***
{Inside The Projection}
The alley was quiet, the city’s noise distant.
Malik leaned against the wall, his back hitting the rough stone harder than he meant to, but he didn’t care.
He let his head fall back, exhaling slow, pressing his fingers to his temples.
A headache was already creeping in, throbbing right behind his eyes.
He shouldn’t have come.
He had known…
He had known.
There wasn’t a single moment in his life where things had gone smoothly, where something hadn’t twisted, snapped, gone sideways the second he let himself hope that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.
But of course, it wasn’t.
It never was.
Because this was his life.
And, well… this was Safira.
That was what he knew her as.
Fire and humor, love and rage, only now so tangled up that he couldn’t tell which was which.
That same wild energy had drawn him in once. Now? It exhausted him.
Malik dragged a hand down his face a second time, forcing himself to breathe slow.
He needed a second. Just one damn second to gather his thoughts, to shove away the mess that had just exploded in his face.
And yet, even that he wasn’t given.
Hoot.
His eye twitched.
Another hoot. Louder this time.
Malik lowered his hand from his face, lips pressing into a thin line.
Hoot.
The sound was much closer now, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of feathers.
Malik knew who it was before he even looked.
Of course. Because the world wouldn’t let him have one damn moment of peace.
Because life, the universe, God—whatever cruel force dictated his fate—thought it was hilarious to kick—or, well, annoy him when he was already down.
His head tilted back against the wall, and he let out a defeated sigh.
“Of course. You.”
A small Black Owl fluttered down, landing on a crate in front of him.
His round, beady eyes locked onto him with a similarly annoying intensity.
“Go away.”
The owl hooted indignantly, hopping closer.
“No.”
Malik scowled.
“I’m not in the mood.”
The owl fluffed his feathers.
Hoot.
“Coward.”
Malik glared.
“Excuse me?”
Hooot.
“You’re a coward.”
Black stabbed his beak down.
Hooot. Hoot.
“Running away. Again.”
Malik rubbed his hair.
“I am not talking to a damn bird about this.”
The owl hooted.
“You always do.”
‘Damn’ thing wasn’t wrong.
“She doesn’t need to know. It won’t change anything.”
The owl hopped down on top of Malik’s boot.
Hoot. Hoooot. Hoot.
“You’re lying to yourself.”
“Yeah? And what do you know?”
Black blinked.
Hoot, hoot, hoot! Hoot, hoot, hoot! Hoot.
“I know you’re still standing here instead of leaving.”
Malik exhaled sharply.
“This is stupid.”
Hoot.
“Very.”
“…Fine.”
He shoved off the wall, turning back toward the fortress.
“But if this goes further south, I’m blaming you.”
The owl hooted in triumph.
“That’s what I thought.”
***
{Outside The Projection}
The crowd had just watched an owl tear Malik apart, adding to the tragedy he felt.
At first, they didn’t know what to make of it.
The tension in the air had yet to settle.
Safira’s rage-filled words still lingered.
Yet, they couldn’t deny or ignore it.
Black’s hoots had taken many of them by surprise.
Some snorted, amused despite the heaviness in their chests.
“This damn owl.”
“Always showin’ up when you least expect him to.”
But others… others watched with narrowed eyes, uneasy.
“He can’t actually understand him like that, right?”
“…”
“…”
“…”
Silence.
Then, a hesitant, murmured response:
“No. Black doesn’t talk. I just don’t think the Sultan hears the hoots. Not like we do, at least.”
More murmurs followed until a realization crept in.
This was Malik’s memory.
His world. His mind. His perception.
What they heard—the conversation—was a glimpse at his reality.
Again, this reminded them that these memories were not necessarily the truth.
Malik was the clearest example of an unreliable narrator.
He always had HIS own truth.
So perhaps much of this wasn’t what happened. At least, not exactly.
The crowd shifted, throwing glances toward the figure surrounded by many.
Safira.
She still hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t reacted.
Her face was blank, too blank. She didn’t cry, not even a little, and that unsettled them more than if she had.
No one dared to approach her. Not even Layla, who stayed beside her, sniffling.
They simply didn’t know what to say.
The shame that colored her face, that kept her eyes locked on the ground, that rooted her to the spot—it was suffocating. It reached out, wrapping around them all, pulling them into her silence.
And yet, the projection continued. Unrelenting.
No matter the world, it remained unchanging.
What made it worse was that they could already see it—the end result.
It was coming, inevitable as the turning of the Shams.
Malik was going back.
To her.
And he would die.
He’d go against his promise.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Safira was still by the table, standing in front of the maps, but she wasn’t looking at them.
Not really. Her eyes were locked onto the paper, sure, but they weren’t seeing anything.
She was still lost in her head. In what had just happened. Stuck on him.
Malik knew that feeling.
The weight that refused to leave.
The thoughts that just wouldn’t shut up, no matter how much you wanted them to.
And when she finally noticed him, turning to face him, her hands shot up, fast, rubbing at her eyes in a rough, almost panicked motion.
She was trying to erase the proof of whatever she had been feeling.
“D-Did you forget something?!”
Her voice was defensive. A weak attempt at control.
Malik just took a slow breath.
“I’ll tell you.”
She froze.
Completely.
Even the way she breathed became stiff, like her body didn’t know how to react.
“T-T-Tell me what?”
That stutter.
That crack in her voice—it hurt.
It made his chest tighten, just for a second.
Because he had heard that before.
That nervous little stammer.
That break.
Jasmine… that flower… she…
Malik pushed the thought away.
This wasn’t about the past. Not anymore.
He exhaled once more. Careful.
“The truth.”
Safira’s hands curled into fists.
“Then say it.”
Her voice wasn’t shaking anymore. It was hard.
Malik’s shoulders tensed, and he forced the words out.
“I didn’t leave because I wanted to. The Faraja took me.”
The air between them froze.
Her eyes went wide.
“…..What?”
Malik didn’t waver.
“They came for me. Dragged me to jail.”
He let the words sink in, let them sit.
“Your friends gave them the tip. I didn’t have a choice.”
She stared at him.
“It was either my freedom or theirs… I chose theirs.”
Searching.
“They deserved it.”
Trying to find the lie.
Not wanting to believe it.
“A-And you didn’t think to tell me?”
There it was.
That shake in her voice again.
That edge of hurt creeping back in.
“I didn’t want—”
“To what? BURDEN ME?”
Her voice spiked.
Sharp, fast, too loud.
“You think I—”
Malik clenched his jaw.
He knew where this was going.
Knew the anger in her eyes.
Knew the hurt that followed.
Knew exactly what she was about to say next.
So he didn’t let her.
He took a sharp breath—
“Safira…”
—and raised his neck.
Hoot!
A familiar sound rang out.
Then, a shadow appeared.
A shape.
A bird.
It descended.
Fast. Too fast.
Hoooooooooooot!
Black.
It was Black.
The owl reached him in a second.
And the moment it did—
“…Forgive me.”
A neck split open.
“MAAAAAAAALIIIIK!”
Safira’s scream ripped through the air.
Malik smiled and fell on his back.
The world tilted, turned, twisted around him.
And the sound of her voice, her screams, her pleading—
“…”
It all faded.
Malik had one thought left.
His hypocrisy.
Right.
He was a hypocrite.
He couldn’t deny that.
A filthy hypocrite.
Sidestepping the promise like this…
It made him hate himself.
But he couldn’t see any other way.
This was inevitable.
He had to reset.
And so…
Pain.
Heat.
Darkness.
…
…
…
Blink.
***
{Outside The Projection}
No one reacted.
No gasps. No shouts.
No sharp intakes of breath.
Just… silence. Always silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence.
That word described them many a time.
Many, many, a time. Each ‘time,’ a different silence.
A different surprise. Perhaps less, perhaps more, a lot more.
But this? Oh… this.
This was different.
Not the silence that followed shock.
Not the silence that came from grief.
No, this was the silence of expectation.
They knew this was coming.
They had been waiting for it, just begging for it to pass so they could move on.
Because in the end, wasn’t this always the way it ended?
Sure, Black being the one to do it was really unexpected.
Especially since his talons had ACTUALLY killed Malik.
Right. The talons of an owl had killed a Pure Demon.
They certainly weren’t normal.
But, in any case, the result?
Yeah… the result was always the same.
No matter the variables, the circumstance, the characters involved.
Safira was right.
Some people were just born for tragedy.
Malik was one of them.
Arguably the worst of them.
A life written to be forsaken.