Chapter 130: Nightmare’s Beginning

Dunya wanted to come.

She had stood before him in his chambers, her slate clutched to her chest, her eyes wide with that particular look she always got when she was about to ask for something she knew she shouldn’t.

[Please, my Sultan. Let me go with them, I won’t slow—]

Malik shook his head before she could finish writing another sentence.

"You know why you can’t go."

Her shoulders slumped, but she didn’t argue.

She never argued, not really. Instead, she wrote again, this time with smaller letters, as if trying to make the words less visible.

[Because I know that you are going with them.]

"Yes."

Yes, Malik had told her the truth, that he would be going "undercover" with Huda and Safira.

[Because if someone recognized me, they would know the Sultan is not in his palace.]

"Yes."

[Because you want me, who knows the truth, to watch over the sultanate in your stead.]

Malik reached out and placed his hand on top of her head, the way he used to when she was younger.

"You know me well..."

A smile made itself on his face.

"I need you here. I need someone I trust watching over Layla and Amal while I’m gone. That’s more important than anything you could do in the Abyss."

Dunya’s eyes softened at that, and she nodded, reached up and patted his hand once, then turned and walked away without looking back.

That was sweet Dunya—she never made things harder than they needed to be.

She understood that his mind was already on the journey ahead, that every word he spoke to her was a word he wasn’t spending on preparing himself for what waited in the depths.

He was grateful for that.

And thankfully, she wasn’t one to gossip or even share anything about him to anyone else, so his supposed undercover appearance could remain under wraps.

Or so he hoped.

***

A long queue stretched across the entrance to the Abyss, where seekers of all ages and creeds shuffling forward at a snail’s pace.

Malik, in his true appearance, stood off to the side, pretending to examine the wares of a vendor selling dried meat while his eyes were tracking the line for the two figures he knew would appear.

His plan was simple.

Foolish, perhaps, but simple.

Safira would see him.

She would recognize him as the stranger who had helped them escape the East, the old man who was almost dead after the battle.

And because Safira was kind—because she had always been kind, even when the world had given her every reason to be otherwise—she would offer to let him travel with them.

He didn’t like manipulating her like this, using her nature against her, but he needed to get to Hell, and this was the only way to do it without revealing himself.

So he waited.

And waited.

The Suns climbed higher, their heat pressing down on the dusty ground, and Malik felt his patience thinning with each passing moment. He caught himself tapping his foot, thinking about all the things he could be doing instead of standing here like a fool.

’Will they call on half the sultanate in their first attempt? No... they must know that they should scout the layers first.’

Thankfully, they weren’t.

Because there she was.

Safira walked at the front of the line, her ginger hair catching the sunlight and turning it into something almost molten, her warm eyes greeting everyone who came up to her.

She wore traveling clothes, both simple and practical, nothing like the elegant dress she had worn at the banquet.

But that didn’t mean she wore no jewelry, for there was one ring that stood out with its glint and almost... holy beauty.

Behind her came Huda, wearing similarly practical clothes, though crimson in color.

Surprisingly, Huda wore the same ring as Safira, and yes, it was surprising when considering their clashing fashion sense.

Anyhow, Huda was... being Huda.

"You call that a walking stick?!"

She shouted at a shepherd who had the misfortune of standing too close to the line. "I’ve seen tree branches with more dignity! At least they know how to stand straight!"

The shepherd cowered, clutching his crooked staff to his chest, making Huda roll her eyes so hard Malik was surprised they didn’t fall out of her head.

"Pathetic! Absolutely pathetic!"

Safira, for her part, seemed utterly unbothered by her companion’s antics.

She walked with a calm pace, her head turning slightly as she passed each face in the crowd, and Malik felt his chest tighten when her gaze finally landed on him.

She stopped.

Her eyes widened, just a fraction, and then a smile spread across her face—bright and genuine, enough so that it would’ve made any other man forget his troubles.

"Stranger?"

She stepped out of the line and approached him.

"Is that really you?"

Malik inclined his head, keeping his expression neutral.

"It’s me."

Safira’s smile somehow grew even wider as she looked him over, her eyes tracing the lines of his face and the way he held himself.

"You look... younger. Did something happen? Are you feeling well?"

He almost laughed at that.

The first thing she asked wasn’t why he kept disappearing after being healed, but if he was well or not.

Yes... he really didn’t like using her.

But, well, he had to.

"I’ve been taking better care of myself, and I’ve been diving into the Abyss, trying my luck at finding a Rune. I think I’m ready to Ascend."

Safira’s eyebrows rose, genuine surprise flickering across her features.

"Ascend? Truly?"

"Hm."

"That’s wonderful news."

She clasped her hands together, her eyes shining with earnestness.

"Truly wonderful. You must be so excited."

Excited. That was one word for it.

He was about to descend into Hell to retrieve a sword that had been waiting for him for longer than most people had been alive, a sword that had been forged to kill the very thing that had been haunting his dreams.

...excited didn’t quite capture it.

But he nodded anyway.

"I am."