Malik was indeed a beggar.
Everyone could see and hear that.
None doubted its legitimacy.
They couldn't, no matter how contradictory Malik appeared to be.
This projection before them was the work of the Holy Relic itself.
Otherwise, the sheer strength it emanated wouldn't make any modicum of sense.
They all felt like they were standing before God.
It was a power just that absolute.
Many hundreds kneeled, their heads crashing to the ground as they prostrated.
Those two words shook the palace, echoing with each following roar:
Most remained standing, less religious, and more doubtful.
They looked at those prostrating with disdain, as the scene made it appear that they were praying to Malik, the very Villain they swore to kill.
The five main characters showed no such emotion, however.
Their eyes remained on the screen, simply transfixed by what they were seeing.
THAT Malik, a man who'd choose death before even asking someone for a favor, a man prouder than anyone had any right to be... he was begging for change.
They were speechless.
But Noor had gotten out of that state quite quickly, and a certain thought began to form:
'Malik is evil, that's undeniable, but still, his memories... they could be useful; it's not every day you see a Sultan's life.'
A few others had stumbled upon similar thoughts as well, and their interest in the long movie they were about to watch increased tenfold.
Some of the dumber ones weren't interested, deeming his memories a compilation of genocide and manslaughter.
The rest of the main characters, however, were a bit more emotional.
Huda, as obsessed as she was, wanted to know why.
Why did Malik betray her?
And sure enough, Malik was eager to let her find out.
{Inside The Projection}
"Please, a few coins would do; I haven't eaten in days..."
Malik repeated under the shade of a large building, its green-colored onion-like dome shielding him from the blistering heat of the sun-like star they called Shams.
His back was on its stucco walls, which looked smooth and sandy like they were made from sun-dried clay or limestone.
"Just one would do, kind sirs, please."
People walked by in the streets before him without even giving him a single glance.
Carriages filled with food, barrels of alcohol, and commonly used items went past, pulled by domesticated monsters in the shape of camels, revealing their high levels of wealth.
Yet none of their owners stopped, their minds ignoring his cries as if it were the passing of wind.
Malik sighed and leaned his head back on the wall, eyes staring up at the blue sky where twelve moons could barely be seen.
'Another spot it is...'
Pushing himself up, he grabbed a wooden stick that sat near him and began to walk, stumbling after each step, his bony legs unable to carry him.
{Outside The Projection}
The crowd was speechless.
This was the Villain's life when he was young?
Many claimed him to be a devil spawn, but he just looked like a pitiful child with a mind way beyond his years.
"He seriously can't be the Sultan, can he? It's just..."
No one wanted to say the quiet part out loud, but it was obvious to everyone here.
If they ignored what Malik had done later on, now, they could clearly feel that one emotion.
But not all felt that way.
Those more aggrieved felt regret.
If they only knew who he was and who he would become back then, they would've quickly ended his life.
It was better for all, his suffering would cease and millions of people would remain among the living.
Roya was of that mindset.
After regressing, she searched far and wide for Malik but found nothing of his origin.
Who would've known that he lived in that Godforsaken district, just beside the center of their planet, the abyssal hole that devoured all, Al-Fawra?
She was sure that if she did, his district wouldn't have existed by the end of the day.
{Inside The Projection}
Malik stuck to the shaded areas so as to not lose whatever water he had left in him and made his way further into the district.
The more he walked, the worse the buildings had gotten.
Many leaned into each other like drunkards after a long night.
Some had balconies held up by beams that looked ready to snap, their wooden railings decorated with colorful but faded fabrics fluttering lazily.
Others had their walls painted in garish patterns that might've been beautiful once but now looked like someone had thrown a fight with a paintbrush.
This district was called Zawaya, known as the mixing pot of all that was illegal on Fam Iblis.
Smugglers, outlaws, and slave traders—just anyone who wanted to get rich off less than legal means.
Malik seemed used to the place, its layout memorized, his routes allowing him to reach Suq Al-Khamis with no issues.
It was a Market Plaza where many stalls sat on either side of the road, vendors hollering over each other to sell their wares.
"Get your spices here! Fresh from the Southern Dunes!"
The stall nearest to him was a mess of clay jars and woven baskets, all filled to the brim with colorful powders—reds, yellows, and greens that almost glowed under the sunlight.
The vendor was waving a handful of dried herbs like they were gold.
And opposite that stall was the reason why he had come here.
Sweet, tangy, and spicy scents from grilled skewers and bubbling pots mixed with the sharp stink of rotting herbs, flour, and whatever the guy two stalls down was selling out of those suspicious wooden barrels.
The heat made it worse, turning the air into a sticky soup that clung to your skin, but still, he quite liked it, at least it was better than nothing.
Malik was just so damn hungry, he felt full from the smell alone.
It satiated his senses for a long moment, allowing him to hold on for a bit more.
He could've asked them for a piece or even leftovers thrown in the trash, but he didn't dare get close to the vendors.
They would beat him to death's door if they saw him.
It wasn't because he stole from them; he never did, never, but because it was "bad for business."
And they weren't wrong.
Malik was thin, too thin, his rib cage showing, and his face? It was sunken and pale, unlike most around him, which had darker skin tones, making him feel alien.
Yeah... his appearance certainly wasn't going to bring any customers.
It might even drive them out, but he knew better than to let that happen.
Malik remained quiet and just stared at those coming and going, his eyes doing the talking, the begging.
He was tiptoeing around the unspoken rules, doing all that he could to survive.
Thankfully, it had worked, as a man eating a freshly baked flatbread from the kebab stall threw it his way like he was throwing garbage in a trash can.
Malik didn't care about that, not one bit; he caught the half-eaten bread with both hands and repeatedly bowed to the man.
"T-Thank you! Thank you so much, kind sir!"
{Outside The Projection}
"The Villain seems to have been shrewd since young."
"Yeah, it's no wonder he reached such heights."
That was the common consensus among those watching.
They couldn't help but admire the ingenuity of the young boy in front of them.
"Maybe that's where his resentment started."
Others began to theorize, deeming themselves smart enough to predict the story while most stayed quiet, still in disbelief.
This before them was their Sultan, a man who ruled over the entire planet, and he was now bowing his head for a piece of bread.
Huda was most affected by this as she knew well what was coming next.
{Inside The Projection}
The man didn't even look at Malik and kept walking, but again, Malik didn't mind, continuing to bow his head.
Once the man was out of sight, Malik straightened his back, patted his torn robes, sighed, and pushed himself up.
He then walked to the alleyway to his left, wanting to eat his meal in peace.
But just as he turned the corner, he noticed two figures covered by a small pile of sand further ahead.
He could see them groan and twitch, like a fish's last moments out of water.
Malik stayed still for a moment, then glanced behind him, then back at the two little ones.
A decision seemed to have formed as he put away the food.