***
{Inside The Projection}
“Don’t resist, kid; we don’t wanna rough you up too much.”
Malik didn’t need to be told; he knew better than to resist arrest… of course.
No tension was in his muscles, no defiance in his posture. He let the officers get close, let them think he was done. Gave them the illusion of surrender, even tilting his head slightly, seemingly bored.
“Who snitched?”
His question sounded casual like he was talking about the weather.
The lead figure didn’t hesitate.
“The slaves you freed.”
“…Seriously?”
“I find no reason to lie or joke about this.”
A small chuckle left Malik’s lips.
He should’ve known.
The irony was almost poetic.
The people he saved had sealed his fate.
“That so?”
Another Faraja member, a younger one, spoke up:
“They begged for your life, you know. Said if we had to take you, to at least let the others go. The girl, Safira, and another. Jasmine.”
‘…Jasmine.’
Malik exhaled through his nose.
So that was their price—his freedom in exchange for theirs.
He didn’t blame them. If anything, he was glad.
What a damn expensive way to buy their own chains off, though.
Beautiful, really. In a twisted way.
“Don’t take it to heart.”
The younger one added, almost like an apology.
Malik shook his head.
“Wasn’t planning to. Freedom doesn’t come cheap. I get it.”
The leader stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
“The girl outside the storm. Safira. She’s waiting for you, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“And the other one? Jasmine.”
Malik’s calm didn’t waver.
“Gone.”
A pause.
Then a shove.
The leader pressed him into the ground with a hand to his back.
“You killed her too, huh? Bastard.”
Malik met his stare, brow frowning just a fraction.
“Yeah… say hi to her for me.”
Then—before anyone could even think about reacting—his fingers twitched.
A tiny flame was brought to life above his pinky.
He barely moved, just a flick of his finger, but that was all it took.
The flame snapped forward, hitting the sand—
Fshh!
The ground exploded, blasting his dagger straight back toward him.
One smooth motion. One seamless second.
His hand closed around the hilt—cracked, barely holding together—but it was his.
A sharp twist. A clean thrust. The dagger flew. And just like that, the steel buried itself right in the bastard’s throat.
Blood gushed. He choked, collapsed. His chain of sand went along with him.
Shocked gasps erupted around Malik, but he was already moving, deeper into the storm, into the chaos. He certainly wasn’t about to wait to see the aftermath.
“Fucker killed Cassim!”
“GET HIM!”
“YOU WON’T GET AWAY!”
Sand exploded behind him. Shouts. Footsteps pounding. Yet none reached him.
The storm swallowed everything, turning his world into a suffocating, blinding nightmare.
And Malik, already used to such a nightmare, had disappeared.
***
{Outside The Projection}
While he escaped, most of those outside ran around, fixing up the Holy Palace.
It was a mess. Smoke still hung in the air, the floor cracked in places, and the stench of burnt bodies clung to everything.
On the walls, many tens of seals glowed, activated by the attendants.
They had fixed and stabilized most of the damage, only needing a few more minutes to return the palace to a nearly brand-new state, even better than how it looked before the explosion.
“Alright, get seal twelve up before seal six is done! C’mon!”
They worked fast, seals pulsing with Aether, mending what could be saved and replacing what couldn’t.
It took longer than the few minutes they expected, stretching into the double digits, but they were done, the place appearing to have gone through a thorough polishing.
Every Magi took a breath, shaking off the tension, before turning as one to Roya.
But before they could even open their mouths, she cut them off.
“Don’t.”
Her voice was cold.
“Whatever you’re about to say, just don’t. I didn’t do this. I only provided the information. You were the ones who didn’t consider all the variables.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
A heavy silence settled over the crowd.
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Roya’s gaze swept across them, daring anyone to challenge her.
No one did.
Those that dared, however, were thankfully not affected, none of their Magi dead.
All of Safira’s camp had stayed, while Layla’s only bought and sold the cores.
Noor’s people had yet to go through with it.
Under her command, they waited for others, expecting that a “condition” would be soon found, and sure enough, she was right.
Zafar’s henchmen were too scared to go through with it, likely still promising to buy each other drinks while Azeem’s started their journey as merchants. One of them might’ve even been the “idiot” that gave out the cores for free.
Those of Al-Sayf simply didn’t know what the Hell was going on, and only now did their leader realize how much of a blessing that was.
“I lost people too.”
Roya continued, her voice quieter but no less firm.
“So if you think I’m just standing here unaffected, you’re wrong.”
She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before fixing them all with a pointed look.
“But instead of wasting time whining about it, maybe you should pay attention to the projection.”
Her expression darkened.
“Unless, of course, you’d rather miss the Sultan’s escape from the Faraja.”
The hall went still; a few opened and closed their mouths, wanting to say something but eventually didn’t. A good decision.
And just like that, the complaints died in their throats.
They’d demand compensation later… through other, more hidden means, but now?
Their interest in how he managed to escape was too high to ignore.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik ran as fast as he could, sand spraying behind him.
The chances of those Faraja officers finding him had thinned, but his troubles sure hadn’t.
He went on for minutes, running and running, but the moment he paused to catch his breath…
WHOOOOMPH!
Twelve massive sandworms entered his vision.
They had been waiting, lurking beneath the dunes, just watching him fumble his way toward them.
What was better than a meal that brought itself to you on a silver platter? Those worms couldn’t say. And now that their meal was close enough, their hunger took over, the ground rumbling as they moved in.
“Shit, shit, shit—Am I that much of a fucking delicacy to them?!”
He twisted and booked it straight for Zephyr’s Ascension.
Surviving here was impossible.
No dagger, no Scrolls, nothing.
Escape was his only option.
The worms chased, diving in and out of the sand, shaking him with each step.
Malik didn’t look back, staying solely on course.
One fall and he’d be swallowed whole. He couldn’t afford distractions.
By his hundredth step, the dunes gave way to stone, then buildings—actual buildings.
But he didn’t stop, not yet. He didn’t know if they’d pause outside the land, and he wasn’t keen on finding that out.
“Get out of the way!”
Malik sprinted past rows of structures, shoving past confused people who cursed at him. Though they couldn’t do that for long…
WHOOOOMPH!
The sand at the edge of town exploded, announcing their arrival.
He looked back and watched as anarchy erupted. The worms seemingly headed straight for him, smashing into buildings, sending debris flying.
“Fuck you.”
Following his murmur, people screamed, scattered, and ran for their lives.
“W-What the fuck?!”
“How did they get past the barrier?!”
“RUN!”
“God, help us!”
“They’re tearing everything apart!”
“My shop! My damn shop!”
“Somebody stop them!”
“Where are the officers?!”
“Move, MOVE!”
“Somebody do something!”
Many appeared to have died, crushed by the sandworms’ massive bodies.
It was a harrowing sight, people squashed to paste.
Malik didn’t have time to feel bad, though.
He just kept running, ignoring everything happening around him.
Then he saw it—the hill.
A lush, green mound in the middle of this Godforsaken place, filled with strange, glowing plants, the air thick with Aether. And at its peak, the vent.
Zephyr’s Ascension.
A single point of many in Al-Fawra where Aether surged, lifting people up and out.
This was what he needed, an escape route straight to the outside world.
But it wasn’t going to be easy.
Two, three, four—multiple long-ass lines stretched up the hill, people waiting their turn to pass through the Faraja checkpoint that surrounded the vent made of blue-uniform officers.
‘…Shit.’
Malik knew damn well he wasn’t making it through by blending in that line or that checkpoint.
His eyes darted around, searching, scanning, anything—
Then he saw it, just a few hundred meters away.
A second vent. Smaller. Darker.
It was a large hole in the rock, spewing out an unnatural wind, not pulling people up but sucking downward.
The air around it distorted, warping like heat off the desert sand.
The opposite of Zephyr’s Ascension.
It looked like a one-way ticket to Hell.
Malik hesitated.
Every instinct screamed at him not to go down there.
That thing wasn’t an exit—it was a tomb.
If survival in the first layer was already this tough… he had no chance of making it in the second; surviving for more than a few minutes might even be a miracle with no chance of happening.
But then, before he could make a decision…
“He’s there! Get him!”
The Faraja had found him.
“Fuck it.”
Without a second thought, Malik bolted for the vent.
Ten seconds. That was all it took.
Screams rang out behind him, but they were just noise—white noise.
He wasn’t about to give them another shot at grabbing his ankles.
No hesitation. No second chances.
This hole straight into Hell?
It was the only way.
Malik dove in.
