Malik, after what could only be called a horrible but somewhat beautiful attempt at a reunion, had now returned to his Golden Throne.

A beautiful golden crown sat upon his head.

For all the Will it imposed upon the world, it wasn’t even a Holy Relic.

He kept completely still, his back pressed hard into the metal like it had grown out of his spine, his right elbow digging into the armrest while his cheek rested against a clenched fist.

Those beyond-dead gold eyes of his cast judgment upon what was before him, and the hall seemed to grow colder with every breath he took.

His Rukh was getting filled back up, keeping his appearance intact.

But that wasn’t the only reason for his return.

Finally, he decided to deal with the traitors.

Aram’s king and his kin kneeled before the stairs of the throne, their foreheads pressed to the floor, their bodies trembling with a fear that filled the air.

They had been there for hours, begging, pleading, waiting for the Sultan’s judgment, and now that the moment had arrived, they could barely keep themselves from collapsing.

But they weren’t the only ones there.

Ranks upon ranks filled the Sultan Hall, stretching from the throne to the great gates.

Many of the leaders in his sultanate were finally meeting their Sultan for the first time since his return.

Palace scribes, uniformed attendants, and stewards who managed the day-to-day operations of the Holy Palace.

High noblemen whose families had been entwined in the Court for centuries stood in their finest robes, their faces carefully neutral while advisors whispered to each other behind cupped hands.

Even the ministry officials had been summoned, their papers clutched to their chests.

To their right stood those of the Council themselves.

Scholars in dark robes and judges with silver chains of office, granted their seats by royal decree.

Further along the sides stood local governors from the sultanate’s territories, military generals still wearing their battle gear, spiritual leaders with their holy symbols on display, diplomatic envoys from allied kingdoms, and foreign observers who had come to witness the Sultan’s justice.

At the near front knelt the once royal family, the wives, siblings, cousins, uncles, and children of the Former Sultan, the very man Malik had killed to claim the throne.

Amongst them was Huda’s father, the Former Sultan’s brother, a man named Naeem, whom Malik wasn’t familiar with at all.

The man’s face was gaunt, and he kept his gaze fixed on the floor, not daring to meet his Sultan’s eyes.

And yes, Naeem, being the Former Sultan’s brother, made the Former Sultan Huda’s uncle.

In other words, Malik had killed Huda’s uncle, which was likely one of the reasons why she joined the Heroic Coalition in betraying him.

Truly, a Misunderstood Villain.

And no, Malik didn’t have two fathers.

Huda wasn’t actually his sister.

Rather, he didn’t have any blood siblings at all.

Him calling Sinbad his little brother, Huda, and Dunya his little sisters was merely due to the bond forged by their closeness to each other.

Or, well, how close they once were to each other.

Speaking of—

Sinbad and Aladdin were here as well.

The crimson owl was, as usual, perched on Aladdin’s shoulder, his pink eyes scanning the room with an old soldier’s caution.

Aladdin, meanwhile, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his blue hair falling across his young face.

Both of them stood near the front ranks, close enough to see their Sultan’s face.

The only ones missing from this lot were Huda, still in the West handling diplomatic matters, and Safira, who was in some cave somewhere, circulating her Rukh and ranking up her Rune.

Both were now known to have safely returned from the East.

And of course, Noor, the grand vizier.

Her whereabouts were currently unknown.

Once, Sinbad had claimed that she was likely in the West with Huda, but at this point, it was obvious that this wasn’t the case.

She was somewhere else, doing whatever.

Anyhow, all of these people in high positions stayed completely silent.

They couldn’t do anything but watch the very man who had defied history, the Sultan who had returned from death, the Angel who had raised the land and crushed a Demon wave with a wave of his hand.

Malik let the silence stretch.

Let it press down on their shoulders, their throats, and their lungs.

He let it build and build until the air itself seemed to vibrate with his presence.

"You see..."

Only then did he speak:

"I like to be honest."

His words rumbled in their hearts.

"Even to my enemies. And yes, you, a king under my protection, have become one."

Aram’s king lowered his head further, his forehead pressing harder against the cold stone.

"Your betrayal is beyond great."

His family trembled roughly behind him, their sobs barely suppressed.

"So heed my words well. They’ll be the last ones you hear."

Malik pointed at Sinbad and Aladdin.

They came forward without question.

Aladdin climbed the steps nervously, his eyes fixed on the Sultan’s face as if he couldn’t quite believe he was being summoned.

He wanted this—dreamed of this—and now that it was happening, he could barely keep his hands from shaking.

Sinbad, meanwhile, launched from Aladdin’s shoulder and landed on Malik’s, his feathers warm against the Sultan’s neck.

The owl settled against him, and Malik felt something loosen in his chest.

It was a knot he hadn’t even known was there.

’Home...’

His little brother seemed to say.

’You are home.’

Barely stopping himself from smiling, Malik returned his attention to the hall, his golden eyes sweeping across the assembled crowd.

"I wear this crown not because I want to, but because I have to."

This was the voice of a man who had seen too much, done too much, and carried too much for far too long.

"I protect you all not because I want to, but because I have to. It is my duty."

The voice of a man who had unknowingly said these words a thousand times in a thousand different ways, to a thousand different faces, in a thousand different places outside this one.

"I have seen the cost of it all. All the riches of the world lay behind me. Every banner. Every Title. Every drop of blood spilt for this land."

His eyes lingered on those of wealth.

"And not a place in my heart to spend it."

Those words marked his recoronation.

A solemn declaration that yes, he was taking back the crown and throne of a kingdom that had nearly crushed his father.

His lie.

Because while he didn’t remember it now, Malik could vaguely see it.

Glimpses of a life lived in the endless grinding of duty against Soul.

It was his service and sacrifice.

His entire life had been about fathers and him, a son.

Fathers failing him, like Hakim had failed to hold the kingdom.

Fathers leaving him in sacrifice, like Rehan had left him with his daughter and his blessing.

Fathers repeating the same cycle of cruelty, like the Former Sultan had done before Malik cut off his head.

They depended on him because there was no one else to depend on.

Of course, this cycle was repeated today. His blood father returned him the crown, handing back the weight that had been crushing his shoulders, and walked away with a sigh of relief.

Only Malik had the strength to bear its weight.

Only Malik could carry what needed to be carried.

He exhaled a slow breath.

"I don’t like this either."

Aram’s king’s shoulders tensed.

"My first legal decision upon my return—the guillotining of a traitor."

The king all but jumped at those words, his head snapping up.

His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, finally staying still.

He barely stopped himself from doing more, from begging and throwing himself at the Sultan’s feet.

"But it cannot be helped."

This was a judge delivering a sentence already written.

"You have directly plotted for my downfall. That is a crime above most. Usually, the perpetrator’s entire family would be prosecuted and sent to the guillotine."

An older woman behind the king—his wife—let out a choked sound, her hands flying to her mouth.

"But as you have begged so loudly... I will show you mercy."

That decision surprised none of those in the hall.

Yes, this was their Sultan, ever kind and merciful.

Even to his own detriment... even when the traitors deserved nothing but the blade.

"Before then, however, I must repeat this question to you."

Malik leaned forward slightly, and his golden eyes glowed.

"Why? Why must you continue this behavior? And for what? Is your throne truly that great? Great enough to risk the downfall of Devil’s Maw in its entirety?"

Aram’s king further lowered his head in shame.

"...T-Thank you for your mercy, my Sultan."

He didn’t answer the question.

There was no excuse for it.

No justification or any clever words could undo what he had done.

It was simply inexcusable; he was caught right in the open, and he knew it.

All that was left was to accept his punishment and pray that his family would be spared.

Malik scoffed.

"I’m not your Sultan. You have lost that right."

He settled back into the throne, the golden metal cool against his back. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

"It is only of course that you have no answer. What you have done is simply foolish. When will you learn?"

He looked past the king, his family, the ranks of nobles, officials, and observers.

"No one learns. No one breaks the pattern."

His gaze had gone somewhere else, far from here.

"You just repeat the cycle with new faces."

This was the circle of fools.

A new generation making the same mistakes as the one before it.

Fathers failing sons, kings betraying Sultans, lives lost for legacy.

"Another link..."

Malik closed his eyes for a moment, letting his words settle over the assembled crowd.

"Another circle..."

When he opened them, they blazed further than before.

"Another Goddamned fool."