’I must admonish her.’

Amal’s father tilted his head, studying her pale face.

"Are you saying my daughter is unworthy of some big piece of gold?"

Not understanding how she had gotten to this point of conversation, with her attacking herself rather than defending her actions, Amal panicked:

"N-No! I just meant that... I..."

She trailed off, unable to find the words.

If she were truly honest, yes, she did see herself as unworthy of this throne.

Her father had figured her out in seconds, and she had no defense against that kind of perception.

"Daughter..."

Malik’s voice was firm but gentle.

"If you are not worthy of this throne, then no one is. Rather, it is this sultanate that is not worthy of you. Do you understand?"

Amal looked at her father for a long while, her golden eyes searching his face for any hint of deception.

She found none.

Tears visited her eyes once more, welling up and spilling down her cheeks.

"...yes, Father."

Malik nodded at her.

"Good. I only asked that question to tell you of the throne’s cold. Its crown is heavy. We, its bearers, are fools cursed to wear it until our dying breaths. I cannot bear to see you live such a tragic life."

Though not even a week had passed since his transmigration, or, well, his return, he already recognized the throne for what it was.

And while he realized that the throne didn’t call out for those who wanted it, but rather the opposite. Even then, he wasn’t about to push her towards it.

If this were a cycle, it’d end with him and him alone.

That was his most adamant wish.

"F-Father... I..."

Tears fell from Amal’s golden eyes in earnest now, dripping onto her dark dress.

She could not hold back any longer, throwing herself at him and hugging him tightly.

"I missed you."

Her arms wrapped around his torso, and her face pressed into his chest.

"I missed you so much."

Malik gently patted her head and ran his fingers through her long purple hair, smoothing out the tangles.

At this moment, he was not some transmigrator, not a mighty Sultan, not the Second Sun, not an Angel, nor was he a Class Eleven Magi, a Knight of Rukh.

He was only the father of a frail girl born into too cruel a circumstance.

A girl who had waited years for a man she thought would never return.

"I am here, my Hope."

That old nickname subconsciously slipped out from somewhere deep in the Sultan’s buried memories.

"I am here... I will not leave you again."

He clutched her tighter, holding her against him as if she might disappear if he let go.

’Nor will you leave me.’

"I really cannot believe it, Father."

Amal’s giggling voice was muffled by his chest.

"The fact that you are really back!"

Slowly, she pulled herself away from him and looked up at his face, her eyes puffy but shining with joy.

"I simply can’t."

"But I am back, daughter."

"Yes... yes, you are."

After a few more giggles and sniffles, Amal wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked away, her gaze drifting towards the high windows and the dark sky beyond.

"Father, do you know that I like to read?"

Of course, Malik did not know.

Aside from a single fact, he barely knew anything about her.

This ’fact’ was that, for whatever reason, many years ago, he was forced to give her to his father when she was but a baby.

It was the first and last time he saw her.

It was the first and last time he saw his father as well.

So, left with nothing, he simply shook his head and let her continue.

"I’ve read a lot about the Ancient One that presided over Devil’s Maw."

She lingered on those words for a few moments.

"The True Sultan. The one you Ascended to replace."

Malik’s smile turned bitter at the corners.

’So I was meant to replace an actual God? Was that the previous design? Did the past me do something to change that? Perhaps that’s another one of the reasons why I returned early.’

He did not know, but the implications were staggering.

His daughter nodded at him, as if she understood his silent woes.

"You and your flames were to be the God of the End. Bringer of the Final Epoch."

She sighed wistfully.

"But for you to become that, you should have fully served your penance."

Malik’s eyes slowly widened, a first for him.

’What? How does she know that?’

No books spoke of an Angel’s penance.

That was not knowledge available to the public, not something written in any library or whispered in any court.

This was something only he and those of his status should have known.

Only he and those of his status...

’...’

He remained still for a while, until eventually, his face turned incredibly grim.

"Who are you?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

Those words were enveloped by a dreadful silence that seemed to suck the very light from the hall.

Amal remained just as she was... or so Malik wished.

She revealed a most wicked smile.

Her eyes turned entirely black.

Yes, no longer gold but black.

A "Black Eye."

"Oh, I am your daughter..."

There was a thing wearing Amal’s face.

"Did you—"

"Who are you?"

Malik stood up from the throne and looked down upon the intruder, his golden eyes shining.

"Stop with the damned act."

Raising both hands in surrender, Amal—or whatever was inside her—hopped off the throne and stepped back with movements too fluid.

"Was I too obvious?"

The voice no longer bothered to mimic Amal’s gentle tones.

"I am... a Void. The Void. And the Originator of Corruption."

IT spoke with the weight of ages.

"I exist to devour. I am in every person you see and in the very air you breathe."

The resonance of something that had existed before the first star lit the sky.

"I have no name, and you know me as ’IT’—for you are the bane of my existence. The man who dared to cut my roots from his land. The Sultan who stopped my Zaqqums from spreading."

The Entity’s borrowed face twisted further.

"Did you really think I would allow you to regain your strength?"

Malik, despite the shock and the horrifying revelation that an ancient evil was possessing his daughter...

Despite his broken heart at seeing someone he so quickly loved be defiled...

Somehow, against all that was, he managed to remain entirely calm.

His mind raced through the few options available to him.

And of course, he had to buy some time above all else.

To stall until he found an opening to capitalize on.

So, instead of reacting with the anger that clawed at his chest, he simply asked:

"How do my people not know that you still exist? You’re a threat that is impossible to ignore."

The Entity’s smile widened even further, stretching Amal’s face in ways that should not have been possible.

"You truly are a different type."

IT’s voice grew louder, now sounding like multiple people speaking at once—men and women, young and old, all layered together in a complete bastardization of the word ’voice.’

"KNOWLEDGE IS A PRECARIOUS THING, YOU SEE. THOSE WHO REMEMBER ME OFTEN BECOME MAD. IT IS ONLY YOU WHO IS THE OUTLIER. AN INTERLOPER IN THE REALM OF GODS."

Malik could barely stand hearing it speak; his mind crumbled in on itself with each word, each syllable pressing against his Soul.

"THE WORLD EXISTS AS A SINGLE THREAD, ONE STRAND WOVEN THROUGH A WORLD OF POSSIBILITY."

Yet thankfully, the Golden Throne resisted, its Rukh acting as his lifeline.

"CHOICES. RESULTS. ACTIONS. REACTIONS. IN THIS ORDER, ONLY ONE FUTURE CAN COME TO BE. THE LINEARITY OF REALITY BINDS ALL TO A SINGLE PATH."

Its smile vanished, and it furrowed Amal’s brows, showing anger for the first time, a deep fury that had been building for decades.

"BUT YOU HAVE CRUELLY TAKEN FROM ME THE CHANCE TO SEIZE THIS, AND SO I HAVE CHOSEN ANOTHER PATH."

A frail hand raised towards Malik.

From its palm, a pulse of Corruption shot forth, dark and wrong.

It was not an attack of the body but of the Soul, something that could not be dodged or blocked by any physical means.

There was nothing Malik could do at that moment.

He could not defend himself—the attack was aimed at his very essence, bypassing flesh and bone.

He could not attack—that would only hurt Amal, whose eyes now fell tears of black, Corruption trailing down her pale cheeks.

"I will send you past the unseen..."

The Entity’s whisper widened Malik’s eyes further.

He immediately knew what it meant.

In those fragments of memories he had gained—the visions of watching Devil’s Maw from above as the Second Sun—he understood a few things.

One of them was too obvious to miss.

The land of the East.

It was a land that he could not see.

A land never once documented by any Sultan.

A blind spot in the knowledge of every ruler who had ever sat on this throne.

A forgotten realm, even by those originating from it.

"Goodbye, Father."

And now, he was to be sent there by his own daughter.

"May you die a very slow death."

How cruel was this?

Blink.