Sitting at the same damn table.
Empty goblet in hand... Ah, empty goblet in hand.
Cyrus was done with his speech, smiling wide, downing his own drink.
The laughter, the silk-robed nobles, the clinking glasses—it was all here again.
Heart slamming. Head buzzing. Palms sweating.
Not from the poison. Not yet.
But from the realization.
Back just before death.
He looked down once more.
He wasn't hallucinating.
No dark, syrupy swirl of poison awaited him.
His reflection didn't stare back at him.
His dead, hollow eyes weren't there.
He was back in a loop.
His hands clenched the goblet.
He bent it into itself.
His head slowly turned.
Sitting at the main table, just a few chairs down with her groom-to-be.
The one who'd smiled at his collapse like he was watching a damn comedy play.
Malik saw her, truly saw her, only now.
A gorgeous little thing.
Wearing a beautiful pink and white dress.
Her long crimson hair braided with silver threads.
But Malik wasn't in the mood to appreciate her beauty.
He coldly stared for as long as time allowed.
Soon, though, poison began to take its first effect.
His stomach twisted, eating itself, but his face didn't move.
He revealed no reaction.
No coughs like last time.
He knew that it was coming, so he used his Aether to hold it back.
Death was still guaranteed, but he managed to delay it for a little.
And instead of using that time for good, he continued to watch her.
The wall that kept some of his most intimate memories at bay...
They had finally come back.
It only made the betrayal hit deeper.
Was he just being paranoid?
Or had she really smiled when he collapsed?
Speculation was for poets.
Sitting still would kill him faster than poison.
So he chalked it up to three words: It didn't matter.
Not too fast like last time.
Just enough for the chair to scrape slightly... enough for people to notice.
Some nobles turned. Murmured. And a few eyes widened upon seeing his face.
But Malik didn't give a shit about them.
He was already walking.
Right past the goblets.
The guards flanking the door.
One of them made a move to ask something—Malik's eyes flashed.
He didn't move again.
The hallway outside was empty.
Long. Cold. Lit by violet glass lanterns swinging gently in high stone arches.
His fists curled tight.
Trust was an expensive habit, and now, he was back to being a Goddamn beggar.
But no, no, no, no, no, NO!
Now wasn't the time for thoughts of revenge.
Or... heh, heartbreak. Or questions that spun in circles and got him nowhere.
His first step was to survive.
Second: find out who poisoned him, properly. No guesses.
He'd pull the truth out of this whole cursed palace with his bare hands if he had to.
And if she was part of it?
If she had smiled at his death?
If she had chosen that soft little noble boy over him...
After everything he did for her?... For them?
Then may God forgive her.
Because Malik wouldn't.
Kind, that he was, but he was no angel.
{Outside The Projection}
For a long time, there was silence.
As was requested by Huda.
But that silence finally broke.
Someone in the crowd had snapped:
"Lady Huda! What happened? Why would he—why would you—?"
All eyes fell on her.
Huda didn't move, not even a little.
Shame poured off her like rain, and she just kept looking down at the ground as if it held all the answers in the world.
Another voice followed. Softer, more careful:
"Lady Huda… did you… was it you? Was it really you who…"
They could not finish that sentence, but it was obvious what the question was.
It was simply too... shocking. Out of left field. Erratic. Unusual. Not matching her established personality at all. She was shown to be naive, not a backstabbing... bitch, so they couldn't believe it.
It made zero logical sense.
Was it all an act, or was she truly not involved?
Or... was this the misunderstanding that they were waiting for?
The one that they knew was going to happen.
They wanted to know so badly, but...
Huda didn't lift her gaze.
She didn't even breathe.
And when the third person asked, voice shaking with genuine confusion:
"Did you know he was going to die like that? Did you see it happen and… smile?"
She twitched, but still...
She had taken a page out of Malik's book.
Her mouth remained closed. Eyes glued to the ground.
Just shame. Endless shame.
So they stopped asking.
"This's the second time... the second time he died and came back before death. Why? What's the point of putting him through that again?"
"Maybe it's as he thought... Fate's trying to control him... Poison. Loop. Reset. Until he obeys."
The old man tapped his chin.
"Or maybe it's a lot more petty, and it's just punishing him."
Someone else cut in, the silver-bearded man this time.
"No, that isn't it. If they wanted obedience, why keep his rage intact? Why have him see her smile? It's not breaking him. It's awakening him."
The scarred woman nodded.
"Maybe... maybe it's just conditioning his soul. Forcing the lesson of control into him."
The old man lowered his head.
"If that's still the case, then fate... it's really damned twisted."
A younger Magi nodded.
"He can't even tell what's real anymore."
The older woman next to him roughly shook her head.
"He remembered her. Truly remembered her. And then…"
They all looked at Huda again.
Still silent. Still frozen. Still broken.
And before they could continue to theorize:
"Zip your mouths, please."
The entire hall was sent into quiet.
Her voice didn't shout, but damn was it loud.
She stood with her arms folded, purple eyes burning, and she stared straight at Huda.
There was no sympathy. No softness in those eyes. Nothing remotely sisterly.
Just fury and disappointment.
"Or I swear to God, little sister or not, I'll bury you myself."
She tore her eyes from the floor, just barely, like it physically hurt to lift her gaze.