The first thing Layla noticed that night was the silence.
No wind, no sand hissing against the dunes, no faint whispers in the air.
Only silence.
And above her…
No stars.
She froze at the edge of the desert, her lantern guttering in her hand, its faint glow swallowed by the blackness above.
The stars had always been her comfort … even on the nights Malik's voice faded into the dark, she'd look up at them and imagine his golden light shining back.
But now… nothing.
As if the sky itself had turned its face away.
"Malik?" she whispered, her voice already cracking.
No answer.
"Malik!"
she cried louder, stepping farther into the dunes, her bare feet sinking deep into the cold sand.
Still nothing.
She clutched her lantern to her chest, her breath coming hard.
And then, faint and broken:
"Dreamer…"
Her head jerked up.
"Where are you? I can't see you," she called.
His whisper came again, weaker this time,
frayed like an old ribbon in the wind.
"Here… though less of me remains."
"Why are the stars gone?"
A pause, long enough to make her heart hurt.
Then:
"The darkness has found them. And me. It is… winning."
"No," she said sharply, though her knees already felt weak.
"It is my fight," he whispered. "Not yours."
"But you're fighting for me!" she cried. "And I… I don't even know how to save you!"
For the first time in all their nights, his laugh came bitter and low.
"Who said I wanted saving?"
She froze at that.
"What do you mean?"
His answer was strange and soft, like starlight bending into a dream:
"If to love you is to burn, Dreamer, then let me burn. I would rather be ashes whispering your name than a star shining without you."
Tears burned hot down her cheeks, but she took another step forward into the endless black dunes.
"Then let me burn with you."
"No," he whispered, almost a command.
"Your light is not mine to destroy. You are not made for the darkness. Not yet."
"I don't care!"
"But I do," he said fiercely, and for just a moment his voice roared in her mind, full of raw, ancient power:
"I would tear myself apart before I let it take you too."
The dreamland was different tonight.
Gone were the golden sands, the faint starlight, the whispering echoes of old winds.
Instead, jagged black ridges rose from the earth, and long cracks of void split the ground. The air was thick with ash and silence.
And at the far edge of it all stood Malik.
Or what was left of him.
His figure flickered like a dying flame, his golden light no longer steady but fractured, leaking out through long cracks along his arms and chest.
The darkness wrapped him like chains now … thorny black tendrils snaking up his legs, his throat, his wrists.
But his eyes … oh, his eyes … still burned for her.
Layla ran to him, her breath ragged.
"Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" she cried.
He only smiled faintly.
"Because I knew you'd come running. Even when you should have stayed."
She reached for his face, her fingers trembling, but he caught her wrist before she could touch him.
"Don't," he whispered.
"Why?"
His smile curved, tired and sad and beautiful.
"Because you'll feel what I feel. And you don't deserve that pain."
"But it's mine too," she said fiercely. "It's always been mine."
At that, his hand fell away from hers, and his laugh … soft and sharp … drifted through the dark.
"Mad Dreamer," he murmured. "You make me believe again. Even when everything else is gone."
"Then come back to me," she pleaded. "Come back to the sands. The stars. Anything but this."
But he only shook his head.
"I can't. Not yet. The darkness still holds me here."
"Then I'll tear it apart myself!" she cried, though her voice broke.
"No," he said gently, and this time his words slipped through her ribs like knives wrapped in silk:
"Your fight is not mine. Yours is to keep dreaming. Keep calling me. Your voice keeps me whole, even here in the starless sky."
And then he leaned close, his cracked golden light pressing into her, and whispered words so soft she almost missed them:
"If I vanish… let me live on in your madness. Even if I am nothing but a memory of wind and whispers."
Layla's hands closed into fists.
"I'll never let you vanish."
"Then call me," he said again, his voice like smoke and storm and starlight.
"Call me, and I'll come."
"But you'll die!"
"Perhaps," he admitted. "But I would rather die in your arms than live untouched by you."
Her tears fell hot and silent, her breath catching in her chest.
And as the dreamland cracked further, stars falling one by one into the void above them, she whispered the only promise she could make:
"Then wait for me. And when the Door Between opens… I'll be yours. Entirely."
He smiled faintly at that, though his light dimmed further.
"Mad Dreamer," he said softly, his golden eyes fading. "You already are."
…
When she woke, dawn had not come.
The sky above Qamar was still dark.
And for the first time in her life, the stars did not shine.
She stood at her window, clutching her lantern, watching the blackness stretch forever above the silent sands.
Somewhere in that blackness, Malik still fought.
Somewhere, he still whispered her name.
And she could still feel him … faint but steady, like a thread of gold tugging at her ribs.
"Wait for me," she whispered into the quiet.
And in her mind, faint as breath on glass, came his reply:
"Always."