An echo of a golden cry shook the town at its very core. All eyes peered at the source, but still murmured thier ideals of 'sinful' or 'blessed' under thier breath.
Awan gave a hand for Malik to stand up.
He seemed to have grown taller, and his face appeared more mature than the last time they met.
His voice was a candle to push away both sides of the dark that attempted to consume them, and ultimately consume each other.
The eyes on his quilted clothing ensured that he had no blind spots, to ensure that no darkness could overtake him.
He puffed his chest outward, "You people speak of Marah in a bad light, yet you have never seen its pure golden lights. You, however, haven't held the dimmest of lights, as all that lies here is a black forgiveness."
"We lived in harmony, and for this? Yes, my tribe has contributed to despicable actions, and you have all the right to critique me. But to say that, then ambush a visitor, and label him renewed? This is the reason why this island simply couldn't operate as one!" Awan argued.
Nobody in Selicha responded. They simply stared with an indifferent expression, as if waiting for the golden tribesman to finish talking.
Awan turned to both sides occasionally, piercing them with his words every so often.
They were a chessboard of black and white squares, with the black and white split in half, distributed evenly.
He swallowed. "Why must everybody here be difficult? Haven't you learned anything from Mala or Zi Jin Cheng?"
A heavy silence fell upon the town as their faces were like dozens of portraits with the same expression under a different canvas.
After a second, the man, Hurt, raised his arm. "Forgive us if we are uninformed, but what is Mala or Zi Jin Cheng?"
. . .
Awan's jaw nearly unhinged. The candle within his voice began to burn, dissolving quicker.
His eyes caught the town's reactions, and they all held the same confusion.
He murmured, "You couldn't have learned. Have you people really . . . forgotten?"
A sudden weakness burned his lungs as he coughed.
Malik patted his back and realized it. He covered his mouth as to whether or not to laugh or scream.
Looking again, they were surrounded by brick walls with black suits and voices.
I looked at Marah, and the people were deceived to the point where they misjudged me and their leaders. I looked at Nawra, and the people were cynical to the point where they locked themselves away, judging in silence. I looked at Penthos, and the people were sincere to the point where truth was their weapon and their curse.
But now that I look at Selicha, all I see is people guided by the idea of forgiveness, only to be strung up in forgotten memories, and labeling that as healing.
Their faces were jocular, unable to process the gravity of the matter at hand. Each parent, each child, each citizen, all deluded by their own fabricated image.
A certain hot air breathed down Malik's neck. It forced sweat out of his skin, and when he peered at the town, they had their hands in their pockets, shivering.
What world do they live in? Is this the cost of escaping a realm, like Awan said?
The ship's mystery, the island's embrace, the bar's tension, I could at least grasp that, but these people are ciphers.
But for some reason, I'm standing here, facing them. Why?
After a second of cycling thought, the golden light dimmed in Malik's vision.
Awan shook his head in disdain as he began to walk away.
He whispered to them, "This is why having one tribe alone was a fantasy from the start. I don't blame my father for not allowing me to go here until I could fend for myself."
From the back of his head, his golden headband had a large tear in it, and deep slashes across the jewels.
Looking at his quilted robe, more slashes became apparent, driving down to the end of the fabric.
Awan . . . you're just gonna leave like that? And your injuries . . . Malik attempted to utter, but the words couldn't escape his mouth.
His eyes circled as his body felt dizzy in a state of vertigo. His vision had lost its details, and he only saw the world in flat colors. All had lost its definition, and even when he looked at his sweaty palms, all he saw was a blur of pure pale skin.
His eyelids grew heavy, and his tongue weighed his head before he could speak.
One by one, the world began to lose its color, and all comprehension.
Damn . . . I can only think. Could my body only hold up until now?
Maybe . . . maybe I should've slept more.
His body floated in the darkness again. He couldn't tell whether he was moving up or down anymore.
Then, a rattle summoned from his pocket, nearly cutting through.
"How amusing."
Malik recognized it. "You again."
The voice of the bayonet reverberated throughout the floating abyss.
"They sleep while you suffer. You sleep while they suffer."
It cackled. "Why are you pretending to help them? All they've done is mislead you."
Malik strained his voice. "Who is they?"
"You and I both know exactly who comes across your mind." The Bayonet replied.
Malik pursed his lips and closed his eyes. Whether open or closed, he saw the same void before him.
For a second, he believed he was blind, until a certain light blinked around him. He couldn't discern where it came from.
It revolved around him, a blinking light that he had always seen. To him, a floating star was supporting his body from drifting away any further.
His fingers twitched, and his nostrils flared. His lungs inflated and deflated, and his heart beat faster. His eyes were less heavy, and his world began to regain color.
All of a sudden—
Malik gasped. He panted, but found his face sunk deep into a pillow. Slowly sitting up, his bones cracked as he realized he sat on a dark couch.
Peering at his surroundings, he appeared to be in a small apartment, a cozy one. A minimalist decor with black furniture made the estate a comfortable place to rest.
A faucet ran, ringing in his ears. He turned his head and saw Awan with a much more mature gleam on his face. However, he looked somewhat distraught.
He stood behind an island lavished in black marble.
"You passed out, man. You're not looking too great. It's like you haven't slept in weeks." He waved, his hands covered in soap.
Malik blinked multiple times. "Where are we?"
Awan turned off the faucet and dried his hands. "One of Selicha's apartments. It's technically my place, since I signed a lease for one not too long ago. There's a balcony, bathroom, all you could need."
Malik palmed his face. "Did they at least listen to what we said?"
"They just left once you passed out, and I had to drag you all the way here." Awan responded.
From the sink below the faucet, he hung something from his fingers, gently swaying it in the air.
The bayonet swung in his grip like a pendulum.
"It fell out of your pocket on the way here. I decided to polish it for you."
No. Not you too.
A smile crept on the blade with each swing.
Malik took a deep breath and stood up, but couldn't avoid the thought this time.
He envisioned it. On the ship, where the leisurely waves reside, Zayne failed to pick up the blade in the corner of his eye, which he disregarded. Later, after the storm's catastrophe, Lias handed him the blade without any trouble.
You fell out of my pocket on purpose . . .
Then—
"And so what if I did?"
Malik gritted his teeth, ignored it, and focused on his breathing.
He walked to the island, his fingers tightly gripped on the marble counter.
Awan handed him the bayonet. "Bit heavier than it looks. You really carry that everywhere?"
That's what Lias said . . .
Malik gave a twisted, forced smile as he held it. "Yeah. Hey, where's the restroom?"
Its firm handle wrapped around him, as if it was a part of him.
Awan pointed to the end of the hall which connected to the island. At the end was a dimly lit bathroom next to a quiet bedroom.
Malik waved to him and made his way to the restroom.
Upon stepping in, the dim lights flickered at his entrance, and he immediately closed the door. Locking it, he faced a foggy mirror.
Malik placed the bayonet around the sink below it. Noticing paper towels in the sink, he took them and wiped the mirror down, clearing it.
At that moment, he got a clear view of his face.
"It's been forever since I've been in front of a mirror. Just how far have I let myself go?" Malik whispered.
In his reflection, his skin and lips were pale and dry, the hollows under his eyes etched deeply, and slight facial hair began to grow unkempt.
His hair was a mess, and the whites of his eyes had turned into a deep red alongside his grey irises. Fine lines had sunken into his face, and they were harsh under the dim lights.
Malik felt an odd sense of frustration at his appearance. Within the mirror, it displayed an altered canvas of himself since the last time he had seen his reflection.
This isn't the face I remember. My hair wasn't this long, nor was I this worn out. I need sleep. I'm tired of trying to look around and be there for others. They don't want me around in the first place. And every time I try, it bites me in the ass.
I feel like I'm letting myself into the most avoidable situations, yet I seem to fall for the simplest of traps. I see it right there in my face. I'm overwhelmed, and nothing makes sense anymore.
It all started when Kaya came on board, then the leviathan came . . . it reminded me of my past, or at least the past that this blade lets me remember. That door, and what lay behind it. Mashia's vision, the ship's crash, this island, Marah, Nawra, Penthos, Selicha, and all else encompassing it, I get the feeling that it'll be taken from me soon. Just like Nadeem said.
Am I showing the world me and him spoke of how desperate I am to experience, to finally live the life I've always wanted on land?
And could it be taking advantage of me?
"Yes. Now you're understanding it, Malik." The bayonet said.
Silence. Malik disregarded it.
He took a second glance at himself, shook his head, and turned on the faucet below.
He washed his face deeply, scrubbing off all dirt and grime that lay in his pores.
Then, he smiled, grabbed the blade that lay on the counter, and used it to shave off the growing facial hair across his chin. It stayed silent.
Malik frowned when he noticed that he hadn't grown even the tiniest hairs for a mustache. "Nadeem, you genetically blessed bastard . . ." He laughed to himself.
He stepped back in surprise. A deep smile formed on his face when he looked in the mirror. It was genuine, not a half-smile, nor a forced one.
After a full minute of washing, he wiped his face down, sealed the blade in his pocket, and left the bathroom, feeling somewhat rejuvenated.
A cold, refreshing air let in as the curtains gently waved from afar, leading to the open balcony door.
He found Awan seated on the couch, peering at the outside, which let in the afternoon's purple-orange lights simmer. It brought color to the home, opposing its dull interior. Despite the lack of furniture, Malik felt oddly comforted by the simplicity of it.
He sat beside him and took a quick breath as he sank further into the cushions.
Awan gave him a wide yet odd smile. "There he is. Did you get a whole makeover?" He laughed.
Malik smiled. "I sure did."
After a second of contentment, his expression went back to normal after he remembered all that happened today, and all the days and nights that came before.
"I have to ask this, Awan, did you really give up on them?" Malik asked.
The question hung in the dark apartment, blending in with the shadows, and Awan's silence.
Malik insisted, "What happened to that defiance, that spark you had ever since you stood up against the council and your father?"
Awan shook his head. He stood up and embraced the soft winds entering through the open balcony door, gently brushing the grey curtains.
He waved for him to come outside. Malik followed, as the breeze welcomed them outside.
The evening lurked, and no light reflected off the nearby buildings. It devoured the evening light that came close and left no trace of it behind. It was nearly impossible to separate the apartment floors and detail the layout from the position they were in.
Malik appreciated that Awan placed an assortment of plants and golden chimes above to avoid confusing where the floor of the balcony ended.
Awan had already placed his arms on the railing of it, with a melancholic sort of expression.
Malik carefully maneuvered beside him, careful of his surroundings, and then got hit by the solar farewell. The orange light outlined his features, and his grey eyes were absorbed in them.
Then, Awan scrunched his lips. "You spoke of sparks. I'll tell you a parable that my father, Chief Asem, used to tell me as a child."
His pupils darted to the right and left to collect the memory. "A spark lights the candle of someone who . . . who."
Awan clicked his tongue. "But then it said along the lines of, some people are not made of moldable wax that . . . man. I can barely remember."
Malik listened carefully. "And what book is that from?"
Awan shrugged. "I'm not sure. I remember it was some sort of gift. He lost the book on the way to this island, used it as teaching, but where did that end up?"
He sighed, "What I wanted to say was, I was angry earlier today, because I had never expected you to go this far here, and for this to be your first impression of them."
Malik tapped the railing. It reminded him of the ship's chrome-like steel he would always hang onto. "But why have they based themselves on this identity? I don't believe there's any kind of enjoyment to be sought after in this tribe."
"I don't know either. All I know is that they come from the realm of Zavha, a place of so much faith, yet so much wiped history."
Malik's eyes brightened for a quick second.
Noam . . . Adirah . . . They admit they're from Zavha, but they don't seem as broken as the people here.
Then Malik asked it, "So then, why would you come here if you knew this place isn't favorable?"
Awan's smile sank. "It's not about whether it's favorable or not, but only a decision I had to make, a decision that felt right. And I can't say anything without making people worry."
Malik peered at the depth of his sudden frown. "My bad, I asked too many questions."
"No, no. I've just felt a bit helpless. Even with me being the crowned prince, it made me come to a certain realization. Would you mind if I tell you the story?" Awan said blankly.
Malik nodded, taking in the distant sunlight, and staring at Awan's matured features. His eyes were deeper, yet his demeanor spoke of something far harsher.
"The night I took you guys to Nawra, I said I was going to deliver the letter that I got from David, the honorary chief. I did, but before that, I went back there. Do you remember the growling that took place, the noises that were behind the curtains he had?"
Malik recollected, then slowly nodded, trying to piece together the story.
"I heard it again. This time, it sounded like chewing. A chewing that you only hear from creatures beyond our comprehension. At the time, I thought nothing of it. I opened the rampart of the town, and made my way into the forest." Awan told him.
"Immediately, I saw it. I can't even describe it to you, as it was a walking enigma. Intestines hung from its mouth, and it chewed in the same frequency as whatever was behind the hall of Nawra . . ."
In his mind, Malik pictured it once more, an ugly memory. The old crew, the blood and organs seeping from the leviathan's mouth as the ship was bisected.
Pinching himself, he snapped out of the image.
Awan continued, "It chased me down, and I narrowly survived." He turned around and showed the deep gashes in his quilted clothing. "It clawed at me from behind, but I got lucky to sustain no injuries."
"I reached the entrance of Penthos, the tribe where the skulls line the wall. I thought there was only one of those things. But I was wrong. I turned around for a split second and saw multiples of them, all different from one another. I didn't look back, and I ran to the bar. I assume that's how you knew I was here."
He gulped. "And with that came a cold truth to my heart . . . I'm not going to place any blame on you, but since you and your people came to this place, I realized that this island doesn't have much longer to live."
His last words had a hint of gold, yet a hint of purple, navy blue, and black in them.
Malik wasn't accustomed to Awan's new expression. A once joyful smile, now filled with sorrow for himself, and for others.
Awan hung his head as the sunlight began to die down. "I don't believe that you are from the military, or working for any realm, as you wouldn't go this far if you truly were."
He slowly lifted it. "But if you truly are, then the thought that all ten years of this island will dissipate isn't far-fetched anymore . . ."