My AI Wife: The Most Beautiful Chatbot in Another World-Chapter 106: The Oppressive Depths of the Roots

​Darkness.

​That was the first impression that assaulted Dayat’s senses the moment the iron gates of The Deep Root Cellar slammed shut behind him. The sound wasn’t just a clash of metal on metal; it was a death sentence for every shred of hope he had meticulously built under the bright Vaelith sun. The golden light that usually bathed the capital of Verdia was now replaced by a thick, suffocating darkness that seemed to possess mass—pressing against his chest and clogging his lungs like heavy, damp wool.

​Dayat wasn’t walking; he was being dragged. His feet, bound by heavy, anti-mana chains, scraped against stone steps that were jagged, cold, and slick with a foul-smelling black moss. Every time his body collided with a sharp corner of the staircase, a jolt of agonizing pain shot through his nervous system, yet he lacked the energy to even let out a groan. The Iron-Root Constrictor Nets wrapped around his torso were still active, exerting a constant, bone-crushing pressure on his muscles. The Elves were cunning—they didn’t understand Dayat’s "magic" enough to lock it, but they understood biology perfectly. They had crushed his physical shell to the point of absolute zero.

​The air down here reeked of rotting earth, ammonia, and a cloying humidity that felt like a physical weight. As they descended further into the abyss, the temperature plummeted drastically, replaced by a damp, biting chill that seeped into his marrow.

​"Stop here," Ilthir’s cold voice echoed through the narrow, vaulted corridor.

​Without warning, Dayat was thrown onto a hard, uneven stone floor. His face hit a shallow puddle of stagnant water that tasted of iron and decay. Beside him, Dola was dropped with equal brutality. The girl—or the entity—did not move. Her beautiful blue gown, which only hours ago had shimmered in the parade, was now torn, stained with grime and sap. Dola lay prone, her silver hair spilling across her pale, dirt-streaked face like a shroud of silk.

​"Put the boy in the adjacent cell," Ilthir commanded, his voice devoid of a single drop of the camaraderie they had shared.

​Dayat heard a weak, desperate struggle. It was Kancil. The boy was tossed into a small enclosure right next to Dayat’s, separated by walls of ancient, fossilized roots that were woven so tightly they resembled bars of black steel. Kancil huddled in the corner, his small frame trembling violently. For Kancil, this was the repetition of a nightmare from the gutters of Bakasa, but a hundred times more terrifying because of the magnitude of the betrayal that had put him here.

​"Enjoy your new residence, false hero," Ilthir said, standing just outside the root-bars. He stared down at Dayat with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. There was no trace of the respect or the military dedication he had displayed only a day before. It was as if he were looking at a parasite he had finally managed to scrape off his boot.

​"Ilthir... why?" Dayat whispered, his voice raspy and thin. His throat felt as if he had swallowed burning coals.

​"Why? You still have the audacity to ask?" Ilthir spat at Dayat, the saliva hitting the floor inches from his face. "Every second you breathed our air was an insult to the sanctity of the World Tree. If it weren’t for the Queen’s orders for interrogation, I would have severed your head myself the moment we touched the stage."

​Ilthir turned on his heel and marched away, his heavy footsteps fading into the oppressive silence of the corridor. Not long after, another set of footsteps approached. Lyna appeared. The attendant who had so diligently straightened Dayat’s robes yesterday was now carrying a wooden tray containing a bowl of thick, black root porridge that smelled of fermented acid.

​Lyna stared at Dayat through a gap in the roots. Her eyes, which usually held a warm, almost shy radiance, were now dead—as if she were staring at the rotting carcass of a scavenged beast. She used her foot to shove the tray under the bars.

​"Eat. The Queen does not wish for you to expire before you have confessed every single one of your sins," Lyna said flatly. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

​Dayat stared at the porridge, then looked up at Lyna. "Lyna... you know I didn’t do anything. I saved Elarwyn... I saved the tree here..."

​"Close your mouth!" Lyna snapped, her voice shrill and echoing in the hollow silence of the prison. "Every word that spills from your lips is a poison. You took advantage of our kindness, our ignorance of your demonic ’science’ to corrupt our sacred heart. I am ashamed... I am so deeply ashamed that I ever served you."

​Lyna turned away sharply, her footsteps sounding hurried, as if she were desperate to escape the pollution radiated by Dayat’s mere presence.

​Silence reclaimed the cellar. Dayat crawled toward Dola on his elbows, his muscles screaming in protest. His hand shook as he touched her shoulder. "Dola... wake up, Dola..."

​Dola slowly rolled onto her back. It was then that Dayat saw a sight that tore at his soul. The left side of Dola’s face was marked by a deep, bluish bruise—looking startlingly human—but at the same time, a faint, rhythmic blue spark flickered from beneath a thin tear in her synthetic skin. Her electric-blue eyes were blinking unstable, occasionally turning a dim, alarming red.

​"Master... Dayat..." Dola’s voice was a jagged mess of static, like a radio losing its signal in a storm. "Physical... integrity... 32%. Pressure... on chassis... exceeding... tolerance... limits..."

​A single tear trailed down Dola’s cheek—a clear, saline fluid that looked hauntingly human—yet at the same time, her limbs suffered from stiff, mechanical tremors. She looked like a heart-wrenching hybrid of a suffering girl and a broken machine. This uncertainty of identity made her agony look even more grotesque and unbearable to Dayat.

​"I apologize... Master..." Dola whispered again. "My system... failed... to protect you."

​"No, Dola. This isn’t on you," Dayat said, pulling her head into his lap, ignoring the wave of dizziness that threatened to pull him under. "This is on me. I was arrogant enough to think they actually cared about the help. I trusted them too much."

​In the next cell, Kancil began to sob. It was a pathetic, heart-wrenching sound—the sound of a child who had lost everything in a single hour. "Bang Dayat... I’m scared. It’s so dark... they’re mean, Bang. They’re meaner than the trash-gangs in Bakasa..."

​Dayat squeezed his eyes shut. Kancil’s sobbing felt like a jagged blade sawing through his conscience. Kancil was the most innocent victim in this political drama. The boy had only just tasted what it meant to have a home, what it meant to have a family, and now it had all been snatched away with brutal efficiency.

​"Be strong, Cil. I’m right here," Dayat said, though he himself had no idea what he could do.

​He tried to focus his mind to manifest something—anything. A key, a knife, or even a simple lighter. But his body was utterly drained. The Iron-Root Constrictor Nets had siphoned his physical energy to the point where even lifting his hand felt like trying to move a mountain. Without a sufficient physical anchor, his imagination could not trigger the manifestation. The purple light that usually answered his call was now nothing more than a weak spark that died as soon as it was born.

​Suddenly, a new set of footsteps approached. These were not heavy like Ilthir’s, nor hurried like Lyna’s. These steps were calm, rhythmic, and carried an oppressive aura of dread that seemed to precedes them.

​An Elven man emerged from the darkness. He wore a long, charcoal-grey robe with a high collar that concealed his neck. His face was perfectly symmetrical, almost too perfect for an Elf, with silver hair tied neatly behind his head. However, his eyes were the most striking feature—a pair of sharp, predator-like yellow eyes that held no emotion whatsoever.

​"My name is Veynar," the man introduced himself. His voice was smooth, yet it carried an underlying pressure that made the hair on Dayat’s neck stand up. "I am the High Warden of The Deep Root Cellar. And my task is to ensure that every second you spend within these walls is a reminder of the justice you betrayed."

​Veynar walked closer to Dayat’s cell, his hand, encased in a black leather glove, touching the ancient root-bars. "Justice... a fascinating concept, is it not? You think you did a service by healing the World Tree? No, human. You merely provided a false hope before planting the seeds of ultimate destruction."

​Dayat stared at Veynar with a hatred that was beginning to smolder in the depths of his eyes. "What justice are you talking about? Imprisoning the ones who saved you? That’s called cowardice, not justice."

​Veynar offered a thin, mirthless smile that didn’t reach his predatory eyes. "Fear and justice are often two sides of the same coin. In this world, justice is merely a narrative constructed to soothe the masses. But in reality... this world only bows to fear. The fear of annihilation is what maintains order. And you... you are the source of that fear."

​Veynar glanced toward Dola, then toward Kancil in the next cell. "The boy... he possesses a beautiful potential for trauma. He will learn that in this world, kindness is a lethal weakness. And this woman... we will dissect her to see what lies beneath her false skin. We want to see how the Maiden’s logic is wired."

​"TOUCH THEM, AND I PROMISE YOU’LL REGRET IT!" Dayat roared with the last of his strength.

​Veynar let out a short, hollow laugh. "The threat of an insect in a bottle. Most entertaining. Sleep, hero. Tomorrow, the true interrogation begins. We will peel away every layer of your magic until there is nothing left but pure, unadulterated pain."

​Veynar turned and vanished back into the shadows of the corridor, leaving Dayat in a silence that was deafening.

​Dayat curled up on the cold floor, cradling Dola as she continued to shiver in her malfunction. In the next cell, Kancil’s sobbing slowly subsided, replaced by a silence that was even more terrifying—the silence of a soul beginning to grow numb.

​Dayat’s mind drifted back to Jakarta. To the chaos of the city he had once hated, which now felt like a paradise compared to this hellhole. He remembered Veynar’s words about fear.

​Justice is merely a narrative. The world only bows to fear.

​A massive fissure appeared within Dayat’s moral compass. For as long as he had been here, he had tried to be a good man. He had tried to help. He had tried to save. And this was the result. Blood, chains, and betrayal.

​"If fear is the only language you people understand..." Dayat whispered into the pitch-black darkness, his eyes now emitting a different kind of light—cold, sharp, and filled with a hatred that was beginning to freeze over. "Then I will become the greatest fear you have ever seen."

​Outside, the World Tree of Vaelith continued to pulse with life, utterly indifferent to the suffering of the human who had saved it. Deep within its darkest roots, a new monster was being born from the womb of betrayal.