off the broken walls with palpable urgency. "Hida!"

Shadows flickered around him, whispering half-formed secrets from the Unreal Realm he knew too well. Where communal squares had once stood—now little more than fractured mosaics under a sky drained of colour—Isaac walked on.

He came across the rubble of the Grand Hall, once braced by dignified pillars, now collapsed like toppled sentinels. It was here, in these ruins of leadership and tradition, that Hidayat's absence felt most overwhelming.

Isaac raised his voice again, pouring all his longing and resolve into it: "Hidayat! Hida, answer me!"

Silence answered, broken only by the slow shifting of darkness as though mocking his solitary vigil. Each call became a mantra of hope pitched against the immense void, a refusal to let isolation triumph. Yet even as he moved through that warped realm, Isaac clung to one belief: somewhere amid the twisted remains lay Hidayat—a flicker of life in the approaching gloom. Every footstep carried empathy, a slender strand of light guiding him through the dark, assuring that even in despair, he would never cease to search for the one person who mattered more than anything.

Isaac's breathing quickened in the thick, charged air, his heart a relentless drum in the hush. Everywhere, the ground seemed to whisper of futility, yet he pressed on into the ruinous labyrinth. "Where are you?" he muttered, voice scarcely more than a sigh. Twisted spires from the Grand Hall reached towards the sky like hands clawing for salvation. Isaac expected Hidayat's boundless spirit to shine through the gloom, but the silence held dominance here, a calm so profound it was almost sovereign.

With each unanswered call, hopelessness settled in his chest, yet a fierce spark of purpose refused to be extinguished. This bond between them felt stretched perilously thin—a faint tether Isaac refused to let snap. "Please," he whispered to the forces that had undone their reality, "let him be safe."

But fate offered a different sight. Instead of Hidayat, Isaac found Marinov among the shards of what could have been a plaza, lying still as death. Alarm surged, pushing Isaac's wearied legs into motion. He knelt by Marinov, noticing how his blond hair, dulled by debris, blended into the ashen ruin.

Marinov's laboured breaths showed he still lived, though his brown eyes flickered with confusion, as though he struggled to piece together a world fallen to pieces. "Can you hear me?" Isaac asked softly, a gentleness in his voice that could only come from surviving shared horrors. He placed a supportive hand on Marinov's shoulder, anchoring them both against the warped state of reality.

For a moment, they seemed like two castaways in a dismal sea, united by chance alone. Marinov's gaze, clouded by oblivion, eventually locked with Isaac's. The recognition Isaac had feared missing wasn't there, replaced by blank uncertainty.

"Marinov," Isaac began, his voice outwardly steady despite the turmoil in his chest. He stayed close, offering not just aid but a faint promise of a future, no matter how frail. "I'm Isaac," he said, his tone devoid of the familiarity that had once existed between them. "We can help each other."

It felt as though the entire warped city held its breath, the Labyrinth's charged air waiting on this fledgling alliance. Marinov's eyes, dulled by trauma, peered at Isaac. Slowly, Marinov raised a trembling hand to clutch Isaac's, seeming to cling to whatever shred of safety Isaac might provide.

They rose together, two uncertain figures set against the twisted horizon. Around them, every broken stone and fallen arch murmured of a past overshadowed by chaos. Yet they found resolve in that very devastation: Isaac's unwavering focus, and Marinov's need to find meaning amid his battered memories.

They stood at the threshold of an unknown path where sky and land blurred as one, a sense of unearthly dread creeping around them like a cloak. Whatever lay ahead promised no comfort. Yet united by the belief that somewhere in this bending realm lay Hidayat, they moved on.

And so they walked into the gloom, each step a silent oath not to surrender to the terror closing in. For amidst the enveloping night, a fragile hope persisted—a flame Isaac refused to let die.