With their attention back on the projection, they watched as a hunched figure stumbled his way toward the cave.
Unlike usual, this ‘figure’ wasn’t… dignified, noble-looking, no, not even close.
The dude was swaying like he was one step away from eating dirt, each step looking more like a suggestion than an actual decision.
Fast, sure, but also clumsy—like he wasn’t even sure where he was going, just that he had to keep moving.
For a solid minute, no one said a word.
Was it even him?
Malik?
Their Sultan?
The same man who sat on the throne like he owned the place?
This wasn’t him. Couldn’t be. This guy was… empty.
Like someone had truly ripped out his soul and left the rest behind to rot.
…He just looked so wrecked.
And the background wasn’t helping his case.
Just endless gray, all muted and lifeless. Almost as if the landscape itself had given up on trying.
“Man, even the world’s in despair.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
No one laughed.
They were too busy watching this hollow shell before them.
It didn’t take long for him to reach the cave.
It housed the one who had once been a flicker of color in his bleak, miserable world.
“I’m back.”
But as he stepped inside, and Sofia came into view, he paused.
He looked at her—or at least, what was supposed to be her.
Tiny, childlike hands clutched at her skin, smothering her features and hiding everything except her eyes—eyes that wept streaks of red, dripping down her cheeks like fresh blood.
Her body wasn’t any better, a grotesque mockery of what it once was.
It would contort in impossible ways and then return in the next moment like nothing had ever happened.
“Welcome back.”
Her voice was warped, too low and sluggish, as if echoing from underwater.
“What?!”
Gasps rippled through the hall at that scene.
“Are you saying this is how he sees the world?”
“No fucking way!”
“It’s no wonder he frowned all the time…”
“How did he even function?”
“This… this is beyond just seeing things.”
“This is a nightmare.”
In response to their words, the projection stuttered for a moment before a text box appeared at the bottom.
{Note: Due to Malik’s deteriorating mental state, the projection will adjust to ignore his passive hallucinations. Saturation levels, which are unnaturally muted, will be displayed as normal, and facial features, which are unrecognizable due to his inability to perceive them properly, will be simulated.}
The projection continued, showing Malik sitting against the cave wall, staring blankly at Sofia.
“Where’s Jasmine?”
“…”
Malik didn’t respond, his hand gripping his dagger’s hilt tightly.
His knuckles were white, his shoulders tense.
“He’s not even looking at… her.”
“Could you?!”
“The question isn’t how he managed… It’s why he didn’t break sooner.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever complain about my life again.”
A chuckle resounded, humorless and bitter.
“Yeah, no kidding. Imagine waking up every day to that.”
“Forget waking up… Imagine sleeping, knowing that’s what you’ll see tomorrow, too.”
The hall fell silent once more, Malik’s reality pressing down on them all.
Then, as if sensing the need to break the tension, Crimson let out a loud hoot!
Huda scratched and patted its side.
“Guess that’s his way of saying, ‘Suck it up.'”
A few weak laughs followed, but most still stared at the frozen projection, their thoughts far too heavy to voice.
They weren’t the only ones.
Layla’s hands trembled, her expression hardening, barely stopping the tears from flowing.
Safira, on the other hand, didn’t bother to hide the tears that slipped down her cheeks.
Neither said a word, but their unspoken thoughts filled the air.
It made them forget anything else, even the massive owl right behind them.
This wasn’t just shocking; it was devastating.
Because now they understood.
Now they knew why Malik had never reacted to their beauty.
Why he always seemed so… distant, so blank.
It didn’t matter how they approached him, how earnestly they tried to connect.
His responses were always the same: empty stares, devoid of warmth.
It wasn’t because Safira was inadequate as a disciple or that Layla was lacking as his wife.
No, it wasn’t their failure.
They were just… unfortunate.
Unfortunate to exist in a world where his heart had already been torn apart and buried with something—or someone—they couldn’t replace.
And that hurt them far more than rejection ever could because they…
They had realized that they never had a chance in the first place.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Safira stopped cultivating entirely.
She just sat there, her hands resting limply on her knees, her eyes locked onto him.
Her expression simply unreadable. A face unseen before now.
“Teach… Answer me. Did you kill her?”
That image seemed to finally capture Malik’s attention.
His eyes shifted back towards her.
He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away.
He just… looked. For a long, long time.
“Yes.”
All of a sudden, his answer arrived, cold as stone.
It wasn’t an excuse.
It wasn’t an apology.
It wasn’t a confession.
It wasn’t an explanation.
It was just the truth, stripped of any pretense or emotion.
Enjoy new stories from My Virtual Library Empire
As sharp as the dagger sheathed in his belt.
It was as if showing any semblance of emotion here would ruin him.
For a second, Safira’s expression faltered, her lips parting slightly like she wanted to say something—anything. But then, she just… didn’t.
“I see.”
And that was it.
No tears, no anger, no accusations.
Just a simple flat acknowledgment.
She then resumed her cultivation, acting as if the conversation never happened.
The silence that followed was deafening.
It spoke of their relationship and how fractured it had become.
Neither knew what the other was thinking or feeling.
And unfortunately for one of them…
The other didn’t seem to care.
Not in the least.
‘…She’s no child.’
Malik watched her for a moment longer, something flashing in his golden eyes.
Maybe he expected more. Maybe he didn’t. It didn’t matter.
He didn’t ask her why she reacted that way.
He knew that Sofia wasn’t what she seemed.
He had suspicions brewing long before today.
This only cemented it.
Sighing out loud, he rose to his feet and headed deeper into the cave.
As he walked away, his shadow seemed to stretch behind him, covering Safira.
The little girl had yet to move.
Her eyes stayed closed, her breathing even, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as if holding something fragile together.
But beneath the surface—beneath that perfect, stony exterior—was a storm.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t let herself cry.
Not here. Not where he could see. Not where his dagger was in reach.
She didn’t want to know why he did it. Didn’t want to ask. Because if she did, and he told her the truth—if he said it wasn’t to save her but for something darker, something selfish, something unforgivable—then what?
What would she do?
He wouldn’t lie.
That much she knew.
Malik didn’t mince words, didn’t sugarcoat, didn’t spare anyone, not even her.
No. ESPECIALLY not her.
And that terrified her.
Because if he really admitted the unspeakable…
She didn’t know if she’d have the strength to stop him.
Or worse, if she’d have the strength to leave him.
So, Safira stayed silent.
She didn’t want answers. Maybe not ever.
It was easier this way.
Safer.