Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

They were quiet after the hug.

Not awkwardly quiet. Just… still, relaxed.

The night breeze brushed over their faces, fluttering hair and fluff alike.

Sinbad remained perched on his shoulder, all puffed up.

“You’re really warm for a bird.”

Malik muttered.

“I’m really dead for a person.”

Sinbad shot back.

Malik chuckled, though that didn’t quite make it to his eyes.

Silence returned for a few, until Sinbad shifted, turned his head sideways, and spoke:

“Elder Brother.”

Malik grunted in response. Which was his version of yeah?

“I need to tell you something.”

Malik nodded his head, just slightly. Still staring at nothing.

Sinbad hesitated for the first time, then said it plainly:

“You were hallucinating.”

Malik blinked once.

“What?”

“That whole bit. The smile… Huda’s betrayal.”

“…What?”

“Elder Brother, you might not have noticed it, but now… You can see again.”

Eyes widening, Malik opened his mouth, then closed it.

Sinbad was right. Indeed, he could see people again.

Actually see them, without the Corruption twisting them up.

Somehow, he hadn’t noticed that before now, but perhaps it was to be expected.

He had grown to never really look at people, only in their direction.

This explained how he had seen two smiles.

Huda was fine, as her face was visible, but her groom-to-be?

Yeah, that too did not match what he had already established.

“You were nearing the threshold, Elder Brother—perilously close to death’s cold embrace. Though I have drawn you back and mended much, the colorful hues of life still elude your eyes, and phantoms yet linger in your mind. These illusions will wax stronger the nearer you tread toward the veil once more. I urge caution. Your soul remains heavily steeped in Corruption, and though I strove with all the wisdom and will at my command, the full reversal of such ruin lies beyond my solitary reach.”

Malik’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re telling me I… imagined all of that?”

“Yes.”

“And Huda? She—”

“Did not betray you. When you collapsed, she was likely dazed—confused, perhaps—struggling simply to keep herself composed amidst the chaos.”

Malik didn’t even blink.

“Alright.”

Sinbad paused.

“…That’s it? You simply believe me?”

“Yeah.”

The owl looked at his eyes.

“You stood but seconds from setting the palace ablaze—and now, you speak as though all is well? That you are… cool with it?”

Malik nodded.

“I believe you… If I can’t believe you, my little brother, then I can’t believe anyone.”

Sinbad fluttered his wings.

“Elder Brother, I recommend you see a mind healer.”

“Pretty sure I passed the mind healer window a decade or so ago.”

“God help me.”

Sinbad muttered, fluffing his feathers.

“You’re the least dramatic suicidal man I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

Malik shifted his weight, his back straighter.

“…So she’s really not the traitor, huh?”

“No.”

Sinbad answered.

“Her husband-to-be, however? Absolute scoundrel.”

“…I see.”

“It was he who pressed most fervently for the political union. As for the poison—that was my uncle, Cassim. I overheard their plotting with my own ears.”

Malik raised an eyebrow.

“You spy now?”

“I am an owl, after all—our kind is all but fashioned for watchfulness and quiet observation.”

Malik crossed his arms.

“So what did you hear exactly?”

Sinbad’s pink eyes darkened a little.

“He is not merely some prince with an unfortunate coiffure. He holds ties to a council—one of the quiet factions, the kind that moves in silence. They seek the restoration of the Old System.”

Malik closed his eyes, breath slow.

“Open slavery, unilateral war, and eternal bloodlines?”

“Exactly. He sees my sister as a key. Not a person. Just leverage.”

“…And she doesn’t know?”

“She senses something amiss… though she cannot yet name it. She questioned that peacock of a scoundrel regarding him, but he has ensnared her in a web of half-truths and pleasant lies.”

Malik’s eyes flicked open. Cold. Empty.

“I see.”

Sinbad stepped into the air and walked until he stood before him, eyes dead serious.

“Elder Brother… heed me well. Now is the moment for clarity, for control, and for focus. Not anger. Not recklessness. You have played this game long enough to know—rage is a swift path to death’s embrace.”

Malik said nothing.

“…That being said…”

Sinbad continued:

“Should you seek to end that wretched man and his entourage in due course, you shall find me wholly aligned with your purpose.”

Malik smirked. Just barely.

“Thought owls were wise.”

“Indeed, we are. Yet as your younger brother, it is only natural that I harbor a certain measure of pent-up violence within.”

“…Good.”

Sinbad returned to his home, and they sat still again.

The banners underneath fluttered in the moonlight, and the city lights flickered in the distance. The world kept spinning, still ticking, and the strings were still in play.

Everyone was making their moves.

And Malik was back on the board.

“Where’s she now?”

Sinbad glanced at the distance.

“Likely she rests now. The nobles have kept her occupied with their drivel—she must be thoroughly spent.”

Malik nodded.

“I’ll wait.”

“Until morning?”

“Until morning.”

Sinbad tilted his head.

“You intend to confront her?”

“Yes.”

“…Then what?”

“I’m going to burn the plan down before it finishes building.”

Sinbad gave a low whistle.

“You would do well to hone your metaphors more diligently.”

“Not a poet.”

“Clearly.”

“But I like it.”

“Clearly.”

“Hm.”

Hopping off the ledge, they started walking again.

Through the halls, nearing the palace’s gates.

And with that, they walked into the night.

Brothers of revolution.

Step by step.

Two souls.

One heart.

And a storm slowly building behind them.

***

{Outside The Projection}

The projection paused, awaiting reactions, but…

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

None came.

The crowd didn’t know what was going on in the projection.

Sure, they caught glimpses here and there, but that was it.

Almost everyone was focused on the present, not the past.

Sinbad had stolen the room.

All eyes—they were his now.

Which, in all honesty, was a good thing; such a scene was too private.

Though… the whole of Fam Iblis saw it, so maybe it didn’t really matter.

In any case, their attention wasn’t only on Crimson but on Layla as well.

She was the last to speak, the last to cry.

Her sobs had echoed for minutes, long past when anyone else would’ve broken. But even she had limits.

Eventually, her voice cracked one final time, her throat gave in, and her tears dried into quiet sniffles on Sinbad’s feathers.

He waited until she was completely done.

Then, slowly, with the gentleness of wind across a lake, he let go.

A soft pat on her head from one massive wing was the only farewell.

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