***
In a world of darkness, Malik saw one thing before his mind’s eye.
{Would you like a short break? Your life’s third volume, ‘When the Sparrow Falls,’ has concluded.}
“…No. Continue. Let them suffer… And I… I need to say goodbye.”
{Understood. As you seem eager to press on, we’ll forgo the pleasantries—except to commend you on reaching your next chapter. Congratulations.}
“Just tell me the damn title.”
{Very well. Welcome to Volume 4: I Saw a Dream.}
“…”
{May it be brief… or merciful.}
***
Malik laid Ali Baba on the ground, ignoring the fleeing bandits completely.
At that moment, his whole world was just this man beside him.
“You…”
Ali Baba smiled.
“Always were…”
A knowing smile.
“Too stubborn.”
Malik shrugged his shoulders.
“Am I? I think I’m a reasonable guy.”
Ali Baba’s hand weakly grasped Malik’s arm.
“You are not.”
Malik chuckled.
“Thanks for that.”
Aether began to wake around them, trying to synergize with Ali Baba.
“Don’t… worry. I won’t spread their Corruption, my body’s too far gone.”
“…Sure.”
Ali Baba chuckled, or at least tried to, and let out a coughing fit.
Malik barely heard any of it because he knew what was coming next.
And so, before it could arrive, he decided to repeat this once more. Blink again.
He had failed. And failure wasn’t something he would accept. Not a third time.
Not a third complacency. No. He couldn’t. He could not accept it. No. Just…
Malik raised his curved sword with his free hand and pointed it at his neck.
“Don’t…”
Ali Baba wheezed, his fingers tightening around Malik’s arm.
“Don’t do it.”
Malik’s breath hitched.
Ah… how many? How many times had he heard this?
This one line broke him no matter how many times he heard it.
In every blink they had reached this point in one way or another, no matter the path.
The only difference was… this was the most ‘agreeable’ end.
Still. Malik couldn’t accept it.
Ali Baba had always sacrificed himself. Always.
His death was inevitable as Malik was at the beginning of this battle.
Malik’s body knew what to do before his mind did. He’d done it an uncountable number of times before. Just die. Just throw himself into the abyss and wake up before all of this happened. He could stop this. He could change it. He could fix it… HE COULD FIX IT.
But Ali Baba’s grip was firm, his words clear despite his failing body.
“Don’t… do it.”
Tears stung Malik’s eyes.
“I can—”
“No.”
Ali Baba coughed, red spilling down his chin.
“Now I see… now I get it… You can go back. But only… only by killing yourself.”
“…”
Malik didn’t reply; he just… smiled at him.
It was a happy smile.
A sad smile.
…He threw away the sword.
“Damned Hell… Even death isn’t an escape for you.”
Ali Baba must have seen the war in his eyes because he suddenly grinned.
“I’ve got one last favor to ask you, son.”
Malik’s breath grew unsteady.
“Anything.”
The man’s lips relaxed once more.
“Marry my daughter.”
Malik’s heart stuttered in his chest.
“…What?”
This was new… this. What was this?
Why now? What changed? Something could change?
Ali Baba coughed again, struggling to breathe, death waiting outside his metaphorical door, but his purple eyes still held a spark of life, stopping ‘It’ from entering.
“Take care of her. Make sure she’s safe… Love her in my place.”
His voice wavered at the end, but there was no hesitation in his words.
“You always wanted to own a caravan, didn’t you? Become a traveling merchant? You’d be the perfect son-in-law.”
The irony hit Malik like a blade to the heart.
Back then… before the world, he had spent so long dreaming about one day leading his own merchant crew, traveling, being free.
Now, here was a dying man offering him everything he had ever wanted—on a silver fucking platter.
But he couldn’t dare take it.
It felt wrong.
It felt like betrayal.
Malik swallowed hard.
“No.”
Ali Baba blinked.
“No?”
“I won’t marry her.”
Malik’s hands were shaking.
“But if she allows it… I’ll take care of her. I swear it.”
Ali Baba studied him for a long moment before giving a slow, tired nod.
“Good… good, good. Oh, and, uh, don’t let Little Night see me like this, alright? Can’t have her remember me as some crusty old man.”
Malik’s smile was lost at that request, but he agreed nevertheless:
“Of course.”
Ali Baba’s breath hitched again, his body convulsing slightly, running out of time.
Malik leaned in closer.
“What else? Another last favor? Please—”
Ali Baba exhaled a shaky breath, interrupting him.
“My real name.”
Malik’s frown relaxed a little.
“…Your name?”
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“I was born…”
The merchant coughed again, his voice barely above a whisper.
“With a different name… but this land… didn’t want it.”
A bitter taste filled Malik’s mouth.
This he knew.
“Rehan”
“Rehan”
Ali Baba nodded at Malik and looked away.
The Holy Kingdom didn’t want people like him to exist as they were.
They had to be something else, someone else, just to survive.
Even then, it was a struggle beyond most struggles.
“If you know that, then you know that I lied…”
Ali Baba’s fingers let go of Malik’s arm, flopping to the ground.
His lips moved slow, revealing his last favor:
“Kill me.”
Malik froze and held his breath.
The world seemed to hold its breath alongside him, waiting.
He swallowed again, his throat dry as sand as he picked up his sword.
For the first time in a long, long blink, his hands didn’t shake.
“…You know I tried my best, right?”
Ali Baba’s gaze remained far.
“Yes.”
Malik’s throat tightened.
“You know I repeated this at least a million times, right?”
“…Yes.”
Malik let out a hollow laugh, one that barely sounded human.
“You know this was the best outcome, right?”
Ali Baba coughed hard, his body shuddering under the weight of death.
“Yes.”
Malik clenched his jaw, his shoulders locking up.
“You know that if there was another way, I would’ve taken it, right?”
“Yes.”
His head hung low, golden strands of hair sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead.
“You know that even now, I still wish I could turn back time, right?”
“Yes.”
Malik felt his entire body go cold.
“You know I would trade places with you if I could, right?”
“Yes.”
His grip on the sword hilt tightened so hard his knuckles turned white.
“You know that if you asked me to, I’d follow you into death, right?”
“Yes.”
Malik’s heart pounded, a drum beating in the silence of the battlefield.
His next words wavered, but he forced them out anyway:
“Y-You know that it was either you or Layla, right?”
For the first time, Ali Baba hesitated.
His eyes softened. And then, finally—
“Yes.”
At that answer, Malik’s tears finally fell.
He sucked in another breath, but it did nothing to steady him.
He lowered his head even more, pressing his forehead to Ali Baba’s.
“You know…”
His voice broke.
“…That I love you, right?”
Despite the incredible pain he was feeling, Ali Baba’s lips managed to curl into something small, something gentle.
“Yes… my son.”
Malik pulled back and raised his sword, pausing it above his father’s neck.
“Goodbye, Rehan.”
He let the blade fall.
A single motion—clean, practiced, merciful.
The sword met flesh.
It cut through like it was always meant to.
Malik heard the sickening slide of steel, felt the resistance of bone give way under the force of his strike. He saw the way Rehan’s body jolted—just once—before all tension drained from him.
His neck gave out, head tilting to the side.
And just like that…
“Goodb…”
He was gone.
