***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik and Azeem stood atop a small rocky hill beneath a flying Sinbad.
He glided slow and wide, his wings catching the pale afternoon light.
The three were quietly looking at the town stretched out before them.
It looked peaceful from a distance, no different than any other town.
People moved about, ending their days before night ca along.
The markets were most alive, packed to the brim with people, mostly families, their children darting between stalls, having fun as their parents shopped for ingredients they’d likely use for dinner tonight.
"S-So... you’re telling ..."
Azeem’s eyes twitched repeatedly, his mouth barely able to let the words out.
"All of them will Fall?"
Malik gave a single nod...
"Unfortunately."
And before Azeem could follow up with another question, he lifted his right hand.
The air behind him rippled, and in the space of a breath, three hundred and thirteen figures materialized, their boots pressing into the dust in perfect unison.
The first to step forward was Kabir, a man taller than most.
"We, Shurtat al-Khamis, are ready to serve you, my Lord!"
His voice carried loudly across the plains.
As one, the others dropped to their knees, voices ringing out:
"My Lord!"
Azeem stumbled a step back, eyes darting over their faces—scarred n, sharp-eyed won, each one with that steady, unflinching look.
He wasn’t prepared for this.
"These are my people."
Malik’s head turned slightly toward him.
"They are Banu Sasan, once of the Silent Crescent. Now... of my own faction. A hidden one. Outside its three hundred and thirteen mbers—and Sinbad—only you know of them."
That alone seed to drop the weight of a mountain on Azeem’s shoulders.
"M-My—"
His knees hit the ground almost imdiately.
"Thank you for trusting , my Lord!"
Malik gave the smallest nod, turned around, dropped down, softly landed, and began walking forward alone, passing through the town’s gates.
He walked through the town at a steady pace, the villagers quickly beginning to notice him.
Most blanked out and stared, while others bowed their heads in fear, unable to process a single thought.
Malik, caring not for that, had his eyes casually drift over each of them, tracing their faces... carving them into mory.
Every shopkeeper, every beggar, every child leaning on a wall.
Hidden behind his back, his right hand began to shake.
It trembled hard, as if breaking apart at the seams...
His body was resisting him.
Resisting what he was about to do.
Still, he didn’t stop and walked through the entire town.
It took him a few hours, but after staring at enough eyes, he raised his hand once more.
The sound of the street he stood on dulled completely.
Malik snapped his fingers.
Click.
...A single bloom of ivory fla erupted.
It swallowed the entire street in silence before racing out in all directions.
Nothing else was heard—no screams, scrambling, or even ti for fear.
Everyone was gone in less than a second.
They didn’t feel any pain.
This was his rcy.
"Lady of Ti..."
Malik’s voice ca quiet.
"Listen to ."
He pressed the sa hand flat against his chest.
"For once... just this once..."
His fingers sank into himself, past flesh, gripping his own heart.
The burn spread up his chest, across his ribs, until his body gave way.
His already dimd eyes dimd further in an instant.
"Send back before my fire."
He died.
Blink.
Malik’s eyes blinked open.
"Thank you for trusting , my Lord!"
Azeem’s voice was right there again, kneeling in the sa place as before, with Shurtat al-Khamis lined up behind him.
Malik tilted his head back slightly, the sky vast and open above.
"...Thank you."
With that, he returned to the town.
He already knew what he’d find.
Death.
lted buildings and streets, with soulless bodies lying exactly where they’d been standing a lifeti—or a mont—ago.
No one was spared—the n, the won, the elderly, and the children.
All of them were nothing more than husks now, their souls burned to nothingness.
This confird what Malik already knew.
Return By Death, his blink, couldn’t spare them.
His pure fire had burned in every thread of ti at once.
Again, to fight Corruption, his Nār Al-Khals had to be like it, but also entirely opposite it.
It had to be unyielding and unescapable by the elents.
That was the only way it could end a soul’s Fall.
Ironic, wasn’t it?
Hands no longer trembling, Malik pointed at the bodies.
"Send them to cave one."
Shurtat al-Khamis moved instantly, boots crunching over lted stone, while Azeem stood frozen, eyes locked on Malik like he was staring at sothing far less human than a man.
"...God have rcy."
***
{Outside The Projection}
’God have rcy,’ indeed.
Because, well, there it was, the repeating tragedy Malik was forced to endure.
The main consequence of his journey, both his incredible success and failure.
It had confird what he already knew: his Fire of Purity killed in all of ti.
Corruption was its opposite... again, Malik truly was ITS one bane.
He was Corruption’s undoing, its antithesis, its nesis.
And this bane no longer fought IT alone.
Three hundred and thirteen people, his Shurtat al-Khamis, an Elite Guard, stood behind him, supporting him from the shadows, unquestioningly following his orders, and fully believing in him.
If Roya were still alive, she’d likely have pulled her hair out with that reveal.
Malik had such a strong faction without her or the world ever knowing.
His didn’t need to be naless to attempt anonymity.
It simply was, its mbers ensuring their truth would never be known.
There was no need for inspections, warnings, or rules; their loyalty was unquestionable.
Never would they hurt their Lord’s ambitions or plans, taking death over such a possibility.
The hall didn’t know where such a large number of Jinn had co from, but it seed that even now, with his story told to the entire world, Malik still had secrets, big ones at that.
Still, that wasn’t their entire focus; rather, sothing else was.
The hall’s eyes on Azeem were heavy with one silent question.
’Cave one?’
His gaze dropped in response.
"That..."
He gave a slow shake of the head.
"That was the one thing he never told ."
The weight in his voice made the hall colder.
Now they knew exactly what was eating away at him.
Or at least they knew the beginning of what had done so.
Malik had revealed to him everything about Corruption—every root—but this... this he had kept locked away, shared only with his Shurtat al-Khamis, Sinbad, Dunya, and no one else.
This was how Azeem’s doubts had taken root.
They weren’t born out of weakness; they’d been planted, carefully, long before it all.
Malik had made sure there was space for them to grow so that when the ti ca, Azeem would be cornered into betrayal—whether he wanted to or not.
And in that, Malik’s hand was steady.
He truly was a damned genius.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Rumors spread fast in the kingdom.
So of them were whispers in dimly lit taverns, so of them were loud, rehearsed words passed between palace couriers or preachers demanding justice from God, and so—Malik made sure—were planted there himself, carefully and deliberately, seeds ant to bloom into sothing ugly.
They all said the sa thing:
The Sultan was a sick, evil man who burned a town to the ground without any rhy or reason, abusing his power now that he had beco Sultan, continuing his work as the Stranger, a damned mass murderer.
And now, this sa ’mass murderer...’ wanted a wife.
It seed completely out of the blue, and many called it a fake rumor, but...
No matter who they asked and what official channels they questioned, they all returned with the sa answer.
"Yes, Lord Malik asked for a wife."
It didn’t matter if people feared him or if his na alone turned the air cold; once the rumor was confird, it spread like wildfire, and letters in their thousands began to co in.
Both owls and royal couriers brought satchels heavy with rolled parchnt and silk-bound envelopes. Many high nobles even ca themselves, bringing small boxes with little trinkets inside to "sweeten" the proposal.
Many of the candidates were beautiful, noble daughters that fras would be graced to house a portrait of, heiresses with smiles carved by jewelers’ hands, and a few even carried nas important enough to shake the Holy City’s pillars.
It was going to be tough to choose one of them...
Or so the average man might think.
Malik, relaxed in his chambers, was sat back in his throne, acting as if the whole matter was barely worth the energy it took to sit upright.
His desk was buried under many neat piles of scrolls, each one tied with ribbons of different colors and dunked in more perfu than anyone should sll in multiple lifetis.
Azeem stood beside him, eager, his eyes darting between Malik and the growing stack.
And of course, he was ’eager,’ though shocked from the events of a week ago, he still did his duties, and the main one for now was getting his Lord to marry and finally do the deed.
After enough begging and persuasion, even from the Council and the rest of the lot, Malik finally agreed to finding a wife, and this ss was the result.
For a long while, Malik actually read the scrolls, seemingly unhurried, scanning the calligraphy, the family nas, and the careful words written in voices that tried to sound romantic but bled ambition from every curve of ink.
Sinbad did the sa while Azeem kept glancing at the two, waiting for a verdict.
But then, without warning, Malik’s hand slid across the table, sweeping the stacks into nothingness.
"M-My Lor—"
Malik looked at Azeem and cut him off:
"Bring the best of them in. Tomorrow. You’ll find the scrolls in your office."
Azeem blinked, then nodded, realizing that he had teleported the scrolls, not burned them.
"As you command, my Lord."
He bowed once before hurrying out of the chamber.
Malik’s gaze followed him only for a mont before shifting to his right.
"I’ll be married soon."
Sinbad, still on the edge of the desk, had his pink eyes stare back at Malik’s golden ones.
"Yes, Elder Brother..."
A soft hoot escaped him before a little chuckle rolled out of him.
"But you are late to the party."
Malik’s brow inched up.
"What do you an?"
Sinbad gave another chuckle, his tone as bookish and proper as ever, but now colored with sothing mischievous.
"I am technically married as well."
Malik’s eyes narrowed slightly, though not in annoyance.
"You are?"
"Yes. I have four wives and many children. You see, while my soul was absent from my owl form in the Kingdom of Light, Black... went on sothing of a breeding spree."
There was the faintest twitch at the corner of Malik’s mouth... it wasn’t much—just enough to be seen if soone was staring—but it counted as a chuckle.
"Hilarious, is it not? I... I had not told you before for a reason."
Sinbad puffed out his chest, clearly satisfied with his teasing reveal.
"I feared it might make you jealous, Elder Brother~."
Malik reached forward, his fingers resting on the owl’s head, patting the soft one gently.
"Hm. Thank you... for telling ."
"Yes."
The mont lingered a breath longer before the conversation fell quiet again.
As it often did around Malik... as it always ended, as it always would.
But this ti, the silence was comfortable.
Tranquillity between brothers.
That was their relationship.
One of peace and ho.
Sothing that was soon to be crashed into.
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