(Pre)Chapter 366: Where the Tide Pulls Quietly
Morning came slowly to the island, not with noise, not with urgency, but with a pale, patient light that crept along the horizon and softened everything it touched. The sky was caught between colors, neither night nor day, a wash of pearl and rose where the sun hesitated before committing to the climb. The sea breathed in long, even rhythms, its surface dark and glassy farther out, lighter and restless where it met the shore.
Malik stood barefoot at the edge of the beach, water sliding over his feet and retreating again, cold enough to sting in a way that kept him present. Sea water was cold in the early morning—honestly cold—and that was part of why he liked it. It reminded him that he was awake, whether he wanted to be or not.
He did not.
Malik was not, by nature, a morning person. He never had been. In another life—another world. mornings had been something to endure rather than inhabit. They came with obligations, alarms, expectations. Here, it wasn't much different. If anything, it was worse. Since being dragged into this world—adopted by it, really, mornings had become crowded things. People needed him. Wanted him. Relied on him. Plans moved at dawn. Politics woke early. Fate, annoyingly, did not respect his desire to sleep in.
So he stood in the cold surf and let the sea do what it did best: wash everything else quiet.
He didn't think deeply about his life. Not deliberately. He had learned, over time, that digging too far into that particular well led to places he didn't need to visit this early in the day. Instead, his focus stayed on the ocean itself. the way the light broke across the water, how the waves folded over one another like overlapping thoughts, how the horizon always looked close enough to reach and never was.
After a moment, Malik took a step forward.
Then another.
The water should have swallowed his feet. It didn't.
Pink-and-gold magic shimmered faintly beneath him, subtle enough that it didn't disrupt the sea's surface, just enough to hold him where he chose to stand. He walked forward as if the ocean were solid ground, each step measured, unhurried. The waves grew larger as he went, the water colder, the wind sharper. but none of it bothered him. His magic kept him buoyant, balanced, warm. His body always adjusted, settling into whatever temperature felt right to him, as if the world itself was negotiating terms it never quite won.
The wind picked up as he moved farther out, tugging at the loose fabric of his floral top. Malik exhaled, reached up, and shrugged it off, letting it vanish into a curl of soft light before it could hit the water. The air kissed his skin immediately. his smooth, deep cocoa-brown skin catching the newborn sunlight and reflecting it back in hues of rose and gold.
He was still chubby, comfortably so, his body soft where it wanted to be. But there was strength there now too, earned strength. Muscle traced his arms and shoulders, his back and chest, shaped by a life that involved far more movement than he'd ever planned for. People dragged him into action. Fiancées called "training" what was, more often than not, an elaborate excuse to wrestle him into competence. The world insisted he grow into himself, whether he liked it or not.
He rolled his shoulders once, breathed in the salt-heavy air, and then let his wings unfold.
They emerged in a rush of shimmering heat and light, grand, radiant things, their translucent membranes catching the sunrise like stained glass. The edges glowed as if dipped in molten gold, while soft pink embers radiated from their base, pulsing faintly with each slow beat of his heart. The wind caught them eagerly, snapping and tugging, and Malik let it, spreading them wider, feeling the familiar stretch through his back and spine.
For a moment, just a moment, he considered going farther.
The ocean stretched endlessly ahead of him. No meetings. No politics. No plans. Just water, sky, and motion.
That was when hands closed around his arms.
Firm. Precise. Unmistakably human.
Malik startled, wings flaring instinctively before collapsing into smoke as he twisted around. Aya and Risa stood behind him, both balanced effortlessly on the surface of the water, their chakra control flawless, expressions equal parts concern and long-suffering familiarity.
Aya's grip was steady, unyielding. "Master."
Risa's was gentler, but no less determined. "You wandered again."
Malik blinked at them, then laughed softly, the sound carrying away on the wind. "Ah," he said, sheepish. "So I did."
They didn't scold him, not out loud. They simply turned him around and began guiding him back toward shore, their hands never leaving his arms. Malik let them, allowing himself to be pulled out of the quiet place his mind had been drifting toward.
He snapped his fingers, his top reappearing over his shoulders, warm fabric settling against his skin. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "And… I'm sorry."
Aya inclined her head. "You do this when you're thinking too hard."
Risa nodded. "Or when you're trying not to think at all."
Malik smiled at that. "Both, today."
When they reached the shallows, the water lapping harmlessly around their ankles, he stepped back onto solid sand. The wings were gone now, the glow dimmed, leaving only the soft warmth of magic humming beneath his skin.
He bowed his head slightly to both of them. "Forgive me. I shouldn't wander like that without telling anyone."
They returned the bow, more formal than necessary, but respectful all the same. "Everything is ready on the island," Aya reported as they turned back toward the beach. "The buildings are prepared. Staff are in position. Security routes are clear."
Risa added, "The guests' arrival windows are being monitored. No complications so far."
"Good," Malik said, relief easing something tight in his chest. He paused, then glanced at them sideways. "You're wondering why I'm involving myself with the Land of the Moon."
They didn't deny it.
He smiled, not playful this time, but gentle, distant. "The Land of Fire will only have me for a little while longer."
Both women stilled.
"Time is running out," he added quietly.
He did not explain further.
They didn't ask.
There were questions Aya and Risa could have asked. Dozens of them. But they had learned, over time of guarding him, when silence was the better offering.
Instead, Malik cleared his throat and forced a lighter tone. "One more thing. Please be nice."
Aya raised an eyebrow. "Nice?"
"To everyone," he clarified. "And… don't tell either of my wives about me getting lost in my head and wandering into the ocean."
Risa laughed softly. "We can promise to try."
Aya smiled in a way that suggested absolutely nothing. "But we cannot promise results."
Malik sighed, already resigned. "Figures. Probably for the best."
They turned back toward the resort together, the sun finally breaking free of the horizon behind them. Malik cast one last glance over his shoulder at the ocean—vast, patient, waiting.
Then he followed them inland, carrying the quiet with him as long as he could.