Almost immediately, Layla snapped her head around and stared at the one before her with unblinking eyes.

It was not a sight she could believe, far from it.

Her husband had been gone for years, mourned and visited daily at his grave, a place meant to remember him. Yet he now stood before her with his golden hair shining under the hall’s light.

Layla wiped her eyes once, then again, then again and again and again, rubbing at them with the back of her hands like she was trying to clear away a fever dream.

She did it enough times that her eyes turned red and raw.

"Stop it."

If he had not uttered those words, she might have kept going until she made them bleed.

Slowly, Layla stood up from her kneeling position, her mourning clothes rustling against the floor, and took one stuttering step toward him.

Then another, and another, each step slower than the last, her legs trembling beneath her.

She approached him with the careful hesitation of someone approaching a wounded animal, afraid that any sudden movement would scare him away, and finally, perhaps a minute later, she stood directly in front of him.

The two looked at each other closely, and Malik found her even more beautiful up close.

Her face, while marked by sorrow, was not ruined by it.

Perhaps she thought the same of him, or perhaps she did not think at all.

Layla’s eyes had gone all but blank now, as if her mind had shut down to protect her from the overwhelming shock of this moment.

Malik did not say anything more, despite the fact that he did not have much longer to remain in this younger form.

He was not so cruel as to rush her through this.

Thankfully, Layla seemed to have gathered her wits about her and fell into his embrace without another word.

Her arms had wrapped around his torso, and her face pressed into his chest, her whole body simply collapsing against him.

She hugged him tight, so tight that he could feel her ribs through the layers of fabric, and she began to sob loudly and uncontrollably, her tears soaking through his silks.

This was too intimate a moment to be seen by anyone, a private grief finally permitted to break, and yet Malik, who was a direct participant in the embrace, felt like a Stranger watching it from outside.

He did not know this woman.

Malik did not remember marrying her, or the years they must have spent together.

He did not remember what she liked or what she feared or what made her laugh.

But still, he raised one hand and put it on her delicate back, his palm flat against the fabric of her clothes.

That seemed to only make it worse.

Somehow, she cried even harder at the gesture, her sobs echoing off the tall walls.

But eventually, after what felt like an eternity, her tears stopped, and she took a step back.

Even as she did so, her hands remained resting on his, making it apparent that she needed to touch him to believe he was real.

Layla looked him up and down.

Her red-rimmed eyes traveled from his face to his silks to his boots and back again, until finally...

"Husband, forgive me... and thank you."

She said what she had so desperately wanted to say throughout all these years.

"Thank you for saving us all."

Words that were so simple, yet heavy.

"For saving our daughter. For saving me."

Malik did not remember any of that, but he didn’t care and acted like he did:

"It was my duty."

What he was doing was not exactly a lie.

He would eventually remember everything once his Runes were unlocked and his memories returned, but still, the awkwardness did not go away. He felt like an actor reading lines from a script he had never seen.

"I... I knew you’d say that."

A stuttering smile broke through Layla’s face, making it seem like Malik had blasted it out of the park with that response.

Maybe he was better at this than he once thought, or maybe she was so desperate to believe that she would have accepted anything he said.

"Would you inform the others of my return?"

Malik barely managed to keep his tone measured.

"I’d like to get things in order before I see them."

Her stuttering smile turned bittersweet as she slowly nodded and began to walk away, her footsteps hesitant.

Malik watched her go, noticing just how frail her back seemed from behind, how thin her shoulders had become after years of waiting, grieving, and hoping against hope.

’...I’m sorry, but I can’t. Not now.’

He did not know how she and the others expected their reunion to be, but he knew that it would continue to be far from sweet.

There was too much he did not remember, too much he did not understand, and too many landmines hidden beneath the surface of every conversation.

He needed time to prepare, gather information, and become the Sultan they remembered.

Sighing, Malik ignored the somber mood that had settled over him and called off his transformation, allowing the ring to store the remaining Rukh.

Once the Rukh faded from his Soul, he felt himself shift back to his older appearance—the white hair, the wrinkled skin, and the shrunken frame.

Walking over to the Golden Throne, Malik noticed that the stairs to reach it were surprisingly few.

Only three steps, barely higher than the ground itself.

It was a humble elevation for such an important seat, as if the Sultan was meant to be close to his people rather than towering above them.

But that was not the only interesting thing about the throne.

Behind it, partially hidden in the shadows, was, of course, a tombstone.

’My tombstone.’

This wasn’t the first time he saw it.

It was in the fragmented memories he’d unlocked from the system.

Layla wasn’t the only one who cried here; rather, all of his family did.

This was his.

A golden slab as bright as the throne itself, with many words etched into its surface by what looked like the claws of a bird, a very strong one.

Perhaps his very brother, Sinbad.

—

[They scream your name in the battlefields...]

[And I cry out, oh my pitiful heart.]

[Who but you ever mattered to me?]

[Who but you broke my Soul?]

[We are alone in this world.]

[When will you return?]

[Our knees have grown weak.]

[Reach into the ruin and pull us out.]

—

Malik looked at the words for a long while, reading them multiple times. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

The grief in them was palpable, coming from a place of deep pain.

He couldn’t help but... smile.

It was a happy smile.

Of course, it wasn’t because the words were funny, far from it, but because they were real.

Because someone had cared enough about him to carve their heart into the stone.

Malik was loved.

With that, he turned around, approached the throne, and sat on it, relaxing his back against the metal.

’...it’s cold.’

Knock, knock...

Once he thought that, knocks came through the massive golden gates, echoing across the hall.

"Lord Sultan!"

A voice called out, young and nervous.

"Lord Sinbad and Lady Amal request entry!"

Malik paused.

’Should I allow them in? I’m not in safe parameters yet.’

He knew he still needed a few more minutes to fill up his ring with Rukh so that he could meet them without worrying about the time limit and being forced to rush through every conversation.

But he could not wait too long either.

How would that look?

A father making his daughter wait after all these years, a daughter who had been waiting for his return since she was old enough to understand what ’waiting’ meant?

Standing on the other side of the gate, not knowing if he would see her or send her away.

Well... yeah.

There was simply no way he could do that.

Even though he would be short on time and would likely be forced to kick them out if they took too long, Malik still decided on risking it.

He was acting on both emotion and cold logic.

Keeping them waiting would only raise suspicion, and raising suspicion was the last thing he needed right now.

So...

"Come in."

Malik called them in.