***
{Outside The Projection}
Time had played them all for fools.
It had done so the most for a particular group of people.
Safira was first amongst them.
She wasn’t looking at the projection anymore. She was looking past it.
At the Golden Throne.
At the man chained to it.
At Malik.
At his body, still breathing, still alive, but as good as gone.
The past him was right.
This was it.
Their story was over.
Seeing it laid out so plainly like this in front of her… watching her younger self unknowingly step toward a path that would only end in heartbreak. That hit different.
The past her was a fool.
A blind fool.
One that eventually began to think of a future…
A future that wouldn’t end with her standing here, feeling like an absolute idiot.
Her face heated up from embarrassment.
She could barely believe it.
Safira had forgotten about it until now, but the moment she saw her younger self, stuttering, hesitating, acting like some shy little girl—
By God, she wanted to disappear.
What the Hell was she doing back then?!
She was SAFIRA.
The Fairy of Devil’s Maw.
The mother of Nasir Al-Sultan.
The backbone of their army.
The one that took care of everyone.
And yet, there she was, all flustered, fidgeting, looking like she was about to melt into the dirt just because Malik looked at her.
Though she had no idea that it was him at the time, especially after that Jinn bombshell Nasir had dropped on them, she still somehow saw him as Malik.
The same Malik who, not long after that, had turned his back on all of them.
A groan escaped her lips, and she cupped her mouth, resisting the urge to scream.
Eventually, though, she shook it off.
No use dwelling on the past.
It was done.
She turned her head, stealing a glance at Duban beside her.
The older Duban, not the grinning idiot from the projection.
He, like her, was quiet. Too quiet.
His brows mimicked Malik’s, furrowed so deep they looked like they were about to merge together.
If anyone was taking this harder than her, it was him.
Because, unlike her, Duban had no doubts back then.
He had been all in, fully convinced that Malik was one of them.
Hell, he was the first to reach out to him, the first to welcome him like a brother.
That wasn’t just loyalty—it was trust, real, deep trust. And now?
Now, he was standing here, watching the past unfold, realizing just how blind he had been.
Safira almost pitied him.
Almost.
She wasn’t in the mood to feel sorry for anyone other than herself right now.
Behind her, a few whispers started up, weaving about the crowd.
The murmurs of people who had just been given enough time to process things and were ready to start talking again.
And talk, they did.
“Damn. So she really did like him back then.”
“I knew it! I KNEW it! She totally had a thing for him!”
“She looked like she was about to confess and then chickened out.”
“Man, that’s rough.”
“Ain’t no way that’s the same Lady we know.”
“Damn, if I knew she had a shy side, maybe I would’ve tried my luck.”
“Yeah? And you would’ve been turned down in a second.”
“I can’t believe it. She looked so… different.”
“She was acting like a kid.”
“I never thought I’d see the Lady like that. Ever.”
The same old troll snickered.
“Hey, Lady Safira, you blushing over there?”
A sharp glare from her shut that down real quick.
But despite herself, she could feel the heat creeping back up her neck.
No, no, no. She was NOT going to let this get to her.
She had more important things to think about.
Like the fact that, back then, she had gone to Nasir Al-Sultan for one reason:
Marriage.
Yeah. Marriage.
It sounded ridiculous now, but at the time, it had made sense.
Not that she could ever actually consider someone else.
Malik was—it didn’t matter.
She knew how she felt. But she needed options.
Safira had needed to do SOMETHING.
In all her years alive, she found no options, and honestly? Even now, she still couldn’t see herself with anyone else.
Malik or no Malik, she just… couldn’t.
But at least, at the very least, she had found something more.
Something better.
A family.
Not just a militia. Not just a group of warriors. A real family.
The way she ended up in their midst was questionable, but there was no need to ever mention that.
After all, who would ever believe that their whole world could be written down in the pages of a novel?
Right, our little transmigator chose her target well.
From what she could remember of the world’s lore, this militia was seen as the best candidate for her survival.
She wanted to be as far away from the main story as possible, which meant being as far away from the “hero” as possible.
That was a bit satirical, considering how her life ended up, but whatever.
Safira had accepted it.
In any case, back then, she had used that knowledge, leveraged it, navigated her way into their ranks. And once she was in, she found what she needed most.
Something that even Duban had said.
“Safira joined our family ten years ago…”
And he wasn’t wrong.
This was her family.
It brought her safety. Protection.
Right. Ironically, she felt the safest in war.
That was life. That was just how things were.
Safira turned her gaze back to him, watching the way his fingers twitched at his sides.
Duban was looking at the ground, at nothing, at everything.
It was obvious. Painfully obvious.
He regretted it.
Maybe even more than she did.
They both had trusted Malik.
They both had believed in him.
They both had loved him.
And they both had been burned for it.
Now, there was nothing left to say.
Because their story was over.
For good.