Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

***

Crimson landed at the very peak of the Holy Palace, where gold kissed the sky.

The enormous golden dome of the palace glowed beneath him, and the world just... stretched all around him. Wide. Endless.

The view wasn't just pretty—it was ancient.

Every stone here had a story, and none of them were short.

Not so far away from him, the palace's minarets reached into the heavens, casting long shadows over the city way below.

Here, there was no desert stretching out, no rolling ocean of copper; this was the heart of Markaz, the Holy Kingdom, the Holy City itself, the capital of capitals, the center of modern civilization, where kings were made, where Sultans sat on the Golden Throne. It was loud even in silence, bursting with history, holy wars, and even architecture that didn't give a damn about subtlety.

The buildings here weren't just tall; they were loud. Ornate balconies bursting out, golden lions on every gate, mosaics of saints, and banners of houses long dead woven into every other wall. Domes stacked on domes stacked on domes, some silver, some jade, some straight-up obsidian.

And there, up high, above the clutter, the noise, the blood...

The Shams hovered.

It was the fifth morning of the tragedy, and from where Crimson stood, it felt like the world was holding its breath.

Inconceivable as that was, such a thought wasn't so far from the truth.

Hoot.

The owl blinked slowly, his eyes turned black, and then he... shrank.

Feathers curled inward, vibrant red bleeding to pitch-black, until the once massive owl became small and inky as a raven dipped in oil.

He flapped his wings once, twice, and landed neatly on the thigh of a man sitting cross-legged at the edge of the peak.

Black looked up at the man.

It was Azeem.

His ankle-long black hair flapped annoyingly in the wind, but Black didn't seem to care for it and made himself at home, ruffling his feathers and settling in, warm against his thigh.

The half-naked man looked down and showed an unusually soft smile.

He patted the bird a few times, then looked back up, red eyes landing on the world.

Black did the same, and the two of them stared off into the horizon.

A long, wordless moment passed, then Azeem lightly chuckled.

"You've got a new name, huh? Or maybe not. I guess he named you that, too, huh?"

Hoot.

"Crimson?"

Azeem wrinkled his nose.

"I like Black better."

Hoot. Hoot.

"No, no. Hear me out. Crimson's too dramatic. Red is fine, but Crimson? Nah. Too 'Oh, woe is me, blood and tragedy and feathers in the night.'"

He gestured wildly with one hand.

"But Black? That's simple. Strong. Maybe even a little mysterious."

Hoot.

"Fine, Crimson it is. You pretentious bird."

Black—or, well, Crimson—puffed out his little chest.

Hoot-hoot!

Azeem grinned, tapping the owl gently on the head.

"Don't get smug."

He stretched out on the domed surface, hands behind his head, gazing at the sky, reading it.

"You know, if he got to be the 'Second Sun...'"

He flicked a glance at the floating title.

"I'm at least a Crescent Moon. Don't you think?"

Hoot.

Crimson tilted his head, eyes judging.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Hoot-hoot.

"Oh, you think I'm more of a—let me guess—Fleeting Comet? Flashy but gone in a useless blink?"

Hoot!

"You cute little feathered menace~! I'll have you know, my charm lingers."

Azeem sat up slightly, poking the bird gently in the belly.

"Unlike your odor. You smell like burnt incense."

Hoot!

Crimson flapped indignantly, hopping to his other thigh with a dramatic shake of his wings.

"Don't give me attitude! I changed your tailclout when you got puffed up and couldn't fly straight."

Hoot?

"Oh, you don't remember that? Convenient."

Crimson stared at him.

"Fine, maybe not a tailclout. But I did patch your wing that one time."

"..."

Crimson offered no response.

"With what you say? Silk. Royal silk. Custom ordered."

Hoot.

"Okay, yes, I ripped off the merchant, but the point is—! I cared."

Hoot-hoot-hoot!

"Don't laugh! You looked majestic! Like a tiny, judgmental angel."

Crimson wheezed a hoot and turned around, facing away.

Azeem scoffed.

"Oh, I see. Silent treatment now? That's his trick, not yours."

"..."

Silence.

Then a loud, dramatic Hoooot that sounded almost like a sigh.

Azeem blinked repeatedly and laughed loudly.

"Ahahahahah! What was that? Did you just mock sigh at me?"

Crimson turned just his head, slow and disdainful.

"You're ridiculous."

Azeem muttered, shaking his head with a grin.

"You know... he'd laugh at this. God, he wouldn't have in front of us, but I guarantee he'd laugh. Maybe even make some profound comment."

Hoot.

"Right? Like, 'Laughter is the feathered cloak sorrow wears,' or something unnecessarily poetic like that. Bastard always liked poetry."

Crimson chirped lowly, almost like a giggle.

"Exactly!"

Azeem chuckled as well.

"I hated how he always made sense."

His smile dimmed just a little.

"Even when I didn't want him to. Even when it hurt."

He looked down at the bird in his lap.

"You know, he never asked me to stay."

Crimson looked back at him.

Hoot?

"Not once. He just… looked at me."

Azeem tapped his own chest, over the heart, the important one, the second one.

"Like he already knew what I'd choose. Like he'd already forgiven me."

"..."

"..."

"..."

A long silence took over before he let out a sigh.

"…He wanted me to leave."

Crimson didn't hoot this time.

He just shuffled closer, nuzzling into Azeem's arm, feathers brushing against the cloth.

Azeem sighed a second time, breaking some sort of personal record.

"He wanted me to betray him."

Hoot.

This one was low. Mourning.

"…He always did have a thing for theatrics."

Azeem murmured, staring at the floating words above the city.

{Volume 5: Second Sun.}

The title burned. The world would remember it forever.

"I sold him out, you know."

Azeem's voice was quieter now.

"I... I sold him out. He's dead because of me."

Black didn't hoot; he just stared.

"…The bastard planned for that, didn't he?"

Hoot.

A sad, deflated one.

Azeem's laughter cracked, bitter this time.

"He wanted me to betray him."

Hoot…

"But… why?"

That question lingered, floating away in the wind.

"..."

The vast, golden city below didn't offer any answers.

Azeem's laughter fell apart into a sob, and his hand trembled as he tried to wipe his face.

"Why would he want that? Why would he betray me? Why would he shove her death in my face?! I would've accepted any excuse! ANYTHING! B-but... he..."

Crimson climbed further up his arm and rested his head against Azeem's neck, cooing softly now, using his tiny claws to pat at the man's shoulder.

He was crying too, in the way animals do—through closeness, through quiet.

They stayed like that.

Two broken things.

Two broken brothers.

Together at the top of the world, beneath a sky that bore Malik's Title.

After a long silence, Azeem sniffed and gave a watery smile.

"…Black."

He whispered, eyes glinting with faint mischief.

"Why are you still keeping up that act?"

Crimson didn't respond.

He just looked up at him with those dark, unchanging eyes.

They reflected not an owl, but something far older, far sadder.

Far more tragic.