Chapter 338: Grown Man
***
{Outside The Projection}
The ideal king was one who did not desire the throne, yet was chosen to bear its responsibilities.
And well… that was Malik to a fault.
Alongside the truth, irony had come in spades.
He, who didn’t wish to be a king, never asked for it, had a throne melted for weapons, became the one ruler of the world.
The Sultan.
He really did weave fate, didn’t he?
Wove it into something no one could’ve seen coming.
But still…
That left a big, ugly question hanging in the air.
Why kill the Former Sultan like that?
Why do it in public if he didn’t want to be crowned in his stead?
If he made it anonymous, the Divine Law would not apply, and he’d be free.
So why?…
Was it pride?
Was it justice?
Or was there an actual reason?
Another circumstance or misunderstanding?
…Did it ever end?
One question ended, and another started right after.
They didn’t know if it could end; maybe it wasn’t supposed to.
Maybe that was just how the world worked.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik sat next to the same head, overlooking the ruined city.
It looked quite different at night.
Burned out. Dim. Quiet again.
But not dead.
The fires had been tamed.
The rioters were home, and the banners were replaced.
Now it was just up to the people again. Tired, confused, and still too scared to hope.
Kabir approached from behind, standing with his head bowed.
“My Lord.”
Malik acknowledged him.
“Speak.”
Kabir bowed further.
“Yes, my Lord…”
He took out and unfurled a scroll, his hands trembling slightly as he smoothed it out.
“As of the most recent scan, the situation has stabilized.”
He cleared his throat, his eyes tracing the parchment.
“Firstly… regarding the riots… we’ve succeeded completely and on all fronts. The bulk of them weren’t our own. Roughly two-thirds were unpaid. And those we hired with coin and food continued to riot even after their payment was delivered. Many even offered to risk their lives.”
He shifted a little.
“We declined, of course.”
His lips pressed thin.
“They targeted Al-Ayan-owned buildings, but we’ve had an unfortunate number of mis-targets, where they burned houses, inns, public stations, and the like. Their recuperation is already underway, and the values of their lost property will be given back almost double.”
He took a breath and continued:
“As for the noble houses… most resisted for no longer than two days. House Al-Nasri was the first to send envoys. They surrendered without conditions… before our siege units even positioned.”
Another breath.
“House Ghassan followed shortly. Their gates were opened the moment your battle with the Ninth Lotus began. They claimed their loyalty to their people was never in question… though their ledgers say otherwise.”
A bitter flicker passed over his face.
“House Barzani, along with many others, held out. Briefly. They said…”
His eyes flicked up.
“’Better ashes than shame.’”
Kabir pressed on.
“We made it clear. As per local law and Divine Law, the terms of surrender were and will be honored. No pillaging or executions. But their treasuries will be completely seized. Their private forces disbanded. And, in due time, their family heads will be brought to kneel before the court.”
His fingers tightened around the scroll.
“There is… one more note, my Lord. A few… Jinn. Leftovers from the decimated houses. We found them hiding… they didn’t bother fleeing. Not at all resisting. They turned themselves in and asked us for mercy.”
Kabir shifted his weight.
“They are being held now. As per protocol. Awaiting judgment.”
He scanned further, lips thinning even more.
“As for the dead…”
A longer pause this time.
“Final count puts it at one thousand and… fifty-seven. Mostly rioters. Mercenaries. Bought blades who didn’t know when to lay down arms.”
A tight swallow.
“Only one from our blood.”
His gaze fell.
“Samir… the shield-bearer from Zayna’s cohort.”
His hands shook slightly.
“They encountered a Jinn… Bastard almost killed Zayna, but Samir, of course, stepped in.”
His voice trembled heavily.
“He died… standing. Shield never lowered.”
A beat.
“Zayna carried him out herself.”
Kabir bowed his head lower.
“He was a good man, my Lord. Humble. Never missed formation.”
He let the scroll fall slightly, then whispered:
“That is the general report.”
Malik slowly nodded his head.
“May his soul rest in peace…”
He closed his eyes, remembering the man’s face.
“Send his family twelve gold coins from Al-Ayan’s treasury. We’ll hold his funeral after things die down.”
Without flinching at the insane amount of money given, Kabir moved on:
“Will do… And I’ll have them start preparations now. As for your other requests, Lord. Your students, Zafar and Roya, are almost fully healed. They are likely to wake up later today. Noor, meanwhile, is heading south. Should we keep track of her? She’s getting far.”
Malik shook his head.
“Understood.”
Done with everything, Kabir rapped the scroll tight and looked at what was before him.
“People… people will call this peace… They’ll write songs, poems. Build statues.”
“…Let them.”
“Do you want that, my Lord?”
“No.”
“Then… would you please tell me what you want, my Lord?”
“…”
Malik didn’t speak.
He just stared at the city.
The bones of what was still clung to it like rot.
Towers stood hollow, and marketplaces smoldered.
The Kingdom of Light appeared completely empty of people.
All of the citizens, rioters or not, were dug in at home.
They were terrified by Malik’s battle, hiding away.
And they did right by doing so…
There was nothing glorious about what had happened.
Malik reached out, and a flame materialized above his palm.
“Let them call it peace…”
He clenched his hand and extinguished the flame.
“They’ll need all that hope with what’s coming next…”
He opened his hand a second time, smoke leaving it.
“That lanky old man is about to make a move.”
Kabir raised his head.
“We’re ready…”
His voice held a hint of happiness.
“As is the project.”
Malik’s lips stretched a little, perhaps an attempt at a smile.
And then, for the first time in fifteen years—
“Thank you, Kabir.”
He leaned his back on the boulder and…
“It’s my pleasure, my Lord.”
Slept.
Malik finally slept.
***
{Outside The Projection}
It wasn’t glorious?
No, it was glorious.
This was the end of one of Malik’s biggest tragedies.
It made their chests feel both heavy and warm.
And what was more, watching a man like him sleep was history.
He finally let the world carry itself for once.
Sure, his nightmare was probably preparing to come in and come in strong—who were they kidding?—but it still mattered…
He rested… physically, at least.
After everything.
After all of that happened, his brain could take pause.
His dance of control could finally take a break.
And what a dance it was!
His actions were of real control.
His melting of the throne told them that he didn’t need to sit in power to feel like he owned it. He was THE power.
And oh, the Chancellor, that smug snake, must’ve been shaking.
He probably thought Malik would play the same game.
Smile the same smile.
Wear the same cloak.
It was glorious how he predicted exactly how the Chancellor would move.
…Malik was glorious.
And Zafar agreed.
Surprising everyone around him, nearly making them all jump, he materialized just beneath the projection, directly beneath the Golden Throne… beneath Malik, their Sultan.
Huda jumped alongside the others.
Layla cursed under her breath.
Safira raised a brow.
Azeem looked like someone had spat in his tea.
And Noor looked like she was about to explode.
Surprising them ten times further, perhaps even himself, Zafar…
Zafar did something he never thought he’d ever do, forced or otherwise.
“Forgive me…”
His knee bent.
“Forgive me…”
It touched the ground.
“Forgive me…”
His back bent too.
“Forgive me…”
Parallel to the ground.
“Forgive me…”
There was no mistaking it.
“Forgive me…”
The “hero” had just knelt.
“Forgive me…”
He was shaking.
“Forgive me…”
Whispering apologies.
“Forgive me…”
Until finally—
“My Lord.”
The one who called him a villain.
Who fought him, luck, and flame.
Who nearly died a million times to prove Malik wrong.
Who was once the leader of the coalition that screamed for his death…
Now kneeled, humbled, broken, and, of course, grown.
Zafar had learned throughout this showing, slowly accepting and rejecting parts of himself, going forward and backward, regressing once for every success.
Once, it appeared useless, a lost cause, but not anymore.
Indeed, the boy had finally grown into a man.
And it changed everything.
Because now even Zafar was ready.
Ready to follow, fight, and kneel.
Before him.
Their Sultan.
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