Novel Full Chapter 365: A Diary
Chapter 365: A Diary
***
{Outside The Projection}
“…Ah.”
It clicked.
It finally—finally—clicked.
The missing piece… the veil had been ripped off.
That was why. That was why Cyrus was like that. Why he was so desperate. Why he pushed so hard for a replacement. Why he trained someone like Malik, a man who would’ve gone to the ends of Fam Iblis to end him.
Because he was Corrupted…
Since the start.
Since the very first scene of him on the projection…
He was already dying. Already rotting from the inside.
But man… he held it back. For so damn long.
Alone, without any outside help.
He had no Sinbad.
No speck to protect his soul.
It was insane.
It was tragic.
It was poetic.
It was cruel.
The crown… the Golden Throne was never a reward.
Never something that Malik was after.
It was punishment.
A punishment that the Former Sultan tried to apologize for.
Both of them, Malik and Cyrus, the Avenger and the Sultan, were fighting the same disease. The same curse. Both were on borrowed time… awaiting the day to die.
How ironic was that?
Malik didn’t want to kill Cyrus in the end.
He gave him mercy, but still…
His actions ended in his death.
Because yes, that insane fight that shook the world was what broke it loose.
Cyrus’s body gave out, his hold on the Corruption… snapped, and it flooded his system.
It attracted the Fallen, and what started as a battle of revenge… turned into a damn apocalypse.
A tragedy.
Their history books didn’t exaggerate anything; they rather undersold it.
The world turned red; it cried for a man, its tears his own Blessing.
It was both beautiful and haunting… a raised hand took it away.
Once, a raised hand signified Malik’s victory.
His momentary saving of Rehan.
And now… now it signified this.
Malik wasn’t supposed to kill him; he walked away.
But no. The world didn’t allow it.
The world would never allow it.
Malik was still forced to raise that sword, forced to swing it.
He was still forced to be him.
The new Sultan.
His revenge didn’t only end on a sour note; it ended in the worst way possible.
In hurt.
In pain.
In ruin.
In misery.
And a promise of many lifetimes of suffering and loneliness on a Golden Throne that he never wanted.
It was a cursed sentence.
A punishment till death.
Watching that…
Realizing it…
Broke many.
…Amongst them was Huda.
Right there in front of the hall, she fell to her knees and cried like her soul was ripping open.
Ugly crying, screaming into her hands, her fingers digging into her skin.
“…No… no… no… no…”
She choked.
“No… I didn’t… I didn’t mean… I didn’t…”
She gasped, sobbed, and grabbed at her face like she could claw the guilt out.
Her heart was obliterated, and her throat burned from the sobs.
Because even after everything…
Even after everything she said…
Everything she believed…
Every word she defended Malik with…
Deep… deep… somewhere in her…
A part of her still thought…
That maybe…
Maybe Malik really did assassinate Cyrus.
That he finally did something “wrong.”
She wanted to believe that.
Because if that was true…
If that was true…
Then at least… at least it wouldn’t hurt so much.
At least it wouldn’t mean that she was the one who ruined him.
It wouldn’t mean that what she most dreaded was all but confirmed.
But now?
No.
No, no, no.
The projection showed it.
Before her eyes was the merciless truth.
It was her fault.
All of it.
That day…
That stupid, stupid day in Zawaya.
If Malik didn’t force them to drink that water…
If he didn’t give her and Sinbad that bread… If he didn’t care…
Cyrus wouldn’t have noticed him.
Cyrus wouldn’t have marked him.
Cyrus wouldn’t have dragged him into this nightmare.
And Malik…
Malik wouldn’t have sat on that throne.
He wouldn’t have become the most hated man alive.
He wouldn’t have spent those years. Decades. Lifetimes.
Alone.
Broken.
Crowned in gold.
Drenched in blood.
Because he loved.
Because he was kind.
Because of one act of mercy.
It burned.
…It hurt. Oh, it hurt.
And it wasn’t just her.
It wasn’t just Sinbad and Dunya who cried even more than she did.
It wasn’t just Layla, Safira, Azeem, Zafar, Duban, and Faqir.
The whole world felt that hurt.
All who cheered his pain now wept for his mercy.
Every soul in that hall, including the two hated ones.
Every soul watching the projection.
Because now… now they knew.
The “Hollow King” was right.
They were “UNWORTHY.”
And they accepted it.
For the first time…
The entire world accepted it.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik sat on a royal-looking bed.
It had velvet sheets, pillows stacked high, and it sat in a corner of a room bigger than most people’s entire homes. One with tall windows, silk curtains, and marble floors polished so clean one could eat off them.
And yet… it felt suffocating… cold.
On his shoulder, Sinbad quietly ruffled his feathers, side-eyeing him.
“So… you truly have no intention of telling them, do you?”
Malik didn’t move.
“…Aren’t we over that by now?”
Sinbad clacked his beak.
“That does not mean I shall refrain from asking.”
Malik stared forward, his gold eyes sharp but… hollow.
“…They won’t believe me.”
His voice was flat.
“Besides… I need her… to join the rest…”
He stopped, not completing the sentence.
Didn’t say that he’d have her join the rest in their little quest to kill him.
To give them an excuse to end this, fulfill his Silent Requiem.
No, Malik didn’t say it, but Sinbad heard it anyway.
He didn’t push; instead, he tucked his head under his wing.
For now, he wanted to rest… process all that had happened.
He knew his Elder Brother would never change his mind.
Trying to persuade him was a lost cause.
Unaware of his struggle, Malik’s eyes drifted sideways.
An attendant was busy packing up the last of Cyrus’s things.
They handled the clothes, the Holy Relics, the jewelry…
But as one of them got a little too close to the desk—
“Leave it.”
Malik’s voice cut in.
“Take the rest. Send it to the treasury.”
They all bowed without argument, tight and stiff, holding in every word they wanted to spit.
One of them, the youngest, walked out with a sideways glare full of hatred.
Malik easily caught it.
He didn’t care.
They had every right to hate him.
“Now then…”
Gently putting his brother on the bed, he stood up and walked over to the desk.
There was a book there, the one item he didn’t let any attendant touch.
Old, crinkled, its seal half-broken.
Malik opened it.
{Tenth Month of 86 ADS…}
He guessed right.
It was a diary.