***
The one and only floated once more, allowed a mont from his chains.
His form shimred high above the crowd, or whatever one’d call this lump of kneeling bodies.
They were all so quiet now.
Not out of reverence, but exhaustion.
Malik, while not used to such silence, didn’t look at them long.
He didn’t need to, nor want to.
This respect of theirs?
He didn’t want it. Didn’t care for it.
None of them could ever understand what he had just gone through.
What he was taught. Instilled in his very being. His Essence.
They might sympathize, empathize, or the like, but...
That was it. They could do nothing more.
And Malik didn’t expect them to.
Not at all.
He knew himself to be unique.
One in a googolplex.
No one was like him.
No one suffered like he did.
Especially not after what had just passed.
This last lesson... it was the hardest one. No debate.
His earlier words were the truth.
Malik had no clue how he pulled it off all those years ago.
Even less how the "original" Malik might’ve done it.
Not that it mattered.
They were the sa person.
One body. One mind. One soul. One Essence.
Fractured in tiline, maybe, but identical in burden.
Identical in their fight against Corruption. Against IT.
He was tired of pretending otherwise.
His identity wasn’t lost...
It was only combined.
And so, he felt what he felt.
And oh... he felt it deep.
By now, the fifth cycle of this... show, he believed it’d get stale, but no.
The mories he Embodied sent him through too much to even think about.
Though... not all of it made him emotional.
Seeing his mother again... in that dream...
He thought he’d feel rage. Or longing. Or grief.
But what he felt was just...
Indifference.
That Chapter had long closed.
It had closed the mont he visited their graves.
And honestly? It didn’t hurt anymore, at least not to the current him.
If it were the past him, he’d claim that he despised her but also loved her.
But now, that didn’t matter.
Soone else did.
Mahdi...
Mahdi had still broken his heart.
And at the sa ti, he nded it.
As did the others.
Hassan.
Faqir.
Yusuf.
Rehan.
And... Jasmine.
Oh, sweet little Jasmine.
The one flower in his garden that never got to bloom.
Gone so early, it left a scar he never really let heal.
He liked to believe she was doing well. Wherever she was. Up there with the rest of his family.
But still...
He missed her.
Even now.
Even in this strange divine form, hovering between the world and sothing... else.
Even now, in his battle against what even the Rukh didn’t want to face.
Malik was supposed to et his family one day.
He believed that. The day of his "break."
But that day ca and went.
And he didn’t.
He stayed.
Dragged back by a single thing.
A single person.
A single owl.
His little brother.
Sinbad.
Without him, Malik knew he’d have died that day.
Truly died, the hourglass having reached its end.
He owed him more than he could ever say.
And six days ago?
It happened again.
His "break" had co, but...
His departure was delayed, courtesy of the Lady of Ti and ’Her’ Blessing.
And it might never co... at least if he succeeds in Embodying his past.
A fact that no one knew, that no one could possibly know.
Not even the one connected to his soul.
This wasn’t only due to the ’Their’ skill in weaving the dead, but it was also because of sothing very obvious.
Now, Sinbad had finally stepped out of his shadow.
He was no longer "Malik’s little owl."
He was his own Sun.
Bright. Blinding. Loud. True.
And Malik was proud of him.
They were proud of each other.
Love shared between soul brothers.
...And then there was Shimr, the opposite end of this love.
The na alone brought bile to his soul. Even now, a few hundred years later.
That smug, rotten, conniving... thing. A bastard failing to mimic soone greater.
Just the mory of him made Malik’s teeth clench, sothing of an achievent considering his unnaturally and insanely thick skin.
Though, to be fair, most of that hate vanished once he took a mont to taphorically breathe.
Emotions didn’t work the sa for people like him, especially not for those in the state he was currently in, as rare or impossible as that might be, a place in between realms, existing in a soul form that held only Essence and left all that was of the world.
So, returning to his indifference, he just floated.
Weightless.
Distant.
Unfathomably more than he was before.
Once more, he could feel it, his whole being aligning to a higher status.
The status of a Great Demon. A Jinn Al-Azim.
He was no longer rebuilt from pieces.
He was reforged into sothing higher.
His Blessing-disguised system did its work.
His Essence rged with mory.
His body burned away.
Only the truth remained.
A Divine Rank that was beneath him.
Earlier, such a statent would’ve astounded him, a man who never dread of being a Celestial, a Magi, actually becoming a damned JINN, the strongest Jinn, but now?
It was a matter of fact.
A fact that made him uncomfortable with himself, as his soul was used to the Mithqal Divine Rank, and that, much like the jump between the two Major Ranks before it, was an incredible leap, only far greater.
This leap was what blocked most of the universe from stepping towards Godhood.
It was the roadblock that only the best of the best could ever dream of crossing.
And even those that crossed that roadblock didn’t always survive their path.
Gaining the Blessing of a Rukh, a GOD, wasn’t all that easy.
And Malik, being Malik, only made it harder for himself.
Much harder... but that was a surprise for later.
Now, he’d be seen going to war.
To fulfill revenge.
’...Hm.’
He stared at the kneelers again.
This ti, pity painted his eyes.
They didn’t understand what was coming.
Not yet. But they would.
Oh, they would.
They would learn exactly what he fought against.
The beginning of what he planned for. What he sacrificed too much for.
An unfathomably large curtain was about to rise.
And they’d finally see a glimpse of why he’d worn the mask of a villain for all these years.
Why he did what he did, why he stopped defending himself, and why he only fanned the flas, giving them all a common enemy.
They’d see.
And they’d wish they never did.
Ding!
An annoyingly familiar and STUPID sound resounded.
Sighing, he turned his head, eyes landing on the floating Script.
[Would you like to end your break? Your life’s sixth volu, The Depraved Movent, has its preparations complete.]
A long beat.
’Yes.’
Only four more days.
Four days of agony.
Of purification.
Of transcendence.
Then he’d return.
And everything would begin again.
"Bassorāh."
***
Late at night...
A little birdie whispered in my ear...
"Who are the ghosts that keep their watch from above?
Who do we follow... when we’re lost and we’ve had enough?
Who do we call... when the silence breaks us apart?
To know that we’re not here... alone in the dark?"
I turned to the bird... and smiled a broken one.
"Why are you still here...?
Run along ho now."
Lullabies turn bitter... when wicked things co creeping.
It’s past the hour, brother.
Ti to let you go.
It’s ti to let you fly.
Oh... run along ho now.
And don’t turn back—don’t look for what’s gone.
Half-alive, I’m haunted by a day... no one saw.
A day stitched in quiet,
With no footsteps but mine.
You’re going ho now.
Move on, low down.
Pretty eyes... oh how could I have ever let them go?
It’s heavier than you’ll ever—ever—ever... ever know.
And now... it’s too much to hold.
I have to let go.
Goodnight.
Fly, little owl—may your broken wings still carry you ho.
Fly, little owl—I hope you’ll rember like you said you will.
Tell my family goodbye, my little one.
For oh, Old Cane... I cannot co to you.
Chains in my chest drag from you.
I won’t reach the depths of longing...
Until I touch your hand,
Break through the burden...
And ascend to you.
Thank you.
Laugh with you.
Tell you I am from you.
I would not tire you.
I would die for you.
This world is not mine.
I do not see when I see.
Do not live when I live.
My cadaver... captive in prisons without cri or case.
Yet my soul lingers in this world.
In a world filled with mories of you.
Your voice forever called...
And my tone always followed.
Only hoping for a reunion with you.
My drunken soul sings...
Is it strange, Old Cane?
That my nightmare... has beco my dream?
That the arms I wished I never knew...
Are the ones I miss the most?
A stranger to —
The warm embrace of my mother.
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