Novel Full Chapter 415: History Always Repeats Itself
Chapter 415: History Always Repeats Itself
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{Inside The Projection}
The morning light was thin, leaking in through the carved lattice windows in pale ribbons. It touched the edges of the bed, catching on the folds of white sheets and the faint outline of two people who could not have been further apart in spirit.
“…Good morning.”
Malik’s voice sounded as though it had traveled a long way before reaching her.
He sat against the headboard, half-naked, the ouroboros circling his heart no longer there.
Layla stirred beside him, her breathing uneven as she blinked against the light, the sound of his voice seemingly catching her off guard.
Her head slowly turned, and when their gazes met, her shoulders tensed up.
“Ah—”
She gave a small nod, one that was a bit too mechanical.
“G–Good morning.”
Though sounding surprised, her tone carried the same careful neutrality that didn’t belong between husband and wife.
Without another glance, she slid her legs over the edge of the bed, rose up, and crossed the room, her bare feet soundless against the thick rug.
The bathroom door shut behind her with a muted click, the soft sound of running water following a moment later.
Malik, who most definitely didn’t sleep, had his eyes leave where she’d gone and be fixed on some point in the room… its door, listening, waiting for someone.
And sure enough, seconds later, he heard a knock.
He stood, pulling the dark robes from the foot of the bed and letting the fabric settle around his frame.
“Come in, Dunya.”
The door opened, and a breathy attempt at a giggle slipped in before the girl herself did.
And yes, ’attempt at a giggle,’ for it was not the laughter most people knew. There was no sound to it, only the faint rush of air from a young lady’s throat, something that could easily unsettle strangers.
But to Malik, it was one of the most precious things, evidence of his victory, her existence something akin to calming music—a fragile note in a world that had lost most of its color.
“Hee!”
Before he could speak again, she was in his arms.
The silent giggle grew into something more animated as she pressed her face against his chest.
“Yes.”
He wrapped his arms around her, careful but firm, letting her know that he was there.
“I’m glad to see you too.”
She leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, her expression bright and uncontainable, her smile stretching as though her face might not be able to hold it all.
“Hm.”
Malik rested one hand on her hair for a moment longer before pulling away.
“We can… talk—catch up later. I’ll be needing to go now.”
She nodded quickly, the smile never faltering, and stepped back.
With a wave, she turned and moved toward the closed bathroom door. She gave it a small knock before slipping inside, disappearing into the sound of water and Layla’s faint movements.
Malik stood in place for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on where she’d been.
Then, without expression, he crossed to the mirror… the reflection that looked back was familiar but somehow distant, like a portrait painted years after the memory it tried to capture.
He adjusted his robes, straightened the clasp, and brushed away an invisible crease.
“…I’ve got time.”
When he stepped out of the room, Azeem was already there, waiting with his hands clasped behind his back.
“The best of mornings, my Lord.”
On his shoulder, Sinbad shifted, slowly tilting his head at his Elder Brother.
“What is it?”
Azeem perked up at Malik’s question, though his tone remained measured:
“My Lord, I dare say that you really need to make your first public appearance today. Sure, we could never fix your reputation—or even sway a single mind in your favor—but it would be wise to at least pretend you care.”
The pause that followed was long enough to suggest Malik was weighing not the meaning, but whether the effort was worth any breath at all.
“…Alright.”
Eventually, he inclined his head, the movement slight but decisive.
“Have them prepare my palanquin.”
Sinbad gave a slow blink, as if in approval… or sadness—it was hard to tell.
***
{Outside The Projection}
It had begun… Malik’s slice of life.
For the first time, the crowd saw him in something softer.
There were no blades, blood, or enemies—only morning light spilling over carved windows and the quiet between husband and wife. It was strange, almost unsettling, to watch their Sultan in something so ordinary.
They knew that such peace wouldn’t last; it never did with Malik, his luck never allowed that, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t going to enjoy it. Rather, it ensured that they would, as the more an item was in low quantity, the more it was in… demand.
So when Layla appeared on the projection, slipping from bed with grace, the crowd focused on her every move, as on Malik’s, enjoying the reading of their relationship.
They caught the small sounds—the door closing, water running—and the squeal of happiness leaving Dunya’s mouth as she leaped into Malik’s embrace.
The change her presence made to the scene was immediate, making the cold so incredibly warm, a spark in a world so dull and cruel.
Even the hardest men found themselves struggling to keep themselves from smiling.
Sweet Dunya seemed to have that effect on people, a little one that all wanted to protect.
And she seemed to know it, humming, or at least trying to, as the current her scanned the crowd, noting their reactions, happy that Azeem was proven so very wrong.
It wouldn’t have ever mattered to Malik, as he was never after their approval, but it sure did to her, having always wanted the world to see her big brother for who he was, a man so great he could only be loved and admired.
Still, the tenderness she brought was short-lived.
When Malik pulled away and faced the mirror, the warmth in the crowd dimmed.
“…I’ve got time.”
Oh, they knew that look.
It was the same one he wore when realizing his hourglass was becoming full.
They realized it then, almost immediately; Malik’s insanity inducing fight against his Corruption had already begun, and since then, it had played out for more than two hundred years.
Yes, all those years of him being Sultan, until their clash… his final one.
Like Cyrus before him, Malik was pushing back Corruption from taking over.
It was incredible how things played out… how history always repeated itself.
This was the first ripple they’d all been waiting for.
A ripple in a calm before a very massive storm.