Malik didn’t move for a while, just staring blankly at the world around him.
The lighthouse was closer now, but still far off in the distance, its light unchanging.
He let out an exacerbated sigh.
“…Even more walking.”
The air was warming up, a sign that the Shams was rising.
It made him feel drowsy, his eyelids heavy.
Though he’d been taking naps every other day, whenever he could, it still was never enough.
His mind felt foggier than ever, and his body moved with such delay that it felt like his brain was protesting every command.
For a moment, he almost convinced himself to stay still—just for a little longer.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt.
But then, he saw it—him.
Sinbad.
Sitting across from him, legs crossed, a goofy grin plastered across his face.
“You should rest; you need it~.”
Malik froze, his chest tightening painfully.
For a second, just a second, he almost let himself believe it.
Almost. But he quickly snapped out of it.
“Thanks… but I don’t need it. Fuck off.”
Like a bad projection, the illusion flickered and faded into the air.
Malik wiped the sweat off his forehead and rubbed his eyes.
“Get a grip. No time for ghosts.”
He couldn’t afford to lose it now, not when he was so close.
With a deep breath, he forced himself to his feet, his legs trembling but steady enough.
“Just a little longer. It’ll all be worth it.”
After glancing at Althawul for the final time, he started walking.
The trek through the forest was slow but steady, with no dangers of note, just tiny critters that ran away at the sight of him.
Malik kept his eyes on the lighthouse, using it as his anchor, his north star.
And as the hours stretched on, the Shams had fully risen, but it was of no issue to him.
The shade from the massive trees around him was a relief from its harsh heat.
Somewhat of a small blessing at this point.
But that didn’t mean that his condition was perfect.
The increase in humidity reminded him of his dehydration, and his constantly growling stomach grew in volume, reminding him of just how long it had been since he’d eaten anything substantial.
Thankfully, he wasn’t so unlucky as to not find anything that could quell his hunger.
His constant scanning of the trees had finally borne fruit. Literally, in a sense.
He spotted a cluster of them hanging from a low branch.
They looked ripe enough, so he picked a few, sinking his teeth into the juicy flesh.
The taste was sharp and sweet, nothing like what they had back in Althawul.
It was like his body instantly woke up from a long, painful sleep, no longer on the verge of collapse.
On his way, he took a little detour, following a few critters, and found a small stream not far from his main route, its crystal-clear water flowing gently over smooth stones.
Malik drank deeply, the cool water soothing his parched throat.
Once full, he filled up his gourd and allowed himself to relax.
He found himself a tree, leaned against it, and closed his eyes.
The sound of the stream, the rustle of leaves in the breeze—it was peaceful.
“…The kids would’ve loved this… they really would have.”
But, unfortunately for his tired mind, this wasn’t the time for peace.
Malik got to his feet with a groan, brushing dirt off his pants before resuming his journey.
By the time he emerged from the forest, the sky was painted in hues of orange and pink.
Now, the lighthouse was finally close enough for him to make out its details.
The thing was colossal, perched on a lone hill surrounded by barren, cracked earth.
Its surface was worn and weathered, marked by deep grooves and patches of moss clinging to its sides.
His steps faltered as he beheld its magnificence.
He just stared at it, the exhaustion in his body giving way to something else.
Was it relief? Hope? Maybe. Or maybe it was just the weight of finally being here, of seeing it after everything he’d dragged himself through.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Ignoring the familiar voice, Malik entered the area cautiously, every muscle in his body tense.
He kept low, his ears straining for the telltale crackle of flames.
His curse had taught him one thing—everything in the Maw wanted him dead.
And the monsters here certainly weren’t any different.
Hours passed. Maybe more. Then, finally, he saw one of them.
A faint glow, like embers floating on the breeze.
Malik crouched behind a ridge, narrowing his gaze.
There it was, effortlessly darting between the trees.
Rafiq’s journal mentioned their kind.
Ifrit Al’Qird, or Qird in short.
‘Looks like one of those weird circus monkeys they mess around with in those caravan shows.’
His thoughts were spot on—it was a monkey.
Well, more like a gorilla-sized nightmare on fire, but that was indeed its kin’s origin.
His eyes stayed locked on the thing as he started trailing it.
No way he was wasting time looking for another one of these bastards.
Up close, it was even bigger than he’d thought, radiating enough heat to make his skin prickle.
It was like standing too close to a bonfire, except the fire had bulging muscles and could probably rip him in half.
But he didn’t care.
Monsters like this—Faryad rank—were his one ticket for revenge, for a life beyond.
Kill one, and he’d snag an Aether Core.
Maybe even two if the universe decided to throw him a bone for once.
Right, they had a cap of two cores, making this flaming monkey his best—Hell, his only shot right now.
Eventually, the beast stopped near a pile of charred, blackened rocks.
Its glowing eyes darted around before it crouched and started digging.
Moments later, it yanked out a set of burned-up bones and went to town, gnawing on them with teeth sharp enough to form sparks.
Malik’s first instinct was to attack while it was distracted, but he stopped himself.
Rushing in blindly was a good way to get roasted alive.
No, he needed to know more.
Play it smart. Figure it out.
Watch where it went, what it did, how it hunted, how it lived… How to kill it.
Patience wasn’t his strong suit, but if it meant survival? Malik could wait.
So, he kept to the shadows, tracking the Qird for days, stuck with it like a bad habit.
It wasn’t easy; the thing was quick, its red glow flickering through the forest, mimicking some sort of cursed lantern.
One second it was there, the next it was gone, leaving him scrambling to pick up its trail.
But Malik never panicked.
He took his own pace, learned its rhythms, the little quirks that made it predictable.
By mid-afternoon, it always settled into a nap.
Every day, without fail, it climbed into the same gnarled, blackened tree at the base of the lighthouse’s hill.
The branches were twisted, the bark scorched—no doubt from its fiery body roasting the wood over and over.
At night, the Qird turned into a demon on caffeine.
It darted through the area, hunting anything unlucky enough to cross its path.
The prey?
Weird scuttling things with way too many legs and creepy eyes, creatures he didn’t have names for.
The second it caught one, its flames roared up, incinerating the poor thing in seconds.
No chewing. Just straight to the ash phase. Rubbing the black on its skin.
And it wasn’t always a solo act.
Sometimes other Qirds popped up, their bodies blazing with that same fire.
But these weren’t social calls.
Malik’s Qird wasn’t about sharing its turf.
The second they got too close, it went full psycho, screeching and hurling fireballs until they backed off.
Malik filed all this away like he was writing a survival guide for lunatics: when it ate, what it ate, where it hunted, the paths it took through the forest.
Every detail was a potential weapon for when the time came.
He even found out the fiery bastard wasn’t without kin.
It had a little family—a pair of smaller monkeys with flames that weren’t as blinding.
They’d pop up during the day, sticking close to the charred tree and mimicking the big one’s moves like they were in some flaming monkey boot camp.
Watching them stirred something weird and uncomfortable in his chest, but he shoved it down hard.
Feelings? For those things? No, not happening.
He couldn’t let himself go soft for some monsters.
Even if they had some semblance of intelligence.
A hunter was most vulnerable if they held any degree of captivation towards their prey.
Piece by piece, the plan started falling into place.
Malik mentally mapped out the Qird’s territory, every nook and cranny he could duck into, every path that could get him out if things went sideways.
He tracked its schedule down to the last dot—when it woke, when it went hunting, when it conked out.
And one thing stood out to him throughout all of that.
The Qird’s flames raged like a living inferno at night, but during the day, under the punishing heat of the Shams, it wasn’t quite as invincible.
Its flames dulled, its energy dipped, and it was likely why it slept heavy in the tree’s twisted branches.
That brought Malik to a decision:
‘That’s when I’ll make my move.’
