Nasir nodded towards the map.
"Look, it's the same deal here. Those 'rebel' bastards? They don't give a shit about sustaining the mines. Don't care about the land at all, no matter how much they act like it. They just want control... It's of course they do. These mines are potentially worth more than half the gold sitting in the Sultan's vault. Every Sahir, every Arcanist, every damn Noble in Fam Iblis needs their glass. You get it?"
Malik didn't need to answer.
"The moment they feel threatened, they don't just fight back with swords. They fight back with leverage. They close the mines, drive up the price, make sure every kingdom, every village, every faction, every guild, and every caravan down south starts feeling the pain."
Nasir shook his head.
"And once the world starts hurting, guess who they blame?"
Malik exhaled slowly.
"Yeah, okay. That sounds like a problem."
"Glad you're catching on..."
Graybeard muttered, and Nasir jabbed a finger at the eastern part of the map.
"That's where they get the glass. There's six spread out across the region. Two are locked down so tight that we might as well not bother. Two are contested, meaning we might have a shot at reclaiming them early if we don't screw up. And two—"
Malik tapped the table and asked:
"Which two are we fighting over?"
One of the other guys, a wiry man, reached over and flipped a dagger so it pointed at two spots on the map.
"Al-Saffra and the Pit."
Malik repeated, covered eyes flicking up.
"Oh, you're gonna love this one."
Wiry Fingers leaned in.
"It's exactly what it sounds like. A giant hole in the ground, and at the bottom of it? The best damn glass shards we've ever seen. It's a tough mine; fuckers barrage the place daily."
Malik glanced at the other marked spot.
Wiry Fingers made a face.
Malik gave him a look.
"They got a garrison there. We've got people on the outskirts. It's a push-and-pull fight, and every time we think we're about to take it, they send reinforcements, and we lose another twenty men."
Malik clicked his tongue.
"So we're bleeding out."
Nasir's grin faded slightly.
Graybeard crossed his arms.
"But we will be soon."
The room went quiet for a moment.
Malik looked down at the map.
The Pit and Al-Saffra, both meat grinders.
Six mines in total, two locked down tight, two barely held, and two up for grabs.
...All of it tied to the war.
Malik exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Alright, so what's the plan?"
"That's where you come in~."
Malik raised his head.
"See, we can keep throwing bodies at this problem, or we can get smart. Play hard. And you? You look like you can make that happen."
Nasir did so as well.
Wiry Fingers cleared his throat.
"We need someone to go scout one of the mines. Figure out their routes before Shams up."
Malik let out a slow breath, picking up on what was unspoken.
"You want me to walk into a death trap."
"To a normal Magi? Maybe. But not to you."
"I'm not the only abnormal Magi here, am I? Why didn't you have any of them go before now?"
"I couldn't risk them."
Malik's face turned sour, and a heavy chill fell upon the tent.
A whisper of heat, a creeping warmth crawled up the skin of those closest to him, turning into something more than just discomfort.
Their bodies forced them to.
Duban, closest to Malik, felt it the worst.
His breath hitched, sweat breaking out instantly along his temple.
His knees nearly buckled, his whole body instinctively tensing, trying to resist the unseen force pressing down on him, his very will being stripped away.
He rasped, glaring at his father, but even that took effort.
Safira was much the same, though she managed to show some sort of retaliatory response.
Her hand had flown to the dagger at her waist, instincts screaming at her to move, to fight, but when she met Malik's gaze—what little of it she could see beneath that cover—her breath caught.
His anger settled in her bones like molten lead.
She clenched her jaw, swallowing against the dryness in her throat.
She'd been in battle with Magi many times before—but this?
Even the candles in the tent reacted, their flames rising to their peaks.
It resulted in an almost suffocating wave that made breathing a conscious effort.
And still, Nasir stood there. Unmoved.
He said again, voice as steady as ever.
"If you die, I won't need to pay you an absurd amount of gold. If you succeed, I'll have vital information. Win-win."
The words barely cut through the haze of heat.
Duban, still struggling under the pressure, clenched his teeth.
His eyes burned with frustration as he forced himself to remain conscious.
"You're gonna get us all cooked alive—!"
"Only if he loses control. But he won't, will he?"
His gaze met Malik's. Testing. Calculating.
Malik didn't respond.
He let the silence stretch.
Then, as smoothly as it came, the pressure vanished.
The heat dissipated like a flame snuffed out.
Duban staggered, exhaling sharply as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Safira didn't say a word, but she slowly and carefully eased her grip off her dagger.
"You're lucky I like money, Nasir."
"I am lucky indeed~."
Malik's frown somehow deepened even further.
"Yeah. I don't like you."
Ignoring that, Nasir spread his hands.
"Hey, if anyone can make it out alive, it's you."
Malik was about to throw another quip when he noticed how Nasir was watching him too intently, a knowing glint in his eyes.
Something wasn't right.
He asked, and Nasir chuckled.
"That you're a Jinn."