***
{Inside The Projection}
The sky had gone quiet.
Malik sat alone on a hill’s peak.
Cross-legged, hands resting on his knees, still as a statue, aimlessly staring at what was before him.
He was far from civilization, where no paths or torches marred the hill’s green.
It was silent, with only the soft hush of long grass brushing against his coat.
But not for much longer.
The flapping of wings ca.
A round shadow crossed his face.
It was an owl.
A black one.
This owl cut through the air and slowed mid-glide, coasting on a breeze before perching perfectly on Malik’s outstretched hand.
His claws didn’t dig into his flesh.
He knew better.
And Malik, for the first ti in what felt like years, smiled.
Though only barely. A twisting twitch in the cheek.
A crack of light where stone used to be.
"You’re late."
The owl blinked.
Tilted his head.
Offered no reply... of course.
Just those bright pink eyes that stared right through him.
"Here."
Malik let the owl climb onto his lap.
He stroked its fluff once, slow and gentle, like he might’ve done to a child.
"You saw the... fight earlier."
It wasn’t a question.
"What do you think of him?"
Malik kept his eyes on the Twelve Moons above.
"Zafar."
The owl ruffled its feathers.
"Is he the one?"
Malik’s voice was distant, making it seem like he wasn’t talking to the owl. Not really.
"Kid’s naive. Way too proud. Noble blood makes him soft. But he keeps standing up, even when I put him down hard."
His fingers curled lightly through the bird’s feathers.
"Reminds of that dog. Half its ribs were broken, but the bitch still barked... still tried to survive."
He paused, and the owl blinked again.
"That dog died."
Malik looked down at Black.
"But Zafar might not... even if he’s proving to be nothing but a failure."
With that, silence stretched again.
The wind tousled the grass around him, long blades swaying back and forth, breathing.
Gold flickered under Malik’s lashes as he studied his once soul companion’s stare.
"Do you think Noor’s better?"
The na ca with a flicker of irritation behind an otherwise blank tone.
"She’s a bit skilled. Pathing precision I’ve never expected from so student."
He leaned back slightly, letting the owl settle deeper into his lap.
"But she’s too rigid and stuck up. Wants to be perfect more than she wants to win. She’s going to start a problem eventually. Maybe get caught up in her principles, freeze when it matters most."
The owl didn’t react.
Malik’s fingers moved again, slower this ti.
"And Roya..."
The smile was gone now.
"She’s worse."
Cold.
"She thinks I don’t see it, but I do."
Dead.
"That thing behind her eyes. That hate. She’s got an agenda but is masking it with her whole ’down with unworthy’ act."
He raised his hand and made a slicing motion across the sky.
"But it’s not the unworthy she wants to cut. It’s ."
The owl tilted its head again.
"We should have her tracked. Soone discreet, one of Banu Sasan... maybe Basim. He doesn’t blink twice when asked to follow soone. He’s a shadow elent like her, so she won’t expect it."
He nodded, already deciding his next moves.
"It’s unfortunate, but there aren’t any better candidates around. This kingdom’s all show. I don’t even need to search for the rot; I already see it. That festival was a lie. Didn’t imagine I’d ever say it, but these people live worse than those in Zawaya. Mortals can’t really work that long, right? The system will eventually collapse even without my involvent."
"..."
"..."
"..."
Another long silence.
Malik didn’t mind.
He was used to them.
He had to get used to them.
Sighing, Malik brushed the owl’s chest with the back of his finger, then went back to staring at nothing.
"You don’t like speaking anymore, huh?"
The owl stared too.
That sa deep, bottomless look.
"That’s alright."
Malik’s voice was softer now.
More... human.
But only just.
"I barely talk much around the living anyway."
He sighed a second ti.
"Zafar’s not too terrible. Annoying, yes. Too cocky. Still thinks he’s got so grand fate waiting for him. He needs to fail more. Needs to bleed more."
He looked down at the owl again.
"But he might have it in him."
Another pause.
"You think so too, right?"
"..."
The owl said nothing.
"Hm."
The wind grew colder.
The purple sky had faded into black, stars peeking in.
Malik didn’t look up.
He stayed with the owl.
One hand curled around him like he was the last warm thing on this cold, dying planet.
"He’ll need to get stronger."
Malik’s voice lost all of its warmth.
"Much, much, much stronger if he’s ever going to kill in the end."
The owl hooted, perhaps reacting to death.
Malik petted him again.
"I can’t let IT take ."
A gust of wind swept past them, and down below, the Academy glittered.
Students shouted, bells chid, lights danced from one tower to the next, and laughter carried through the open courtyards.
None of it reached the hill.
Up here, it was just Malik, the owl, the grass... and the truth.
They stayed there for a long ti, and the Second Sun stayed quiet.
***
{Outside The Projection}
And there it was.
The line that hit harder than anything that ca before it.
"He’ll need to get stronger. Much, much, much stronger if he’s going to kill in the end. I can’t let—"
They didn’t hear the rest, but it didn’t matter what ca after that.
That one sentence said everything.
From the start of this... volu, a statent had spread—Malik’s training his own killers.
And before that, everyone believed that Malik wanted his own ’break,’ his own death.
It was directly stated just a few minutes ago, but still, its aning could be argued.
Well, not anymore.
It wasn’t just a belief.
Their belief beca fact.
Malik said it. Out loud. In that quiet, empty voice of his.
Everyone in the hall went still, perhaps even the world. The projection itself seed to have shimred from the weight of that sentence.
This wasn’t so hidden master-student duel anymore. This was a hundred-year-long suicide note wrapped in strategy that was delivered with Malik’s own hands.
They got played.
Hard.
This so-called heroic coalition they built?
The rebellion that took years and years of planning, the banners, the unity, the secret etings?
All of it.
Every single step—
Planned.
They were never the resistance.
They were the fucking puppets.
Each one of them was a domino, set up on Malik’s table, and when the ti ca—
He pushed...
And they fell.
They couldn’t even scream foul now.
Because it worked.
It all worked.
Noor and Roya, who once had the most montum?
Dead quiet.
That cocky fire was gone.
That sense of control was gone.
That hope that maybe, just maybe, they were more than tools in Malik’s plan, that perhaps there were aspects they held of their own initiative, at least a little...
Gone.
Votes? Support? Respect?
Gone, gone, gone.
They weren’t the faces of the future anymore.
They were just more of Malik’s discarded pieces.
It made them feel what they never thought they would.
But not everyone was boiling in rage or spiraling in sha.
A few... just watched.
Quiet.
Huda. Layla. Safira. Azeem. Dunya.
They didn’t speak, cry, or shout.
They just stood there, one thought bouncing in all their minds at once—
’So that was it, huh...’
Because deep down, they always knew.
Sothing about it all had always been off.
How every loss still pushed the coalition forward. How Malik never actually tried to stop them, despite their unending requests. How no matter what those bastards did, he kept letting them get stronger.
In regards to them, it was never about control.
It was about design.
And he’d designed this whole damn ss.
Perhaps that was what he took from the previous volu.
That was his version of control... and what a terrifying version it was.
No one felt that more than Azeem.
The man who once shared Malik’s ho.
The one who thought maybe, maybe he still had a place in that cold heart.
He didn’t.
And now, he understood why.
Why Malik exiled him. Why he stood over his wife’s corpse without blinking. Why he beca the Villain of the world.
Because he wanted it.
He wanted to die.
Not just as an escape, but as a necessity.
Because if he didn’t, IT—
He wanted to die by their hands.
And more than that?
He wanted them united.
He needed them as one.
A coalition... a wall.
Not to destroy the world, but to stop him.
Why?
It was still unclear.
But they were starving for the answer now.
And judging by the way Azeem turned his head—
That sharp, loaded glare—
They knew exactly who might be hiding it.
Sinbad.
That massive crimson owl, perched next to the Golden Throne.
Unmoving.
Unbothered.
And now?
Untrusted.
Azeem’s first true look of hatred since this whole cursed show started was aid right at him, his "brother."
And the others saw it. Felt it. Agreed with it.
Their heads turned. Eyes narrowed.
But Sinbad didn’t care.
He wasn’t going to say a word.
He didn’t need to.
The Projection would do that for him.
All they had to do was wait.
And oh, how that would sting~.
Now... they’d finally feel a taste—a fraction—of what he had felt.
Of what his Elder Brother had lived with every damn day.
Maybe then it’d relieve so of his unending pain.
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