***
{Outside The Projection}
“Yep. Can’t deny it. He’s cold… real cold.”
“I can’t look at him and see just some twelve-year-old.”
“Yeah, nah. Even back then, dude wasn’t any different than any of us here.”
“Better, you mean.”
“The way he moves. The way he—he just knew what to do, like it was nothing.”
“Mhm. No one would think him a first-timer after seeing that.”
“Right… you gotta admit, it’s… something.”
That was the common sentiment within the crowd.
“Something, you say?”
Yet, as always, nothing was ever one note.
“It’s fucking terrifying, that’s what it is.”
“Who just strolls through a camp full of people and cuts them down like it’s a trip to the market?”
“Doesn’t matter who they were—slavers or not—that shit’s wrong.”
“Wrong?”
Someone scoffed, loud enough to turn heads.
“That’s a load of bull. Y’all just like hearing yourselves complain.”
Another chimed in, smirking:
“Man’s all business.”
“Yeah?”
A bitter laugh cut through.
“Tell that to my buddy Hadi.”
The group paused, turning to the speaker.
“Years back, he and I were just walking down the street. We spotted the Sultan, didn’t even say shit to him, then—boom—Hadi’s a stain on the floor.”
“Eh. From what I’ve seen, unless you’re dumb enough to poke the hornet’s nest, you’re golden.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up!”
The bitter guy snapped, fists clenched.
“You wanna start sympathizing with tyrants now?”
A couple of others followed up, their voices filled with frustration.
“Do you wanna be next?”
“Half the people in this hall have beef with that bastard!”
“Watch your damn words.”
The tension in the hall skyrocketed, a repeat of last time.
It seemed that no matter how they acted, things remained volatile.
Silence crept in, thick enough to choke on, as everyone shut up and started throwing side-eyes at each other.
Nobody wanted to be the idiot who said the next thing that set it all off.
Meanwhile, at the much calmer front, Zafar sighed, rubbing his temples.
‘Here we go again.’
Letting things spiral wasn’t an option—not after last time.
The outcome was nothing short of disastrous.
Huda ditching the coalition had left cracks everywhere, cracks they’d only figure out after all this blew over.
A repeat of that wouldn’t follow the same path; it’d show immediate consequences.
Zafar needed to step up, even if it cost him, alienating himself or burning bridges with the “heroines.”
Still, he wasn’t sure who would be next to snap under all this pressure.
But if he had to put his coins on it, it was Safira.
Unlike the others—and himself—she wasn’t noble or at least of noble blood.
She hadn’t been born into power or privilege, making it possible that she’d come dangerously close to living as a slave.
If the Holy Relic showed Malik’s “important” memories as they’d suspected, then the moment he saved them had to be the start of his connection with someone who’d truly left a mark on his life.
Safira fit that picture perfectly, or rather, she was the only one who could fit that picture.
After all, she supposedly was his disciple hundreds of years before he became a professor at Nourzadah Academy.
Zafar turned to her, his expression ugly as the thought of her came to mind.
‘A slave, huh…’
He shook his head, pushing down the disgust building up in his chest.
‘Whatever. Even if the world knows what she was before, once she marries me, no one’s gonna bat an eye. Heh~, that could even be a good incentive!’
The “hero” cracked a smile, trying to mask his feelings, and spoke, his voice rising with forced bravado:
“Not heartless, huh? ‘Cause, uh, that—yeah, that looked pretty damn heartless to me.”
Safira’s gaze met his, calm, though her fingers tightened around her sleeve.
“No… Not really. He doesn’t see them as human. To him, they’re monsters wearing skin. Worse than the monsters themselves.”
“Oh, I… I see~.”
Zafar drawled, his joking demeanor failing to mask his unease.
With a deep breath, he straightened up, shaking his head slightly, then added:
“So now… we’re the arbiters of humanity? Decide who counts and who doesn’t? Sounds an awful lot like someone else we know.”
Safira showed no reaction to that jab.
“If you think that’s going to change anything, you’re not paying attention.”
“…Am I not? That Villain didn’t think your rebel family was human either. Remember how that turned out?”
The memory of burning villages and broken families flashed in her mind.
Anger filled her, yet before she could respond, Azeem interjected:
“So, you’re telling me that he thinks a Qird’s life is worth more than his own kind?”
He piled on, siding with Zafar, interested to see how Safira would answer.
“Yes.”
Her reply was immediate, blunt, catching everyone listening off guard.
The simplicity of it was chilling, especially when it came from her, the Fairy of Devil’s Maw.
Wasn’t she supposed to be kind and motherly? Where did that all go?
“If he sees them as fair game, that’s what they are. At least to him.”
Zafar let out a short, bitter laugh.
“So not you?”
“No, of course not. They were my family.”
“Then… shouldn’t you hate him instead of defending him? I don’t understand.”
Her lips curled into a faint, almost melancholic smile.
“He only took away what he gave me… nothing more, nothing less.”
As their back and forth reached an end, Noor had her fingers tap against her knee.
Her mind wasn’t on the morality of Malik’s actions.
It was on something else entirely.
‘He learned this… from that guardian of his.’
Tap… Tap… Tap…
‘That “old man” taught him to be like this. To see the world like this.’
Noor’s gaze drifted, her lips pursing.
‘Just who are you…?’
‘A unregistered Banū Sulaymān?’
‘Surely not a noble; none would stomach a day in Zawaya.’
She closed her eyes, her thoughts turning darker.
‘Were you of mine family? Have you raised the Sultan to ruin me?’
Her taps paused.
‘Unfortunately for you… my system’s quite useful.’
‘God-like even, creating things out of nothing but Aether.’
‘It made me what I am today.’
‘So a system-less man like you had no chance in the first place.’
And that was a reincarnator’s privilege.
