***
{Inside The Projection}
Stepping out of his new room, Malik, just done preparing himself for the mission, heard the sound of footsteps at the other end of the hall.
He sighed without turning to look at the source, already knowing who it was.
“You’re not coming.”
“I am.”
It was a woman’s voice.
A familiar one.
Safira’s.
“I beg to differ.”
Malik turned, pulling his hood over his head.
“It’s better if I’m alone.”
Safira crossed her arms.
“Better for who?”
“Me.”
She stared at him, unblinking.
He stared back, or at least made it seem like he did, hoping she’d just take the hint and leave. But no.
She didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even shift her weight. Just that damn look, the kind that said she wasn’t going anywhere unless he physically dragged her away.
Malik clicked his tongue.
“You’re really not gonna take no for an answer?”
She shook her head, offering no other reply.
Sighing, he rubbed a hand down his face.
“Fine. But you better keep up.”
She grinned.
“I always do.”
…
Night draped itself over the desert, wind rolled across the dunes, and two shadows moved through them.
One was a hulking figure, and the other a charming one.
Malik’s steps were calm, precise, and nearly… bored.
Safira was right behind him, barely keeping pace.
It was irritating.
If he had been alone, he’d have reached the destination yesterday.
But that wasn’t all that annoyed him.
Her presence meant he had to adjust. Had to account for another person. Had to think about her safety, when this mission was already a bit of a risk, even to him.
He hadn’t fought another Jinn before; he couldn’t guarantee that he’d escape if more than one had caught on to them.
And so, to make sure that would never come to pass, they kept low at all times.
They weren’t just avoiding enemy eyes tonight—they were avoiding everyone’s.
Spies were one thing, but even their own side had loose tongues and men who could be bought for the right price.
This wasn’t a mission that could afford loose ends.
They COULD NOT afford to ruin their surprise attack tomorrow.
Thankfully, it wasn’t that difficult to keep out of sight.
The villages they passed were quiet, their houses dark, their people long asleep.
Banner insignias were carved into barns, scratched onto stone walls—signals left by landowners to mark their allegiances, seeking protection from them.
Most had the word {Oasis} written, revealing who they feared most.
After all, it wasn’t Nasir Al-Sultan who went around and burned villages for the fun of it.
Still, not every village had done so.
Some had none at all, hedging their bets, waiting to see who came out on top before committing.
Malik memorized them all.
Mapping everything in his head, threading it into a web of connections that he could call upon later.
Safira, for her part, had been quiet at first. But that didn’t last.
“You really think Nasir trusts you?”
Malik didn’t stop moving.
“I think the commander trusts results.”
She snorted.
“That’s one way to put it. But don’t you wonder if he’s setting you up?”
He tilted his head slightly, side-eyeing her beneath the cloth.
“You doubting me already?”
“I don’t doubt you.”
There was no hesitation in her voice.
“I doubt him.”
Malik didn’t respond. Because, honestly? She had a point.
Nasir was practical. Efficient. A bastard with a vision. But he wasn’t the kind of man who gave without expectation. If he was sending Malik out alone—or near enough—there was a reason. Perhaps there was something more to it that he didn’t know.
And he didn’t like that. He simply despised unknown variables.
“He knows I won’t die that easily.”
Safira scoffed.
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
They kept moving, slipping through an old irrigation ditch to avoid a pair of watchmen making their rounds.
The men passed within arm’s length, boots scuffing against the sand, but neither Malik nor Safira made a sound.
As soon as the patrol was out of sight, they pressed forward, angling toward the village’s outer ridge.
The next part of the journey would take them through a few abandoned fields—dry, cracked earth where crops and palm trees had long withered away under war’s neglect.
A perfect place to move unseen.
“Tell me something.”
Safira whispered as they walked.
“Why’d you really take this job?”
Malik sighed.
“We’re really doing this now?”
“I like to talk when I’m risking my life. Keeps things interesting.”
“Maybe I just really like money.”
She hummed, unimpressed.
“You could have plenty of money without this. You don’t strike me as the type who picks fights just for gold.”
He didn’t respond. Because, again, she had a point.
Safira took his silence as confirmation.
“You want something.”
“Everyone wants something.”
“Yeah? And what do you want, Stranger?”
He exhaled slowly, staring ahead.
The wind had shifted, carrying the distant scent of smoke from village hearths.
“A way out.”
Safira was quiet for a moment, as if weighing his words.
“Out of what?”
Malik didn’t answer.
And for once, she didn’t push.
***
{Outside The Projection}
No one knew how to react.
Even the ones who claimed to know Malik best weren’t sure how to react.
They just stood stiff, looking like they were struggling to swallow something bitter.
Slowly, murmurs began to spread through the crowd like wildfire, hushed at first, then louder, voices overlapping.
“That… that’s what he wanted?”
“All this time?”
“Not revenge, not justice—he just wanted to—fuck.”
“Then what was all that about?”
“I guess this’s why he didn’t react much to his soul’s Corruption.”
“Yeah. He wasn’t planning on sticking around anyway.”
“But why fight so hard if—”
“Because he couldn’t admit it. Not even to himself.”
That last voice cut through the noise.
All eyes turned.
Safira.
Her green eyes boring into the projection, watching her past self—the her that had no idea what those words had really meant.
Back then, she had just thought that Malik, or well, the Stranger before her, was looking for an escape from his past, using war as a distraction.
It was strange, but it was acceptable.
But now?
Now she knew.
His words were about leaving everything.
Ah…
Her lips parted slightly, as if to say something, but no sound came.
A slow breath left her instead.
What a cruel thing it was.
What a horrible, cruel thing to realize.
Deep down, somewhere within…
Malik wanted to die.
A break from it all.
An endless break.
And the worst part? The absolute worst part?
None of them had seen it.
None of them had even thought to look.
Not her. Not Duban. Not Huda. Not Layla. Not Azeem. Not anyone.
He had been right there, beside them, breathing the same air, walking the same sands, and still—
They hadn’t seen it.
Safira’s breathing took pause, but she barely noticed. Barely cared.
Because in the projection, she was still speaking to him, still questioning him, still teasing him about why he was here, what he wanted.
She had smiled at him.
And he, though irritated, had smiled back.
How many times had he done that?
How many times had he looked at her, at Duban, at all of them with that same ease, that same lazy confidence—
All while knowing, deep down, he wasn’t planning on staying even if he survived?
A sick feeling twisted in her stomach.
She inhaled through her nose and exhaled just as slow.
Then—
“Maybe he—maybe he didn’t mean it like that?”
Those words came from one of the younger Magi, one with less dark in him.
Safira turned to him, and the look she gave him made him shrink back instantly.
Malik had meant it. Every word.
And there was no ‘maybe’ about it.
She looked back at the projection.
Malik and her past self kept moving forward. Talking. Walking toward a battlefield she didn’t want to see.
Safira had lost him before she even realized it.
Her lips parted once more.
And this time, the words came.
“You didn’t even have to kill him…”
A tear fell.
“You just had to let him be.”