NOVGO.NET Chapter 401: Circle Of Fools
Chapter 401: Circle Of Fools
***
{Outside The Projection}
“WHO WANTS TO BE SULTAN?!“
Those words didn’t fade, certainly not in their heads.
They looped, over and over again, a hammer inside every skull in the hall.
It hit differently now, harder and lower, like a weight in the chest that kept sinking.
When they heard those words all those years ago, most likely thought that Malik was taunting them. Trying to shame them. Trying to make them flinch.
But now they understood.
It wasn’t pride or arrogance but exhaustion.
He had truly meant it… he wanted out, a “break.”
He asked them—begged them—to kill him.
To end it.
To take the crown.
Show him that they were worthy.
And not a single one had the spine.
The hall had grown deathly still because of what they hadn’t done.
Huda was the most still amongst them. Her hands felt cold… so very cold.
She remembered that moment now—exactly that moment.
The one revealing how twisted their relationship had become.
Once, they were only little ones stuck together, facing a world so cruel.
But now?… Oh, they couldn’t be further apart.
Huda didn’t miss it the first time, but now, through the projection, it stabbed worse.
Because, well, it wasn’t just a memory anymore; it was a confession brought to life.
Malik had meant every word.
“Who wants to be Sultan?”
He wasn’t fighting for the throne; he was willing to walk away from it.
Looking for someone, anyone, who would dare hold the weight and fire he carried.
Anyone brave enough, or crazy enough, to be Sultan, his replacement.
Malik had literally handed the crown away, pushing it into someone’s chest, and still, no one dared hold it, not even for a second.
It was why he sounded… disappointed.
Earlier, the requirements for being Sultan were too insane, because, well, they needed to be.
Only the most insane and depraved would dive Hell’s Gates.
It was one of the major reasons why Cyrus put Huda and Sinbad through that test all that time ago.
But now… now with Malik around, the Sultan could be weak.
They could be a nobody; they only needed courage.
And yet, even that they didn’t have.
Even in that they had lost.
So, of course, no one moved; too cowardly.
Not Huda, not his enemies, not even those damned princes whose father he had killed.
All were nothing but cowards, and they… they really had dared to shout for him to step down.
’…How pathetic.’
What a disgrace they were.
They screamed at their savior to abandon them—and then fell to their knees the moment he asked them to rise in his place.
Shame returned to grace the hall’s air once more.
If Malik’s friend was pain, then theirs was shame and silence.
After all, they had just watched him leave, just like they had watched him walk into Hell.
Just like they had watched him suffer through monsters and nightmares for their sake.
They watched, and watched, and did nothing.
The weight of it was too much for some.
A woman started crying. She wasn’t even sure why. A few men beside her bowed their heads like they’d been struck. Many whispered apologies through choked breaths. Even the high nobles at the back lowered their eyes.
Roya’s assassination, which moments ago felt like the biggest shock, was a distant echo to them now.
This was bigger.
Malik truly was a curse to them.
And the curse he held was truth.
An undeniable truth.
Every single one of them, in the face of Corruption, legacy, and a bloodied crown, chose silence.
Malik didn’t even need to scare them.
He made them see themselves.
And that, of course, was worse.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik, standing in a high place, faced a different wind.
It was sharper and colder… much to his liking.
This ’high place’ was the top of the Holy Palace, an open dome of gold.
A place with no railings, banners, guards, or servants, a place too high for fear or politics, a place where he could breathe freely under a wide open sky.
He sat at the edge of it, his boots pressed against the warm gold, cloak flapping behind him as he stared at the Holy City beneath his feet—a blanket of domes, towers, houses, markets, and tiny streets, spread out like ink on paper.
The view stretched so far it looked fake, painted.
So many lives below, all of them his, technically.
His subjects now.
His people.
Yet… he didn’t feel anything.
Sinbad, still perched on his shoulder, tucked his wings.
The wind ruffled his feathers every now and then, but he kept staring forward like a statue.
Malik didn’t speak for a long time, and neither did Sinbad; they didn’t have to.
At least not until an hour or so later, when Malik finally blinked.
“I own all of this now.”
His voice was dull as ever.
“Yes.”
Sinbad didn’t look at him, but his eyes narrowed.
“You do.”
A moment passed.
“You own every stone here. Every orchard, every noble house scribbled into the walls. Every debt, title, and lie wrapped in gold… It’s all yours.”
Malik breathed out of his nose, almost like a laugh.
But it wasn’t one… he only found it ridiculous.
Sinbad turned to him at last.
“Do you remember Zawaya?”
His tone got quieter and sadder.
“The gutters you sat beside?”
His tone always changed when he talked about Malik’s past.
“The alleyway behind the market where they threw out rotten food?”
Malik nodded his head slightly, acknowledging him.
“You struggled to even get a loaf of bread.”
A bit of a snort was in Sinbad’s voice now.
“Yet you gave that bread… your water.”
It held a smile as well.
“I thought you were the dumbest boy I’d ever seen… the kindest.”
Malik gave a dry blink.
“I remember.”
Sinbad continued:
“You could barely walk, leaning on your Old Cane, your shirt torn, cheeks sunk in… and still—still—you helped us, fighting those beasts.”
“Big bastards.”
Malik murmured, and Sinbad hooted, amused.
“Yes. Way bigger than you, yet you won. You always win, don’t you?”
“…”
Malik didn’t answer.
“I have a name no one remembers.”
Sinbad hopped closer to him on the dome.
“A bloodline that was supposed to mean something. ’Sinbad of House—’”
He paused, then chuckled.
“It matters not… I was tossed out.”
Malik kept staring at the city, his voice coming only after a long stretch of quiet:
“We were both abandoned.”
“Yes.”
Sinbad agreed.
“But now look at you.”
He spread his wings slightly.
“The boy who couldn’t afford to sleep indoors now has a roof made of gold. You sit above kings. The Holy City whispers your name like it’s Divine Law. Fam Iblis bows to you.”
His words hung there, a little too heavy.
“And what do you feel, Elder Brother?”
Sinbad asked, softly now, almost afraid of the answer.
Malik, again, was quiet for a while, eyes scanning the city.
People looked like ants, streets like veins, the gardens patches of green, and the oasis a golden spot. He could see marketplaces, the spots where he once would’ve slept under, and the stalls where he once would’ve begged to get bread.
All of it was so small now.
“…I don’t know.”
Malik finally spoke, and Sinbad tilted his little head, waiting for more.
“I should feel something—power, rage… maybe even relief.”
He looked at his own hands, opening and closing them.
“But it’s nothing.”
Even with all this coin on hand, nothing came up.
“Absolutely nothing.”
Sinbad’s pink eyes dimmed a little.
“Hollow.”
Wings fell upon Malik’s face, patting him.
“You climbed the tallest ladder and found no stars at the top.”
Malik nodded once, and Sinbad took a deep breath.
“When I was human, I used to think if I could get back what I lost—my family, my status—I’d be whole again.”
He looked away.
“But you… You never truly had anything to begin with, Elder Brother.”
Sinbad trembled a little.
“You were born into fire, shackled to sand. You were raised by Old Cane’s code, trained by death and tragedy, and fed by storms. You never even had the luxury of dreaming.”
Malik said nothing.
“So now you’ve got all the coin in the world in your hands, but you don’t know how to spend it… It’s only natural.”
“…I never wanted it.”
Sinbad nodded at Malik’s murmur.
“I know. You just wanted a roof.”
After another long pause, Malik’s voice came from somewhere deeper:
“I thought… if I could just honor her memory. Jasmine’s. Rehan’s as well. Hassan’s. Faqir’s. The others… that’d be enough.”
Sinbad lowered his wings as Malik continued:
“Or maybe if I could keep you safe. Or stop the Zaqqum… IT.”
“And you did.”
Sinbad hooted.
“All of it.”
“But it never made me feel anything.”
“No.”
“Damn my attachment to promises… I don’t even know why I’m still here.”
Malik’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“I don’t want this. I don’t want to rule.”
Sinbad was quiet.
“I don’t even want to die anymore… though I will, I have to.”
Malik, for the first time since forever, had let it all out.
“Still, I don’t feel enough to even want that.”
The owl stared at him for a few seconds.
“I do not say this to wound you, Elder Brother, but what you have become is… not a Sultan.”
Malik finally looked at him.
“You are something new.”
Sinbad’s eyes glowed now.
“Something this world was never prepared to hold.”
Pinks returning to life.
“You are what comes after the end.”
Malik turned back to the horizon.
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“Of course it doesn’t.”
Sinbad nodded.
“You feel empty because you were never taught how to feel full. You were born in a broken place. The world raised you like a weapon, taking away all that made you… you.”
Malik’s jaw twitched, and Sinbad’s voice softened again.
“But Jasmine saw you. I saw you. All of whom you call complacencies saw you. You may be hollow now, but that just means… something new can grow inside.”
Malik shut his eyes.
The wind blew harder now, sweeping his cloak further up.
“You…”
Sinbad fluttered once and hopped down into Malik’s lap.
“You do not need to know what you want right now.”
Malik opened his eyes.
“You need only to keep breathing and listening. When the world finally speaks, it’ll be in your voice.”
Malik gave the faintest nod.
A few silent minutes passed before he murmured something under his breath:
“…I miss them.”
Sinbad leaned forward and touched his forehead against Malik’s chest.
“So do I.”
They stayed like that—no words or movement—letting the world pass beneath them.
Above, the Shams burned bright against the dome of the sky.
Its light spilled over towers and minarets, gilding the realm in gold.
From here, the city looked perfect, a jewel without cracks.
But Malik knew what sat beneath it.
He’d worn the crown.
He’d seen the cost.
All the riches of the world lay behind them.
Every banner, every title, every drop of blood spilt for it.
And not a place in their hearts to spend it.
DONG!
Somewhere in that golden realm, a bell rang.
The same sound that had marked every Fall.
Now, it marked his coronation, his lie.
This was the circle of fools.
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