"I need you to set up a eting with Nasir."
Safira blinked at Malik's words, caught off guard.
"What?"
He stepped closer and leaned against the table.
"Tell him his son's savior is here~."
That got her attention, her brows shooting up.
"Wait—Duban? You—"
Malik nodded.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm his hero!"
Safira folded her arms, suspicion creeping into her expression.
"You're telling you were with the caravan that saved Duban?"
"That battle took a lot."
His voice went quieter.
"From a lot of people... I am of those people, so I'm here to ask for compensation, conciliation, or whatever you call it."
She searched his face for sothing—what, he wasn't sure—and then asked:
"Did they... did they take your eyes?"
His smile returned.
"Oh, they took a lot more than that."
She looked at him all weird and shook her head.
"Your appearance is... strange, you know that, right?"
Malik shrugged.
"You gonna set it up or not?"
Safira muttered sothing under her breath and turned toward one of the soldiers nearby.
"Go. Tell Nasir that soone's here about Duban. He'll join us in the eting."
The guard hesitated, glancing between them, then nodded and took off.
Malik gave her a gesture of thanks and left.
Step one was done.
Now, all he needed was to make a good first impression.
***
{Outside The Projection}
That was it.
They all saw it,
The beginning of a tragic lie.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Nasir's tent was exactly what Malik expected.
Extravagant.
It seed that the Paladins attempted to copy their work.
Rich fabrics draped in thick folds, their surfaces shimring with golden embroidery that caught the light just right. The entrance was flanked by ornate brass poles, each one adorned with detailed carvings—verses, prayers, and proclamations of power.
The whole place reeked of soone who wanted people to KNOW they had power.
Fitting.
After all, Nasir Al-Sultan wasn't just running a militia.
He was playing king.
Or, well, caliph.
And like any good leader, he had his guards.
A lot of them.
Malik's gaze flicked across them as he approached, noting their armor, their weapons, their insignias.
Each stood under a different banner.
The yellow one, familiar.
The red one, familiar.
The blue one… unfamiliar.
That was new.
Malik's mind worked fast, piecing things together.
Blue.
Had to be the Originists.
He hadn't seen their flag before, but it wasn't hard to guess.
The Paladins and the Nasirs were already involved; it made sense the Zealots wanted their piece of the pie too.
And that ant these weren't just random guards.
They were representatives.
Official ones.
Which made them useful.
So, if there was ever a ti to pry for information, this was it.
Malik strolled up, casual, hands tucked loosely into his sleeves.
"Alright..."
He tilted his head.
"I gotta ask—why the Hell are you guys acting like you're not involved in this war when your banners are sitting right here outside the Commander's tent?"
The guards exchanged glances.
The ones under the red and blue flags stiffened slightly, as if expecting trouble.
Then, one of the red-bannered guards crossed his arms and said:
"Because we don't want the Holy Kingdom to know."
Simple. Direct.
"Oh?"
Malik rocked back on his heels.
"So, uh… explain to why you've got your flags just sitting out in the open, then. If you don't want them to know, seems kinda dumb to be waving your colors around like a bunch of drunken rcenaries at a victory parade."
The guard didn't even hesitate.
"Because we still want people to know... At least enough to start rumors."
Malik scoffed, shaking his head.
"That's so weird-ass logic."
And yet, it made perfect sense.
This wasn't about staying hidden. That was a fool's ga anyway—sooner or later, soone would sniff them out.
No, this was about sothing bigger.
This was about managing perception.
See, the Holy Kingdom? They were one thing. If they caught wind of just how deep the Paladins—and now the Zealots—were wrapped up in this war, they'd be forced to act. Officially. And that? That would set off a chain reaction nobody was ready for.
Because what they had here… this wasn't just another battlefield. This wasn't just another faction clash. This was sothing unprecedented. Dangerous.
All three of the world's major, officially recognized religions? Fighting the sa war? Against the sa enemy?
That was a terrifying thought.
Not for the people on the plains, no.
For them, it was probably reassuring.
It ant they weren't alone.
God was by their side!... Or whatever.
But that wasn't all.
It ant this wasn't so random takeover, so half-baked governnt held together with spit and prayers.
It ant real power was behind this fight.
But for the ones in power outside here? The ones pulling the strings, issuing decrees, deciding which wars got blessed and which ones got buried?
This was their worst nightmare.
Because unity? True unity? That was the hardest thing in the world to control.
And if the Holy Kingdom—the Sultan's hotown, no less—had to acknowledge this war for what it really was? Had to see all these different banners flying side by side, all these people who should've been enemies standing shoulder to shoulder?
That would change everything.
Which was exactly why they couldn't let that happen.
The powers that be needed to squash this before it grew too big, too real. Before it beca sothing they couldn't manipulate.
That was why the Holy Kingdom couldn't know.
But, on the other hand… the militias hiding wasn't an option either.
Not when the people—those desperate, starving souls searching for sothing, anything to believe in—needed proof.
They needed to see these banners. They needed to believe there was sothing more supporting this militia than just a few blades and a handful of coins from Al-Sayf.
They needed to believe this was real if their blood was ever to be spilled.
And for that? The blood of n? The risk was worth it.
Malik let out a slow breath, shaking his head.
He hated politics. Hated all the gas, the lies, the posturing.
But even he had to admit… sotis, it was kind of impressive.
Glancing at two of the three colors, Malik asked:
"So, what's your role around here?"
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