Novel Full Chapter 307: Burn Stranger Burn~
Chapter 307: Burn Stranger Burn~
***
{Outside The Projection}
It had come.
The answer.
The truth behind that little dumb hoot.
The confirmation they didn’t even want.
Sinbad…
Sinbad was gone.
There was no twist.
No last-minute save or hidden plan.
His soul had given out. Too used up.
Too much was spent to keep Malik alive.
So it flew.
Flew away from its home.
From that black-feathered body.
Back into where it should’ve been.
And what was left?
Just Black.
A hollow, glass-eyed thing… a bird.
And Malik knew it.
He just didn’t say anything about it.
Because what was there to say?
The whole world, every single soul, watched that moment like their own heart got torn out.
He had no one left. Truly, this time.
No old friends. No brothers. No Sinbad.
Just a sword, a cane, and a path paved in blood.
And yet…
And yet…
Their eyes drifted—every one of them—to the front of the hall.
To the massive crimson shape by the Golden Throne.
That bird.
That massive owl.
With those same cold, glassy eyes.
No one said it.
But everyone thought it.
He wasn’t dead. Sinbad wasn’t dead.
Far from it.
He was stronger than ever.
So they knew, somehow, Sinbad wasn’t dead, only “broken.”
And Malik had what it took to pull him back together.
This was temporary…
At least that was the silver lining.
Either way, Malik was still moving forward.
Still fighting his war.
And they felt that in their chests.
They didn’t cry. They didn’t sob.
They breathed it in.
Because that man was now alone again.
And he was walking toward them.
West.
To Al-Ayan.
To the ones who thought they could get away with it.
Who thought they could kill a family and rule from the ashes.
Well…
That family had one left.
And he was not forgiving.
Yes, they all knew it was Noor’s family.
But… it didn’t matter.
They did it to themselves.
They made that war.
Malik was only answering it.
And now the world was watching.
Rooting for him.
Because this was it.
The beginning of their FALL.
***
{Inside The Projection}
{Note: A Few Months Pass By.}
The Shams was hot, but not unbearable.
Rather, it was far from that.
This here was the West.
The land of green fields.
Or at least the beginning of it.
Nearly all of the West was under Scheherazade’s control.
Malik wanted no hand in that.
He was after relatively smaller fish.
Fish that he had… history with.
History that spoke only of tragedy.
Tragedy that they were going to pay for.
Tragedy that no one else of his people would ever die for again.
And so, with his sheathed Spine Splitter stabbing the ground, Malik walked through the gates of Al-Ayan’s home.
Nobody dared to stop him, knowing better than to disturb a man with such presence, especially when they saw that look in his eyes, golden orbs that spoke of death.
And so, the guards gave a passing glance, maybe even a small salute, but did nothing more.
…”Kingdom of Light,” they called it.
“Al-Ayan’s shining jewel.”
“A sanctuary,” they said.
They weren’t wrong.
What a place it was.
Far from the sand Malik knew.
Far from the snow he was introduced to.
It reminded him of Al-Fawra… its first layer at least.
Green. A lot of green.
That was the first thing that stood out to him.
Not the unique-looking guards. Not the wooden walls or the marvel of buildings, no different in scale than those in the North. Not the banners flapping high on the towers, ones that belonged to both factions and religions. Just the green.
Grass that looked soft enough to sleep on. Trees that swayed like they had all the time in the world. Flowers, too. A lot of them. Too much of them. Lining the paths, climbing the gates, hanging in baskets like little offerings.
Everything was clean. Polished smooth. Not a crack or stain in sight. No blood. No scorch marks. No memory of war. Just peace, and the kind of peace that didn’t come cheap.
The people lining up to enter wore soft robes. Blues, whites, silks.
No armor unless one were a guard or seeker of some sort, and even then, most of it was gold-trimmed and ceremonial.
Even at first glance, Malik saw it as clear as day.
Everyone around here smiled too easily. Spoke too softly. Acted like they didn’t know how the world worked outside those walls.
He didn’t buy it.
Sanctuaries didn’t exist.
They were just places where the rot hasn’t shown itself yet.
And if there was rot here, he’d find it.
But, ignoring that for a moment…
The kingdom was perfect.
Perfect for the current him.
He needed this change of scenery.
This breath of fresh air.
It was all very much welcome.
Especially with what he planned to do.
Some might’ve called it devious, but that wasn’t even the beginning of it.
This whole place would be dismantled, and a new system would take its place.
He’d make sure of that…
And yet the world around moved on without knowing anything.
In fact, they seemed to be celebrating.
Remembering an event.
A victory.
Ah… yes.
Thirteen years had passed since that day.
The day of the wedding.
A day of loss.
These people were celebrating that loss.
The streets were lively, bursting with energy.
People laughing, dancing, and music bouncing off the walls.
Something of a magic show cracked in the distance. Kids ran around throwing flower petals, and women danced in circles with colorful veils spinning.
Indeed, it was a celebration.
A ’victory.’
A lie.
Malik’s boots tapped steadily on the cobbled ground.
He didn’t rush. Didn’t need to.
He was a storm that had already arrived, the calm before, during, and after.
No one noticed. No one felt the presence of death brushing past their shoulders.
And that, of course, was by design, as he seemed to have learned control while on his way to the west, to here.
But his steadiness wasn’t impossible to break.
Once, he claimed a falling tower was needed for that, and now, no doubt, a mountain.
Pluumm…
Said mountain had come.
Trriiing~…
A familiar sound.
Pluum!
That damned oud.
It strummed out a tune that stirred the pit of his stomach.
Malik stopped in his tracks.
His head turned towards the sound.
A voice followed, silky and sharp like southern glass.
“I hear…”
On the stage, he saw her.
“You’re alive…”
It was the same bard who always sang at that bar in Zawaya.
“How disappointing~.”
The same one he listened to every chance he got all those years ago.
“From distant sands you came with fire,”
And she was the same one who sang at the wedding that never really happened.
“A devil cloaked in false attire,”
This woman looked… older, a few gray hairs on her black, but still…
“A Stranger!… No name, no claim…”
She was as beautiful as he had last seen her.
“Just ash in the rain.”
Perhaps even more.
“What for do you yearn?!”
A lot more.
“When there’s nothing left to burn?!”
Even as she spoke of his death.
“And when I’m ash, with song no more…”
Or maybe it was because of it.
“Let the loudest truth still roar as—”
She didn’t betray anyone; she was just…
“BURN!”
Passionate.
“Burn, Stranger, burn!”
Very much so.
“Let no mercy for him turn!”
Everyone gathered around her thought so.
“BURN!”
Indeed, she was here.
“BURN!”
And wow, did she despise him.
“BURN!”
She hadn’t switched sides.
“BURN!”
She only remembered exactly who she sang about.
“BURN!”
And she glanced at him.
“BURN! BURN… Burn… burn…”
Malik glanced back.
“…Burn.”
In response to that incredible hate, his fingers involuntarily twitched.
For a split second, his defensive instincts kicked in, and he considered walking toward her, ripping the oud from her arms, and shattering it over her skull.
But… of course, he didn’t.
That was beneath him.
And he, well, he deserved that.
Or, that was what he thought, at least.
And so, Malik kept walking.
She kept singing.
“Slayer of Lords, deceiver of kin,”
Her eyes left his figure.
“His soul devoured by flame within,”
They scanned the crowd once more.
“Burn, Stranger, burn~”
Searching for another muse to inspire her hate.
“Let no grace to him return.”
By then, her voice faded into the background, replaced by drums and claps of this… festival.
Malik passed a group of dancers in the center of the town square.
Men and women in flowing and revealing robes moved like waves, swaying to the rhythm of music, spinning and stomping in near-perfect harmony.
And there, one of them stood out.
Even for him, someone so numb, so hollowed out by life, she made him pause.
Her movements were… sharp. Every step she took was like a heartbeat.
She wasn’t just dancing. She was casting a spell. Literally.
Fire danced around her, controlled by her gravity.
This was her stage, and she was the center of it.
Adding to that, she was… beautiful.
So incredibly beautiful.
Something out of a dream.
Maybe the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Dark curls like ink, eyes like dusk, skin kissed by Shams and shadow.
The air literally bent around her. It was impossible not to look.
This ’impossible’ was one he didn’t need to resist.
And so… he looked.
Looked as they danced for the Stranger to burn.