...At least, that's what Layla thought.
If she only knew what was running through Dunya's mind right now, maybe... just maybe... she would've thought twice.
Maybe she wouldn't have made such a final choice.
But she didn't know.
And so, Layla just sat there.
Quiet. Broken. Already halfway gone.
Now, unsurprisingly, Roya didn't react. Like, at all.
Not a flinch, not a blink, not even a sigh.
That girl was... well, boring in that sense.
Cold as ice. Didn't matter if soone died, cried, or saved the whole damn world—she'd still just stand there with that sa deadpan stare, acting like the only emotion she was ever taught was hate, and maybe mild annoyance.
But the "hero?" Yeah, he was way more interesting to watch right now.
Whatever cocky little victory mood he'd been riding?
Gone. Vanished. Poof.
It was like soone had yanked the crown off his head and slapped him with reality.
He wasn't frozen like Safira and Duban or falling apart like Layla, but he ca real close.
The man just stood there. Stiff. Silent. Jaw half-clenched like he wanted to say sothing—maybe sothing clever, heroic, or leader-like—but his brain wasn't giving him anything to work with.
And his little gang of hype n? His yes-brothers?
They were just as stuck.
They all side-eyed each other, wondering, "What now?"
Usually, they'd crack a dumb joke, cheer, play it off, hype up their Lord even if the crowd looked ready to throw hands.
But even they knew that right now was not the ti.
So they shut up.
They believed themselves better off being quiet, at least until their Lord said sothing first.
Smart move, for once.
And so, they waited. And waited. And kept waiting.
But Zafar? Still nothing.
He was locked in his own head. Still trying to understand what just happened.
Trying to wrap his brain around that level of sacrifice... It was way beyond him. He simply could not understand it.
Another man had just given up everything.
Their life. Their future. Their entire existence—for others.
How? How co fathers so easily laid down their lives for their children?
And how co a stranger could do that so easily for people to whom he had no such relation?
Zafar didn't get it.
What kind of person does that?
Sure, he'd read stories. Hero sacrifices. Big emotional deaths. But seeing it happen—really happen—up close?
It hit different.
And that was when the questions started creeping in. Ugly ones. Heavy ones.
'Is that what real heroes do?'
'Is that what it takes to inspire?'
'They just throw their lives away?'
'Do I have to be like that?'
'Would that get the crown?'
'Would people finally see as more than just a loudmouth with a fancy sword?'
'Do I even have it in to do sothing like that?'
Zafar didn't know.
He really, truly didn't.
His silence was confusion.
It sat heavy on his chest and made him question everything he thought he knew.
So the "hero" just stood there.
Not proud. Not strong. Not brave.
Just... stuck.
Wondering what the Hell he was even supposed to be anymore.
And while he turned over all those questions he couldn't answer, a change suddenly took place.
Safira had finally cracked.
People turned when they heard it.
Hicc!
That tiny, awful sound ca out of her mouth.
A little hiccup.
And then she cried.
Of course, she cried, breaking down.
Their hearts broke at that sight.
Safira cried hard.
She cried, cried, and cried.
She cried because she was sad; she cried because she was mad; she cried because there was nothing else she could do but cry, and that fact only made her sadder and angrier. Every long and lonely night she spent thinking about him, wondering what went wrong, every silent mont she'd pretended not to care—had seed to return to her all at once, and because she could do nothing more, she cried.
She cried like the world had ended.
Because, to her, it had.
She cried because she had no idea what else to do.
Soone had shoved centuries' worth of pain back into her in a single second, and it had sent her reeling.
She cried because she was angry.
Angry at everything. At herself. At the universe. At the stupid rules that made life so damn unfair.
She cried because no matter how strong she was, no matter how many masks she wore, or how many sharp cobacks she had locked and loaded...
Right now, she was just a girl who had lost sothing too big to hold.
And worst of all?
She cried because Malik had ended it between them.
He had walked away. Just like that.
She thought it'd end at that.
But when death ca?
When everything was collapsing?
He was the one who stepped in front of her.
The one who shielded her with his life.
That wasn't love.
That was sothing worse.
Sothing crueler. Because it didn't fade. It lingered.
It clung to her ribs, curled around her spine, whispered in her ear.
It was a ghost that refused to leave. A love that haunted her.
A kind that didn't give her closure.
It only left her broken with a million questions and no one to answer them.
And as she stood there, eyes red and swollen, she only cried harder.
Because knowing he loved her that much?
Knowing he still loved her even after everything?
It felt like poison in a wound that would never close.
And what about Duban?
He, too, had broken through his stone.
It had cracked and shattered. But unlike Safira, he didn't fall apart out loud.
No—Duban went the other way.
He was silent. Way too silent.
Sure, so folks might've thought that ant he was holding it together.
But anyone really looking? Anyone who actually knew him?
They could see it.
His shoulders were shaking—barely, but enough to notice.
His head was bowed so low, like the weight of what he'd just seen was too heavy to lift.
Like, if he even tried to speak, the words would choke him out halfway.
He wasn't okay. Not even close.
But could one bla him?
No sane man—Hell, no person with even half a heart—could've witnessed what he just did and walked away normal.
Duban had just watched his father throw himself onto a ticking, screaming Aether bomb. Had seen Malik—the man he once hated, doubted—stand between IT and everyone else.
Not just so strong villain or twisted freak show.
It was Depravity itself.
The literal embodint of everything wrong with the world.
Duban used to think Malik was the monster.
He'd looked at him like a threat, like a problem they had to solve.
Soone to be cautious of. Soone to keep in check.
But now?
Now he realized just how damn wrong he'd been.
What kind of strength did it take to fight sothing like that?
To blink again and again—through pain, through exhaustion, through madness—and still stand?… And still keep them alive? Save them?
"…How many Blinks did it take?"
No one answered his whisper.
Not because they didn't hear him. But because no one wanted to know.
No one wanted to face the number. Because they all knew it was too many. More than any man should survive. More than a person should even try to survive.
And that was why Malik looked the way he did now.
He hadn't walked away from this fight with his head held high and so dumb-ass grin on his face. He didn't get the shiny golden mont with the wind blowing just right and so heroic ballad swelling in the background.
No.
He crawled back.
A wreck. A ruin. A barely breathing, bloodied silhouette of the man he used to be.
But still… he did it.
He won.
And that's when it hit everyone in the room—hard and all at once.
That obvious, insane, impossible truth had been processed:
Malik beat it.
He beat IT.
The thing that the world couldn't na, couldn't fight, couldn't look at without losing their minds. The thing that the True Sultan would've turned His back on.
He won a fight that shouldn't have been winnable. And he paid the kind of price no one else was ever willing to pay.
Duban finally looked up, blue eyes glassy but lit full of awe.
"You mad, miserable, magnificent bastard."
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