NOVPUB***
{Outside The Projection, Somewhere Dim}
"...So you've forgotten your little brother, huh?"
Duban, the new Nasir, looked up from the scroll on his desk, eyes landing on the projection outside his room's window.
"No matter."
He turned back, put the quill in its place, and wrapped the scroll around itself.
"At least I'm not the only one who still fondly remembers my father."
***
{Outside The Projection, Someplace Bright}
Sitting on a dune not far away from the Holy Palace, Faqir looked up.
Beside him were many, and they looked at him in wonderment.
It was the first time they saw a... character before them.
His being there was surreal to them.
Faqir, though, didn't seem to care.
He didn't revel in his rise to stardom.
No, he was preparing himself to die.
It was not a matter of if.
When the battle happened, he was sure to die.
Of course, and again, he didn't want to lose his life, but...
"I'm sorry."
This was the least he could do for his uncle.
His only family remaining in this world.
"I'm so sorry..."
Sorry to his father. Sorry to Nasir. Sorry to Rehan. Sorry to Jasmine, Sinbad... He was sorry to his uncle's family, all of them.
If he failed, it was no issue. It was fine. Perhaps even fated.
They'd reunite in the afterlife, where no memories would be forgotten and no names would be erased.
***
{Outside The Projection, Holy Palace}
The hall, with a few exceptions, was deep in sorrow.
They had never seen something so pure, yet so tragic.
A kindness buried under ocean of blood, fire, and Corruption. A love forgotten by time. And a tragedy so intimate that even the inanimate witness to this wept in their own way—quiet, unflinching, reverent.
It hurt.
It really did.
There was nothing to say but that.
Watching this unfold hurt them deeply.
Of course, it was nowhere near as much as it hurt him, but...
They felt incredible pain, their hearts twisting.
Many things bogged their minds.
And the first was this...
Malik never remembered the "widow."
It was obvious in hindsight.
Someone as kind as him would've checked up on her, seen how she was doing.
Even years later, he would've made sure that she lived a proper life, a life without much trouble, a life that'd help her cope with a loss that tore through her as it did him.
This kindness of his was a part of his core; it would never leave, never.
Not even if he became a genocidal maniac who burned down villages.
Or perhaps he did remember... perhaps he did... eventually.
But then, it was most likely too late.
She had already died.
...Huh.
They didn't know which scenario was worse.
This... all of it... what a Goddamn tragedy it was.
And this tragedy... it made Layla fall to her knees once more.
It was becoming more and more likely that Malik had never remembered her.
But, at that moment, this wasn't on her mind.
Rehan.
Her father.
Malik's thoughts were right.
These recreations were too real, too smart.
Were they the actual people? Had their souls come to visit? Did her baba actually diss her even when six feet under?
She believed it.
Layla knew her dad very well and knew this was how he'd react upon death.
His character was that of an easygoing man, and that wasn't going to change.
So, if he really was there, if he really did meet Malik for one more time, she couldn't imagine...
She couldn't imagine just how hurt Malik was feeling at that moment.
But she wanted to.
At least now, she wanted to fulfill the role of a wife.
At least now, she wanted to share the burden her husband carried.
And so, with the help of her camp, she pulled herself up and walked to no man's land.
An area that no one but Huda and Crimson dared set foot in, a forbidden stretch between two absolutes.
Once, she saw Huda as... silly for uselessly torturing herself, but now she stepped forward to do it too.
Their reasons were completely different, but the result was the same.
Before the crimson-haired girl could reach out and stop her, Layla fell limp.
Whatever pain she felt overwhelmed her in a moment.
It wasn't a surprise; she felt all his pain at once.
It was only natural that she could not handle it.
Only Malik could... and even he would've struggled.
But surprisingly, when a few ladies of her camp went to pick her up, they saw a face not of a grimace, but a face that was strangely peaceful, full of serenity.
Layla was happy to have shared his pain... Even if it was far too late.
Safira had quietly watched that go down.
She had yet to move, yet to sob, yet to speak, still speechless.
Seeing Jasmine again welled up many emotions within her.
But one took reign over all the others.
It wasn't guilt or envy... No, she had long since accepted that.
She went past it, reaching something new.
Pity.
She deeply pitied the girl.
Once, she selfishly wished to remain alone with Malik, nearly happy with her death, not out of hate, of course, but fear. Fear that Malik would love her more. That Jasmine had truly known him, truly stood beside him… unlike her. But now, she could never see herself in that position.
Like what Huda had said, she, a coward, had no right to be by his side.
She had no right to be his disciple.
Only Jasmine did.
It was a pity.
Jasmine would've never abandoned him like she did.
She never would've stood on the sidelines as they buried him in chains.
She would've fought against the entire world, and even he himself, to keep him alive.
Their love was pure and true, not obsessive and twisted like hers, a crush that never bore fruit.
Safira saw what real love looked like and realized a very obvious truth.
People in all parts of the world might find such obsessive love as something good, something fun, something to be celebrated, but no.
It could never work.
It was toxic, ugly, something that needed to be fixed.
Nothing but obsession—bitter, possessive, hollow. A fragile girl's cry for attention.
A real relationship could never work like that, and if these people remained adamant, then she doubted that they had ever been in a relationship... much like her.
Safira needed to learn from Jasmine.
And so, it had landed her on a decision.
Finally, she was brave enough to do more than stand.
She had done it once before, leaving Malik to die. There was no hiding that. There was no hiding that she was nothing more than a coward who played at being strong. But perhaps she could change that.
Once the moment came, she'd do all she could, even give him her life if need be.
Safira would no longer stand still.
It didn't matter if she couldn't be the love of his life.
She didn't even need to be remembered.
Malik only needed to live.
Huda, who was looking at her from the corner of her vision, noticed the change in her temperament.
She smiled.
Her army was beginning to form.
Duban. Faqir. Safira. Hopefully, Layla. Their camps. Others still to come.
The now-annoyed Roya, probably disappointed that she had not gotten the secrets she wanted, and Noor, who felt the same, though she was mostly uninterested, waiting for the guardian to show up, were going to fall.
Soon, she'd get her big brother out.
...Soon.
But until then, until the day when they'd battle, she would stand here.
Stand in front of the crowd, mourning a man who sat alone on a throne.
No, no, no... not alone.
Malik was never truly alone.
He had his family standing behind him.
Hassan, Faqir, Yusuf, Rehan, Jasmine, and... Sinbad.
Her blood brother.
She didn't understand why he changed his manner of speaking.
Was the 'condition' that changed it his death?
How did that make any sense?
How could the dead change?
They remained static, for there was nothing TO change.
Or maybe regret transformed even the still.
Or maybe it was something philosophical that went over her head.
Huda didn't know... she couldn't understand it.
She, like her "Elder Brother," wasn't really much of a student.
Sinbad wasn't wrong in calling her a little idiot.
The scholars, professors, and scientists belonging to Al-Sayf took care of that aspect of life for her.
But unfortunately, she didn't have them on hand, as she had snuck out here without their knowledge, alone by choice... unlike a certain someone. So, she was forced to do what her brother would've done.
Ignore it.
She ignored the whole change in character thing, focusing more on what was important.
Their second goodbye.
Huda... she was happy for them.
Happy for Malik.
She could still remember him kneeling before her brother's grave, wishing he had said words of love to him back when he was alive, regretting what they last shared.
But apparently, there was no need for him to regret what was.
The dead could hear... or maybe Sinbad was unique; either way, Malik's wish was granted. Sinbad knew just how much he was loved, and now Malik knew just how much he was loved back.
He was no Stranger.
Despite how he saw himself and how everyone saw him, he was far from a Stranger.
No, he had been carrying them all this time. Their weight. Their souls...
And they were carrying him.
Sinbad told Malik that he never broke his promise…
Whether that was literal or not didn't truly matter.
He didn't blame him; they never blamed him.
They LOVED him.
In varying degrees, yes; in different ways, yes; in broken ways, yes; in silent ways.
But they loved him.
He was not the Stranger anymore.
He was their kin.
Their brother.
Their son.
Their family.
Their heart.
Their cause.
The world would learn his name again.
Malik was theirs... and he was a Stranger no more.
