Duban blinked.
He stared, like his brain short-circuited for a second.
And then—
“Oh, yes.”
His lips curled into a small smile.
Not at all expecting Malik to talk like that, but understanding anyway.
Duban hesitated but then, with clear effort, met Malik’s covered gaze.
“I never got to—”
He stopped.
Swallowed hard.
Exhaled and said it:
“Thank you.”
Malik shrugged.
“Just did what had to be done.”
No more. No less.
Duban’s smile widened at that, a little more real now, a little less careful.
“I’ve already compensated One Thousand Nights, but since you’re standing here, I’m guessing that means you’re no longer with them, yeah?”
Malik paused for a moment before stiffly nodding.
“I… I’m not, no.”
“Then you’re welcome for compensation here.”
Duban casually gestured toward his father.
“I’m sure the Commander will agree.”
Malik arched a brow under the cloth.
“You’re sure, huh?”
Duban smirked, crossing his arms.
“If he doesn’t, I’ll make him. I can be very annoying when I want to be.”
Malik huffed out a short laugh.
“I don’t doubt that for a second.”
Nasir, who had been watching the whole exchange in silence, lifted a hand and gestured to the other end of the table directly across from him.
“Stand with us.”
Malik waved him thanks and took position.
“Stranger… You’ve heard the ballad, no? While we do not condone music, we see it as a necessary… measure to speak to the masses.”
Before Malik could reply, Nasir continued:
“When The Sparrow Falls… Where were you? Oh, where were you?”
He looked down a little, ashamed.
“You were there… When none of us were. You were there.”
Malik let the words settle a little before replying.
“…I was.”
Duban joined him, sticking close, as if making sure Malik didn’t vanish the second he looked away.
Nasir, now satisfied, loudly clapped his hands.
“You’ve earned our gratitude. That much is clear. But men don’t come asking for meetings without a reason.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“So tell me, savior.”
A smirk ghosted his lips.
“What do you want? Is my wolf’s guess true?”
Malik matched the smirk without hesitation.
“It is. I’m here for a reward.”
A ripple of amusement flickered across Nasir’s face.
However, Safira, as well as the other gathered officers, stiffened.
They shot each other looks, silent exchanges filled with quiet assessments.
One even scoffed under his breath.
Malik ignored them.
Nasir didn’t.
He didn’t even have to look.
The subtle shift in his expression was enough to silence the man completely.
Then, smoothly, he turned his attention back to Malik.
“Gold?”
Malik nodded.
“Twelve pieces.”
He paused, then added with a casual wave of his hand:
“One for each Great One. Each Moon.”
“Hah!”
Nasir’s laugh was deep, rolling from his chest.
“You are a bold man!”
Duban, who had been still until now, shot his father a look.
“We owe him.”
Nasir didn’t react immediately.
Instead, he tapped a finger against the table, considering.
“A debt repaid with coin is simple.”
Slowly, he leaned back and revealed a shrewd smile.
“But I have a better offer.”
Malik sighed.
“Of course you do.”
Nasir spread his hands.
“Fight for us. The war rages on, and a strong Magi like you—”
While the others were caught off guard—especially at the word strong, incredibly surprised that their leader would describe some rogue Magi that way—the man himself just studied Malik, his blue eyes sizing him up.
Eventually, with a slow nod, he finished:
“—You could shift the tide.”
That was it.
That was the real reason Malik had been accepted to stand amongst them.
To be standing opposite their commander, his Spine Splitter still equipped.
It wasn’t just gratitude or blind trust.
Nasir knew.
Certainly not everything, but enough.
Enough to know Malik was someone they needed—and lucky for them, he was already in too deep.
And now, he was offering him a choice.
Officially, at least.
Which was a real clever move.
It wasn’t just about hiring Malik—it was about appearances.
If Malik accepted, it would mean that the militia had recruited him, not that he was some rogue agent acting on his own or that he was helping them for his own interests.
That meant a few things:
It would draw in more fighters.
It would make the militia look stronger.
It would send a message that the war was shifting.
A simple deal, sure.
But the politics behind it?
Clever… and much too annoying.
Still. It was win-win, and Malik loved a good game.
“And in return, Sir Commander~?”
Nasir’s face turned serious.
“Your gold… Doubled.”
Malik’s eyes widened.
“Twenty-four?”
“Yes.”
Twenty-four… two thousand four hundred silver.
That could get him the best metal armor on the market.
Or, even better, a proper Holy Relic, one that’d help him survive Hell.
Judging by the looks those officers gave him, there was no better deal than this.
And they were correct, as no Magi on their payroll was paid this well.
If word of this deal got out, pandemonium would surely ensue.
Malik, barely keeping his greed in check, calmly nodded.
“And how would I be sure that you’d keep your promise?”
Nasir chuckled.
He was neither offended nor angry. Just amused.
But instead of answering, he leaned back and asked:
“Tell me, have you ever noticed how we say Shams when speaking of the star closest to us?”
Malik blinked.
That was… random.
But Nasir wasn’t the type to waste breath on random.
So he thought about it and came to… no particular conclusion.
He, in fact, had no actual idea, like the days of the week or time itself; he believed that this was always a thing since the beginning of civilization.
Noticing that, Nasir continued, voice smooth:
“And yet, when we speak of the Twelve, we call them moons. Not by the Old Tongue, Qamar. Just moons.”
Malik tilted his head slightly.
Okay. Yeah. That was true.
One was said in the Old Tongue.
The other wasn’t.
Why?
He had no idea.
So, with a flick of his wrist, he gestured for Nasir to go on.
In response, amusement drained from Nasir’s face, leaving only something grim.
“Our ancestor. Solomon, the Radiant. The Sultan of Sultans. Child of The Twelve. The Light of the Thirteenth Dawn. Master of the South. He Who Walked with Djinn. The Blade That Cleaved the Dark. The Speaker of Names Forgotten. The Keeper of the Sealed Gates. The Cub of God. He, who conquered the Edge of the World… the Valley of the Unseen. Arba’in’s Originator. He took the title of Sun.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
Malik absorbed all of that with a frown, silent as could be.
So… this was the man who took only forty days to reach IT’S home.
IT called Malik the fastest Jinn to ever reach IT.
Was IT lying?
Perhaps. But he begged to differ.
IT had no reason to lie.
Such a being was much too powerful for that.
So, it could be that IT considered the Sun too great a man even to involve him in such things.
Or maybe IT didn’t even meet the Sun.
There were many possibilities… too many to count.
There was no need to dwell on it.
Still, what did this have to do with his question?
Malik gestured for him to continue a second time.
“And?”
Nasir’s voice dropped.
Low. Steady. Weighted.
“Banū Sulaymān. We are the Children of The Sun. His kin.”
Malik’s frown deepened, yet Nasir wasn’t done.
“A man born a generation after the Great Ones’ passing. His blood runs through our veins.”
His blue eyes locked onto Malik’s.
“And we’ll be damned if we dishonor it. Do you understand?”
Malik held his stare for a little, never blinking.
Then, after a moment, he glanced toward Safira.
Though he couldn’t see her exactly, he could still easily catch her green eyes on him.
He revealed a soft smile, then turned back to Nasir.
“Guess I’m in the war business now.”
Nasir’s face mirrored his.
“Welcome aboard.”
