NOVGO.NET Chapter 432: Only For The Dead
Chapter 432: Only For The Dead
***
{Outside The Projection}
A father and his child.
What a beautiful scene…
It was almost picturesque.
Calming and peaceful yet so full of emotion.
If Safira had been in that hall, she might have died from the jealousy alone. Perhaps that was why she had gone to Al-Fawra in the first place—an escape from what could have been her personal Hell.
Layla hadn’t even thought once about her, however.
She was lost…
Her mind pulled into this scene she’d somehow forgotten.
A scene she would have traded her life to experience once more.
And seeing it now… it hurt.
Hurt in a way no blade or poison could match.
Her heart strained against her chest, struggling to hold its sweetness and bitterness in the same breath.
She wasn’t the only one feeling such strong emotions.
The very air in the hall felt thinner, pressed in from all sides by its weight.
Feeling somber was the least of it.
They all had just seen Layla immediately apologize, showing both her dependency on Malik and her exhaustion from fighting herself.
It was something deeply human, so obviously lacking in Malik.
She wanted peace, even if it meant silencing her own justified anger.
Her obsession with naming the baby was so telling.
It was the one thing she could control, the one future she could shape, while everything else—Malik’s fire, the throne, their Fate—was beyond her.
And that quiet line, “We’ll be good parents, won’t we?” was almost cruel in its irony.
Everyone knew the blood on Malik’s Path; they knew exactly what this child was being born into. Layla did most of all, and yet, despite her obvious fear, she clung to hope anyway.
Yes, she was not blind; she knew their child was inheriting a curse, but she was also still in love with Malik, still bound to him in a way that made her complicit.
That contradiction was heartbreaking.
Layla couldn’t take it.
Huda noticed that; she always noticed.
Her small hand slid into Layla’s, her legs trembling as she stood beside her.
“He took care of the baby; don’t worry.”
Layla’s bitter smile quivered.
“…Yes.”
That was all she could say.
It was all she could wish for.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik opened his eyes to a pale light spilling in through the high windows.
The curtains swayed, catching the morning breeze, carrying with it the faint smell of breakfast being prepared in the kitchens nearby.
He blinked slowly and turned his head.
Layla was still asleep beside him.
It was a rare sight.
She usually stirred awake long before now, muttering about how he should stop cultivating for once and go to sleep.
Her training would follow, breakfast, or something she needed to read, coming right after.
But now, she remained curled beneath the blanket, breathing slow, hair a loose mess across her face.
Malik reached out without thinking and brushed his palm over her head.
’I…’
He began fixing her up, her hair especially warm against his skin.
’…I really am going to be a father.’
The thought slipped out, almost unrecognizable in his own voice.
’A father…’
His brow furrowed slightly…
’Me.’
He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.
This living person beside him was carrying a whole human that… came from him.
From his blood, his flesh.
It was strange.
Weird, even.
’A father.’
Malik rolled the word around in his mind like it was something foreign.
’Father.’
He thought it again, slower this time.
’…Father.’
The sound of it…
“Hm.”
He liked it.
“I’m a father.”
Unbeknownst to him, a thin smile tugged at his lips.
This one, unlike all that came before it, wasn’t broken.
It was clumsy, almost fragile.
But it was a true smile.
Malik was a father.
Yeah…
“Wake up.”
He tapped her shoulder.
“You’ll miss breakfast.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
There was no reaction.
He frowned; that should’ve been enough.
“Hey…”
He tried again; another gentle push.
“Layla.”
Still…
“…”
Nothing.
Her breathing was even, but… stiff.
Not once did it vary; this wasn’t a stillness that came with deep sleep.
Something was definitely off.
“…You’re late waking up.”
He muttered to himself, trying to act like everything was fine while his mind searched for an explanation.
Maybe all that talk yesterday had exhausted her.
Maybe she hadn’t been sleeping well lately.
It would make sense.
Yeah.
He was just being paranoid again.
Nothing was wrong… nothing could be wrong.
They did everything right, everything.
Their child couldn’t be—
“Mhhh.”
A low, muffled moan cut off his thoughts.
Malik knew it at once…
This was pained.
It wasn’t a lazy complaint of someone being pulled from sleep.
No, he was sure of it, a sound he was all too familiar with.
…A sound he could never mistake.
His golden eyes froze on her face, pupils trembling from fear…
Yes, fear, the Sultan undoubtedly felt it.
A man who’d faced God with a straight back…
A man who’d ended that God’s Corrupted sapling…
Now, such a man felt pure, unrelenting fear.
He watched her wince, her lips pressing tight.
Her hands twitched weakly against the blanket, fighting against pain.
She had gotten worse.
Ah…
Malik had completely stilled.
No, no, no, nO, NO, NO, NO, NO!
THIS COULDN’T BE HAPPENING!
THIS COULDN’T BE FUCKING HAPPENING!
DON’T MAKE ME GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN.
What remained of his heart felt… strange; heavy in a way it hadn’t in tens of years.
His mind sharpened just like it did before every battle.
Every detail of the world seemed to crystallize.
He saw everything in analytical detail.
Her breaths had turned shallower.
Her moans had echoed louder.
Her skin had paled further.
There was no doubt about it.
’She…’
A thought came.
’She is…’
So very slow but oh, so very absolute.
’She’s dying.’
And the thing inside her—his child—was killing her.
’…What have ’They’ done to us?’
***
{Outside The Projection}
Ah…
Yes.
There it was.
The tragedy they all knew was coming.
The shadow that had hung over them since the first flicker of warmth.
Dread stood before them now, impossible to look away from, yet too cruel to behold.
There was nothing in existence that could ever hope to soften it.
That moment…
It was unlike any other, truly.
Though this was said earlier multiple times.
This held the crown… it had won in this contest of tragedy.
All stayed frozen, as if stuck in Zamhareer, as though moving would make it worse, as though breathing too loudly would be an insult to what they were witnessing.
Still, many in the world found their eyes lowered to the marble floor.
The sight was simply too much.
If not for its sound… the weight…
The faint hesitation in Malik’s voice…
The drawn breath that preceded it all…
They’d be lost, sent deep into the cold.
What remained of his humanity, it…
It had kept them anchored.
What had he gone through in the time Fam Iblis had been made to forget?
How deep did that darkness run? How deep was its tragedy?
Many did not wish to know, afraid of the truth that might spill into their own dreams.
But Layla… she wanted to know; needed to. This was her child—her blood being carried in that memory—and she would follow its story to the end, no matter how deep into darkness it led.
Moments before her fear erupted, she’d been smiling, light filling her face like a child seeing an old memory returned. But oh, how that warmth had drained away, leaving her expression pale and rigid.
She braced herself, every part of her preparing for the blow she knew was coming.
Because she had already guessed the truth.
And what she guessed was not something for the strong…
No, not them; it was for those already ripped apart.
Only for the dead.
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