A burst of fire exploded where he stood, twin pillars of heat kicking up sand and smoke.
For the sharp-eyed, for the ones fast enough to track him, they'd see it—his body cutting through the night sky like a blazing comet, soaring high, aimed straight for the village.
Its entrance sat between the narrowest part of this path, a towering mountain on each side.
It acted as a natural choke point, the path completely blocked off, barring any caravan from entering without their knowledge.
But that wasn't where the real village was.
The heart of it was deeper, hidden within the right mountain, its structures tucked into the stone, making it quite a cold place, especially now, at night.
Malik cleared the outer gate, twisted midair, and dropped straight down.
He hit the ground in a roll, absorbing the impact, his landing soft.
The guards didn't hear a damn thing.
Malik took a breath, then another, before straightening up.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the heat lingering under his skin.
The guards? Yeah, they were right there, standing guard on the only path leading to the village, but he wasn't going to bother sneaking past, searching around for the Caliph.
He picked up a rock. A good-sized one, smooth, fit nice in his palm.
'...No. I shouldn't be quick to resort to violence.'
Then, after a thought, he threw it away, changing his mind.
Instead, he did something real stupid. Or real genius... It depended on how you looked at it.
Malik walked straight up to them, smiling like they were old friends.
He threw his arms wide.
"You're not gonna believe this, but I'm actually late for my meeting with the Caliph. Real embarrassing. You know how it is. Could you lead me to him?"
The guards blinked. Confused. Suspicious.
One of them started to speak, but Malik just kept going:
"No, you have not. So here's the deal. You could stop me. You could make this a whole thing. Or," he clapped a hand on the nearest guard's shoulder, "you could just pretend I'm supposed to be here and let me through. Easy. No hassle. If you don't wanna guide me, I'll ask someone else, don't worry. I won't hold it against you."
The guards exchanged looks.
One of them frowned, but the other? The other hesitated.
Malik pounced on that hesitation... figuratively speaking, of course.
"See, I could explain myself..."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"But I'm not supposed to. It's one of those secretive, high-level, 'if you know, you know' kind of meetings. Very hush-hush."
He made a dramatic zipping motion across his lips.
"Wouldn't want to get you in trouble."
More hesitation. More uncertainty.
Then, somehow—against all logic—the guards just… let him through.
Malik strolled in, waving a cheerful goodbye like he hadn't just pulled off one of the dumbest, most effective bluffs of his life.
His smile disappeared straight after, and his usual frown returned, making him look like a completely different person.
Despite all that was happening, the village was alive.
Lanterns swung from stone buildings. People milled about, their conversations hushed, their eyes darting. Many smoked their Hookahs, sitting outside taverns, others had tea, and some played chess, dominos, and the like.
A variety of activities, but now, all did one thing...
Watch this stranger with interested eyes.
The braver ones looked him up and down, trying to place him.
Malik gestured for one of them, all confidence, no shame.
"Take me to your Caliph."
Then a guy—big, scarred, missing half an ear—stepped forward, arms crossed.
"You ain't got the right to demand shit."
Malik gasped... Gasped.
"Demand? Me? Oh no-no-no. I ask. I ask very nicely."
He clapped his hands together.
"So let's try this again—where's the Caliph?"
The big guy frowned. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, without a word, he just turned and walked off toward the largest structure—deep within the mountain.
Malik trailed behind like he belonged, whistling as he went, like he hadn't just scared half a damn village senseless.
"Manners get you everywhere."
{Outside The Projection}
In other times, this might've had the crowd dying of laughter. But now?
After the truth was revealed to them? Silence was the only reply they could give.
{Inside The Projection}
Malik was soon in the village hall, surrounded by armed men, facing the supposed caliph.
A stern man. Old, with skin like leather and eyes that had seen too much.
He sat upon a simple wooden throne.
"I appreciate you not injuring my subjects."
"That'd be dumb of me."
"I wish everyone had a brain capable of thinking that."
"Then the world would cease to exist."
The two stared at each other for a little, until Malik stepped forward, his head raised:
"I'm Malik. A man of Al-Zayni. Son of Mariam. The Ward of Mahdi. Currently, I'm under the employment of One Thousand Nights."
The caliph showed a soft smile at his introduction, appreciating the manners on display.
"My name is Yunan. I have no family name. And I'm this village's Lord. A Caliph."
Malik smiled back, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You understand what we are here for, yes?"
"You wish entry for your people? To trade? Heal?"
"Why should I allow it? As you've seen, we're in no position to busy our men with trade. You have not come for us, but are only passing by. I'm sure you've brought pelts and the like, but that isn't what we need."
Malik didn't hesitate.
"How would you know, Caliph Yanan? I'd say it's better than having your men lounge around till morning. Besides, we're not bandits and I see that reason enough. And, well, we've... met quite a lot of them not so far from here."
A heavy silence filled the room before Yanan leaned back and chuckled.
"Three on our side, nearly a hundred and two of theirs."
Yanan raised both brows at that answer.
"...Aren't you a merchant group?"
Malik's golden eyes glowed.
Coughing a little, the Caliph asked:
"Fair enough. But can you tell me how they fought exactly?"
"Sure. The bastards probably thought their arrow barrage would wipe us out—but we were ready. So, like any bastard with a ruined plan, they stuck to it anyway and charged. We met that charge. The rest was history."
After that, Yanan asked a few more questions about their battle and they went back and forth. Then, with his curiosity sedated, he permitted their entry, and Malik returned to bring the others in.
They were met with wary glances but no hostility. Soon, they were settled, the caravan parked, men healed, and supplies being gathered.
For the first time in days, they had a chance to breathe.
As the others, led by Layla, walked through the market, Malik went to meet with the Caliph again, followed by Ali Baba. They found him not on his throne, but near the window, staring ahead, outside. His eyes—wistful.
He shook off the burden of his thoughts after noticing his guests.
And these guests didn't come empty-handed… they had brought a few gifts.
The discussions began.
That was when they learned the truth.
"We've got someone important here... Naser's child."
Ali Baba's eyes narrowed.
"Naser Al-Sultan?! The leader's child?"
Malik leaned against the wall and added:
"...That explains the attacks."
The Caliph continued:
"Yes. The bandits aren't just attacking for supplies. They want him as a hostage. We've held them off for now, but they won't stop."
Copying Ali Baba's usual move, Malik drummed his fingers against his elbow.
"So, why not just... I don't know, rat the kid out? Send him back? Pack him up in a nice little box and ship him home?"
Yunan's eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line.
"Because a favor was asked of me. One I could not refuse."
Ali Baba leaned in slightly, intrigued.
"Could not, or would not?"
The Caliph's expression didn't change, but there was a shift in the air. Heavy. Unspoken words thick in the space between them.
Malik let out a low whistle.
"Must be one Hell of a favor."
Yunan chuckled dryly.
"You could say that... When certain people ask for something, refusal is not an option."
"And what happens if the bandits do get their hands on him? What's their end goal?"
The Caliph's jaw tensed at Ali Baba's question.
"Then Naser Al-Sultan will weaken. And a whole lot more than just our little village will burn."
Ali Baba exhaled, rubbing at his chin.
"And yet, you say you don't want us to help?"
The Caliph paused, contemplating.
"So we now know of this information, and go on our merry ways?"
Ali Baba poked at the context itself.
Malik remained quiet, letting his employer do the talking while his thoughts swirled in a different direction.
"Then was there any need to humor that question?"
Ali Baba's usual demeanor—the calm and focused one, had vanished. Or rather, dissolved. He sounded imposing, almost—almost as if burrowing through some invisible yet tangible mess of emotions.
"You people are traveling merchants."
The Caliph's eye twitched.
"This is not your fight."
Ali Baba simply stared at him, as if trying to see how long he could keep his intentions hidden.
"I suppose we continue then."
Malik gave him some respite.
Ali Baba's eyes slowly regressed back to their usual state, the one of a sly merchant yet also that of a caring father.
They turned, and their steps noisily—deliberately, echoed in the surroundings.
"This is not your fight. However, Malik of Al-Zayni…"
The Caliph–Yunan, turned around staring at something distant before staring at his throne.
"You will remember. And when you hear of us later…"
He sat down once again, yet this time—it wasn't out of responsibility.
It was an acceptance of fate.
Silence stretched between them.
Outside, Ali Baba sighed, shaking his head.
"Damn it. Why do we always end up in these messes?"