“Every soul is lost because of the wounds they never resolved.”

Chapter 16 - Arvin: The Man Who Opened the Wrong Door

THE BOY WHO WANTED TO WIN

Before Arvin knew about experiments, portals, or Prayer Servers…he was just a kid who didn't want to lose. He was born the middle child. Smart, a quick learner, ambitious. And he had an older brother the family's golden boy, a sports prodigy, whose grades never dropped. Arvin had always hated one thing: the feeling of losing. In the living room, his brother's trophies filled the shelves. In photo albums, his brother always stood in the center. Every time there was a celebration, his parents would say, “Look at your brother. Why can't you be like him?” On Arvin's little face, a smile bloomed as he nodded. Inside his little heart, a small fire grew. The Day Everything Broke The Boy Who Wanted to Win Before Arvin knew about experiments, portals, or Prayer Servers… he was just a kid with one sentence in his blood: I can't lose. And he had an older brother the family's golden child, a sports prodigy whose academic grades never dropped. Arvin had always hated one thing, the feeling of losing. 

In the living room, his brother's trophies filled the shelves. In the photo albums, his brother always stood in the center. At every celebration, at every family gathering, there was an inevitable ritual, “Look at your brother, Kevin. Why can't you be like him?” Arvin smiled and nodded, his tiny hands gripping the edge of the chair. Behind that smile, in a dark corner of his soul that wasn't yet fit to know hatred, a small flame began to burn. The flame whispered, "I have to win. Whatever it takes." The Day Everything Was Ruined. The rain that day was thin, like a sad mist. Arvin's graduation exam scores weren't just falling, but freefalling, shattering into pieces on the paper soaked in his cold sweat. Meanwhile, his brother, once again, was perfect. That night, the house shook with laughter, cheers, and applause. A birthday cake with burning candles, not for Arvin, but for the winner, the star. Arvin blended out, sitting alone on the damp back steps. The rain soaked his hair and clothes, but he didn't feel cold. What he felt was heat, heat in his chest, heat that made his eyes sting. In his hand, he crumpled his grades, twisted them, crushed them into a shapeless ball. It was as if if he crushed them hard enough, reality would crumble with him. Then, from somewhere deep, dark, and silent, a thought emerged: "If this world only has room for one person to shine... then the others must die." He worked. As if he had finally found the answer to a problem that had been unsolved for too long.

THE PUSH

A few weeks later, at a school camping trip, on the edge of a small cliff, the soil loosened by the last week's rain, Arvin stood behind his older brother. The wind blew softly. Over the conversation, the voices of his friends laughed merrily. Kevin's older brother was tying his shoelaces, his back to Arvin, oblivious, unwary. Arvin didn't mean to push hard. Just a small, almost imperceptible touch on the back. Just a second. But that one second was enough to make Kevin's body stagger, his feet on the slippery ground, and his body, always standing upright on the podium, in the family photo, in their parents' hearts, plunge into a silent abyss. Arvin screamed. His scream shattered the silence, filled with panic, breathlessness, a wrenching sob. He cried the loudest, most moving cry, until his teachers hugged him, until his friends joined him in sobs. They all believed his grief was real. Only Arvin knew that beneath all those tears, something had died and something else had been born. His satisfaction lasted only five seconds. His guilt lasted a lifetime.

But beneath that feeling, one sentence continued to echo within him, like a new mantra replacing prayer: "Now... I'm the only one." And the world, for some reason, suddenly became very quiet. The Man Who Ran From His Own Story Arvin grew into an adult who seemed perfect in the eyes of the world. Smart, accomplished, ambitious. An image meticulously constructed, stone by stone, as if with enough effort, he could bury the image of the boy who once stood on the edge of a cliff, his hands still warm from the impulse that changed everything. In Mr. David's laboratory, he was known as a brilliant researcher, always the first to arrive and the last to leave. His eyes were sharp, precise, never satisfied. Every experiment, every piece of data, every equation it had to be perfect. 

He wanted to fix everything that was wrong in the world, because by doing so, perhaps he could right the wrongs buried deep in the darkest recesses of his soul. But behind every success, behind every compliment from his colleagues, a small shadow always followed him. The same voice as before, only now deeper, more mature, more cruel “If I'm not good… I don't deserve to live.” The guilt never went away. It only changed form. It became a burning ambition. It became an obsessive need to control everything. It became a belief that if he could change the fate of others, save the world, or create something greater than himself then maybe, just maybe, he could be redeemed. Until Mr. David introduced him to the Prayer Server. A technology he shouldn't have touched. A door he shouldn't have opened. But when he read the proposal, when he understood its scale how it had the potential to alter fate, reset reality, give a second chance to the fallen he saw more than just a scientific breakthrough. He saw a confession. A possible forgiveness. A way to escape his own story or perhaps, finally, rewrite its ending. But what neither of them understood yet was that the Prayer Server wasn't just throwing them into random dimensions. It was sorting them. It was judging them. Not based on morality… but on unresolved intentions. The machine had read every fragment of their consciousness at the moment of their separation: David's desperate love, Shayla's innocent curiosity, Juno's fractured perfectionism, and Arvin's repressed guilt the single most deeply held memory he harbored, the one related to the sibling he never spoke of. The Prayer Server hadn't placed him randomly. It had placed him precisely where his unresolved karma was strongest: the path to Hell I, the realm where every soul must face the one truth they fear most.

ENTRY TO INFERNAL THE WRONG DOOR

On the day the Prayer Server first came to life the day the machine breathed, spoke, and swallowed four humans—the portal hadn't simply drawn in their bodies.It drew in their intentions. Their desires.Their fears. The hallway should have been silent. Only the distant sound of an alarm in the background and the lingering light of the portal that hadn't yet closed. But Arvin stopped. There was a sound from the cracking wooden door next to him. "Cak…" Not human. Not machine. Not David. Not Shayla. But the rhythm… it was like a call. Arvin swallowed. The door vibrated softly, the air around it saying, “Don’t open it. This isn’t your way.” But guilt was always stronger than reason. “If I don’t come in… it’s all my fault.” He touched the doorknob. It didn’t open. He opened it himself. A blast of heat hit his face not fire, but a broken rhythm, a broken sound rearranged by something older than time. “Cak… cak… cak…” Not beautiful. Not sacred. Irregular.

The rhythm sounded like:

 a wrong step,

 a late decision,

 a never ending regret.

Arvin was being dragged inside by something invisible.

INFERNAL 1 THE SPIRAL OF WRONG STEPS

There was no arena. No torches. No dancers. Just dozens, hundreds of circles, spinning like a decision diagram in the human mind. And in the center of each circle was a tiny version of himself: Arvin at age 10, Arvin as a teenager, Arvin pushing his brother, Arvin when David was disappointed, Arvin looking at himself with disgust. They weren't dancing. They were just repeating the same moves that always went wrong. Arvin whispered softly: “What is this…?” From the darkness came a voice not human, not demonic. It was like a recording of himself played too slowly, “You're always one step too late…And you want to fix everything by jumping to the last step.” Arvin stepped back. His foot accidentally crushed one of the circles. In that instant, all the “cak” stopped. All versions of himself turned toward Arvin. All at once. “That's not how you learn.” Arvin panicked, running. But each step created a new circle an endless spiral of mistakes. “Cak CAK CAK CAK CAK!” The rhythm changed to his own heartbeat. Arvin fell to his knees. He covered his ears. “Stop! I just want to fix everything…” A hot wind swept by. A tall shadow appeared: His body was composed of: experimental,  blueprints,, Failure reports, “if only…” notes, torn destiny charts He spoke without a mouth “The Infernal doesn’t burn bodies, Arvin. It burns illusions.” Arvin trembled. “What illusions…?” “That you can fix the past by punishing yourself.”

SIBLINGS

At that moment, a different rhythm emerged: a misplaced “caaak.” A sound that was out of tune with the silence and fear. Then, from a distance, a small voice, torn by distance and time  “…ar…vin…” Arvin froze.

His body became a statue, caught between breathing and forgetting to breathe. It wasn’t David’s voice. Not Shayla’s. Not that creature. It was the voice he had heard on the sidelines of the soccer field, in the dining room, in his waking dreams. The voice he had buried under piles of achievements and experiments.

“Kevin…?”

A small light appeared, in the shape of an eleven-year-old boy. Not a ghost. Just a memory of guilt taking form. The shadow approached, smiling gently. His face was still the same as Arvin remembered: clear eyes, slightly messy hair, the short-sleeved shirt he had worn that day. “I didn’t come to punish you.” Arvin cried. His cries were no longer those of a scientist, a criminal, or a survivor. They were the cries of a ten-year-old standing on the edge of a cliff, his hands still burning with sin. “I… pushed you… I was evil…” The shadow shook his head. Slowly. With an understanding that a child should never have. “You’re not evil, Arvin. You’re just a scared child. It was fear that brought me here… not that incident.” Arvin knelt. His knees touched the cold floor, as if his entire body had finally surrendered to the truth. “How… can I make amends?” The shadow gazed at him gently. There was no anger. No resentment. Only deep acceptance, like the sky embracing the earth after rain. The light moved forward, its small hand touching Arvin’s chest. And there, deep in the hollow of his heart, riddled with scars and heavy stones, something shattered. Not like glass, but like a burden hardened over decades finally cracking, turning to dust, and then vanishing on a wind he had never felt before. The shadow spoke softly, its voice like an echo from the past that had finally found peace, “I forgive you. Now it’s your turn to forgive yourself.” And it vanished.

EXIT THE DOOR TO THE WEVER

The spiral of stone beneath his feet moved like a hungry creature, driving Arvin to keep running, over and over, repeating the same circle hundreds of times. Until finally, in the midst of the most silent despair, Arvin no longer headed toward the center of the spiral. He stopped running. He closed his eyes. He gave up. Not defeat… but surrender. In the hot, trembling air, amidst the shouts of “CAK CAK CAK CAK!” suddenly a strange voice was heard, clearly not from that world. “Vrrt bzzt vweep.” Arvin turned quickly. There was no form. Only a small holographic triangular flash appeared for less than 0.3 seconds, then vanished like an illusion peeled away by the winds of hell. Preet couldn't speak yet. But he had already begun searching. Detecting Arvin's fear. Tracing the cracks between dimensions. Arvin didn't understand,

but his eyes widened as something tried to reach him. As he stepped on the third stone, the heat felt like burning flesh from within, the kecak rhythm suddenly changed. "Cak... cak... beep... cak..." Arvin frowned. In the air, the sounds formed a strange pattern, appearing only once, as fast as lightning.

-. .--. … (R P S) Arvin misinterpreted. He thought it was the Right Path Step. He stepped onto a hotter stone. A scream escaped his throat. Preet tried to help... but the signal wasn't stable. Human language was still absurd to him; he only understood fear as waves, not words. Arvin fell to his knees, his breathing erratic, his skin burning. For the first time, he stopped fighting. And that was when the kecak rhythm subsided. The chasing fire fell silent. Then, from the bottom of the spiral, a small, trembling voice emerged,

like a digital baby just learning to form words:

"...ar... vin..."

"...stop..."

"...heat lowers... when... still..."

The voice was broken, but clear enough for Arvin to understand. Stop fighting. Be still, then you can get out.

With tears and trembling, Arvin closed his eyes. He stopped. Completely. And the spiral… cracked. Light leaked through the cracks. The Infernal sky opened like shattered glass, pixels falling like ash, revealing an algorithmic tangle of threads of destiny that belonged only to one being, The Weaver. The weaver of life's paths. The arranger of karmic knots. Arvin took a deep breath. Not free from guilt, but not crushed by its burden anymore.

“I don't fully understand… but I'm ready.” He stepped into the light, into the realm of the Weaver.

---

♦️ Q&A

Q: Why did Arvin get lost in the "wrong door"?

A: Because in the Samsaraverse, doors open according to our deepest feelings. Arvin was filled with guilt... so he was automatically drawn to the dimension that matched his emotions.

Q: Why are there strange circles in Arvin's version of hell?

A: It's a symbol of the mistakes he's been repeating since childhood. It's not a monster, it's not fire, it's just his own life patterns that have formed into a dimension.

Q: Who is the little boy who appears at the end? A ghost?

A: No. It represents the memory of his deceased brother. It's not a real person, more like a shadow of Arvin's guilt that finally appears to talk and provide closure.

Q: How did Arvin escape from hell so quickly?

A: Because he finally had the courage to admit the truth he'd been hiding his entire life. Once he was honest with himself, the dimension automatically released him.

Q: What's the most important lesson from Chapter 15?

A: Sometimes hell isn't a place... but the feelings we keep to ourselves. And he stops when we dare to face him.