Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

***

{Inside The Projection}

Alone, Malik looked up, scratching his cheek again, a little rougher this time.

He then whispered real soft, only for the wind:

"Goodbye…"

That was it. One word.

The city mourned. And the dead had left.

After all, to them, that was all there was left to do.

...

On his way out, Malik didn't say anything else.

His... memories tugged at the hem of his cloak like children too young to know what death meant, but he... He just walked. Quiet. Distant. Spine Breaker in his belt. Scarf over his mouth. And that black, cursed rune-snake coiled tight around and above his second heart, chewing itself with invisible teeth.

He had nothing more to give these people.

Now... he could only leave.

And that was what he did.

Black met him a mile or so away from the city.

The big boy just sat there, ruffling his massive feathers.

He had that same cocky tilt to his head like he'd been waiting hours just to be dramatic.

"About time."

Black hooted, wings flaring.

"You know, you really know how to keep an owl waiting. I've only been perched on this rock for—what—a week?"

"..."

Malik didn't answer.

The owl's eyes rippled and widened.

It seemed that he had underestimated the effect those blinks had on his owner.

"What happened to you in there?"

Malik looked up at that soft hoot, eyes never meeting the owl's.

"I... I'm always tired... but this... I..."

He had no words.

"It just feels weird to be back out here. Out of the loop."

Black, unable to handle it, rushed forth and headbutted Malik, rubbing his fluff all over his face, nearly suffocating him while hooting away.

Malik didn't say anything to that show of affection; he only patted the bird, trying to calm him down, but to no avail, as Black kept going, eventually trapping him under his fluff.

Minutes went by until finally, Black calmed down and returned to his majestic self.

Patting himself clean, Malik stood up from the sand and looked up at his bird.

Black had his back facing him, his tail wiggling about.

"...You want me to get on?"

Hoot!

There was no need to translate that.

Malik nodded, jumped, and landed on Black's back, just behind his head.

Said head turned around fully, displaying an owl's uncanny abilities.

"If you don't want to talk, you can at least grunt when I say or ask something."

"..."

Nothing.

"I missed you."

Malik looked at his eyes, something that he hadn't done until now.

That was enough to make Black puff his feathers proudly.

"There! See! Eye contact. That's a win. Don't lie; you missed me too. Admit it. Just once. Come on, you can do it. Just say, 'Black, my dearest and most majestic friend, I missed you dearly.'"

Slowly, Malik raised a hand, and Black leaned closer.

Once they met, Malik… patted him once. Right between the eyes.

"...That counts."

Black mumbled out a hoot, blinking.

"That counts, and I'm taking it."

The owl spread his wings wide, talons gripping the ground for one brief moment—then they were airborne, a gust of wind kicking up sand behind them.

The sky stretched endlessly above them... around them, a beautiful amber.

They soared over villages, stone canyons, farms, and glass mines. Draft animals looked up as they passed. Kids pointed. Women waved.

The world still moved.

Even when Malik couldn't.

He didn't speak the entire first day.

Moving appeared to be a foreign concept.

One might think him dead if he didn't adjust the strap of his blade every now and then.

He would simply stare into the wind, eyes half-lidded. Watching. Thinking.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Black tried to strike up a conversation on the second day:

"So. Al-Sayf's kingdom, huh?"

"..."

Silence.

"I heard it's cold."

"..."

Still nothing.

"I also heard that the owls there are kind of hot. Get it? Cold kingdom? Hot—"

"I'm going there for Huda."

Malik finally spoke, and Black tilted his head.

"Huda, huh?"

Malik nodded once.

"To learn. To know. To remember."

Black blinked.

"...You're weird now."

Malik didn't answer. Didn't need to.

There was nothing more to say.

...

Days passed.

The wind howled louder the further north they flew.

The colors of the world bled from golds and oranges into pale blues and silvers.

Sand grew rare. Then stopped altogether. Mountains loomed, cloaked in snow.

The air turned sharp, every breath a blade in the lungs.

It was the worst environment for a man of fire.

But even though Malik didn't complain, Black noticed.

"You're slowing down."

He hooted one morning, after Malik nearly missed a foothold when they stopped to rest near a frozen river.

Malik glanced at him, then crouched beside the icy water.

"...Hm."

He looked at his reflection, his eyes somehow darker than before. Deader.

"The cold weakens me... I wasn't made for it."

"Well..."

Black fluffed up.

"That makes two of us. My feathers are not rated for this frostbite nonsense."

They kept moving.

Villages were rarer now. And stranger. Built half-underground, doors carved into hills, smoke curling from small stone chimneys. People didn't wave here. They watched. Pale faces behind frosted windows.

It seemed that owls weren't so popular over here.

In any case, around the tenth day, they had finally reached the other edge of the world.

No, really. It wasn't metaphorical; they had indeed reached the edge, but unlike the South, the edge here wasn't just a void.

The kingdom of Al-Sayf was nestled in a basin of frozen stone, surrounded by jagged ice cliffs that rose higher than anything Malik had ever seen.

No. They weren't just cliffs. They were walls.

A ring of white that reached far beyond the clouds.

The kind of cold that made even time hesitate before entering.

One represented emptiness, and the other represented resistance.

Perhaps it was a metaphor for what was to come... for indeed the South had left him empty.

Black landed them just outside the southern gate, not too far from the queue.

Snow fell gently around them, each flake catching the light like glass shards.

Malik stepped off his back, and the bird immediately shrank, not wanting to be seen.

Black flapped his wings and joined Malik, sitting on his shoulder, using his fluff to help warm up his owner.

"...Thanks."

Malik wrapped his cloak tighter and walked forward.

The line ahead moved slowly. Voices were hushed. The wind even more so.

A faint trail of steam slipped past his scarf, vanishing into the cold.

It was the only sign that any fire still burned within him at all.

He was soon to meet Huda, and he had only one thing to ask of her.

One thing that had never once panned out.

'Please... Don't let me down.'