Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If he knew that night would be the last time he saw Sinbad, he would have beat him half to death- Ja'far thinks.

Ja’far stands in that same office, where Sinbad had first mentioned returning to the Ruhk. It’s barely been a few days and he has to sit in the president's seat and decide everything for a company he has never cared about. All because Sinbad had the gall to say something as ridiculous as “I leave everything to you” to him.

He's quite used to picking up after Sinbad now, from clothes on the floor to the women he insisted on entertaining. But not to this degree. The whole world is in disarray now and Sinbad is missing. For all his lecturing about responsibility and seeing things through, Ja’far only now believes they went in one ear and went out the other.

The self-loathing from his childhood manifests itself once more as he sits in Sinbad's office- trying to fit a role never made for him. Every part of his life, his new life is filled with constant reminders. Ja’far’s black company uniform is nothing more than a cruel reminder of a foolish man who followed and trusted a liar. Sinbad’s office is a painful reminder of not being able to stop his friend. His stubborn work ethic calls it pathetic that he’s not working at a better capacity. Internally, he’s berating himself over not taking care of the company Sinbad had left him.

Distantly, he wonders if Sinbad had ever considered he never wanted his damned company.

The first few days after are hardest to move forward, Ja’far helps the rebuilding effort where he can, in a country he feels nothing but a foreigner in. In all the chaos his woes are easily ignored and buried, by himself and others. 

First order of business is getting Sindria Company’s worldwide communication set up, as the primary base of shellphone magic device communications, it’s imperative to get it back to working state. Ja’far is assisted by most of the company in putting it back together, a mutual feeling of responsibility they all feel, knowing it was their boss who caused all the damage.

Whether by some fondness for his workplace or some stroke of luck, Sinbad’s former company is left relatively untouched by the new landscape and floating islands. Sindria Company’s communication network sets up as fast as can be, and Ja’far forces a smile and praises all the workers for their efforts. All company work and operations are left on hold, as workers scurry about to rebuild the country- Ja’far mans a skeleton crew back at the company, supervising airship crews to help dispense well needed construction supplies and food.

Pipirika is the first to talk to him, cornering him in his office for what was supposed to be a simple handover of documents. It’s not on purpose, but Pipirika has never been quite as adept at hiding how she feels.

She passes a pile of stacked documents, her hips bumping into his desk as she leans over and plops the stack onto an empty corner of Ja’far’s desk. 

Ja’far doesn’t pay her any mind until she mutters a “Shit- was that me?” as she spots a picture frame faced down on his desk and hurriedly tries to fix it.

“It’s fine-” Ja’far chides, standing up to shoo her away from it.

It’s too late, because she’s already holding it up to her face with her eyebrows furrowed. “Ja’far-” She starts.

“I said it’s fine,” Ja’far takes the frame from her and lays it face down on his desk once more.

Pipirika lets him, but eyes the picture frame before refocusing her attention on Ja’far himself. “If you want to talk, or if you want me to listen- you know I’m here for you.”

“No thanks.” He replies, immediately, without thinking. “I’m just tired.” He quickly amends.

Pipirika notices the change of tone as well as the eggshells she steps around. Her bright eyes dull for a bit as she bites her lip. “...You should rest then. Even if you’re not ready to talk yet, you haven’t slept in four days.”

“There’s important work that needs to be done.”

She bites back a ‘ you’re important too ’, Ja’far can tell the words lay on her lips before she swallows them back up- not quite sure if she wants to play at a back and forth either of them could continue for hours. “Please rest- when you can.” She says, the way her voice shakes betrays her composure.

Pipirika dismisses herself shortly after, making it a point to take a portion of Ja’far’s work before she walks briskly out of his office. Ja’far barely meets her eyes and begins anew on the mess of paper at his desk.

He does take Pipirika’s advice eventually, when he can feel his head drop against the cold metal of his desk- for the third time in the hour. Even workaholics like him, have limits and he can feel himself rapidly approaching it. Ja’far drops his pen harshly into a cabinet, somewhere in its depths, he can’t quite care enough to organize them when his sanity and energy are startlingly low.

Ja’far is out the door in mere seconds, feet hurriedly carrying him to a room he knows is empty- if he is to pass out from exhaustion, he’d rather it be on the comfiest bed he knows than the shivering marble tiles of the company.

He mindlessly whips out his employee id card, which doubles as a keycard to all rooms he has access to, and welcomes himself to Sinbad’s empty room. He collides with the wide mattress, letting his feet dangle off the side.

No one shrieks in surprise at his entrance to his bedroom or jokes about the nightmares that still plague him or even reminisces at how they used to be closer than this- friends who knew each other’s hearts more than they knew their own.

Sinbad is gone- Ja’far knows this more than anyone.

Sinbad has left him and this very world, only a little over a week ago.

Of all the things he could have planned for, of all the futures he could have expected, he hadn’t expected to be alive without Sinbad.

Against his better judgement, he peers out from underneath his tattered hair to Sinbad’s bedstand- where a framed picture of the two of them sit. It's the very same picture that sits on his own desk, facedown against the metal surface. The very same picture that he’d been avoiding for all the time following Sinbad’s disappearance.

Ja’far looks absolutely miserable in it. He only looks worse, when he looks at it.

“Smile, Ja’far.” He hears Sinbad’s voice pouring out from the memory encased in glass, Sinbad sounds exhausted, deeply frustrated but equally saddened. “Please smile.” He begs, softly pulling Ja’far carefully in range of the camera. He touches him so carefully one would’ve thought they could have known each other for mere weeks.

Ja’far smiles, practiced and forced, and only because Sinbad asked it of him.

The end result is stiff, Ja’far’s arms fixed behind him, Sinbad’s arm caught somewhere at his back as his other arm awkwardly sits alone. Sinbad recognized it as such, when he first saw the polished result on glossy film- but didn’t fight Ja’far on it. They’d fought so much lately, there’d been no need to bring up another thing to fight over.

Sinbad had handed the picture over with a sheepish chuckle and intended to leave it there but it had led to a fight anyway, because that’s how all conversations between the two of them seem to go these days.

“ Do you think I like seeing you miserable? ” Sinbad sighed, frustration shown in his crossed arms and knitted eyebrows. “You don’t know what it means to me that you followed me here- but you don’t have to do this for me!”

“I want to be here, I want to be here for you, just talk to me again, trust me again-”

“I do trust you. If there’s anyone in the world I trust, it’s you.”

“Then talk to me, like you used to- for once be honest with me again.”

“It can’t be like it used to, we can’t be like we used to be.”

“ Why not? ” Ja’far’s voice nearly catches on something unheard. “What changed between us- what happened to us, Sinbad?”

“It’s different, things are different, we are different.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Sinbad.”

Sinbad hurriedly stands up in frustration from his chair and gives a deep sigh. “You can call me Sin- you’re the one person I let.”

It’s enough to catch him off guard and stop any train of thought of the intimacy Sinbad still offers to him, exclusive to him and no one else. Sinbad steps forward, past his desk and places both his hands atop Ja’far’s shoulders, fixing his gaze to him, and only him.

“Trust me, Ja’far. Like you used to.”

“I do.”

“Trust me when I say, you don’t have to be here for me anymore.” His arms slink downwards, now holding Ja'far's arms as he speaks. “You can go back to Sindria, be done with all of this, live a regular life and settle down. I promise I’ll see you off with a smile.”

Ja’far looks his former king up and down, stopping when he stares deep into those golden orbs. Quietly, he thinks that he can’t tell if Sinbad is lying to him anymore. He shuffles out of Sinbad’s hold, gently lowering the others hands off his arms. Reality is surreal, the Sinbad of now doesn’t even feel like the Sinbad he’s known for nearly two decades. Sinbad is right in front of him, yet has never been farther away.

“...Is that what you think is best for me?” He asks, pleading with eyes that barely see him.

“...Yes.”

Once he notices the photograph, it’s like he can’t stop looking at it, no matter how exhausted he feels. It stares back at him until he reaches over and gently positions it down, taking the bitter memory out of sight, out of mind.

Ja’far buries his face into the sheets and mumbles his question to Sinbad from that day.

“What about you, Sin?”

The very world is due to an explanation, as well as a long awaited discussion on where to go from here- so Aladdin and Alibaba host a meeting broadcasted worldwide to go over what happened. The meeting place for the International Alliance seems just the place, for such a discussion. All the world leaders, along with anyone who knew Sinbad personally are there in person- and all the rest of the world is listening in. Sinbad isn’t there to take responsibility for his actions, or to explain how or why he tried to rewrite all the world. Nor is Ja’far able to do anything but guess why Sinbad went ahead and did it anyway.

It’s his first time seeing most of the former generals since Sinbad left, they all slowly trickle in with Ja’far arriving first followed by Sharrkan, Yamuraiha and Masrur, who had all traveled together. Even once Pisti and Spartos show up, they barely acknowledge each other, feeling the absence of the person who connected all of them. All of them exchange forced smiles and hushed greetings until Hinahoho arrives and nearly grabs him by the collar and hauls him off to have a talk- Ja’far doesn’t protest but shoots Sharrkan and Pisti (who were undoubtedly thinking of listening in on it) a harsh glare before he’s plopped down on the cracked tile.

“It’s good to see you too, by the way.” Ja’far nearly huffs while looking up at the current king of Imuchakk.

“Are you alright? Assimilated household vessels all returned to their unassimilated bodies, but not many besides you and Drakon actually assimilated in a life or death situation-”

“I’m fine.” Ja’far answers flatly.

“I’ll believe it when you get cleared by a group of magicians, and not how you think your body is doing.” Hinahoho crosses his arms in displeasure and carefully eyes Ja’far’s arm hidden under his dark clothes.

“You’re fretting over nothing, I’m fine and Lord Drakon is too. Now if you excuse me-” Ja’far tries but is quickly intercepted by Hinahoho merely stepping to block his path. Before he can prattle on about how he doesn’t need to be babied by the King of Imuchakk, he’s interrupted by a shrill shriek.

“No way that’s him!” Sharrkan’s voice sounds out.

Ja’far and Hinahoho both turn to look at the commotion.

There’s a tall, should be, stranger standing amidst their dwindling friend group and Ja’far takes the chance to duck under Hinahoho’s arm and greet Drakon.

“Lord Drakon! It’s good to see you.” Ja’far gives a greeting, paired with the customary bow. He barely pays mind to Hinahoho sighing behind him and the entourage of people shocked to see Drakon’s new form. Or old, depending on when they met the former Partevian general. Ja’far restrains from mentioning that Sharrkan, Masrur, Yamuraiha, Pisti and Spartos never knew Drakon before he fully assimilated. It’s unsurprising that they wouldn’t immediately recognize him.

“No need for formalities, we’re long time comrades.” Drakon waves away the gesture with a swipe of his hand. “I’m glad to see you’re alright. As is everyone else.”

“How is Sindria?” Ja’far asks, though he has some idea of what the answer is.

“It’s, complicated.” Drakon admits, his shoulders dropping with a particularly heavy sigh. 

Drakon’s single comment puts a halt to all conversations between the former generals, the quiet acknowledgement of their Sindrian home never seeing their former King the same again. They, like the rest of the generals, have complicated feelings to work through.

“How’s Partevia?” Drakon’s question cuts through the awkward silence, his sharp eyes waiting for an opportunity to ask something else of Ja’far.

“Partevia is doing well, considering the circumstances.”  Ja’far replies, “King Ceylan does a fine job with the reconstruction, I was able to restore the shellphone tower's root terminal to working condition because of the resources he helped distribute to the company.”

“And you?”

“I am fine.” Ja’far says immediately, automatically.

“...Did you speak to him at all, before-” Drakon tries, wanting to reach out to Ja’far, at least catch his eyes. “Before everything.”

Ja’far feels Hinahoho’s hand, gentle on his back, pushing him softly to answer the question. It’s a question, he’s sure they all wanted answered.

“I did. I spoke with him, just before he left for the Sacred Palace.” Ja’far doesn’t waver, but his deep resentment for the whole ordeal shows as a mere frown- his facade always well practiced. “What I said to him, either he ignored it or simply did not care.”

No one responds immediately, as they wait for Ja’far to elaborate further.

“I don’t know what he was thinking, I don’t know what I could have said to stop him.” 

His words are perfectly timed, as Aladdin approaches the group with a nervous wave. He knows he intrudes on private words, reserved for Sinbad’s closest friends. 

“Yamu, Mister Ja’far- everyone.” Aladdin forces a smile and motions for them to follow him. “We wanted to speak to you all, Uncle Sinbad’s household and those who stood by him in Sindria- first, before we address the world.”

They’re all led into a single room, much smaller than the larger auditorium where most of the Alliance’s decisions are addressed and discussed. Ja’far himself has spoken at small rooms like these, as a spokesman for Sindria Trading Company, when Sinbad was far too busy, or far too important to speak to mere delegates of the smaller functions of the Alliance.

The smaller rooms are different from what Ja’far remembers of them, the long tables fit for meetings standing flush against the walls. Alibaba and Morgianna most likely had rearranged it prior to everyone else's arrival. The two both stand from their seats as they filter in, Alibaba rushing forward to greet them all personally.

It takes some time to settle everyone into the room, Sahel and Pipirika both a last minute addition to the meeting. Everyone present knows they both deserve to be there, just as much as anyone else.

Then starts the long dialogue of what happened in the Sacred Palace, of the battles each of them faced, and how it ended. Morgianna stays silent through the whole thing, though she sits alongside both Alibaba and Aladdin- she can’t form a word on what they went through in the Sacred Palace and the fights she couldn’t join them for. 

The frustration shows ever so slightly in curled up fists and tightly held lips. It’s a frustration that all of them can relate to, that their minds had been controlled so easily, that it stopped them from standing up for their beliefs, and not being able to fight alongside the people they love.

“He wanted to apologize to you all. He told us to relay his apologies but-” Alibaba brightens for a moment, “I know he’ll be back to say it himself. He promised us that he’d come back.”

Alibaba had probably expected more of them to smile, at that.

Ja’far doesn’t look around to confirm who else frowns at that, far too focused on his own not looking too rancid in front of everyone. Masrur gives him a gentle pat on the back, in unspoken solidarity.

Alibaba’s enthusiasm falters, as he continues. “We’ll be telling everyone of what happened in the Sacred Palace in a broadcast, everyone will know of Sinbad's role in it, and what the world is like now, the black spots between the islands and how gravity magic works with them.”

“I think this is the right thing, for everyone to know.” Alibaba sighs, his shoulders slumping. “If Mister Sinbad is going to come back, then he will have to face the consequences of what he’s done.”

The conversation ends there, after a short back and forth from Yamuraiha and Aladdin about something with gravity magic- Ja’far both doesn’t follow and doesn’t care. Aladdin, Alibaba and Morgianna say their goodbyes to everyone respectively and quickly excuse themselves to prepare for the incoming broadcast and later meeting between all the world leaders to address the state of things.

The room stays quiet even after the three have left. Ja’far keeps his eyes to the floor, barely paying attention to anything in the room. Everyone mutually exchanges glances, before Drakon breaks the silence.

“It’s good, that he will come back- that he didn’t die.” He says with a cough.

“Except that he did . Aladdin said Ugo killed him, then David was overcoming his ruhk-'' Sharrkan quickly interjets, his temper rising. “He’s going to come back from the dead? You really believe that?”

Pisti shakes her head and raises a hand to stop him. “Sharr stop-”

Sharrkan ignores her and cups his head in his hand with a frown. “A lot of people will hate us for even being associated from him-”

“If anyone could come back from that, it’d be him.” Ja’far interrupts with a voice loud enough. “He promised us.”

Sharrkan still has a word or two on his tongue, though he’s known Ja’far for far too long to know he won’t be too keen on hearing them.

“If you have anything else to say, tell Sinbad when he comes back.” Ja’far shoots him a glare.

No one speaks after that, all caught on their own thoughts.

Ja’far has his doubts on Sinbad’s return, but latches onto that hope that Sinbad will come back as if he’s holding onto Sinbad himself.

Because if anything, he’s always believed in Sinbad.

(It’s better to hear that Sinbad would be back, eventually, than the murmurings in his mind that he let his best friend march off to his death and that he will never ever come back again.)

They’re silent long enough to hear the broadcast beginning in the large auditorium, some of them leaving to listen to it in the stands where they can actually hear the announcements themselves. The announcements detail how there’s no longer any god, magi, dungeons, and the like. The new world neither needs a new god or will rely on one.

Ja’far barely listens to it all as he processes the new information, thinking of just how Sinbad would get back. He pushes away the looming ‘if’ Sinbad could come back at all- and tries to focus on sorting out his feelings.

He’s part devastated, part elated- because Sinbad will come back, but at the same time, the world will judge him for what he’s done. There are an innumerable number of people whose lives have changed, people who will never return. 

Louder than all of those thoughts, is the one that none of this would have happened if he had stopped Sinbad in the first place.

If he had stopped Sinbad, they wouldn’t have to go through this whole song and dance, they wouldn’t have rebuild their countries, redraw borders-

If he had stopped Sinbad, he would have woken to a normal day, like any other day, greeted Pipirika in the morning and seen Sinbad in the afternoon in between breaks. Sinbad would give him that smile that says that he’s too busy to greet him proper, but leave him a note at the end of the day thanking him for his work and for staying with him to this day.

And if he really needed it, Sinbad would make time for him, because no matter how strained their relationship had gotten- it was always them. 

Until it wasn’t, Ja’far supposes. 

Eventually most of them filter out the room for the meeting of world leaders for assuredly heated arguments on borders, magic and what directions the world will go in. It’s a conversation Ja’far no longer has a place in, as he no longer holds a place in Sindrian or Partevian politics.

Pipirika eventually leaves too with the excuse to wait until her brother is out of the meeting. Ja’far and Masrur, as the only occupants of the room give her a mere nod as she leaves. 

The two of them sit together in silence, the meeting barely audible in the hallways. Ja’far is dazed, his brain hardly registering what they’re saying. Oddly enough, it’s Masrur who breaks the silence.

“If you need to talk, I can listen.”

“I’m alright, thanks.” Ja’far’s reply comes automatically.

Masrur frowns in response, unhappy about Ja’far’s reluctance to open up to him. Ja’far’s standoffish nature had been noticed by all the former generals, but Masrur especially knows this side of Ja’far. Masrur had always been one of the first people Ja’far would confide in, back when Sinbad caused some sort of nonsense that Ja’far inevitably had to fix.

There’s always been a quiet side of Ja’far that only shows itself when he is truly troubled, one that only starts talking when prompted to and cornered. Back in Sindria, this meant Sinbad would bother him all day, until he’s too annoyed to not say anything.

But they’re not in Sindria and Sinbad is gone. The gap between each of the former generals is felt now more than ever. It’s Masrur who first bridges the gap between them.

“It’s okay to be sad.” He says, simply.

Ja’far looks up at him and blinks. Masrur sees right through him, just as he did when they were back in Sindria. As if the past three years had been nothing. It hurts to be seen so plainly and Masrur sees that as frustrated as Ja’far is, as resentful as he is-

He is far more heartbroken, than anything else.

Masrur pulls Ja’far close to him and Ja’far latches on, desperately holding onto someone who understood him just as Sinbad did.

It’s the first time he’s felt the warmth of anyone else in a long time and he feels tears roll down his own cheeks before he can think to wipe them away. 

“I’m sorry,” Ja’far says, his tears falling down to Masrur’s armor. “I couldn’t stop him.”

It’s his first visit to Rakushou since their civil war, and he receives just as he expects. The Kou brothers all glare at him as he enters the royal palace for his appointment with Empress Kougyoku, the three of them all huddled together and whispering over their shoulders. He ignores them and silently muses back to when he was a simple fly on the wall to Sinbad’s meetings.

Those days are long gone by now, and the present has its own issues.

Kou empire is only one of the many, it’d been just on the brink of recovery when the world permanently changed around them, and it only suffers more because of the new changes. Their once sprawling empire, already ravaged by an economy dependent on slave labor, slows to complete stop as the world focuses on rebuilding.

Kou empire or not, Alibaba rushes forward and eagerly greets Ja’far with a bright smile. “Ja’far!”

Ja’far’s receives his warm welcome with a gentle smile, ever so slightly forced.

Alibaba takes his hands in an eager handshake, and falls silent in thought for a moment. “Should I be calling you…Chief Ja’far?”

Ja’far flinches, nearly smacking Alibaba’s hands away and Alibaba blinks at him, eyes wide. “Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“Please, just Ja’far is fine.” Ja’far corrects, a smile still forced on his face. He’s still unsure how to feel about his new position in the company, his new position as CEO a little too close in name to his former title as an assassin. “It’s been a long time since anyone has called me chief…Ja’far is fine.”

The blond takes a few seconds to collect himself, still trying to process what exactly he said wrong. “I wanted to talk to you after the meeting back in the International Alliance building but you left before we at Kou were done talking.”

“It’s okay, I’ll be having a lot of time to myself soon enough.” Ja’far says, a real smile now gracing his face. “But for now, I have a meeting to be at. You’ll be there as the Prime Minister of Kou, correct?”

“Let me escort you, we’ll catch up while the Empress gets ready.” Alibaba quickly shifts to business mode, leading Ja’far to an empty room in the palace, all while enthusiastically talking about their business ventures.

Ja’far settles into his seat and an attendant is quick to bring him and Alibaba tea.

“The Empress' former household member, Ka Koubun, was it? I didn’t see him when we walked through, I was of the impression he was still working for her?” Ja’far says, inspecting the tea with a cursory sip.

“Ah, well I took his position.” Alibaba sheepishly scratches at the back of his head. “He still works here though! He’s actually accompanying the Empress right now.”

“I see.” Ja’far replies, his eyes wandering to the scrolls lining the wall. “It’s good to see the imperial princes back in Rakushou.” He starts up conversation again, hoping to avoid any unnecessary conversations about how he is in former enemy’s territory.

“Ja’far, actually I wanted to ask how you’ve been.” Alibaba smiles, though this time it’s forced, hoping to receive an answer. “It’s just that you and Sinbad were close. It was obvious to anyone around you that knew him for a while.”

Ja’far smiles back at him, equally as strained. “I’m managing.” Is his honest reply. “I’ve come to terms with it.”

“Did you know about his plans at all?” Alibaba scoots his chair closer to Ja’far, intent on making his presence feel more friendly than professional. “Sinbad only mentioned that you spoke with him, before he took over as Guardian of the Sacred Palace.”

Just before Ja’far speaks, a single knock sounds from the door, and the hand of an attendant slides it open. The Empress makes her entrance, Ka Koubun and Ren Koumei following her. “Actually, I would like to know that too, if you would please.”

Ja’far only sighs, but resigns, knowing he somewhat owes them an explanation. Though Al’Thamen had always been Sindria’s main adversary, the people of Kou suffered the most following the creation of the International Alliance headed by Sinbad.

“I’ll tell you what I know.” Ja’far says, giving them a moment to settle into their seats.

“I confronted Sinbad, a week ago- just before he left to rewrite the ruhk. I originally came to advise him about Kou leaving the International Alliance’. It was then that he said he would risk his life to ‘recreate the world’ to ensure peace far after our deaths.” Ja’far lets his disdain show on his face as he speaks. “I told him he was being ridiculous, that there was no need to risk his life. That he was foolish for not trusting people in the future to handle their wars.”

“He agreed and I left that evening, believing I got through to him.” Ja’far’s hands settle on his lap, his eyes refusing to look forward. “He lied to me. And the rest is as you know it.”

“That’s all you knew?” Kougyoku asks, her gaze fixed to Ja’far. “When I was in Sindria, I was given the impression that you knew him better than that.”

“When you were in Sindria, that much was true.” Ja’far admits, his eyes closing. “In the last three years he replaced me, putting Lady Haku- the Al’Thamen witch Arba in my place.”

Ja’far sees questions hanging on both Alibaba and the Empress’ tongues, but he interrupts their thoughts before they can pry anymore. “Interrogation aside, I’d like to go on with the business I am actually here for.”

The Empress looks at Alibaba for assurance and he gives her a nod. “Of course, in your letter you mentioned a request. I’m assuming you’re here to clarify?”

“I'll get to the point. As the head of the Sindria Company, I’m paying off the Kou empire’s debt.” He says flatly.

All four people in the room do nothing but stare back at him.

Koumei breaks the silence. “All of it?”

“All of it.” Ja’far repeats back.

“...And your request?” Ka Koubun stutters.

“That we move forward, what’s in the past is in the past.” Ja’far pulls out the piece of parchment he walked in with and sets it across the table. “I’ve already done the same with Reim.”

“...It’s still a proposal.” Alibaba notes, his eyes taking in the document.

“I still have to bring it up to the International Alliance, after all.” Ja’far smiles, a real one this time. “They won’t be happy but I have a feeling if I yell at them enough they’ll give.”

“According to this document, the Alliance will have to pay a portion too.” Koumei notes. “How do you expect to do that?”

“The people of Kou suffered under the conditions of the international alliance, same with Reim. Some starved and resorted to violence out of desperation.” Ja’far sighs, his shoulders slumping. “That is not the peace I sought out, when I first followed Sinbad.”

“Instead of thinking of the Kou’s starved population, he thought of how to get Kou under his control. He’d used the excuse to keep Kou from remilitarizing, and keeping you all away from your metal vessels but he’d known that’d never be the case.” Ja’far says flatly, folding his hands over his lap. “Kou is in no condition to remilitarize, much less to start a war. You lack materials, provisions, and people.”

Ja’far’s smile dissipates, looking seriously at the Empress. “If I bring this up, how the Alliance unfairly targeted Kou and ignored their suffering, it’d cause quite the stir. It’d bring their morality into question, if the International Alliance truly exists for the people.”

He isn’t immediately given a response to that.

“...To clear the air? Is that all you’re truly after?” Koumei raises the question, still wary.

“I understand your uneasiness. I am deliberately undermining all Sinbad created but until a week ago I truly believed that preserving the alliance was of utmost importance.” Ja’far gives a solemn sigh. “But Empress you are right, the International Alliance isn’t perfect.”

“I accepted a long time ago that Sinbad would suffer leading Sindria, when that became the world, I tried my best to help him.” He glances at Koumei, noting the resemblance to Kouen. “The path as king is never easy but I was so blinded by his brilliance that I accepted that if anyone could do it, it would be him.”

“I was wrong. In the end, my mistake cost me my best friend. So if you truly aim to lessen that burden, you have my full support.”

There’s a silence throughout the room and Koumei once again breaks it. “I still don’t trust you.” Both Alibaba and Kougyoku turn to Koumei but stay quiet.

“And you’d be right to.” Ja’far smiles back at him. “Well, it’s not as if you need to agree to it now. I’ll be waiting for whatever your response is.”

The Empress takes the parchment up in her hands and looks over it once more. “I’ll consider your proposal then.”

“Should you need to speak with me in person again, I’ll be around the capital for a few days while my airship restocks.” Ja’far says, standing up from his chair. “I’ll be taking my leave then.”

It’s the afternoon of the following day when Ja’far notices that he is being followed. Even on days he takes as vacations, he can never quite rid himself of those deeply rooted instincts of when someone is glaring knives into his back. He immediately can tell who is following him, and they make no effort to disguise themselves, so he sighs and resigns himself to confronting his follower.

In the crowded streets of Rakushou, it’d be hard to defend himself. So he moves to an alley, quickly dipping between the crowd. He moves farther into a less populated area of the city and drops his knives into his hands and waits.

The wires around his arms are a comfort he could never quite shake off. Even when the Alliance had taken his wires away from him, he had another set created though they never quite felt as comfortable as his original. He’s somewhat closer to his assassin days, now wrapping an extra set of wires around his legs.

Before long, the culprit enters the alley with him, a cloak held over his head and wheelchair struggling over the rigid steps of rubble. The cloak fails to hide a red colored goatee and Ja’far rolls his eyes.

“Ren Kouen,” He asks, striding forward to help his wheelchair over the rubble. “What are you doing here?”

“You are a hard man to find.” Kouen shakes off the cloak covering his head and gives him a simple nod as thanks. “I just wanted to ask a few questions.”

“What is a dead man doing, walking the streets?” Ja’far hides his sneer, it’s hard not to be antagonistic to a man who resembles his king far too much. “I’m assuming this is about my offer to the Empress?”

“No, there are other things I’d like to know from you.” Kouen turns away from him, but beacons him to follow. “Come, I know a good tea place where we can talk.”

Ja’far groans but follows suit, noting that Ren Kouen is just as demanding as his King as well. He is soon pulled along into the chairs of a hole-in-the-wall tea shop, one Kouen seems particularly fond of.

“I was curious about Sinbad.” Kouen starts, all while pouring a cup of tea. “He is the man who bested me, outwitted me and my brothers. He brought peace to this world. How did he do it? Was he just that cunning, brilliant? Or was it you, or any of the other people following him?”

Ja’far takes the cup handed to him by the former prince, eyes peering down into its contents. “Sinbad is smart, when he wants to be.”

Kouen hums into his cup of tea, his eyes studying Ja’far.

“He is cunning and brilliant, but altogether I don’t think that’s exactly what brought victory to his hands.” Pale hands bring a cup of tea to his own lips, taking in the scent and flavor. “Though having seven Djinn, a large household at his disposal and being able to see fate helped- I think he was just far more desperate.”

“Desperate?” Kouen raises an eyebrow and narrows his eyes.

“From what I heard from you, you are an awfully well-read man…” Ja’far sets down his cup of tea to the table with a soft thunk. “Are you familiar with the first Sindria?”

“I only know of it from Judar, our libraries don’t carry anything about that area of the world.” Kouen replies, his eyes staring into Ja’far’s dark eyes.

Ja’far takes a deep breath, hearing Judar’s name once more. Though Judar is far from their enemy now, what happened in the first Sindria haunts him to this day. Even if the world no longer remembers their coronation day on that island off of Partevia, even if Partevia burns every record of it, Ja’far himself would never forget. “Sinbad had always aimed to rid the world of its abnormalities- like how you were willing to use Al’Thamen for your end goals of uniting the world, Sinbad was willing to use Hakuryuu, Kougyoku, anything, anyone else he could get his hands on.”

“All for a better world, whatever that meant.” Ja’far tries to hide his sneer. “Following the events of the first Sindria, we vowed to create a better world. Sinbad could never forget what he witnessed there.”

“I see.” Kouen sets the topic aside, understanding he wasn’t going to pry any more of that from Ja’far. “Is that what pushed him to recreate the world?”

“Most likely yes.”

“What will you do, if he comes back?”

Ja’far takes a moment to process the question, to see if he can offer a reasonable answer. “Probably kill him.” Ja’far says, after a bit of thought. “I’m joking of course.” He quickly corrects.

“Really? I wouldn’t put it past you to at least try to.”

Ja’far stops, his mouth closing to think of his next words. “Sinbad…Is not a bad person.” He begins, his words slow. “I know what true evil looks like. I’m assuming you would know what it looks like as well, after having Al’Thamen so deeply ingrained into your country.”

Kouen nods, though Ja’far can see the carefully disguised interest in his sharp eyes. “You’re far more interesting than I first thought.” A grin sets in Kouen’s face and he sets down his cup of tea. “I’d love to pick your brain, some other time.”

“If you ever come by Sindria, just come see me then. My library is one of my few prized possessions.”

“Not Partevia?”

“I’m leaving the Sindria Company- should the Empress accept my offer, I’ll be leaving in a matter of weeks.” Ja’far stands, signaling his leave. “One more thing, Arba is still out there. If any of you manage to kill her, tell me would you? So I can sleep easy.”

He lays down several Huang on the table but Kouen stops him. “I’ll be sure to tell you.” Kouen grins into his cup of tea. “And, no need to pay. You’ve already paid with what information you’ve given me.”

Ja'far gives Kouen a smirk and takes his leave.

Sure enough, before Ja'far leaves Alibaba tells him that the Kou empire has accepted his offer. When he arrives back to his small room in Partevia, he sighs, knowing the real work begins the following day. His time in Rakushou was most likely the last time he’d get a full night’s sleep in months. Ja’far closes his eyes, hoping to drift off to a dreamless sleep. His mind is running, far too awake for him to sleep.

Admittedly, it’s not his first time going a while without knowing if Sinbad would come back. After the fall of the first Sindria, Sinbad disappeared for a year without a word. But Ja’far trusted Sinbad would come back. And he did.

Ja’far thinks he should be used to waking up without Sinbad.

But Ja’far knew him for 20 years. Saw him nearly every single day, combed through his hair, helped him to bed, and stood by his side for 20 years. The weight in Ja'far's gut that first showed up at the sight of Arba at Sinbad's side is gone, now settles in his heart, carving a hole for itself. He wants to believe Sinbad will be back. Sinbad has always been the sort of man who makes the impossible happen.

Deep in his heart, Ja’far knows Sinbad will come back.

But what he doubts is if they’ll be able to even look at each other the same.

Kouen’s question repeats in his head.

“What will you do, if he comes back?”

Back when Kouen first asked him, his answer served to steer the topic away. But his half-hearted joke may not be too far from the truth.

Ja’far frowns, his eyes still closed, berating his mind for thinking when he could be sleeping. He lets his mind drift off once more, this time of the warm Sindrian beaches he’d walk with Sinbad. At least Sinbad bothers to stay in his dreams, disappearing with the morning fog.

Strangely, it isn’t by Ja’far’s own will that he wakes up, nor the sunlight shining in his face- but Aladdin’s voice calling out to him. Regardless, he staggers to the door. A cursory glance to the window outside tells him he’s barely slept several hours and whatever Aladdin needs at this godforsaken hour, better be important.

He undoes the magical bolts and locks with a practiced ease, unfazed even at the early mornings of dawn. He pulls the door open and it isn’t just Aladdin who stares back at him, but Yamuraiha as well.

“Yamuraiha? What are you doing here?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, still groggy from just getting out of bed. “It’s late, why are you two even up right now?”

“Ja’far, listen,” Yamuraiha fishes for something in the depths of the bag next to her. “We need your help with something-”

“Now?”

“Yes now!” Yamuraiha practically shouts back.

“We engineered something to help Sinbad get back!” Aladdin calls out to him.

Aladdin’s words immediately shake Ja’far out of his daze and he looks up at the two, still trying to process the information.

Yamuraiha pulls a device out from the bag and shoves it into his arms. “We figured he’d want to hear from you first.”

Chapter Text

The moment he separates from David, Sinbad feels it in the depths of his soul. The pressure is gone, David is gone- along with Serendine and all the fallen citizens of the fledgling Sindria. Their memories are gone, the ever-present nagging in his head to create a better world, all their hopes that rested on his shoulders vanish. A great weight from the very core of his body is released and he has never felt more like himself in years. Any power he granted himself when took over the sacred palace is torn away from him, as he returns to the body of a mere mortal.

And for the first time in 16 years, his body is his own- and only his.

He should be relieved, elated- and for a moment he is. But there's an ache in his heart he should have noticed hours ago.

His Djinn are gone, his metal vessels are gone along with the last connection he had to his closest friends. Perhaps it’s the amount of magoi that is used to support seven household members but Sinbad could always at least, feel his magoi connected to them.

To him, it feels like they’re dead.

It takes him nearly an hour to even notice his surroundings. The agony pulsating through his heart is far too loud and his head is still processing all that has happened. Sinbad’s first coherent thought is one that he’s had far too often for someone still alive and breathing.

Ja’far is going to kill him.

There’s a number of ifs and buts that present themselves in protest and briefly, Sinbad entertains the idea of not coming back at all. Though he knows that there are far too many people that depended on him, people who cared about him- for him to just sit here idly. That and, he’d rather not die alone, his friends never knowing his fate.

It’s two hours before he gets up, his world is still spinning but he’s able to process that nothing starts if he doesn’t get up. He staggers to his feet, he starts taking in his surroundings, walking a beaten path. There’s a million questions running through his head, but the one that keeps coming back is:

Why does this feel familiar?

He banishes the question from his mind in favor of trying to think of just what he can do from here. Though he said something like “You can count on it” in response to Alibaba insisting he return, he isn’t quite sure where to start. He has nothing on his person besides tattered clothes and his signature hoop earrings. He’s surrounded by plains as far as the eye can see, but no real indication of where he is.

Times like this, Ja’far’s words of encouragement always reach him, the same way Ja’far always tried his best to be by his side.

But this is the path you choose-

“-And the only way is forward.” Sinbad mutters to himself. His voice is hoarse from all the days traveling through dimensions, David clawing at his back. His legs are shaky but they continue on forward through the plains.

Ja’far wouldn’t be there to bail him out this time, Sinbad himself was the one to push him away. Ja’far who had stubbornly fought and clawed his way to stand by Sinbad’s side.

It’s the first time that he’s been well and truly alone.

Even after the first Sindria was destroyed, he wasn’t alone for long. He soon came in contact with the Yambala tribe, then later Yamuraiha- at least back then he was in the same dimension as people. For all Sinbad knows, he could be the only human in this dimension. So this shouldn’t feel familiar at all. Yet it does, his feet trudge along a beaten dirt road, worn by carriages and horses hooves.

It doesn’t hit him until he sees a village come into sight.

Tison village.

His hometown in Partevia is barely recognizable from this distance but it's unmistakably the village he grew up in, the place where he held his mother’s hand as she passed. Where he first met Yunan and Drakon. The place that absolutely shouldn’t welcome him back, after he turned his back away from his auntie and the other villagers who Partevia experimented on. He never once visited Tison village after leaving. The guilt over not doing anything for his mother along with never doing anything for the other villagers was too much to bear.

Hesitant feet carry him the way to his hometown, knowing that the Tison village that exists in his world should be far more advanced than the one that comes into view. His hometown looks just as he left it when his mother passed, full of homes barely standing and huddled close together.

Instinctively he walks the path he walked a thousand times before, as if he were returning from a job at the nearby port. He returns to his hometown, not as a naive 14 year old boy trying to better the world, but a former king who turned his back on the world. Just as Tison village comes into full view, Sinbad bites his lip and moves forward.

Villagers mull around and Sinbad is certain they can’t see him. When the woman he affectionately called his auntie rounds the corner, Sinbad stops in his tracks. His mouth opens to call out to her but no words come out. She walks toward him anyway, her smile warm just as he remembers it. She walks right past him and Sinbad’s eyes trail her. She stops by a cart of vegetables and rummages through it, picking through carrots and cabbages.

Sinbad reaches a single hand into the carriage, and the carriage distorts- his hands passing through it. He curses to himself as he waves his hand around the carriage he can’t seem to feel through his fingertips. Sure enough, his hand pass through his aunt's body, and Sinbad grimaces. He only just now notices that he can’t feel the dirt crumble under his feet or feel the humid air blowing through.

This is undeniably the Tison village he knew and grew up in, but a mere illusion of it.

“David! Is this your doing?!” Sinbad yells into the distance, hoping for a response.

There is no answer, nor do any of the villagers even flinch.

Sinbad sighs, giving in to whoever put together these illusions in front of him. His feet lead him to the entrance of his house, where he instinctively raises a hand to push past the curtains. Sinbad winces as they distort into bright flashes of white light and his eyes settle on the interior of his house in Tison village.

He doesn’t move from the entrance until he hears cloth moving from his mother’s bed.

“Welcome home, Sin.” She says, slowly moving to sit up. “Where have you been this morning? I got worried since neither you nor Yunan came back..”

Solemn eyes take in the picture before him, his mother looks the same as the day he left to conquer Baal’s dungeon, her arms thin and her face gaunt. Sinbad walks to her side, reaching out to help her sit up. His hands pass through her too.

His mother smiles weakly, her eyes focused on him. Sinbad blinks, checking the room to affirm to himself that she was truly seeing him.

“Mom, can y-”

“Sinbad…Come here.” His mother interrupts him, taking his father’s sword out of the box behind her, and Sinbad’s eyes open wider. The day he left his mother to pursue power is forever engraved in his head as one of his greatest regrets. He’s certain that this conversation went differently, he distinctly remembers giving her money for medicine and his inner turmoil about leaving her alone.

For a moment, Sinbad allows himself to believe his mother's ruhk has somehow found itself in front of him.

“Mom, I,” Sinbad calls out, his voice strained. “I’m sorry I left you.”

The words fall out of his mouth before he can stop and understand he can’t feel the rug underneath his feet and that the warmth of his Partevian home is false. All he can see is his mother, the day he left, thinking he would change the world.
It hurts because Sinbad did end up changing the world. He left his mother to build a trading company that would become a country. He became a king, brought peace to their tumultuous world- then abandoned all of his friends, the world they created together, all because he was convinced he was right.

Distantly, he thinks of how different his life would have been if he never met Yunan or Drakon and never left Tison village. He thinks of his promise to his father to look after his mother, and how frail and worn her eyes were.

Foolishly, he thought it would be the same when he left for the Sacred Palace, as he did when he was 14 and leaving for Baal’s dungeon.

When he walked off to the Sacred Palace, he had left behind everything- the peace he created alongside his friends, the very world he wanted to change, the people he so desperately wanted to save.

When Sinbad left Tison village, he only had her to lose.

Ja’far’s last words to him resound in his head.

“You’ve lost sight of yourself!”

Sinbad’s eyes come to rest on his father’s sword, the very symbol of his determination to protect what’s important to him. His hand rests just above the sword, reluctant to take hold of it once more.

“I have someone to apologize to.” He says quietly.

“Please do what you should do.” Sinbad’s eyes meet with his mother’s, and she smiles as she extends the sword out to him once more.

The very same thought he had when he was led astray by his life as a slave returns to his mind once more. “My self-conceit, that’s what led me here.” How could he forget all the hardship he endured to get to his position? From the very start he’s always been only human, and a vain and foolish one at that.

“What made me think, ‘I’m special’?” Sinbad grimaces, his thoughts running through his mind. He had made his way through the help of others, and all they gave to create the world of today. And somehow he dismissed it all, because he thought he knew better.

“The place you need to be isn’t here, is it?” Esra, his mother says, snapping him out of his thoughts. Sinbad knows she’s right, she’s always been right.

“Thanks, mother. For everything.” Sinbad smiles sadly and reaches out to take his father’s sword once more. Sinbad’s hands grasp his father’s sword, the only thing besides the floor that he can touch and his vision fills with white once more.

Sinbad winces as he braces his eyes against the assault of white light, his hands still clutching what his mother offered him. He knows from the weight of it, it’s not his father’s sword. White light fades to gentle yellows and Sinbad takes in the space around him once more.

He sits on a platform, white yellow rings guiding it in some direction. He stumbles to the edge of it, his hands don’t pass through the barrier separating it from space. From the edge, he sees what looks like the world, miniscule and distant.

“This is…”

“The same platform that takes you from your world to a dungeon.” Sinbad hears a voice from his own head, he panics, recalling David tearing into his mind.

“My lord,” The voice says, its voice deeper than Davids. “Rather, Sinbad.”

Sinbad looks around the platform and assures himself that he’s alone. Given the chance to collect his thoughts, the voice clicks in his head. “Baal?” He calls out.

“It is I.” Baal’s voice echoes through the platform. “The power of the Djinn has vanished from your world, I’m taking you as close as I can.”

Sinbad’s answer takes several minutes as Sinbad processes the information. “Those memories of Tison village…Was that your doing, then?”

“No, my lord. I only found you through those memories, the moment you grasped the device I was able to find you and bring you within this space.” Baal says, voice straightforward and to the point.

“The device?” Sinbad glances down at the object in his hand, what he had grasped instead of his father’s sword.

“It seems to be something from your world, your companions doing, no doubt.”

This prompts Sinbad to hold the object close to his face, feeling the material. It’s plastic, material he used a number of times at the Sindria Company. The object is similar to the prototype devices he created when David began sharing his knowledge of Alma Torran’s advanced technology.

Prior to creating shellphones, he and Yamuraiha came up with these- cassette recorders.

Sinbad holds the device carefully, checking it for differences in the ones he helped develop. It’s missing a few key parts that he remembers, namely the recording button, the microphone, and several other options. It’s been optimized for travel, plastic much sturdier than he remembers. He opens the compartment where the tape is stored and sees one already in place. The cassette is unlabeled but as he doesn’t have the means to send it back to them, it’s most likely a message to him.

“I will lose contact with you shortly.” Baal’s voice interrupts his thoughts and Sinbad’s head jerks up away from the device. “If patterns hold true, finding another of those will help the other Djinn bring you to your world.”

“Thank you for all you’ve done, Baal.” Sinbad says, a small smile graces his face- though he isn’t sure if Baal can even see him.

There’s a moment of silence before Baal responds, where Sinbad wonders if they’ve already lost contact. “You were an excellent King Vessel, in the end, your radiance blindsided us all and we believed you were right till the very end.”

Sinbad doesn’t offer anything in response.

“Your former household, I am sure they will bring you back somehow. They believed and trusted you just as we did. Till the very end.” Baal’s voice cuts out slightly at the end and Sinbad understands that’s the last he’ll hear from him.

There’s a moment where Sinbad takes in the weight of Baal’s words. His hands trace over the buttons of the device, his eyes closing. He thinks back to the day he left for the Sacred Palace, how Ja’far smiled at him, believing Sinbad had finally, finally heard him. That after three years of pushing him away, Ja’far had gotten to say his piece and be heard.

Maybe he didn’t deserve that trust.

He recalls the moment he lied, after Ja’far had passionately told him to leave the future to others. Sinbad opens his eyes to look down at the device in his hands. He holds the last thing that connects him to his friends. A sign that even after he’s banished to whatever dimension of the universe, they still wanted to speak to him. A deep sigh resounds from his chest, as Sinbad peers over the edge of the platform to see the distant world not getting any closer.

“I really, fucked up, didn’t I?” He says to the device, a finger hovering over what should be the play button. “Well, let's see what they have to say.” He takes a deep breath and pushes the play with a click. The machine whirs, the gears in the compartment begin to stir.

“Rather primitive considering the age we live in, is it not?” A gentle voice comes from the device, and Sinbad presses the device to his ear immediately–

Ja’far.

The voice registers in his head and Sinbad holds the device close to his body, relishing in the familiarity. He doesn’t know how long he’s been away, but it's already felt like too long.

“This is the first recording of the bunch that are being sent your way. Keep them.” The voice says, Sinbad pulls the device away from his face to peer at it.

“We needed something to contact you with, something that doesn’t rely on magoi. This is what we came up with, though this is as far as I can help them out. Yamuraiha said that they’re tracing your magoi back to our world…” Sinbad hears the puzzled voice repeat the words to himself in an effort to understand them and chuckles to himself.

“Aladdin said he’s working on bringing you back, these tapes are supposed to…tether you back to our world?” The voice on the other end is horribly confused and Sinbad can feel Ja’far’s brows knit as if the man were standing right in front of him.

“To be honest I don’t completely understand it, Yamuraiha can detail it better than I. She’s quite passionate about her work as you know. I’ve been told I’m a good listener but even I get lost in her magical jargon.” There’s a laugh on the other end, Sinbad holds onto the tape recorder as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.

“...I’m sorry-” A long sigh sounds from the device, exhausted and unsteady- and Sinbad knows Ja’far is apologizing for much more than rambling. The pause alone tells Sinbad of all the words hanging on his friend's tongue.

“You already know all this, even now I can’t stop myself from dumping all my worries onto you.” The voice eases slightly and the audio crackles. “I suppose you’ll want to know what’s become of the world, your friends, and even your enemies.”

“Thanks to you-” The voice starts again, now indignant. Sinbad can hear the other’s pout from his voice. “The world is in disarray, landmasses torn apart and kingdoms having to redraw boundaries once more. It’s a lot of work from what I hear from Drakon. I’m sure he’ll fill you in on the details.”

“It’s only been two weeks since you..” Ja’far pauses, he’s silent for long enough that Sinbad wonders if the device has malfunctioned. Sinbad holds it close to his ear and instantly he understands why Ja’far had stopped in his train of thoughts.

“Rewrote the Ruhk. Even though I told you not to.”

There’s a bitterness to those words, mingled in with disappointment and sadness. Ja’far’s silence says more than any scolding could ever. “Everyone’s taken your absence differently. Us former eight generals have taken it as best we can. The others are making their own copies of their messages to send to you. If they have something to say to you, they’re making one.”

“As far as I’m doing, I’m doing fine.” Sinbad knows from Ja’far’s voice, his choice of words- that Ja’far is assuredly not okay. “I’m still in Partevia, with your company. Cleaning up your mess. I’ve already told Pipirika I’m leaving the company to her, I don’t care what she does with it or if it's torn up in the capitalist nightmare scape you put together.”

Ja’far’s words are bitter and spiteful, but Sinbad keeps the cassette close to him regardless. “Not that I think she’ll do so- but I just can’t bring myself to care about it. I’m going back to Sindria. It's the only place I can remotely call home.”

The voice pauses to calm down, growing considerably more quiet. “Alibaba said you would come back and I’ve deluded myself into believing that. Aladdin, Yamuraiha, and Yunan said it's possible but it won’t be easy.”

There’s a shift in his voice as it becomes determined. “You’re not alone through this, we’ll help you along the way. You have to atone for your mistakes. If you give up before you ever get here- I’ll kill you. No matter what dimension you’re in.”

Sinbad laughs at the threat, because it’s just like the Ja’far he grew up with. The one he listened to and held close to his heart.

“...Come back okay? I’ll tell you how I’ve been doing once you’re right in front of me. Then I can dump all my woes on you and we’ll deal with them together. Just like before.”

“I miss you."

Though barely audible and whispered into the device, Sinbad hears him.

The tape cassettes button clicks back with a soft clunk.

“I miss you too.”

Chapter Text

Ja’far’s nightmares have always come in the form of rooms he can’t escape. When he was little more than a shadow bearing the title of “Assassin”, he’d wake up in the very room he dreamt of. Even after leaving Sham Lash, his grimy room where they cut his legs open follow him in his dreams. Years after that, the room where he loses Vittel and Mahad follow suit.

The scene in front of him has already ended over a month ago. Sinbad is gone, not dead but not in this world anymore. Ja’far stands in front of Sinbad this time, knowing he will leave come dawn. Everything is as he remembers it the day Sinbad left him. Sinbad’s eyes shine a bright gold in this light, he’s just as radiant as when they first met- now surrounded by the city’s lights.

“Was there anything I could have said to you to make you stay?” Ja’far says, his eyes don’t dare to leave Sinbad’s fake smile.

Sinbad stares back at him, eyes seemingly staring past him, to the door that Sinbad will inevitably leave through.

“Why did you lie to me?” Ja’far steps closer this time, intent on taking his hand. “Why did you leave me?”

He’s hopelessly drowning, an anchor cut loose, helplessly watching its ship drift farther and farther away. Sinbad is right there, looking at him, listening to him, and yet Ja’far knows he’s long gone.

Sinbad only offers a sheepish smile, a wordless laugh on the tip of his tongue, and an apology laced in his mouth that doesn't dare to be heard.

It's the same smile Sinbad offers when all he can do is apologize, the very same he wore in Balbadd when he was robbed of all his belongings, the same smile he carries when he returns to Ja’far with a new tear in his clothes.

“You don’t have to apologize, not now- you don’t even have to say anything-” Ja’far takes another step forward, closer to Sinbad, closer to the friend he has already lost.

“Just stay.”

We’ll sort everything out later, we’ll talk later, for now just don’t leave–

It’s useless to talk to him, to plead with him to stay. This dream will inevitably end and he’ll wake up alone just as he has for the past month.

Sinbad doesn’t reply but at least, his bright golden eyes seem to actually be looking at him and Ja’far thinks that just maybe he’ll be heard.

“Sin, please just..Stay with me.” Ja’far stands just before him and reaches out to grab his hand. “You don’t have to do this, you don’t have to leave.” They touch, but only for a moment. Ja’far can’t even feel his hand but takes hold of it anyway- only for his hand to reach past Sinbad’s, as the waking world brings him to reality.

Dawn breaks and Ja’far wakes to the reality where Sinbad has left him. His other nightmares are somehow easier to handle, because at least he isn’t living in that bloody room where his legs were cut open. Because at least Vittel and Mahad died happy and they would be proud of the world Ja’far helped build. It was always easier to wake up from those dreams because at least- at the very least he knew there was a semblance of a happy ending to those stories.

Without Sinbad, Ja’far isn’t sure what that happy ending is supposed to look like.

Ja’far was thirteen, already jaded and broken down by the world, when he first found the world to be truly beautiful. Partevia’s capital of Csitephon, shined bright in a light he never knew existed. He knew the city intimately from his time in Sham Lash, but in the eyes of a child who now knew of light- the city carried the promise of a changed future.

He had seen much of the world by the time he came back to Partevia- then as a merchant rather than an assassin. Through Rurumu’s close tutoring and watchful eyes, he had grown from a hardened assassin to Sindria Trading Company’s Chief Accountant. His eyes were bright with wonder, so caught up in its brilliance that he failed to see the encroaching danger-

There’s a certain bitterness in his mouth every time he returns to his “home” in Partevia now. Sinbad and Drakon both have fond memories of Partevia, memories of family, people who cared about them. The both of them have some reason or another, to forgive Partevia for all that happened.

Such a luxury was never extended to him.

Except for when he was a foolish thirteen year old boy who dared to think that the home of his abuse had changed, Partevia has only ever been the place of his deepest fears and darkest nightmares.

From the inside of the airship, he can’t see the Partevia’s mountain range that Sham Lash called home. He’s ever so slightly relieved everytime he leaves, parts of him glad to just not be there. The captain of the airship informs him that they’re in sight of the Kingdom of Sasan and Ja’far steps out to the windows. Ja’far is thankful, that the trip is no longer as strenuous as it was by foot. Several months ago, he would’ve taken the hike as a welcome respite among his chaotic work life- but as he is now, he’s far too exhausted to even imagine the trip. From this high up, he can’t see the roads from Sasan that he, Sinbad and Hinahoho had traveled. Secretly, Ja’far hates this. The world in the past years is so unfamiliar to the world he came to find so beautiful.

Though the world around him has changed drastically, there are many things in the world that give him comfort, notably the warm faces of his friends. He’s always been closest to the quieter members of Sinbad’s household. Though it’s been much harder to keep in contact with them, they occasionally meet as officials- rarely as friends. Only some of the former generals are present for this meeting, specifically the ones with connections to the International Alliance. He alone is always first to these meetings, of all the people to be present, he’s one who isn’t allowed the excuse of “Leader of the World” of being late.

He meets with two knights of Sasan first, sent from the King to escort him and the others to the main building. He soon meets with the other former generals, though they are very much kings and queens of their own right now- officials or not, Hinahoho greets him with a pat on the back. (This at least, gets Ja’far to smile.) The other former generals present take notice and small laughs are shared. Familiar laughter fills the air and Ja’far is almost able to forget that they’re there on a business meeting. As part of the International Alliance, the majority of Sasan’s knights are merely traditional, Ja’far is sure the large space where Mystras had dueled his father sees more dust than fights. The two knights escorting the group seem to allow the group to banter while on the way, though if they were anything short of kings leading the world, it would surely come in a later note to Sasan’s king that their guests were unaccustomed to Sasan culture.

The now King Sharrkan is surprisingly quiet as he trails after Ja’far. He’s rarely been to Sasan and not exceptionally close to Hinahoho so he seems to take his place at Ja’far’s left side, occasionally glancing up to Hinahoho. PIsti and Sharrkan seem to bond over how different Sasan’s culture is, notably how people seem to stare at their Heliohaptian and Artemyran attire.

Sharrkan slips a comment about the lack of pleasure houses and Ja’far refrains from mentioning how Mystras had that same complaint of his homeland. They carry a conversation about Sasan standards and Sharrkan comments how out of place they look, how the differences in their cultures stand out the most here and how Ja’far looks ordinary compared to them.

“Well, as Kings, and Queen, respectively- you should be the ones standing out.” Ja’far gives a smile and pushes Pisti and Sharrkan in front of him. “And as you are world leaders, I should not be walking beside you!”

The two Sasan knights assigned to escort them all to the main building give a jump, but Ja’far pays them no mind, intent on disciplining one of the children that he practically raised. Because if he’s going to be raising the world’s future kings and queens, they’d better be on their best behavior.

Sharrkan snorts and gives a huff. “We aren’t even to the main building yet, you’re too stiff!”

“King Sharrkan Amun-Ra.” Ja’far starts, his voice low.

Even as a king, hearing his full name said Ja’far, a man who he has to look down to, gives Sharrkan chills and he swears he stops breathing.

“You have a responsibility to your people to play the part of a respectable king. As their king, your people rely on you, their very lives lie in your hands.” Though his voice is low, Ja’far’s lectures are listened to with careful ears. “If they see you walking beside a simple company owner during a diplomatic visit, what kind of message would that send?”

Sharrkan and Pisti quickly realize that without Sinbad around, Ja’far pushes his ‘This is what a king should be’ speeches to them. Though Sharrkan’s mouth is agape, he is silent, his mouth trembling with a response. His eyes glance up to meet with Hinahoho’s, a silent plea for help.

And help does come, Hinahoho gives a sigh and speaks up. “Come on, don’t be like that Ja’far.” A large hand is placed between the two of them and Ja’far frowns as he glances up at the King of Imchukk. “We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

“Friends or not, all of you should be more mindful of your positions.” Ja’far mutters, his eyebrows scrunched up. Both Pisti and Sharrkan breathe a sigh of relief when Ja’far’s attention is redirected.

“We’ll dismiss it as an old force of habit then-” Hinahoho’s hand jumps back to his side when he spots Ja’far’s telltale glare. “We’re about there anyway.”

Ja’far takes a glance to the main building that the rest of Sasan surrounds and sighs. It takes a mere moment for Ja’far to straighten out his composure, his glare dissipating from his face. In its place lies a professional straightforwardness honed over years of practice. He strides forward, following his former comrades as they ascend the steps to meet with Sasan’s very own King of Knights.

Sasan is just as well decorated as it was when Ja’far first visited- which is to say not at all. Though the walls are lined with gorgeous painted glass windows, the monotonous grays of the stone walls remain bare. Their religious doctrine shows even through their palace’s interior design, only hints of personality seeming to inch out from the tall arcs and painted glass.

Spartos, on the other hand, has changed much since Ja’far’s first visit. He has well and truly come into his own as King of Sasan, no longer the soft spoken child Ja’far had first met in Sasan. His presence is just as impactful as his father Darius, with a single motion of his arm, attendants and officials dip out of the throne room.

Spartos stands to greet them, he’s nothing short of intimidating until he pulls a warm smile onto his face, one shared only between friends. “Welcome to Sasan, my friends.”

They take a few minutes to settle into their seats at the table, greetings and comments exchanged in the hallways. Though the mood of the room is cordial, the occasional attendant standing behind them serves as a constant reminder that they are all here for business and business only.

“Only a month ago, the International Alliance served to unite the world against the abnormalities of the world.” Ja’far begins, standing up to call the attention of the other attendees of the meeting. “Metal Vessels, Djinn, Al’Thamen and the like are no longer in this world, the International Alliance has lost its main purpose. And with Kou, Reim and Kina forming a similar alliance we need to reevaluate why the International Alliance exists.”

“Not only that, but there is now an empty seat in the International Alliance.” Ja’far continues, his eyes catching deflated sighs around the room. “Even before all this, the Empress was right. The International Alliance is flawed.”

“Ja’far, are you not going to try to fill that empty seat?” Hinahoho crosses his arms and leans back into his chair as he asks.

“No,” Ja’far says, his eyes following the attendant pouring tea for all of them. “I don't believe myself to be a good fit for the position, nor do I believe I would like the job.”

“No? I hear it pays well and you’re treated like royalty.” Pisti adds, her elbows sitting on the table. “Mom seems to just sit in on meetings and drink all day.”

Ja’far sits to signal the end of his portion of the conversation but allows himself to grimace at the thought. “A waste of my particular talents.” He says dryly.

“It’s not that-”Sharrkan is quick to step in. “Simply put we trust no one else to fill that position.”

Spartos nods in agreement. “Sinbad not only served as head of the alliance but also as Sindria’s representative. You know Sindria just as well as he did.”

“Even so, I will not take up that position.” Ja’far sighs, though his eyes are fixed to the cups of tea handed to each of the kings. “The International Alliance is far from perfect. It has problems that cannot be easily fixed from within.”

“Is that why you are supporting Kou, Reim and Kina’s new alliance and pushing this proposal?” Spartos asks, his eyes failing to hide his troubled expression.

“Yes.” Ja’far affirms, his eyes quickly dart to the attendant handing him a cup of tea.

“And you’re sure you aren’t doing this out of any bitterness you feel towards Sinbad?” Hinahoho looks sternly at Ja’far, the other four eyes of the meeting snap towards him in shock.

Hinahoho’s question catches him off guard and Ja’far stops his automatic response of “Of course not, I would never” in its tracks. “I’m sure.” He answers.

“Then I support you.” Hinahoho says.

“Pardon?” Ja’far looks up from his cup of tea and blinks.

“I trust your judgement. That’s all there is to it.” Hinahoho smiles at Ja’far’s disbelief.

“Just like that?” Ja’far asks for confirmation once more.

“Just like that.” Hinahoho repeats. “You’ve always had good judgement, you know more about economics and the inner workings of nations than anyone else here."

"Pisti feels the same," She says, giving Ja'far a wink. "I can’t count the amount of times I called you up, instead of mom, for advice on our economic dealings within the alliance.”

“You too?” Sharrkan grimaces with a strained upturn of his lips. “Well I’m not exactly close to my brother, Ja’far is just easier to talk to..”

Spartos coughs into his hand. “None of us are exactly close to our relatives..”

“So even you asked Ja’far for advice?” Hinahoho lets a smirk set in his face. “Old habits do die hard, even here and now we know you’re the best person to talk to about running a nation.”

Ja’far merely stares back, his eyes wider than normal. Hinahoho breaks into a fond smile, knowing Ja’far had about dozens pages of notes all detailing exactly how flawed the International Alliance was- only for them to not be of use in the first five minutes of their meeting.

“If…you really think a better world is possible through helping Kou, Reim and Kina form a new alliance-” Spartos sighs, back leaning against his chair. “We trust your judgement.”

“I won’t lie, I expected more pushback.” Ja’far lets a small smile show and his eyes fix to the cup of tea in his hands. “Of course I’ll provide all essays I wrote analyzing the inner workings of the alliance and all of its shortcomings but there’s something I need to ask before we move forth.”

“Of course, anything you need.” Comes Spartos’ reply.

“The attendant that poured us tea,” Ja’far stares down at the tea, now lukewarm in his hands. He turns to look behind him, to call out to the single attendant stationed at the door. “I never caught your name, would you mind telling me who hired you?”

The moment all five heads present turn toward her, the woman grasps tightly at the tray in her hands, her knuckles whitening. She looks positively terrified, her eyes barely able to meet with Ja’far’s. “Sir Ja’far, I truly, don’t know what you’re talking about.” She manages to speak.

Pisti and Sharrkan both glance at Ja’far, wondering what exactly he’s talking about, but their trust in Ja’far is firm. Ja’far doesn’t break contact with the woman as he approaches her with the cup of tea at hand. “King Spartos, how long has she been working for you?”

“Ms. Lyra’s family has been working for our royal family prior to even my father, they are trusted attendants.” Spartos replies, his words unwavering. “Ja’far, what are you implying?”

There’s a silence in the room as each person processes his words but they all allow Ja’far to continue his probing. Ja’far’s face is completely serious and they all trust he has a good reason to interrupt their meeting. “It’s nothing much, I’d simply like to ask why my tea came with a lethal dose of Dark Continent’s Nightshade.”
Ms. Lyra, as Spartos named her, is nothing short of horrified- and Spartos stands up in surprise that one of his own attendants would dare to try something with his guests, much less his own personal friend. “Ms. Lyra, please explain yo-”

Hinahoho stops Spartos with a single hand raised in protest, a silent plea to wait for Ja’far to finish.

“Ms. Lyra, I can’t understand why a woman of your position and reputation would risk both for international affairs that wouldn’t affect you in the slightest.” Ja’far’s stern voice turns soft and he steps away from the woman to give her space to breathe. “You are in the company of kings and queens who stand at the top of the world, you are safe here.”

She looks at Ja’far then to her king seated at the table, at his stern nod, she opens her mouth. “A letter was slipped under my door a few nights ago, it included the ingredients to the tea-” She closes her eyes in frustration. “It said if I didn’t do this, they know where my little brother lives-”

Tears spill down her face, Ja’far instinctively gives her the handkerchief in his pocket. Spartos quickly walks to the two of them, his father’s loyalty to his people shining through. “Ms. Lyra, I will see it through that your little brother is protected. You have my word as King of Knights.”

Ja’far, briefly, is extremely proud just how far Spartos has come. (He’s sure Mystras and Sinbad would be just as proud of him.) But sadly now isn’t the time for such emotions and Ja’far looks down at the tea once more.

He gives the crying woman a single smile before pressing the cup to his lips and tipping his head back. He hears Hinahoho’s hands slam loudly against the table and Pisti’s panicked yell of his name- but he pays them no mind.

He simply offers the woman the same smile. “You did as you were told, I can’t fault you for that. I’ll finish the entire pot. Whoever sent you the letter will take notice and ignore you altogether.”

Lyra looks at him with genuine concern in her face but Ja’far gives her and Spartos a reassuring nod. “Spartos, you can take care of things from here right? I’ll be staying for a few days, whoever is out for my life will take notice and will act in that time period.”

“Of course, I’ll only be a few minutes.” Spartos meets Ja’far’s eyes and sighs, taking Ms. Lyra’s hand and rushing off.

The moment the door closes, Sharrkan, Pisti and Hinahoho all rush forward to him.

“Ja’far, you didn’t have to do that.” Hinahoho is the first to say.

“Relax, I’ll be fine.” Ja’far sighs, pushing the three of them away. “These kinds of things have no effect on me.”

“It’s not that, you always- always do this!” The expression on Hinahoho’s face is worried, horrifically worried but equally as disappointed, so much so that Ja’far doesn’t bother interrupting him.

“You always treat yourself like you don’t matter!” Hinahoho grabs his shoulders and forces Ja’far to meet his piercing glare. “I know you have only thought of yourself in connection to what you can do for your master, but I am asking you as your father, to take care of yourself.”

Ja’far can do little more but stare back with the iron grip Hinahoho has on his arms. At the very least, he manages a nod.

“I know we haven’t been close as family for a long time, but know that I am proud of you.” The grip on Ja’far’s tighten, and Hinahoho’s voice is quiet and desperate as he speaks. “I don’t want to lose another comrade, much less my own son.”

Ja’far doesn’t hear the door open to signal Spartos’ return to what was supposed to be the meeting, but he feels giant hands around his arm loosen and Pisti slam into him.

“Ja’far! Are you really, really going to be fine?” Ja’far tries to ignore how the Queen of Artemyra is currently looking up at him with near tears in her eyes and gives her a strained smile. Sharrkan is standing just behind them, his face alight with concern and his hands hovering over the two of them, equally as worried about him.

Smiles at the both of them, albeit a tad strained. “...I’ll be fine.”

As soon as the issue is put away, they return to the meeting, minds struggling to focus on the task at hand. Ja’far, admittedly, is a little distracted by the end of it as well. It might be the poison working through his system, trying to get through the immunity he’s long built up, but his mind returns to Hinahoho’s words to him.

It sticks to him late into the night, even when his hotel room in Sasan is broken into and his life threatened. Ja’far looks down at his now deceased attackers, then to the blood stained darts in his hands.

“As my father..huh.” Ja’far closes his eyes and remembers his scarce memories of his own blood parents. He doesn’t remember much now, only their bloodstained corpses on the floor and the blood trail leading to his feet.

Looking down to the corpses at his feet, it’s as if he never left that bloodstained room.

“Then he was late to the breakfast we had planned together at the hotel.” Sharrkan takes a frustrated sigh. “Ja’far and late are two words I never thought would be in the same sentence together!”

“Well it’s pretty understandable, I can’t imagine he’s feeling particularly okay right now..” Yamuraiha grimaces, her head resting on one of her palms.

“When he came in late he just said he’s been having trouble sleeping, as if he hadn’t been poisoned that day.” Sharrkan grumbles into his hands.

“That too but I really meant that of course, he’d be upset considering everything with uh.” Yamuraiha catches herself before she says anything. “You know who.”

“Sinbad?” Sharrkan nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders. “You can say his name, you know, it’s not like he’s coming back anytime soon.”

“Shar!” Yamuraiha sounds scandalized as she gets up and grabs at Sharrkan’s clothes.

“Oh come on, you calculated it yourself, you said it’d take him thirty years to come back at least!” Sharrkan yells, his hands put up to defend himself from the inevitable onslaught of arguing.

“Don’t remind me! I want to be wrong, okay!” She yells back, though her voice is hoarse and there are tears in your eyes.

Just as Sharrkan is about to form a response, the door slams open as Masrur carries Sadi in one arm and a bag of food in the other. He gives the arguing couple a sigh and lays the bag on the table beside them.

“Masrur! What kind of snacks did you bring me this time?” Yamuraiha quickly jumps up to inspect the bag, leaving Sharrkan as he fixes his clothes with an annoyed expression.

“These are from Sindria,” He says simply, watching Yamuraiha’s eyes brighten up. “The same ones you asked me to get when you worked all day in your lab.”

“You’re awesome,” She quickly digs her hands into the bag, pulling out various warm packages. “You went to Sindria though, how was it? I haven’t been since, well everything.”

“Still rebuilding.” Masrur says simply, plopping Sadi on his lap. Sharrkan mutters something along the lines of ‘Gonna be rebuilding for a while’ and Masrur turns his attention to him. “You saw Ja’far at Sasan?”

Sharrkan reaches for the food in front of Yamuraiha only to have the hand smacked away. He gives a pout and rubs his hand gently before answering. “You’re worried about him too?”

Masrur only gives a nod while thinking back to the last time he saw Ja’far, and Ja’far had cried into his chest about how sorry he was. “Did he seem..okay?” He finally asks.

“You know him, he wouldn’t talk about anything other than business- well that and he kinda drank poison in front of us.” A frown sets in on his face as he speaks. “It was to save a girl from any threats but he still didn’t need to do it.”

Masrur’s eyes are cast downward, though he doesn’t show it in his face, the worry shows only in the wrinkles in his forehead. “He’ll be fine.” He sees the ‘we know’ response in Sharrkan’s face as he rolls his eyes. “It’s not his first time doing that kind of thing.”

Sharrkan stares at the two of them with wide eyes, when he registers Yamuraiha’s muted response, he bolts upright to stand. “You’ve known? The both of you have known? He’s done that before?”

“I didn’t know until recently,” Yamuraiha huffs as she takes apart the package of food and sets it in front of her. “When I dropped off the cassettes Aladdin and I stayed over at his place to sleep. He stayed up for a while longer, long after we were done talking. Aladdin took the couch and he and I slept in his bed-”

“You slept with Ja’far?!” Sharrkan quickly interrupts. Masrur is quick to hold his hands over Sadi’s ears.

“Shut up! I didn’t sleep sleep with him, I just knew he wouldn’t do anything weird to me- he’s like a brother to me!” Yamuraiha gives Sharrkan a hard slap on the back before continuing. “Or like a mother, or father- or whatever.”

“Anyway he was taking some herbs or whatever to sleep- when I asked he just said none of the supplements they sell work for him.” Yamuraiha gives a shrug. “He just said that he knows his body and that it won’t hurt him- but what if it's hurting him in the long term?”

“There’s more to it than just sleeping I think.” Sharrkan rests his head in his palm, a frown deeply laden in his features.

“He did the same in Reim, after the first Sindria.” Masrur adds. “Because he kept waking up from nightmares. He stopped when Sinbad came back.”

“Why does it always come back to him?” Sharrkan gags, not completely over the whole ordeal. If he were to be honest, he’s disgusted and hurt that someone he looked up to could do such a thing.

“So they were to avoid dreams? I didn’t know anything like that existed outside of magic..” Yamuraiha sighs, her mind stuck on the sort of plant she had seen Ja’far take. “I wish he could’ve just told me, I could come up with something for him..”

“Then your magic could be useful for something then!” Sharrkan quickly pipes up.

“My magic is infinitely more useful than your swordsmanship, now more than ever!” Yamuraiha starts up, her chest flaring.

Masrur gives a sigh as he resigns to the usual bickering between the two.

There’s much work to be done, from reworking Kou’s economy and structure to better fit the changing world, to working through potential international policies between the newfound alliance. Ja’far finds himself in Kou sooner than he expected, Koumei requesting his in person presence, citing his unparalleled experience with business and numbers.

Kou is livelier than ever, citizens eager to aid in its reconstruction. Ja’far looks upon the people from the balcony of the imperial palace, during a welcome break from their hour-long meetings.

“I heard there were several attempts after your life, are you alright?” Koumei asks from behind him, his face still hidden by the mask.

Ja’far shows no surprise over Koumei’s unannounced presence. He turns to meet the former prince with a smile. “I’m fine, there are many people who would prosper under the International Alliance. It’s unsurprising that they would come after me. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Koumei lets a sigh escape, but motions Ja’far to sit down next to him. It’s odd considering how they were mortal enemies only a few years ago but the both of them have grown close to each other in an unspoken solidarity. Ja’far believes it's related to being the former advisors to unreasonable king vessels. “Even so, I would hate for one of our allies to suddenly disappear. You are no longer a household vessel user, you should really consider some bodyguards.”

Ja’far takes the offer and settles into the chair next to him. “I was plenty capable before my household vessel.” He gives a laugh. “I’m actually quite glad with the way things are now, everyone is closer to equal ground.”

“Speak for yourself, I miss my metal vessel.” Koumei’s shoulders give and sag as he leans back into the bench. “I feel naked without it.”

“I suppose I can relate to that.” Ja’far shrugs, though he holds more sentimentality for the weapon itself rather than the powers attached to them. “I suppose it’s even stranger for the formerly assimilated household vessels, I had almost forgotten what Drakon looked like as a human.”

“King Drakon was Sinbad’s only assimilated household member, correct?” Koumei straightens out his posture, a reignited interest in the topic.

“King Drakon was Sinbad’s first and only remaining fully assimilated household member in the world.” Ja’far instinctively shoves his sleeves together and runs a finger down the ropes wrapping his arms. “But not the only assimilated household member.”

“I and King Hinahoho were his only others, we were partially assimilated.” Ja’far quickly answers the unasked question.

“Why didn’t you and the others fully assimilate? We here at Kou only welcomed the added power.”

“Sinbad was afraid of us losing ourselves,” Ja’far closes his eyes as a deep frown embeds itself in his face. “There were moments, when King Drakon would lose himself. Before he met again with Sinbad, people in his company told us he almost killed the very person he had been trying to fervently to protect. Being the first assimilated household vessel in the world couldn't have helped. So many thought of him as a monster.”

“I see.” Koumei says simply, his shoulders once again sagging. He lets the silence between them fill the air, the only noise heard from the bustling streets below. There’s still several minutes before the meeting starts up again and the both of them are usually more than content to do nothing but listen to the life below.

But Ja’far isn’t seeing the city life below but looking far off, to a single room that continues to haunt him in his dreams. There’s a question waiting on those lips and after a pause, he asks.

“Do you blame me?”

Koumei gives a sigh. "Why is it, that whenever I meet with you, you have some kind of vague question for me?"

Ja'far laughs in return, albeit empty. "I only ask because I am confident in your answer.”

“Go on then, we don’t have much time till the next session starts.”

“What would you have done, if Kouen was Sinbad and you were me?” He asks, though his words are unsure. “I’ve known Sinbad for 20 years, I knew Sinbad had lost sight of himself a long time ago…But as his friend, I didn’t want to leave him to his own devices. What would you have done, as someone who sat in a similar position as I?”

Koumei takes his time with his answer, his eyes unfocusing from the city below. “Kouen isn’t Sinbad and I am not you.” Koumei stands to make his way to the meeting. “David and Arba both had their hands in making Sinbad into what he became. If anything I think you are brave for sticking around for as long as you did- stuck between your former king, Al’Thamen’s witch, and David.”

“You couldn’t have known what Sinbad wasn’t going to do." Koumei faces away from him, his eyes toward the meeting ahead. “I don’t blame you. Frankly, I don't think anyone else would or should blame you, if they considered everything at hand."

There are only a few days left till the new alliance is formed, his work alongside the Sindria Company is nearly finished. Ja’far stands in Sinbad’s former office again, now cleaning the room of any dust. It’s a long standing habit that carried over from before there was a Sindria anything, Rurumu had drilled it into him to make sure nothing was amiss before retiring for bed. It now is a comforting ritual, and an effort to make a space his own. He’s never been able to control much in his life, from the missions Shaka assigned to him to his best friend leaving his side- but at the very least he can keep the dust from accumulating on his desk.

Ja’far has never felt like he truly belonged in a place outside Sindria but at least he’s comforted, knowing his place at the company is coming to a close. Once the alliance between Kina, Kou, and Reim is established, he can move back to Sindria, to whatever semblance of his previous life is left.

After he’s finished with his final scrub over the room, he makes his way to the windows that look over Csitephon. The many cityscape’s lights shine brightly from up here and Ja’far foolishly thinks such a sight is beautiful. It’s late, far too late for any other employees to be at the company, about the same time he had his last conversation with Sinbad.

He takes one final look at the empty room, now far more empty now that Sinbad has left him, and locks it with the key Sinbad first gave him.

His next stop is his own corner office room, several minutes walk from Sinbad’s, a symbol of the growing rift between them. Ja’far has never had much on his desk besides the essentials, but now it lays somewhat bare. On his desk lies a package with an envelope, placed by someone who had visited while he was away. He’s inherently suspicious, only having an attempt against his life a week earlier.

His shoulder’s ease as he comes close enough to see the details on the envelope. The envelope with Magnostat symbols engraved on the stamp gives away the identity of the sender and Ja’far gives a smile, carefully taking the letter out the envelope. Though sending a simple message through shellphones would have sufficed, there’s something far more authentic of simple hand written letters. She’s always known Ja’far is far too busy to take a simple phone call, the both of them are these days.

Even after helping produce some of the world's most advanced technology, Yamuraiha was always fond of handwritten notes and letters. The two of them had spent many hours, leaning over research notes created in Yamuraiha’s sleep deprived haze, deciphering the handwriting. He holds the letter up with the utmost care, a warm smile setting into his features without him realizing it.

You mentioned you were having trouble sleeping, and that the normal supplements don’t exactly work on you. You should have told me sooner! You know I would’ve whipped up something for you! You didn’t ask but you shall receive, our very first prototype, a self activating sleep spell! It’s made with sound and life magic- before you worry, you won’t oversleep. Just adjust the tool’s time and you’ll wake up at that time. It’s only a light magic spell so any usual disturbances will still wake you.

When you aren’t busy, stop by sometime. You haven’t been to Magnostat aside from business, right? I’ll clear my whole schedule to show you around. I know everyone else would do the same, but this is the only one of our homelands that you haven’t seen! We all worry about you, you know.

-Yamuraiha, Headmaster of Magnostat

He places the letter back in the envelope and readies himself for the trip back to his apartment. The last three years have been more lonely than ever, as the world moves forward. The children he’s helped bring up are kings now and he can no longer fondly call them his friends. He can’t ever go back to that time where Sinbad stood by his side, asked for his opinion, and held him close under the setting sun. Even if Sinbad has left him, he’s never regretted joining him, following him for all these years.

Ja’far has met far more than just Sinbad in his lifetime, though many of the people he first came to love are no longer there, he’s not alone.

With a sigh, Ja’far touches the door of his small apartment and the magical locks on the other side pry open at the signature touch of his magoi. The door closes and locks behind him as he sets down the package on his kitchen counter. The apartment is small, just large enough to house a single person. Ja’far has never needed much and kept very few things of sentimental value that even with his added belongings it’s quite spacious.

He lights several candles to illuminate the small apartment, he’s always been more fond of technology he used in his happier days, back in Sindria. Sinbad had actually once criticized him for not relying on the system they had developed using light magic, citing the fire hazard from open flames. It doesn’t matter anymore, because Sinbad isn’t here anymore.

He opens the small package with his former household vessel, he knows these blades better than any knives anyway. The magical item itself is small, just big enough to hold in a single hand. Ja’far notes it resembles the Great Bell in Sindria, what they used to tell the time throughout the day.

Ja’far holds the magic tool in his hands and lays it down on the drawer beside his bed. He gives a tired sigh, one that holds far more than exhaustion. His movements practiced and methodical, he sets aside his used clothes and switches to sleepwear. Instinctively, he takes out a clear bottle of liquid mixed in with herbs, the very one he’s been using to stave off the dreams when they get far too personal. He sets it next to the magic tool and lets his worn down body collide with the bed, a breath of air forcibly shoved out of his mouth from the impact.

He turns his head to the clear bottle of herbs and liquid that he uses to sleep, then to the magic tool on the drawer and the various other gifts his friends have given him scattered about the apartment.

“I am asking you as your father, to take care of yourself.”

“We all worry about you.”

Dark eyes close slowly and Ja’far sighs. “...I have good comrades.”

It's not as if he hadn't known, but being able to feel how much he is cared for, is never unwelcome.

He raises himself up from the bed to take the clear bottle and slip it back into a secret compartment underneath his bed. He blows out the candles he lit moments earlier and makes his way back to his bed, his eyes piercing through pitch black darkness.

Truthfully, he doesn’t understand why he still uses candles when he can see into the pitch black night. He suspects it's because he’s used to his sleep being interrupted, for someone to come in late at night and ask to talk. It doesn’t matter, anyone who did such things is far away now, either away in other countries or no longer in this world anymore.

Ja’far takes the magic tool and adjusts the settings on it and sets it aside. He closes his eyes and lets dreams of dawn take him once more.

He only meets Sinbad in his dreams, with the bright Sindrian sun shining over them. They walk the central market together, Sinbad occasionally pulling him into a store where he entertains the idea of buying something unnecessary for the other. His efforts are always for naught but he smiles brightly anyway, saying it's the effort that matters. They reach the harbors where sailors receive the rare blessing of the King of the Seven Seas for a safe voyage, his advisor happily watching the scene by his side. They roam the orchards next, where they share a Papagoreya fruit with a family of Orami. Ja’far chides Sinbad for sharing it with the wildlife when that valuable fruit was raised by their loyal farmers with the intention of being sold overseas. Sinbad only smiles and pulls Ja’far closer, urging him to just live for a little while.

It’s only during their walk back to the palace that Ja’far notices he can’t actually feel Sinbad’s hand around his. As if his own thoughts were said aloud, Sinbad turns to him and tilts his head.

“Is something wrong, Ja’far?”

Ja’far’s fingers tighten around a hand he can’t feel. He looks up at his former king’s golden eyes, the light of dawn encapsulating them both. He smiles at Sinbad, his smile unwavering.

“It’s nothing, Sin.”

Chapter Text

“I miss you.”

Sinbad finds himself playing the single tape over and over again, namely the last bits of Ja’far’s message to him. Very rarely has Ja’far ever voiced that he missed him- they had positions to be aware of, places to be, people to act as- emotions to hide.

The recording does little to hide the pain in Ja’far’s voice and all it does is make Sinbad feel guilty. Guilt over going through with everything after Ja’far begged him not to. In these last couple of years, he had forced Ja’far into a corner and left him there. They remained so far away from each other that they barely acknowledged the other when they passed by in the hallways.

He truly missed having Ja’far by his side, the nights they spent together basking under the moonlight had always stayed in his heart as he looked out to Csitephon’s cityscape. He had suffered, seeing his trusted (former) advisor grow further and further away as duty to the International Alliance pulled him away.

In the world he aimed to create, after rewriting the current, Ja’far would be by his side, and the International Alliance would stay intact. No war, not even the slightest possibility for conflict. If he rewrote the world, he could take away every bad memory, all the scars he and Ja’far took to create their country- no one would ever be the same, but there’d be peace. Right? At the sacrifice of everyone’s thoughts, reasons to live, Sinbad would create a truly peaceful world.

(It was never his right to take those away, yet he couldn’t trust anyone but himself at the top of the world.)

It’s painful, knowing he is the exact reason as to how they got there- well how he got here, in the middle of some snow laden dimension, unable to see clearly through the snow blanketing the horizon. It's easier to pretend he doesn’t know how he got here, because it was his own mistake, his own ways that were wrong.

Sinbad knew that no one would agree with him when the idea first popped up in his head, hell even he disagreed with it- but the idea that anyone else sat on top of the world didn’t fit his ideal either. He thought he could do it, and when he got there he thought it’d be easier to start over- like the tyrannical king Ja’far always warned he’d become. So he dismissed even his closest friend, who had only thought of him and his dream for twenty years.

Ja’far, his closest friend, the most important person in the world to him. Sinbad was so convinced that if he had control over the world, over fate itself, he could stop him from ever being hurt again- all it’d take was just a quick gentle death and no one would ever be hurt again.

His resolve had wavered ever so slightly, when he first said his full plan in front of all his former generals. He watched Ja’far fight to say the right thing, knowing he would have never agreed on normal terms. It hurt to see, but he stuffed those emotions down, because he was so convinced the world would be better with him at the top of it.

“Thinking of doing such an outrageous thing…If only I’d…Noticed it sooner…!!”

Sinbad tightened his grip on the chains around Ja’far’s ruhk. Some part of him hoped Ja’far will overcome even that.

“I would’ve helped you from the start!! Let’s build a peaceful world, together!!”

Ja’far’s ability to challenge him was, after all, was the thing he liked the most about him.

He knew this was wrong, that Ja’far should’ve been scolding him, berating him for not listening to him. But he can’t, going against one’s ruhk is to go against the very fate of the world.

As soon as everyone had left the room, and the broadcast to the rest of the world stopped, Sinbad turned to Ja’far as the tears hadn’t stopped streaming down his face.

“Ja’far, what’s wrong?” Seeing Ja’far cry reminded him of all those times back in the Sindria Trading Company when the other would wake up from a nightmare, one undoubtedly caused by his years of abuse. (And Sinbad’s resolve hardened once again, after being reminded that Ja’far will be better, once the world is rewritten and he can pluck all those memories out, never to haunt his dreams again.)

Ja’far was inconsolable and horribly confused as tears continued to trail down his face. “I don’t know, I’m mad at you- I think? Why can’t I stop crying?”

“Ja’far.” For the first time in months, Sinbad took his hand and pulled him close, Ja’far’s tears stained his white clothes. “It’s going to be okay now, I’m going to make everything okay.”

And gods his heart sang, because he had missed this, feathery white hair soft to the touch, a man short enough to fit comfortably in the crook of his shoulder when pulled close. Tanned hands pressed white hair closer because it's been so long since he'd been able to do something so little as hold the other. If he were a weaker man, one unburdened by the weight of the world, he would have long taken Ja'far's hand and pressed his lips to it-

Ja’far’s hands came up in between the two of them and pushed him away.

“Don’t touch me, don’t you dare touch me-”

Sinbad had been stunned into silence, because never had Ja’far shoved him away with such pain in his voice. Ja’far’s mouth still moved as he shook and Sinbad was quickly pulled out of his silence by his next words.

“After what you did-” Something stopped Ja’far, his thoughts caught up to him, his eyes began to dry of tears. “Did? Sin, what did you do? ”

“I…”

“Sin, you’ve…done something haven’t you?” Ja’far managed to say, his breath still struggling.

Sinbad stared back at his friend, the person who understood him most in the world. He took a breath, his voice unwavering. “Ja’far, you’re clearly not feeling well, how about you go home and rest for the day?”

“No, I feel fine! I just-” Ja’far shook his head, as if to rid Sinbad’s grip on him.

“Go home and rest.” Sinbad tightened his grip on his ruhk, holding it down and forcing Ja’far to leave.

Ja’far had always trailed after him, no matter the bodies he left behind. But not anymore, not this time.

It’s only when Ja’far reached his small apartment did he realize he doesn’t know why he’s headed home.

“...Come back okay? I’ll tell you how I’ve been doing once you’re right in front of me.”

The device repeats, though Sinbad stops it before it gets to the final words of the recording. He gets up from his shelter in the cold, the whistling winds have stopped and there’s no better time to get moving again. It’s still freezing cold, his bones ache and the cold mercilessly bites against his face but he needs to keep moving.

Not only to keep his body heat but there’s simply put- so much that still needs to be done.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Ja’far to take care of everything in his place, but there’s a growing pit in his stomach, a guilt that holds him hostage.

For all his mistakes, for all the times he’s hurt Ja’far, he needs to see him again.

Sinbad holds the cassette close to him as he travels, always making sure he can feel it against his body. He figures it must’ve been hard to transport such a thing over literal dimensions, he had hoped to have come across more tapes by now but it’s been weeks. At least he thinks it's been weeks. He isn’t sure what constitutes day and night here in his snow covered world.

It’s probably the thing that would most shut down his inexhaustible ego, being stuck alone only able to depend on himself in some world he hasn’t explored. Sure he had asked for adventure but he hadn’t expected to do so completely alone. He was rarely alone for his actual adventures, Ja’far had been there for six out of the seven dungeons he conquered- more than anyone else.

He’s struggling to say the least, he’d never adapted well to the cold and neither had he planned to see the frigid air so soon. He’s thankful that at least that over the course of his adventures Ja’far had taught- more like drilled into him how to survive. Though Sinbad had already been through five dungeons and established his own country by the time Ja’far tied him up and forced him to take in how to properly make his own knife in any situation.

Perhaps it only took him so long because for all the time they’d spent together, Sinbad never expected there to be a time where Ja’far wasn’t there to advise him.

“Why would I need to learn all this when I have you?” Sinbad whined as he fidgeted against the red wires keeping him pinned to the palace garden grounds.

Ja’far sat in front of him, hands slowly working at a makeshift knife, mumbled some curse regarding ‘Arrogant king vessels who don’t plan ahead’ and faced him with a frown.

Sinbad met his eyes with a sheepish smile and Ja’far’s frown deepened, his eyes furrowed. “I will follow you to till the end, so help me god-”

Ja’far reached a hand to brush away some of Sinbad’s hair that had made its way onto his face in his attempt to escape the lesson. He doesn’t notice the way Sinbad’s breath hitched when his fingers brushed against his cheek, his eyes distant as they stared into a future unknown.

Ja’far’s fingers only brushed against Sinbad’s cheek for a fraction of a second before they were withdrawn, but that single moment spent a lifetime in Sinbad’s heart, making a home for itself. Sinbad is faintly aware these feelings of his, have no place between a king and his advisor, or even friends but between lov-

“If there should ever be a day where you are without me-”

“I won’t let that happen.” Sinbad quickly interrupted him and his thoughts, golden eyes burrowing into his closest friend, his most loyal follower- the person he needs most in his life.

“Sindria needs you, Ja’far.” Sinbad said, before Ja’far had the chance to protest. “I need you, Ja’far.”

Dark eyes came into focus at the words and bright gold eyes met them without an ounce of hesitation. Sinbad looked at him, eyes unwavering.

"I will never stop needing you." Sinbad reaffirmed the statement with added clarity. He had been completely serious, saying those words and he needed Ja’far to know that.

What followed is not some reprimand of how ‘Sindria and he would do just fine without him’, but a warm laugh that Ja’far quickly silenced in his robes. Sinbad felt his heart stop at the sound, he didn't bother fighting the urge to pull Ja’far close and embed those laughs into his heart forever- the wires holding him still had done a good enough job at that.

“I really meant it Ja’far! Don’t laugh!” He whined and groaned against the wires’ tight hold.

“Sorry I, I just can’t take you seriously when you’re tied up like that.”

Sinbad rolls his eyes and huffs, recognizing how utterly ridiculous they look- the King of Sindria wrapped in wires laying on his side being forced to listen to a lengthy lesson from his advisor. He doesn’t mind of course, it’s them and as far as all the rest of the palace residents are aware, such a thing is commonplace as the sea breeze on a warm Sindrian day.

Sinbad felt red wires go slack against his body and seized his chance to escape them. The moment his heart settled in his chest, he resisted every urge to pull Ja’far forward and hold him, because just touching him was never enough. Instead he grabbed the arm Ja’far had held up to hide his laughter and pulled it away.

“Relax Sin, I have no intention of leaving you.” Ja’far said, his laughter eased into a smile.

“That’s not enough Ja’far, promise you won’t.”

“I’ll promise if I’m sure you’ll be able to survive a single day without me.” Ja’far wrenched his arm away from him and brought the makeshift knife back into view. “Indulge your paranoid advisor, won’t you?”

Sinbad’s eyes focused on Ja’far, his heart settled in his throat. Under the bright Sindrian sun, his advisor’s hair shined a bright white. Sinbad might be his king, but the very sun was sitting in front of him staring down at him. Sinbad had always been eternally pulled into that familiar warmth, but any closer and he would be burned, his country along with him.

“...Fine.” He finally said, his gaze parted from Ja’far’s serene face to the knife extended to him.

Ja’far had been by his side for 20 years, picking him up from the ground, for Solomon’s sake- Ja’far had been by his side longer than his addiction to alcohol. He’s always been thankful that Ja’far had stayed by his side despite- well despite everything. But he’s especially thankful now after Ja’far drilled it into him how to knit clothes together just in case he end up without him, like now in the middle of some freezing tundra.

His shoddy craftsmanship at least holds the furs together, Ja’far had always been a good teacher, from reading, writing, and mathematics to magoi manipulation. Ja’far would undoubtedly scold him for not retaining all he had tried to teach but Sinbad is thankful for what he does remember from his many lessons. The furs are enough, enough that he doesn’t freeze to death. And even if he did freeze, Ja’far had always teased him for being surprisingly sturdy for a man nearing his late forties.

Sinbad gives an open mouth gag at the thought of his aging body, immediately regretting when a harsh wind whips across his face.

Being ageless was at least one positive thing about becoming the guardian of the sacred palace, it was short lived but no one prodded him about his age when he was a god.

Sinbad sneers, admitting his defeat.

Ja’far was right, his vanity would one day kill him.

Had killed him, Sinbad hastily corrects.

He’s in the middle of cursing Ja’far for being right for the hundredth time, because Ja’far is always right and Sinbad always repeats these thoughts when Ja’far is right, when he notices the bright light of something obviously not from this world. It’s filled with whites and streaks of purple, a purple that he’s definitely seen before.

Sinbad takes a step forward, incidentally tripping on a rock at his feet, and staggers forward to the light. There’s some part of him that yells to not trust strange otherworldly lights that beacon to him but it’s not like he knows any other direction to go.

He’s hoping this is some sort of clue, he had only been wandering aimlessly when he came across the illusion of Tison Village. He’d been doing the same of course, his gut is rarely wrong and he’s certainly not seeing any other shining beacon of light.

He stands before the bright purple and white light, it stares back at him, as if waiting for him to reach out. Sinbad takes a moment to look at it, to think where exactly he’s seen this light. It’s bothering him that he can’t remember where he’s seen this exact light, but it’s on the tip of his tongue.

He grumbles, his frustration building up as the wind around him picks up, whistling as the snow starts to pool around him. Golden eyes glance to the sky above, blanketed by clouds. The wind is growing angrier and he acknowledges the telltale signs of a blizzard from his time in Imchukk.

Screw remembering, he doesn’t have the time to reminisce before the next blizzard. He reaches out to the purple beacon and winces when it overtakes his senses.

In an instant, it clicks and he is reminded exactly where the purple and white light had come from. There are memories being shoved in his head, memories of blood, sweat, and tears. He had seen these exact purple and white lights when he descended into Ja’far’s consciousness and saved him from falling.

He sees those memories all over again, from that room that follows Ja’far in his dreams, to Vittel and Mahad first being introduced to him, the first moment he kills someone, and the numerous bodies that lie in his wake. This time when he takes in those memories, he embeds them into his mind, knowing Ja’far would never detail his years in Sham Lash to him in anything other than vague statements.

He stands in that white space again, no longer being able to feel the stinging cold of the frost laden world. It’s quiet now that he can’t hear the wind whistling around him, Sinbad patiently waits for the next part of this memory to play out, to find the two twin Ja’far’s arguing with himself.

Both Ja’far and he look upon this moment with fondness, for the first step of Ja’far’s changed fate, and Sinbad for saving his first follower. Sinbad had saved Ja’far a single time in Valefor’s dungeon and in turn Ja’far had saved his indomitably stupid ass countless times.

Truth be told, he was looking forward to seeing Ja’far, even if it's a mere illusion of him. But he had quite welcomed seeing a Ja’far who wouldn’t kill him on sight for what he had done. Over the twenty years he’s spent with Ja’far at his side, he’s long lost count of the times those darts have been poised over his throat.

Ja’far has genuine reason to kill him this time. It’s arguably the moment he replays in his head the most following his disappearance. Sinbad sat at the top of the world, a god, and he couldn’t even offer his closest friend, his most loyal follower a proper goodbye.

Ja’far would have a knife to his throat, a scowl on his face the next time they see each other. So he’s very much looking forward to seeing a much younger Ja’far, before his voice passed puberty and he started nagging his own king about his drinking habits.

So Sinbad waits.

And he waits.

And he waits more.

(And he waits even more.)

He’s mildly insulted, to say the least, Sinbad isn’t particularly patient- hardly anyone would dare to make the High King of the Seven Seas wait. Never has Ja’far of all people made him wait this long without good reason. Never mind this isn’t the real Ja’far, Sinbad can never forget how he left the real one behind to take care of his mess.

Sinbad groans as he stands up and maneuvers himself through the fog, listening carefully for the crying child he had saved over two decades ago.

Eventually, he finds bloodied footsteps in the snow, gives a sigh, and follows them.

Ja'far's memories had and always will be a point of contention for them, Ja’far had always been reluctant to say much on the topic because of the way Sinbad would grow upset simply hearing about it. He had only wanted to be there for his closest follower and friend but somehow he was more upset about the years that haunted him rather than Ja’far himself. Ja’far had simply avoided such conversations, saying his new life was enough already and the two had settled on not explaining anything but simply holding the other close on particularly bad nights.

Through following the bloody footsteps in the snow, he is reminded of just how small Ja’far had been.

Ja’far was only ten when they first met, clothes covered in dirt and blood. Malnourished and his legs still sore from whatever Sham Lash did to him, Ja’far had managed to dig a knife deep into his stomach.

To be able to injure a boy who could see fate itself, Sinbad would have no other stand by his side, attempted assassination aside.

It isn’t long until he comes across a wooden door where the footsteps end. He reaches out to the wood to push it open- only for his hands to pass through. Sinbad grumbles and glances around to the purple and white fog. After a bit of back and forth with his brain and a mutter about this being the most Ja’far has ever put him through- he passes through the illusion of a door.

Instantly, his surroundings dim, and what sits in front of him is a hazy memory. Sinbad only knows this scene by the repeated times Ja’far had described it and how it made him feel. Ja’far is the most detailed, his eyes wide and hands shaking. In front of the six year old Ja’far are the bodies of what Sinbad can imagine are his parents, it doesn’t come into focus no matter how hard Sinbad squints.

Ja’far is shaking, his eyes fixed to the bodies lining the floor. He knows the scene in front of him isn’t real and that Ja’far can’t even see him but Sinbad kneels in front of the child. Ja’far’s eyes are horribly wide, as it dawns on him what he had just done. Sinbad tries to reach out to him only to watch his hands pass through the illusion and distort.

He wanted to take this memory away forever, for Ja’far to never have to see this again. This very memory, after all, was the exact one that haunted Ja’far the most after moving back to Partevia.

The part that hurts the most, is knowing that Sinbad had begun to turn Ja’far away after some time- knowing Arba was watching the two of them. It had taken great efforts from him for Ja’far to even open up about his memories and he wasn’t about to let someone else share what was a moment left only to the two of them.

Later they opted to call each other late into the night, talking about miscellaneous things- budgeting, work performances. It was stiff and barely enough to get Ja’far away from those thoughts. Hours after they exchanged their “good nights”, the uneasiness and fear in Ja’far’s voice stayed in his thoughts.

Years later, the calls stopped and Sinbad would meet a sleep deprived Ja’far, whose eyes were far too distant to only be thinking about the early morning meeting.

The six year old Ja’far looks down to the darts in his hands, the knives that he had carved into the only people who cared about him. Sinbad’s eyes follow suit and he reaches down to the bloodied hands who would eventually proudly carry Bararaq Sei.

The child’s arms are thin, much unlike the children who ran about Sindria. He at least finds solace, knowing that they would grow strong and the child in front of him would become a far kinder person than he was raised to be.

He runs a hand down to the illusion's weapon- where he meets resistance. He doesn’t instantly take hold but holds enough of it in his hands to recognize the cassette tape behind the illusion. Just before grasping it, he takes a final look around the dim room then again to Ja’far.

Somehow, it’s always Ja’far who makes him feel helpless.

Sinbad looks up at green eyes that would eventually lose their color then to hands that eventually coat themselves in even more blood.

He isn’t able to save this Ja’far from his fate, or from seeing this room repeatedly in his dreams. But he had tried to, it may not have been right- to try and take away one of Ja’far’s only memories of his parents, but he had tried to do so anyway.

Sinbad looks back at the hazy bodies and wonders if Ja’far has ever confided in anyone else since he himself is no longer there. It’s unlikely, because Ja’far is Ja’far- and has never let anyone else close.

Sinbad takes the cassette tape past the illusion of Ja’far’s weapons and closes his eyes to brace for the bright light to take him away once more. At the forefront of his mind, he simply hopes Ja’far is okay.

The white light around him doesn’t fade to Valefor’s dungeon treasure room but to a bright yellow platform. It’s just the same as the one that carried him from the illusion of Tison village to the snow laden world supposedly closer to his own. He doesn’t get to return to Valefor’s dungeon, his magoi drained and holding onto Ja’far’s wrist. Everyone in that fond memory has either been left behind or long dead.

Though Baal’s dungeon is the first dungeon he conquered, where he first cemented his status as a legend- Sinbad firmly believes everything first started in Valefor’s dungeon. For all the grandeur he played up in his written adventures, it was his friends that truly helped him get off his feet. Though little remains of their rag-tag Sindria Trading Company, Sinbad looks upon the memories fondly.

Sinbad had only gotten so far through the help of his friends, many who still believe in him. He doesn’t move for a while, eyes refusing to look away from the cassette tape in his hands.

His mind is hazy as he hears Valefor’s disembodied voice chime in.

“Quiet today, aren’t you, my lord?”

“I was just reminiscing of when I went through your dungeon.” Sinbad gives a sigh and lets his shoulders slump. He makes his way to the edge of the platform and stares off the side. His world seems, at the very least, ever so slightly closer than the last he saw it.

“Your comrades have come a long way since then,” Valefor says simply. “You as their former king have a responsibility to get back to them. It’s partly our fault you ended up here- I’ll do what I can to help.”

Sinbad holds the cassette tape gently in one of his hands, squeezing it softly. “My comrades, my household, have always been the things I am most proud of.”

“The item in your hand, it’s from them?” There’s a hint of playfulness in Valefor’s voice, just as there’s always been. “Must’ve been a spell similar to the one we Djinn use to bring people to our dungeons.”

Sinbad blinks, his interest piqued. “..I am lured to these-” He holds up the tape. “By a series of memories. Do you know anything about it?”

“A series of memories huh,” Valefor repeats the statement as he goes over it in his head, a hum resonating through the space. “We’re only able to find you through them but I don’t necessarily think it’s part of the spell that brings those items.”

“It’s probably you,” Valefor says with certainty. “I saw a bit of the memory that brought you here..You weren’t actually present when that occurred, but you’ve been told about it.”

It clicks in Sinbad’s mind that the scene he witnessed was his own interpretation of the event rather than Ja’far’s own memory of it. Ja’far had only ever told him about that room and how it made him feel. Sinbad had never actually seen the corpses, which is why his eyes wouldn’t seem to focus on them. Sinbad’s own memory of Tison village was only so detailed because it was his, rather than someone else’s.

“They probably mean something significant to you, judging by how they lure you to them.” Valefor adds, his voice still confident.

Sinbad sinks into a silence prompted by his thoughts over his added knowledge. The memory of Tison village and his mother are indeed the very moments he was pushed to conquer Baal’s dungeon and begin his journey to change the world, but he’s lived a long life-

Sinbad shakes his head to banish the thought of his long life. But out of all the significant portions of his life, those would trump his conquering of Baal, or the day he established the Kingdom of Sindria? Well, perhaps it's not too late to come across those memories, judging by how they seem to be going in chronological order. His mind is swimming with new ideas when Valefor interrupts his train of thoughts.

“I don’t have much time, but I wanted to say-” Valefor quickly says, though his voice slows for the next few words. “You’re not a bad person, I’m sure everyone knows that too.”

Sinbad merely blinks in response, allowing the surprise to show in his face. “Valefor?” He calls out.

When he’s met with the empty silence, he sighs.

“Of course.”

With Valefor gone, he’s left only his thoughts and whatever his friends left him. Sinbad wrestles the cassette from a pouch in his robes and pops the existing tape out of it. His movements are mechanical, his mind still on Valefor’s final words to him.

For many years he accepted that he didn’t care what became of him, as long as he could create a perfect world. He long accepted he would use anyone, anything and any method to achieve his goal. He’s certain his closest friends knew as much as well, seeing as they still followed him as far as they did- Ja’far certainly knew. He only became king to reach closer to his dreams, he didn’t even blink when ‘Guardian of the Sacred Palace’ became the next title he strove after.

It’s only now that he’s relying on his friends to help him back, that he worries if he’s even worth the effort to begin with. He clicks the new tape in the slot automatically and presses the play without thinking. It’s only when a voice starts up, does he startle from his thoughts.

“Papa, what's that?”

Sinbad jolts upward, hearing a childish voice from the device. He quickly regains his composure when he recognizes the voice to be Sadi, the eldest of Masrur’s children and the one Ja’far got to name.

“Something to talk to your uncle with.”

Masrur’s voice rings out from the device as he responds to his daughter, a few gentle urgings to go play elsewhere following the statement. Sinbad can’t parse out the words but hears the bustling of the children go farther away.

“Sinbad, if you’re hearing this- please apologize to Ja’far.”

“And come back soon. Everyone misses you.”

The device’s play button clicks back in place, indicating the end of that section of the tape. Sinbad sighs, not sure what he expected out of Masrur’s message. As a man of few words, the few words that do leave his mouth have always had a lasting impact.

Masrur seems to be doing just fine, all things considered. His thoughts catch on the implication that Ja’far is taking it badly. The comment on Ja’far is expected, Masrur and Ja’far were always quite close and he’s glad someone is looking after him, seeing as Sinbad had long averted his eyes. Sinbad allows the tape to start up again, his mind not moving past how he left Ja’far.

“Your awful tendency to cause trouble has finally caught up to you, I think I’d laugh if it didn’t bury me in so much work.”

Oddly enough, Sinbad doesn’t recognize the voice. Though the man speaking on the other end speaks as if they’ve known each other for quite a while.

“Without metal vessels, I’ve been brought back to human form. After all these years of watching everyone around me grow, I’m somewhat relieved. Even as a human, I’m taller than you- I’ve beaten you in that respect at least.”

Ah, Drakon. Sinbad lets an amused chuckle echo through the empty space, Drakon’s voice is considerably less deep and much closer to the fourteen year old military brat he first met.

“The world without you feels strange, though my wife supports me the whole way- I worry for Sindria’s future. We’re redrawing borders with Kina, Kina is right beside us- just thinking about it gives me a headache.”

Sinbad hears a sigh escape from the recording, a groan follows.

“You left Sindria to me and though I believe in your judgement, I always had my doubts. Even after you left Sindria to me, I had always thought if I were you, what I would do.”

Drakon’s voice comes to a slow as he sighs. “I’m sorry, Sinbad. I relied on you far too much. I truly believed in your dream and that all you did was right. I wonder what would have become of you if I had treated you as an equal…You saved me from my tyrannical brother and gave me a new life with the Sindria Trading company. But my eternal gratefulness became reverence.”

“I feel as if I’ve been shaken to my core and I am doubting my kingship. I am consulting Ja’far about it- he did advise a king for 13 years of his life.”

“I always felt this ever since you left Sindria, but Sindria isn’t the same without you.”

The device clicks back once more at the end of the message and Sinbad is left in the glaring silence of the bright yellow of the platform. He had always been aware of how Drakon looked up to him, Sinbad had given him a renewed purpose in the form of his dream, just as he had with many others. Sinbad had always wanted to create a better world, for them, because they believed he could.

He takes a few moments to think about Drakon’s words to him before starting up the next recording.

“I still think of the very moment I realized it, right when I looked up at the sky and saw you had brought down upon us. I keep thinking how everything got this bad.”

Hinahoho’s words are slow, solemn, and tired. He sounds equally as frustrated as Drakon, if not more- but Sinbad can hear the sadness brimming his voice.

“We all had our own lives, our kingdoms to take care of but even then I had sensed you were becoming distant, I trusted you wouldn’t do something...like this. I had trusted having Ja’far with you would keep you true to that.”

“Whenever something horrible happens, I always end up thinking what if Rurumu were here.”

Sinbad’s heart drops in his chest at the unforgettable memory of a kind mother who disciplined him harshly, who straightened out a hardened assassin, a mother of five who he failed to save. Rurumu’s death haunts everyone who survived the first Sindria, in its own way- as the love of his life, it haunts Hinahoho the most.

“She would’ve known what to do, she always knew what to do. She was the only one of us who was actually raised to run a country and here I left the world to a fisherman’s boy nearly seven years my younger.”

The recording is clear, Sinbad thinks it strange considering the near constant snow that pelts through Imchukk’s long winters. It’s clear enough that Sinbad hears Hinahoho run a hand through his thick hair as he steadies himself to speak once more.

“I left Ja’far to advise you. But just because he resembles Rurumu the most among my kids doesn’t mean he had every one of her answers. He’s always been a force to be reckoned with, especially when dealing with you. But he’s always been one person.”

This time, Sinbad hears the shuffle of leather plates as Hinahoho sits up, a deep breath escaping him.

“I was foolish. I kept the fate of the world to you two, believing you had it under control.”

“When you went ahead and replaced him, I knew he was bitter- but you know him. He would never say so, he’d rather die than talk about how it bothered him. The both of you are awful at emotions, never talking to anyone besides each other. When even that fell through, he just sat there and hoped you’d open up to him.”

“I’m once again reminded of how he had to be taught to smile. He spent four years with Rurumu and opened up to her. I’m supposed to be his father- I am his father and yet he’s never opened up to me once in the twenty years we’ve known each other.”

Hinahoho stops once more, letting the full extent of his exhaustion show through the recording.

“Hurry up and come back already. At the very least, to properly talk to him again.”

Sinbad doesn’t start up the next recording, his mind stuck on thick blue hair that never hesitated to reprimand him. He takes a glance over the edge of the platform as he curls up into a ball, remembering the warm nights he spent atop that Imchukk ship huddled close with his few followers. Three of those followers lay dead, asunder with the island they tried so desperately to protect.

He estimates he has a few hours before the bright yellow platform drops him someplace closer to his own world. So he sleeps, his arms wrapped around himself, so much colder now that he feels how alone he is.

Sinbad wakes when the platform shakes and jolts him out of his slumber. It, quite literally, drops him somewhere in a desert, his body shoving a breath out of him as he thumps against the hard sand. He groans, wiping his face of any sand- Sinbad is left feeling his age now as he pulls himself off the ground.

He tries his best to banish the thoughts of his increasing age but he finds it harder as he drags his body against the sands that shift beneath his shoes. As soon as he finds shelter, he quickly fashions the furs he hunted and skinned into a backpack of some kind. He’s much more confident in the desert from his repeated visits to Heliohapt and the sun doesn’t beat down nearly as much as the Heliohaptan desert’s own.

Once he’s settled and comfortable with his traveling arrangements, he pushes the play on the cassette player.

“Aladdin and I are trying our best to bring you back so stay safe okay? I really do hope you are actually getting these...It’s quite the spell to send it to you..”

Sinbad hears the flipping of pages as Yamuraiha rummages through her notes, the image in his head just as vivid as if she were sitting in front of him. Yamuraiha at her desk pouring over notes was par for the course for everyday life in both Sindria and Magnostat.

“I’m tracking your ruhk, we can just barely tell where you are, and using some calculations brought up, we’re shooting these in your direction but there’s still no guarantee you’re getting them. Whatever you’re doing it’s working, when I last estimated you’d come back in 30 years-”

Anything else she says is tuned out, Sinbad’s mind on the single number that won’t stop repeating. He may have heard the smile on Yamuraiha’s face as she said it but Sinbad swears he hears his heart stop beating. Thirty years? He’d be back in thirty years? He’s only been good at math when it comes to his age and the big and horrifying number of sixty-four jumps around in his head until Yamuraiha’s ramblings pulls him back in.

“That’s just what we initially calculated, don’t panic! But when we found your ruhk again, it's like it jumped a whole world, when you come back you better tell me what exactly you were doing.”

“If you keep doing that, at your pace you can get back in a little over a year!”

Sinbad’s heart practically soars at that, a wide smile plastered against his face because he wouldn’t come back to his friends as a decrepit old man! It’s about the best news he’s heard ever since Masrur informed him of his newest child.

“About- well, everything..I don’t know what to say.” He can picture Yamuraiha shifting uncomfortably in her seat, as she usually does when she’s upset. “These last years have been so different- I was glad to develop all this new technology alongside you, but you were always looking off into a future none of us could see.”

“When even Ja’far couldn’t reach out to you, I gave up- I turned away and pushed my head deeper and deeper into my experiments. I wanted to talk to you, I wanted us all to be close as a family again.”

The words sitting on Yamuraiha’s tongue never come out, she bites her lip and says quietly.

“We all miss you.”

Sinbad sighs and moves onto the next recorded section as he treks through desert sand.

“I looked up to you for the longest time. I think I’m done looking up to you.”

Sharrkan is unusually quiet and Sinbad can feel his unfocused gaze as he thinks on each word.

“I, and a lot of other people looked up to you. With everything that happened, it’s been a lot like a slap in the face. I can’t say that I’m not disappointed, or that I don’t understand why you did it. But I just wished we talked more.”

Sinbad hears the indignant huff as it crackles through the recording and holds the cassette player farther away from him.

“So that’s why you gotta come back! This time, I’ll be the one talking about my grand deeds okay! You better believe they’re gonna be just as good as your stories!”

Sinbad laughs in return and shakes his head, a smirk sticking to his face as he presses onto the next recording.

“You’ve caused quite the stir, shaken the entire world to its core.”

Spartos is stern as he speaks, his voice empty of emotion. Sinbad can picture him in a room high up the castles of Sasan, dull stone walls decorating the room.

“I’ve gotten to know you longer than my brother ever did, yet somehow I get the impression that he knew you better than I will ever.”

Sinbad is surprised, to say the least, at the mention of Mystras. He knew that Spartos and his father Darius never quite spoke about him, the emotions between them both frayed. Sinbad was always ready to be resented by both Darius and Spartos for failing to do anything for Mystras. It had always helped that Spartos was more like his father than his brother, Sinbad wasn’t sure if he could stand to see that wide smile that Mystras had sported again.

“Maybe Mystras could have known you were up to something, maybe he could have pushed through that stubborn wall you put between yourself and Ja’far. He was still loyal to you, perhaps even more than he was to Sasan- you enabled him to leave after all.”

Spartos’ own far more composed than all the other messages he’s gotten so far, but he was far more distant than anyone else so far- partly due to his home country's doctrine. He carries the aura of a true king, one he’s sure his brother would be proud of.

“I can’t deny that you are a charismatic and powerful man. Of all the people I trusted at the top of the world, it would be you. You were strong enough to stand on the same ground as someone as obstinate as my father, who believed he was chosen to hold the power of god.”

He hears Spartos stop and flip through a page, giving away that he had prewritten this all before the recording even started. Written words or not, Spartos’ words slow as he speaks.

“As someone who was once your retainer, I didn’t want to think that you had wronged us. We all trusted you, more than we should have. I can’t deny that the trust we shared has been broken.”

“I won’t be forgiving you until you come back.”

The words are bitter as Sinbad hears them but there’s a fondness inlaid those words as well. Sinbad can’t help but smile alongside it as he clicks onto the next message. He doesn’t have to hear the voice to know Pisti’s is next, she’s the only one of his former generals he hasn’t heard from and he’s never known her to be silent.

Sure enough, he hears Pisti’s voice next, but it’s muted in a way he’s never heard before.

“We blindly followed you, and you believed that made us happy- right? I guess I can kind of understand it. But to do such a reckless thing without talking to us, assuming how we felt, believing you knew what was better for us...Better for the world?”

Pisti’s words sound insulted and pained as they come out, a long sigh parting them. “Ja’far was right when he said you were dumb, that you’re emotionally constipated.”

Sinbad gives an offended huff, he has no words to counter it nor would he be able to, but he’s still hurt no matter how true the statement is.

He hears the faint squawk of a large bird as Pisti leans further into its feathers. “Even so, we all want you to come back. Not as chairman, or a king, just as our friend- I still think that maybe if we had all just talked more as friends this wouldn’t have happened.”

The smile lining Pisti’s face is heard before she ever speaks, despite the words that just left her mouth. “But it’s not too late for you to fix this! Remember Pisti’s always rooting for you!” She chirps back, Sinbad smiles at this, the happier Pisti one he didn’t know he missed.

The cassette clicks back, a different sound than before to signify the end of the messages. Sinbad smiles as he tucks the cassette player away in his robes. Those closer to him had harsher words, ones that bite closer to his heart than he expected but he pushes on with a renewed vigor to return to all he’s left behind.

It’s late into the night, now a chilly desert wind brushing against his skin when once again he thanks Ja’far for teaching him how to survive and is infinitely grateful to whatever god out there that these worlds aren’t too different from his own. He’s finished setting up his shelter for the night, with nothing left to do for the day he pulls out his only source of entertainment.

There’s very little room to do much besides survive and the recordings provide a welcome respite from the monotony. The cassette player now has several dents and bumps in it from all the times Sinbad has dropped it but altogether perfectly functional. He starts up the recordings from his newest tape once more, skipping Hinahoho’s message- too many emotions to unpack, ones he would rather keep buried.

It’s only once he reaches Yamuraiha’s recording does he realize he had missed some of it, right after the portion about taking thirty years to come back.

“-when I last estimated you’d come back in thirty years!”

It hurts a lot less, hearing it a second time around and Sinbad listens close to the portion he initially was too shocked to hear properly. Yamuraiha’s voice is incredulous as it continues rambling on, a frown audible in her words.

“I told Ja’far as much and he only laughed, can you believe that? I figured he’d be upset but he just..laughed and told me you were the type of person who makes the impossible happen.”

Sinbad hears a fond smile reach her face as she gives a soft laugh.

“With everything that’s happened, I didn’t think he would but- He still believes in you.”

The rest of the messages continue into background noise to Sinbad’s thoughts. Warm thoughts of a home he left behind fill his mind. There’s a home waiting for him, one that smiles softly when Sinbad meets his eyes, one that chastises him harshly when he’s too inebriated to carry himself home.

A home that believed in him till the end.

Chapter Text

The move back to Sindria has Ja’far elated for the first time in months. 

He surrenders his company uniform the day the new alliance is established with a smile. Ja’far happily passes the company down to Pipirika, who is more than grateful for the promotion all the way up to CEO. Ja’far laughs it off, knowing the company is in capable hands. The two were always closer than mere coworkers, though somewhat estranged partly due to Rurumu’s death and the guilt they both felt, they’ve maintained close ties as family.

As the person closest to him during his and Sinbad’s last strenuous years, she understands the emotional weight he had been under. He doesn’t need to explain why he’s leaving everything to her nor does she need to explain why she hugs him tightly during their last lunch breaks together.

The two had worked together, filling out numbers at the dinner table at the Sindria Trading Company and disciplining unruly children, since Ja’far was twelve. Pipirika, though few know it, is one of the few people still alive from before he joined Sinbad’s side.

Pipirika later joins him as he opens up Sinbad’s room next to his office as he carries boxes up the elevator. There’s an unspoken dialogue between the two, parsing through each of Sinbad’s belongings and packing them away. It didn’t sit well with him to leave all Sinbad’s items with the company, so he plans to take it back to Sindria with him. 

(The back of his mind acknowledges Sinbad wouldn’t be able to come back with the title of “Chairman” or “Ceo” after the stunt he pulled.)

It’s well into the night by the time they finish and Pipirika laughs that she’s glad he had waited till the weekend. She follows him home with the intent of helping him pack up only to find that all his belongings are neatly packed together, aside from the essentials. The both of them shrug and share a bed just like they had when Ja’far had first joined Sinbad’s entourage. The next morning, they empty out any snacks and food Ja’far had left in his storage, Pipirika laughing when the both of them reek after the day's work of hauling boxes around the office, having not showered before passing out.

Pipirika leaves him later shortly after, complaining about needing a change of clothes and a shower- not before sufficiently ruffling Ja’far’s hair and telling him she’ll see him off.

In the afternoon Ja’far meets Masrur and his children meet him on the airship to help move boxes, well- Sinbad’s boxes. Ja’far has never been one to own much but he suddenly finds himself in charge of all Sinbad’s belongings. He’s tempted to throw it all away out of spite, effectively dismissing Sinbad’s “I leave everything to you” promise and whatever trust they had left in each other.

(Such a promise now feels far more like a burden than a symbol of the trust between them. )

Despite the ire he still feels, Ja’far opts to keep the items in storage.

Sinbad’s belongings are packed in boxes, rows upon rows of items he had insisted on bringing with him. Masrur’s children make it a game to see how many each of them can move into the airship and Ja’far laughs, knowing not to underestimate Fanalis children. All of it nearly takes an entire airship to take home, Sinbad had always been an awfully materialistic and vain man.

All of Ja’far’s own belongings fit in a single box, one he can hold in his arms. He insists on carrying it himself, knowing the contents are far too volatile for the hands of Fanalis children to be manhandling. 

Once all the boxes are stored away and secured, all that's left is for the airship captain to triple check the cargo and the ship itself. Ja'far and the Fanalis use the time to clean up and in a matter of minutes his little apartment and office is emptied and cleaned thoroughly. It doesn’t take long, with a whole family of Fanalis and Ja’far himself cleaning up. They move to Sinbad’s former room and office next, small Fanalis children pulling him all along the way.

It barely takes any time at all and Ja’far promises to treat them to a home cooked meal once he’s all set up in Sindria as thanks.  With the added help, the whole affair barely takes half an hour and Ja’far laughs, asking why he bothered to worry anyway.

It’s only when they are about to leave does Ja’far hesitate to say his final goodbyes to the place of his misery. Sinbad’s former room and office are now bare, large pieces of furniture now absent from the previously lavish room. Ja’far sighs, eyes overlooking the cityscape from the wide windows that surround the room. 

They barely had to do any cleaning, with Ja’far visiting the room every so often and cleaning it of dust. He takes in the empty room where he last spoke to his closest friend, someone who he thought he knew intimately. It had been the same, when they moved out of Sindria, even down to Masrur waiting for him by the door, knowing he'd want his space to say goodbye.

The sun shining through the windows highlights Sinbad's empty desk. His thoughts drift off to when he and Sinbad first established the reborn Sindria company and Sinbad gleefully showed him around his newfound office. Ja’far had strained himself to smile alongside his former king, though Ja’far had long resigned himself to going along the whims of what was then, his best friend- Sinbad had profusely refused to explain just what he was planning.

Ja'far allows himself a single thought before he turns away from the room.

"When did I lose you?"

The door shuts behind him with a click, and Ja'far prays he never sees the room again.

Pipirika alone sees him off, being the only coworker he had ever been remotely close to. She’s loath to part with a close friend who she’s known for longer than Sindria itself and pulls him in for a tight hug as she smiles against his snowy hair. Ja’far laughs, returning a smile her way when she steps away.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you smile like that.” She says, her eyes softening. “I’ll visit you back in Sindria whenever I’m free.”

“I’m sure King Drakon and Queen Saher would be more than happy to see you again.” Ja’far replies, his smile slipping off his face.

Pipirika rolls her eyes and huffs. “I mean you! We’re family aren’t we?” She punches him gently on the shoulder, however gentle an Imuchakk’s playful punch can be. “That’s not an invitation to call me auntie!”

Ja’far is knocked several feet back but he rubs his shoulder fondly. “Of course.”

The smile sticks on his face even as Pipirika’s figure drifts further and further away as the airship breaks through the clouds at a brisk pace. Within minutes, Partevia's capital of Csitephon fades out of view and Ja’far averts his eyes as the distant mountain range comes into view.

He turns to the open air deck where Masrur’s children take turns running across the hardwood and makes his way to Masrur who stands at the front of the ship watching the clouds go by.

“Are you okay?” Masrur asks as soon as Ja’far stands next to him. Though his gaze is forward to the bright white clouds passing by, Ja’far knows far too well that he’s watching for the others' reaction.

“I’m fine.” He says a little too quickly. “I think I’ll be okay.” He adds when Masrur turns to him.

“Good.” Masrur says, understanding the answer to be genuine.

He’s used to it now, people asking if he’s okay. Because they were close, and it's okay to hurt and it's okay to be upset. A smile worms itself onto his face, remembering Sharrkan’s messages sent to his shellphone, full of ellipses and asking him to call if he wanted to talk. Everyone looks after him, in their own ways.

“How’s Reim these days? Titus and Muu Alexius seemed quite exceptionally busy over the meetings about the alliance.” Ja’far asks, his hands leaning on the railing.

“The Fanalis Corps have all been busy helping out around Reim.” Masrur sighs, his eyes drifting off to his four children running in circles around the deck. “We’ll be busy for a while.”

Though Reim was a large country before, the drastic change in landscape made it nigh impossible to tell where certain colonies of theirs ended and began- Muu had once mentioned that Reim especially was having trouble sorting out their land. Sindria never had the same problem as a small relatively new island nation but Reim’s historical laws dug deep even into their land ownership laws.

Ja’far restrains a groan from leaving his mouth, remembering a call with Drakon about their recent border disputes with Kina and how even calm and collected Spartos had argued on Sindria’s behalf.

“You haven’t been to Sindria recently have you?” Masrur asks, hands still positioned firmly behind his back. “They’re doing well, the assistant you left in charge seemed to have it under control.”

“Oh?” Ja’far stands straighter, pushing up from the railing to meet Masrur’s gaze. “I haven’t heard from them in a while, I figured my successor was just as busy as me.” He says with a laugh.

Sinbad abdicating the throne not only left his position as king to Drakon but left many of the people under him scrambling to fill positions. As if a new king wasn’t enough to replace, all of Sindria’s eight generals had to be replaced along with Ja’far and Pipirika’s own positions in government. While the eight general’s always had trainees lined up to take their place, Ja’far and Pipirika had to prepare to hand over Sindria’s internal affairs to new, capable staff.

Ever the realist and pessimist, Ja’far had always planned for the worst and trained someone in case something happened to him. As Pipirika had decided to come join him in Partevia, she was no longer an option. At the very least, he’s glad he left behind a capable staff to help Sindria’s new Chief of Parliament.

The assistant he left behind had been an old friend of his who worked under him for several years and often played alongside Pirpika during festivals. Though no one quite matched his work ethic, the now Lord Analyn had tried their best to match it. They had always pitied his late nights at his desk and did their best to ease his workload.

“I’m not worried about them, rather-” Ja’far furrows his eyebrows. “How’s King Drakon?”

While Masrur’s expression remained still, the slowed response answered for him. “You should talk to him yourself.”

Ja’far frowns, knowing King Drakon wouldn’t be handling the present circumstances well. Drakon had been around since the days in Sindria Trading Company in Reim and was, oftentimes, blindly loyal. His absolute trust and belief in Sinbad clouded his own judgement- Ja’far can relate. 

Though in Ja’far’s case he was simply loyal, aware of most of the evils Sinbad’s carried to build Sindria and keep their present peace. He had often trusted Sinbad, against his better judgement.

Ja’far is even more of a fool now, for continuing to trust and believe in him.

To his surprise, it’s Lord Analyn, his coworker who he left in charge, who greets him when he first lands in Sindria. He is met with a tackle as they collide, dark brown hair blown all whichways as Analyn begs for him to take his old job back- to which Ja’far laughs.

“I barely have a social life with this job!” They cry against his chest, exaggerated sobs ringing out. “I should’ve known better than to take the job of a workaholic!” 

Ja’far only laughs harder, prying them off himself to stand. He gives a moment to brush off the dirt on his clothes and extends a hand to Analyn. “I only handed my position to you because I trusted you could do it.”

“I could handle it before but the Lord Takeruhiko is giving me hell -” They are promptly silenced by a hand held over the mouth, Ja’far can see the instinct to bite at it until they realize its owner.

“Lord Analyn, Ja’far may be our former Chief of Parliament but as of right now, he is a mere citizen of Sindria.” Saher, the now Queen of Sindria slowly removes a hand from their mouth and smiles.

“Sorry.” Is Analyn’s muted response, complete with a pout. They get up to their feet with a surprising quickness and bow to their queen. They only lift their head once King Drakon places a reassuring hand to their shoulder.

“We’re all very glad you’re back in Sindria.” Drakon smiles at Ja’far, for a moment it's open, genuine and hopeful- the smile quickly fades as he gets back to business as Sindria’s King. “Though as you’re not a member of the government I can’t exactly provide you with a place to stay in the palace.”

“Of course, I suspected as much.” Ja’far smiles, looking back at Masrur and his family lugging dozens of boxes off the airship. “I won’t be staying at the palace, the residential building near the palace in my name will do just fine.”

“Then I suppose I won’t be convincing you to rejoin Sindria’s staff by offering you a room at the palace?” Drakon gives a sad huff, voice not as deep as Ja’far remembers, now that he doesn’t carry the form of a humanoid dragon.

“I’m still considering the offer.” Ja’far smiles, seeing Analyn perk up- he doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so happy over the prospect of being replaced. Ja’far certainly hadn’t been.

He brushes the thought away as Masrur comes up behind him, asking where to drop off the many boxes.

“...I’ll leave you to it then.” Drakon waves a hand as he turns away from Ja’far and towards the palace. “Lord Analyn and I have a meeting with Lord Takeruhiko to prepare for.” Ja’far doesn’t miss the downturn of Drakon’s lips. Analyn brushes a hand against their own forehead, a telltale sign of stress.

Ja’far gives a forced smile in return, although he had long given his all to Sindria and her people, he’s particularly glad to not have to deal with foreign leaders anymore. 

They begin the trip to his new home near the palace, it's a far walk from the airship but Masrur and his children aren’t bothered by the trip, but rather all the citizens that stop them to talk. Ja’far can only sheepishly smile as he doesn’t have the excuse of “I’m busy on official business” to skirt away from conversations.

He’s still in the middle of moving boxes when Morgianna knocks at his door, a bundle of letters in her hands. Though she initially came here to invite them to her and Alibaba’s wedding, she quickly finds herself helping move furniture when Ja’far hesitantly tells her he doesn’t have a place to store the invitation. It takes even less time than Ja’far expected with Morgianna’s added help, though Ja’far had insisted she needn’t help. 

She speaks up after a talk with Masrur just before he leaves, and just shy of hearing range.

“Ja’far, I meant to ask but,” Morgianna looks away, shying away from eye contact. “Masrur told me that you’ve worked for years in business and even longer managing Sindria’s coffers…”

“Please teach me!” Morgianna bows, her long ponytail nearly touching the ground. “I’m of little use at the Fanfan company right now and I could only think of coming to you for help.”

Ja’far’s face softens as he urges Morgianna to stand. “I’d be happy to help.” He’s more than happy to help, it’s not as if he is affiliated to anyone in particular right now and is also- without a job.

They come to an agreement to meet every day around noon for lessons, Ja’far explains he doesn’t exactly have the means to house a guest. Morgianna laughs, explaining that as the Prime Minister of Kou’s fiancee, she can easily use their teleportation circles.

Ja'far has to be reminded that the world is so much smaller now, it had been enormous when he traveled by Sinbad’s side, but now such trips are nothing more than adventures. 

Strangely, it’s barely a day since Ja’far has moved to Sindria when his presence is requested at the royal palace. Though Ja’far had expected his former staff in the White Capricorn tower to want to speak with him, he’s sure they would have at least waited a day. It’s not urgent enough for them to come to him directly, but enough to call him back so soon.

He gets his answer when he meets Yamuraiha and Aladdin back in Sindria’s palace in one of the meeting rooms. Though he smiles as he greets them, he knows it has something to do with Sinbad- it has to be.

Drakon joins the trio shortly after, sitting beside Ja’far and crossing his arms.

“At the earliest, he’ll return in a little over a year.” Yamuraiha says, her voice firm.

Who “He” is, doesn’t have to be said by name, “He” is the very person who tied them all together, united the world, then promptly- tried to destroy it.

“I don’t know how he’s doing it but, it’s as if his ruhk is jumping across worlds.” Yamuraiha frowns but her gaze stays on them. “We need to consider that he might still somehow have the power from the sacred palace, and when he does come back, how the world will handle it.”

“Do you think it’s David?” Says Ja’far.

“I doubt it is.” Aladdin interjects, leaning forward. “We would’ve known, David’s ruhk is different.”

“Then the question is what will we, the world, do when he comes back.” Drakon adds. “The other world leaders will want to punish him, as the cause.”

The room falls into an uncomfortable silence until Aladdin speaks up. “Nothing starts until he gets back, we don’t even know the full extent to which Arba and David were manipulating him.”

“Of course, we don’t have all the information yet. It’d be best to ask him directly once he’s here.” Ja’far says blankly. “Though whatever punishment the world asks of him I will support.”

“Ja’far.” King Drakon whispers behind clenched teeth. 

“Do you think he should be forgiven?” Ja’far turns to Drakon, his dark eyes clouded. “While he united the world he is the very reason we are arguing with Kina on borders, people’s lives were uprooted, their homes destroyed and they have every reason to want him dead.”

Drakon offers no response but resolutely meets his gaze.

“Regardless of what the world leaders decide, I am in no position to have any say in it.” Ja’far says, looking at the floor.

This time Drakon stands from his seat, an arm slamming against the table. “You stood by his side longer than anyone else and you’re content to sit by and have them potentially send him to his death?”

“It’s not that I am content to sit by, but I simply don’t have a say in it.” Ja’far says firmly. “If they ask for my thoughts then I will give it.”

Drakon meets Ja’far’s cold gaze once more before settling back down in his seat, knowing it is a battle he can’t hope to win.

“If that’s all, then I must be going.” Ja’far stands to leave. “I have a lesson with Lady Morgianna to prepare for.”

Aladdin perks up at the mention of his friend's name, quickly standing to follow after Ja’far.

“That’s all…I just wanted you both to know before we tell the rest of the world.” Yamuraiha says, her fists grabbing at her dress as she sits. She had been relatively quiet throughout the meeting and Ja’far credits it to her hating to be the bearer of bad news.

“Goodbye then.” Ja’far’s voice is cold as he speaks, up to when he closes the door behind him, ignoring Aladdin’s plea to wait for him.

Aladdin nearly collides with him with how fast he rushes out of the room but Ja’far catches him just before he does.

“You’re meeting Morg soon right?” Aladdin’s face lights up, seemingly already forgetting the topic he had just listened in on.

“I can assure you it’s a terribly boring lesson-”

“I don’t mind, I wanted to visit you anyway.” Aladdin chirps, an excited laugh mixed in. 

Though Aladdin has grown to be nearly his height, the blue haired boy’s wide smile hasn’t changed in the slightest, and Ja’far can’t help but be generous with him. He smiles at Ja’far, as if a single day hadn’t passed from his six months in Sindria.

Ja’far’s smile falters slightly, remembering how rapidly Aladdin had to grow in these few years. He had always had a soft spot for children, from Kikiriku to the children taking residence at Sindria’s orphanage. He had always hoped to give every child in Sindria a better childhood- a better life, perhaps in an attempt to make up for the many he had to take as an assassin. He shared Sinbad’s dream, to create a better, peaceful world for all those children like him, who wanted nothing more than to be free of their fate.

“I’ll be sure to prepare some tea for you as well then.” He says, turning to guide Aladdin back to his home.

“Don’t worry, I can help-”

“Oh, Aladdin!” 

The duo quickly turned to the voice that had called his name, only to meet the bright smiling face of the king of Kina, Takeruhiko Yamato.

“I didn’t know you were here, King Takeruhiko!” Aladdin nearly runs to meet the man.

Ja’far offers a simple bow as a greeting, as what is proper. “Lord Takeruhiko.”

“Oooh, so you are back here!” The boisterous king turns to Ja’far, laughing when he feels him jump at the hand thumped against his shoulder. “Sindria seemed pretty empty without any of the faces I’m used to! Your replacement is giving me hell, just as unrelenting as you!”

“Lord Takeruhiko, you know Ja’far?” Aladdin steps between them, noting the somewhat reserved expression Ja’far had switched to.

“I wouldn’t say I know him but when Kina was a part of Seven Seas Coalition, I visited Sindria fairly often on diplomatic visits.” Takeruhiko grins. “Charming place, I thought we’d get along as leaders of islands in the middle of nowhere but Sinbad’s methods never quite sat right with me.”

Ja’far stays silent through the exchange, tempted to simply leave the two of them to chat.

“Speaking of which, you-” Kina’s king turns to Ja’far, and tension floods the air. It hasn’t been long since Sinbad’s rewriting of the ruhk and the King of Kina knows what a lying snake looks like. “Can I expect the same out of you? Standing by and letting him rule the world as he pleased, and now that he’s gone you use his company to help his enemies-”

“As his closest retainer, are you trying to absolve yourself of guilt?” The king leans closer to Ja’far, intent on analyzing him. “Just what are you planning?”

“Take it as you will.” Ja’far replies, though he smiles, it does little to mask the venom in his eyes. “Though if you must know, it's nothing as malicious as you seem to believe. I was simply wrong and did what I could to fix those wrongs.”

Having said his piece, Ja’far waits for Takeruhiko’s response. In place of his response, the silence only grows between them, Aladdin seemingly lost in it.

“Lord Takeruhiko!” Analyn’s voice cuts through the tension. “You may be here on friendly terms but I must ask you do not interrogate our citizens!” 

Kina’s king perks up and stands straight, a wry smile scrawled onto his face, having been caught. “I’ll see you later, Aladdin- Tell me which one you like better, Sindria or Kina!”

The king gives Aladdin a reassuring pat on the shoulder and hurries to leave, unwilling to get scolded by a servant that isn’t even his.

As soon as he is out of hearing range, Analyn turns to both of them and sighs. “Sorry, about that.” They press a hand to their forehead, a habit they picked up from Ja’far himself. “I probably won’t be able to pull something off like that again, talking down to someone elses’ king like that..”

“Thank you, Lord Analyn,” Ja’far breathes a sigh of relief and proudly looks on to his former apprentice. “I’m even more reassured that I left Sindria in capable hands.”

Though the compliment is genuine and Ja’far is assuredly, very proud of them, Analyn only pouts. “Don’t be like that! I’d still rather have you as my boss again!”

“I’ll think about it.” Ja’far smiles back, though he’s certain both he and Analyn know he’s bound to say yes, he still needs time to think. And not necessarily about his next line of work. “I have to meet with someone right now but whenever you’re free, please do visit.”

“Of course, I’ll be sure to stop by once you’re done unpacking- I do miss your sweets.” Analyn sees him off with a wave and a smile.

Ja’far has always prided himself on being able to stay on task but he finds his brain wandering during Morgianna’s first lessons. Nevertheless, he’s always been well prepared and has her started out on some worksheets on accounting and contracts to test her on what she does know. 

He’s so distracted that nearly scalds himself with tea- leading to Aladdin insisting he pour it instead. He hates having the boy do it for him, Ja’far has always had steady hands- from handwriting to assassination.

“If I’m bothering you, I can leave.” Aladdin says, a hurt expression on his face.

“It’s not you.” 

“It’s about Mister Sinbad then, isn’t it?”

“Naturally.”

His mind is drifting off once more when he realizes Aladdin is waiting for an explanation. Though he doesn’t want to talk about it with Aladdin, knowing it’d seem awfully immature of him, bothering a fifteen year old with his problems. Nevertheless, Aladdin reaches out to him and squeezes his hand gently, prompting him to break his silence.

It speaks to how vulnerable and alone he feels that he does. In any other circumstance, even when the first Sindria lay dead at his feet, he didn’t break like this. He had people, some semblance of a family, and the remnants of a dead country to hold together.

In other words, Ja’far had a reason to live.

“I don’t know what to feel.” Ja’far retreats his hand when Aladdin loosens his grip on his wrist. “A part of me is happy to hear that he’ll be here soon…But I also dread it.”

“It’s hard enough for me to forgive him, but for the whole world to?” Ja’far’s dark eyes bore into the table as he speaks. “I miss him dearly yet I can’t bear the thought of seeing him again.” 

“You don’t have to forgive him, even when he comes back.” Aladdin reaches over Ja’far’s small dining table to reassure him, to make sure he feels he’s there for him. The young boy says the obvious, what Ja’far had repeated to himself ever since Sinbad left.

“I’ve known him longer than you’ve been alive,” A dark laugh leaves him and Ja’far’s expression shifts, an indescribable pain scrawled in his features. “A part of my life is gone .”

Aladdin hops out of his chair and wraps his arms around the older man, knowing Ja’far isn’t referring to Sinbad himself but to the relationship he had with him. Ja’far doesn’t cry, not a single tear falls from his face but he at least returns the hug. The person who looked after Aladdin and his friends for six months in Sindria is falling apart, the Ja’far sitting in front of him is nothing more than sad, tired, and lost.

Aladdin doesn’t know what exactly to say, but he says what he knows. “Mister Sinbad isn’t a bad person, I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you or leave us all.”

It hurts because Ja’far has known this, Aladdin merely repeats what he has known for far too long. It’s nothing but words he’s repeated to himself, this time actually being reflected back to him.

“What he did, it isn’t okay-” Aladdin’s hands knit into Ja’far’s back and pull him closer. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

The child’s words aren’t elegant but Ja’far’s eyes prick with tears regardless. He can’t turn to see it but hears the door open as Morgianna places her papers on the table. A second pair of arms wrap around him and Ja’far doesn’t know whether to be resentful that they’re the only ones here to comfort him or grateful for what he does have.

Mogianna and Aladdin have both experienced loss, when Alibaba died. Though he came back three years later, the initial shock was enough. They had somehow retained hope that he would come back from death, and he did.

Ja’far had long thought of himself much more of a pessimist and a realist to do the same. He’s lost far too much only to watch it all burn down at his feet, but he found himself believing Sinbad would be back anyway. Though, it would be easier to move on if Sinbad died- Ja’far admits to himself.

Ja’far gently pushes the two away from him and forces a smile. “Let's…get back to your lesson.”

Ja’far eventually agrees to take his position back at the White Capricorn tower, partly because his coworkers would not stop bothering him until he did. Though he agrees to take the position in a few weeks, needing the time to clear his mind. Even if he were to march into the White Capricorn tower today, his mind would wander far too often to be of any use.

Drakon sends him the newer Sindria official’s robes, knowing how much Ja’far had loved the old ones. They aren’t all too different from the old, just a change in material, updated with the changing times. Ja’far makes his own changes to the robes, just as he did with his old uniform. There’s no longer anyone to come to him with tears in their clothes or scratches on their face- it takes him longer than he expected, his skills somewhat rusted over time. Even still, he doesn’t wear it, he hasn’t taken up the position just yet.

He sports a simple white shirt with a green sash around his waist paired with a long robe, not too dissimilar from his uniform as Sindria’s advisor- he’s always preferred the simple design and ease with which he can conceal his weapons.

The noon lessons with Morgianna become ever more frequent and longer as neither of them have anything to do besides reconstruction and Aladdin comes over often, caught between meetings about the possibility of moving Kina somewhere farther from Sindria. Whatever it is, it isn’t Ja'far's business.

Sindria is both familiar and completely different at the same time, the same sun kissed sands meet him at the beach but he’s surrounded by strangers. No one comes to bicker about dates and lack thereof, nor do giant Imuchakk children burst into his office to see their siblings hard at work, nor does a wide grin sported by an all too confident king drag him out of his room.

Though Ja’far is back in Sindria, the very country he built from the ground up, it doesn’t feel like home. At the very least the occasional recordings he sends Sinbad’s way at least fill some of the gaps where his presence once was. 

“Go over this again,” Ja’far taps softly on the paper in front of Morgianna. “Kou’s taxes are high to compensate for the rebuilding effort but Kou’s alliance cuts food shipping prices more than this.”

Morgianna frowns at the paper, as if insulted that it was wrong. Regardless, she picks it up again and looks over it. “I’ll redo the calculations.” She says with a pout.

Ja’far moves to the kitchen, suddenly having to prepare dinner as he’s been seeing more and more guests come by- Alibaba and Aladdin both sit by the balcony and chatter away. He has a rule now because he simply can’t afford to have to restock his food supply every other day. He doesn’t mind if they show up unannounced, but if they plan to stay for dinner, at least bring some food for him to prepare.

If Ja’far were honest, he’d admit it's a hobby he’s missed over his time in the palace and in the company. Though he’d prepare something in Sindria’s kitchens now and again, most of his meals came in the form of snacks from Sindria’s cooks who were well aware of Ja’far’s work schedule. Cooking meals for others is a welcome blast from the past, helping Rurumu with dinner had always been some of his most vivid memories of her. Cooking somehow, makes him feel close to her again.

Those bright days in Reim lay forever embedded in his memory, everyone he could call family now either dead or far too busy to do as much as talk to him anymore.

“Stuffed Tai fish from Balbadd with a side of potato skins and grilled Kou Asin fruit-” Before Ja’far has time to set the plates on the table, Alibaba, Morgianna, and Aladdin all rush through the hallway to take their respective seats.

“No running!” He scolds them as they stumble over each other.

“Sorry- just excited.” Alibaba rubs the back of his head sheepishly as he sits in his chair, a habit he had picked up from Sinbad himself- curse the man.

They must’ve noticed Ja’far’s hesitation at the gesture, as the trio hasn’t immediately dug into their food yet.

“Ja’far?” Alibaba tilts his head innocently, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Just thinking.” Ja’far sighs, he’s well aware they’re here less for Ja’far’s company or even his cooking. He’s no fool, he knows Masrur had asked Morgianna to check in on him during their lessons, Yamuraiha and Sharrkan are equally as responsible for asking Aladdin and Alibaba to stop by more often.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alibaba asks, genuinely concerned.

Ja’far smiles back at him, a forced smile curved on his lips. “After dinner, it’d ruin your appetite.”

Dinner is quieter than usual, the trio focusing on what exactly Ja’far had to be thinking of. Light chatter does return to the dinner table, Ja’far only listening in. At least dinner gives him enough time to think of an appropriate excuse to redirect the conversation.

It’s after they finish their plates, telling him it had been delicious and begin cleaning up that Ja’far does ask.

“Do you intend to let Arba go?”

The question quickly melts any conversation from the kitchen and Aladdin frowns deeply. “I…Don’t know.” He finally says.

“Let me rephrase that,” Ja’far crosses his arms and leans back in his seat. “Do you think it is safe to leave her alive?”

“I don’t know.” Aladdin repeats.

“Do you really think she won’t try anything? I doubt as much. It’s not as if you need to have an answer now but I wanted you to think about it.” 

“Ja’far…Did you speak with her often at the company?... Did you know Arba was Lady Hakuei?” Aladdin deflects the question.

Ja’far’s eyes darken. “Sinbad told me.” He says, though he had intended to not talk about Sinbad, he ends up doing so. How could he avoid the topic? His very life revolved around Sinbad for 20 years.

In truth, it was obvious to anyone who knew the Kou empire that something was wrong with Hakuei, Ja’far had long suspected as much, from how Hakuei acted. The real Lady Hakuei had come to Sinbad of all people to save Hakuryuu from Kou’s civil war. When the very same person made no move to look for her younger brother when he went missing- it was obvious.

“He only confirmed what I already knew, altogether not the most surprising thing he’s told me.” Ja’far sneers, unable to hide his distaste. “He was convinced he could use her, that she was loyal to him.”

“What a fucking joke. ” Ja’far lets the full extent of his hatred show, far too upset to be bothered about swearing in front of children he took care of. They let their surprise show, even Morgianna’s eyes widen slightly but Ja’far continues before they can address it.

“He’s always been like that. Forgives easy. Was ready to forgive even Judar after he contributed to so much death.” Ja’far rolls his eyes, a deep frown stuck on his face. “As long as he’s convinced they’re under his control he’d forgive anyone. He’s always been stupid that way, always believing he could fix just about anyone.”

“The fact he trusted even me, extended his hand to me -” Ja’far’s expression softens from furious to solemn as he looks down, unwilling to meet their eyes. “You knew it till the very end, right? Sin isn’t a bad person.”

 “Sinbad was led astray by the idea that he could hold the reins to power and bring peace and keep everyone safe.” Alibaba says, ever the optimist. “It was David who brought him to that answer but Sinbad had only ever wanted to keep everyone safe, at the cost of everyone’s will.”

“If he never met David, he would probably still be here.” Ja’far says, his eyes closing as his previous anger fades.

Conversation slows to a stop and the trio leaves before long, Ja’far gently ushering them out. He’s grateful that they come by and check on him, but it's exhausting, digging up the same issues over and over again. For now, he’s able to keep himself in check. It’s a futile effort, desperately keeping up a crumbling mask.

“So Ja’far ended up taking up his old job?” Hinahoho takes a long drink, alcohol dripping down his cheek.

“He’s still taking a few weeks till he comes back to work but yes,” Drakon sighs, struggling to meet Hinahoho’s gaze now that he is much shorter. He’s at least glad Imuchakk’s winters are much easier to handle now that he doesn’t have to worry about his scales freezing. “Getting back to work would be good for him, I think.”

“About that,” Hinahoho sets down his cup and leans over the railing. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Anything for a friend.” Drakon smiles, gently nudging the Imuchakk’s man’s arm.

“Can you look after my troublesome son for me?” Hinahoho returns the smile, but it's strained as the full extent of his wrinkles begins to show. “I know you and I both have nations to look after but, you’ll at least be working with him..”

Drakon stays silent before giving his response, his breath visible in the cold weather. “I’ll try my best, but you know how he can be. He’s never opened up to either of us.” 

“Everyone that he’s ever opened to is either dead or not here.” Hinahoho mumbles under his breath.

Drakon gives a sigh, wondering just how it got like this.

The both of them stand in the very place where everything started, both the Sindria Trading Company and their adventures alongside Sinbad. Though Drakon hadn’t initially joined them, he had gotten to know all of them in Valefor’s dungeon. The memory is even more vivid now, looking at the bright lights coating snow.

“How’s Imuchakk doing?” Drakon asks, absentmindedly swirling the contents of his drink.

“We’re doing well. It helps that my father in law is here but I find I have to reel him back often.” Hinahoho picks up his drink once more and takes a long sip. “I may be king but there are many clan leaders to listen to- it's tough and sometimes I want to run away, but now more than ever I am needed here- as you are for Sindria I’m sure.”

Drakon narrows his eyes as he listens, his expression pensive. “As of right now, I am.”

“You’re doubting yourself right?” Hinahoho finishes his thought. “I’m sure all of us are, after how Sinbad ended things.”

“I was thinking I’m not fit to serve as Sindria’s king.”

“If not you, who else?”

“That’s the same thought process that brought Sinbad to the Sacred Palace.” Drakon admits.

“Is this why you wanted to bring Ja’far back to his position in Sindria?”

“He did advise a king for much of his life.” Drakon gives a slight smile, repeating the words from his message to Sinbad. “And I’ll be sure to look out for him, he was the first of us generals that I met- I think it’ll be refreshing, having him as my subordinate again.”

Hinahoho turns to clink their cups together with a smile. “I haven’t been able to be there for him lately, he seems to be doing okay but I worry. I often pride myself on my intuition as a father but when it comes to him, I am always at a loss.”

“He needs people with him, who care about him- now more than ever.” Drakon smiles sadly, reflecting back to their time in Sindria. Ever since they met Sinbad, they’ve all been reluctant to leave his side, especially Ja’far. It was clear the two needed each other, for different reasons.

The then King Sinbad needed his advisor to scold him and bring him back down from his pedestal and Ja’far needed Sinbad to reel him back from work and remind him that he is a person again. Assuredly the defects of growing up in a highly abusive group of assassins.

Though world leaders, they were awfully dysfunctional in their own ways.

Ja’far is somewhat anxious, only a few days till he rejoins Sindria’s government. He’s never been without a job for this long and it's growing increasingly difficult to stay still while the world moves ever forward. He finds himself in front of the memorial of the first Sindria often, cleaning supplies and a fresh bouquet of flowers in his hands. 

He’s visited the memorial often enough that the flower shop owner seems to believe he has a partner, though Ja’far continues to deny it, she slips more flowers into his order. It’s a cute sentiment, thinking he’s already moved past everything that’s happened in the last couple of months.

It’s probably the place he feels most at home, sitting among what little remains of the first home they built. The view is nice (and unobstructed by the island of Kina) and it’s far enough away from any prying eyes that Ja’far doesn’t mind showing his vulnerabilities here. There are few people still alive who survived the ordeal and the memorial remains somewhat unknown to the rest of Sindria.

It comes to his surprise when he hears footsteps ascending the stairs, he instinctively takes his knives in his hands and readies-

“Ah, Empress Kougyoku? Lord Alibaba?” Ja’far slips the knives back in his sleeves, though none of them are in sight, he had recognized their footsteps.

Empress Kougyoku is just barely in sight when he calls out to her and he waits a while for them to approach for her response. “I’m sorry, I had asked one of your neighbors where you were and they directed me here.” 

“I didn’t know you were in Sindria, Empress.” Ja’far gives a respectful bow.

“I’m visiting on a diplomatic visit and Alibaba mentioned he went to see you often.” Kougyoku greets him with Alibaba behind her.

A soft smile shines on Ja’far’s face when he notices Alibaba carrying a set of groceries. “Intent on having me try cooking with Kou ingredients are we?” Ja’far laughs.

"I figured you could put a cool Sindrian spin on it!" Alibaba smiles, somehow even brighter now with the sun beating down on him.

“Pardon my question but, what is it that you're doing here?” Empress Kougyoku steps into the clearing, her long robes touching the grass below.

“At least once a week I visit here and clean up the memorial.” Ja'far admits, keeping his eyes on the young girl as she approaches the memorial.

“This is the memorial of the …first Sindria?” She kneels down to the single slate on the ground, adorned by the flowers.

“Heard it from Judar, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t hear much of it, even Judar scarcely talks about it.”

They fall into silence, Ja'far sitting down by the Empress as she takes in all the words in the memorial. Alibaba steps forward to join them, carefully setting down the bags of food. The memorial itself is simple, far simpler than it deserves to be considering the amount of people they lost. But this single slate is all that remains of the first Sindria, a single piece of their palace walls that had miraculously followed them to the beaches of Reim.

Standing in front of the memorial provides a beautiful view of the wide ocean, reminiscent of the first Sindria, which now lay deep underwater. The memorial itself faces the rest of Sindria, memorializing their promise to create a better world for the people who live today.

“Empress, do you know the smell of burning bodies?” Ja’far asks, his eyes to the ocean expanse.

If such a question bothered her, she didn’t let it show. “With all the war Kou had been a part of, it's hard not to.”

“Unpleasant isn’t it, it carries such a distinct smell.” Ja’far smiles sadly at the view in front of them. He had been reminded of the smell of burning bodies during his trip to Balbadd, back when they first met Alibaba. Thankfully they were able to stop that tragedy from repeating itself but it hadn’t stopped them from digging up old wounds. 

“Sindria is a small nation, as an island we have no land to bury our dead. It is Sindrian tradition to use Hazelpalm wood for the casket and the pyre because of its invasive scent when burned.” Ja’far looks away from the view of the ocean and back down to the memorial at their feet. “The survivors of that day could never forget the smell of burning bodies.”

“Empress, Prime Minister,” The both of them meet Ja’far’s stalwart gaze. “You’ve been wondering what brought Sinbad to this point, you needn’t look further than this.”

“Sinbad mentioned after that day is when he first heard David’s voice.” Alibaba quickly adds in. “He had absorbed the fallen souls- that’s how he became half fallen.”

“You saw one of the people he absorbed into himself, the person who conquered Zepar’s dungeon- Serendine Dikumenowlz Du Partevia.” Ja’far sees Alibaba gently touch the Empress’ shoulder in silent support, the memory of what Sinbad had done to her most likely still haunts her.

“Du Partevia, is her brother the current Emperor of Partevia?” Kougyoku asks, her voice wavering ever so slightly.

“Emperor Ceylan did mention he owed Sinbad for a lot.” Alibaba chimes in.

“Sinbad, as a friend of the current Partevian emperor, and Drakon, as a former Partevian commander, both have their reasons to overlook the event. As I am right now,” someone who does not currently hold any political power “I have no such reservations.” Ja’far stands, a dark smile across his face.

“I’ll tell you a story only 16 years old.”

In the radiance of the setting sun, Ja’far tells them of the single day that haunts Sindria and her people, one not written in any book or record. He tells them of Serendine, how Al’Thamen used her and shaped her to be their dark metal vessel. Then how she used Zepar’s powers to take control of Sinbad and declare war on Partevia. He tells of Barbarossa’s extreme magic that began to sink the island, of the assassins that poured in from their bridges. He tells of Mystras’ death, at least what he had been told about it. He tells of the bloody room where he fought Shaka- the very room that continues to haunt his dreams. He mentions Vittel and Mahad in passing, his own half assimilation and to the point where he woke up on Sinbad’s back. He continues to Rurumu’s death then to the point where Sinbad went missing.

It’s sobering, to say the least, Alibaba and Kougyoku stay silent, knowing the emotional toll it takes for Ja’far to retell the story. Neither of them knows that Ja’far has never talked this much about the first Sindria, even to Sinbad- but he does so here, for good reason.

The story ends on the final note of leaving on the only ships that managed to escape, sailing away as they watched the home they carefully put together sink to the ocean floor.

“I was only 14 the day my whole world burned at my feet.”

Though Ja’far gave them a detailed account of the day, the two of them can tell there’s even more to the story behind pursed lips. 

“As king, Sinbad blamed himself for it all. He just kept getting back up…So determined from ever letting such a thing happen again. In that mindset, he would do anything to prevent this tragedy from repeating itself.” Ja’far ushers them to their feet, signaling their queue to leave the memorial.

“I beg you, no, the world to understand where Sinbad was coming from.”

Kougyoku stands but furrows her eyebrows in silent resistance, it's only been two months since Sinbad went and rewrote all their wills. Their wounds are still far from healing. Asking them to understand Sinbad was Ja’far’s final point to telling them about the first Sindria- Yamuraiha having reported to the world leaders that Sinbad could be returning in the next year at the earliest. 

“I’m not asking you to forgive Sinbad, or for anyone else to- I certainly haven’t.” 

The warm Sindrian afternoons are much more tolerable now with his keffiyeh on, though he doesn’t see much of the sun now, buried in scrolls and digging through papers. Ja’far is quickly reminded that work at the White Capricorn tower has, and always will be, neverending. Such a thing only rings true the day Ja’far rejoins Sindria’s government and Drakon comes to him about rearranging their system. Apparently ever since Sinbad pulled his stunt, Drakon had been doubting his own ability and how he blindly followed Sinbad- they all did, but Drakon isn’t taking it nearly as well as the other leaders.

Though Analyn had freely stepped down and passed their title of Chief of Parliament back to him, they were a key part in diplomatic talks and land developments with Kina and the transition hasn’t been exactly smooth. It’s a work in progress, but they’re working on leaning more into the Imchukk style of democracy Sindria was partially based on. While mainly ruled by a King, the Chief of Parliament and other similar positions had the ability to veto certain decisions.

Drakon had initially wanted to step down as king, to hand off the position to someone more capable. Ja’far had staunchly refused, knowing he could never command the same aura as a leader and they instead opted to disband Sindria’s monarchy in favor of a council with no definite head leading it. 

As the person who wrote Sindria’s laws and amended them since the very start, Ja’far takes much effort revising them and updating them to fit the changing times. It’s awfully monotonous but it’s the work he’s best at- and what he’s most familiar with. 

He’s just dumped off a set of scrolls with Analyn and headed back to his own office when he stops in his tracks.

There’s another package on his desk. He approaches it much the same as the package Yamuraiha left on his desk a month ago all the way back in Partevia. He calms, realizing the abundance of letters affixed to the top of it. To his dismay, his fanclub has returned in full force just as he returns to Sindria’s offices. Spurred on by Analyn no doubt, they had always found it hilarious to see the women peek their heads around the Palace corners to see him hard at work. 

Ja’far barely spares the loveletters a glance before tossing them in the trash.

Though he at least bothers to read through them, making sure each of them are actually loveletters and not important documents that ended up in the same stack.

It’s the package itself that gives him pause, he unravels it carefully, eyes wandering over the somewhat crude packaging. He’s half expecting it to be another bundle of letters or chocolates congratulating him on taking back his position until he sees the note inside. 

Masrur’s handwriting.

It’s probably something akin to chicken scratch in the eyes of anyone else. But to Ja’far, who spent years trying to teach the Fanalis to write, it's as clear as day. There are lines over words where Masrur rewrote portions to at least try to be more readable, knowing Ja’far would appreciate the effort. And Ja’far does appreciate the effort, a wide, fond smile easing into his face as he takes in the full content of the letter.

GetGot books for you.

Red Read them before bed.

Rurumu and your stories always helped me with my nightmares.

-MASRUR

Though indents are felt through the paper from Masrur’s all to tight grip, Ja’far holds the paper as if it were the finest porcelain in all the world. Maybe, just maybe, there was a point to Ja’far living till this point.

In the box lay Reim’s best selling books of the decade, Ja’far only laughs picking through them, knowing Masrur would not have bothered to even try to read them himself. The rest of the contents are pieces of paper haphazardly stuffed in the box, with the attempts at writings and drawings of Fanalis children scattered across pages. Ja’far looks through each of them, knowing he holds them with more care than the paper had ever seen.

On the papers are drawings of bright suns, all in different colors- red gargantuan beasts, the Fanalis themselves, Ja’far is sure- and smiles all around. Ja’far promptly decides he’ll frame the drawings, planning a day to visit the market for picture frames.

He takes one of the books to bed with him as reading material, it's a novel about some of Reim’s greatest heroes, rewritten from another perspective. Ja’far had actually read the source material many years ago, back when Sindria was little more than the name of a small trading company in Reim.

He’s several chapters in when he realizes it. Ja’far has never been quite knowledgeable in this subject, having never so much as tried to have a relationship. In the eyes of an assassin, such a notion is laughable. Ja’far knows at least one time in his misbegotten youth that he had laughed at his own parents who dared to love each other.

To be fair to Masrur, though Ja’far had gone through great lengths to teach him how to read, he highly doubts Masrur did so much as look at the genre and simply picked out whichever one said bestseller on it.

Ja’far sets the book down and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.

He wouldn't usually have a problem with this, and the gift itself is greatly appreciated. 

It’s a romance novel.

One that he keeps seeing himself and his former king reflected in nearly every paragraph. A romance novel about very in love Reim heroes shouldn’t easily remind him of what he had with his closest friend. It does anyway because what Ja’far had with Sinbad transcended simple friendship. They had never given their relationship a name, perhaps because they shouldn’t ever push the barrier between a king and his advisor. They had a kingdom to look after, a world to bring peace to. Even when Sinbad was no king and Ja’far was no longer his advisor, it was simply them. 

Ja’far gives a groan and forces himself to look back at the words.

“I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me.”

He shuts the book once more, in favor of holding his head in his hands.

Romance aside, it’s a good novel- and Ja’far finishes it regardless.

Morgianna’s lessons become ever shorter, her wedding day looming closer and Ja’far now with his own work with Sindria stealing him away. It’s not as if Ja’far minds after all, Morgianna has her own priorities and he has his. Sindria is the most important thing to him in the world as of right now.

“Working hard all the time, you’re always such a busy bee.” Yunan floats on his, far outdated, magic tool beside the hallway Ja'far walks briskly through. “Do you ever stop and breathe?”

Ja'far barely pays him any mind, intent on the task at hand- which at the moment is taking these changes to their parliament back to his desk to be reviewed and approved. "I don’t exactly have time to chat.”

Yunan gives a tut and disembarks his magical broom, opting to walk alongside Ja’far and follow him to his office. “Here, I’ll make tea for you.” 

“That’s not necessar-” 

Before Ja’far can protest, Yunan quickly turns heel out of the room- presumably in search of a tea kettle in Sindria’s kitchen. Ja’far merely growls at the door and entertains the idea of locking it just so the former magi not disturb him.

He doesn’t, in the end. And Yunan returns minutes later, fresh tea at hand.

“I really don’t have time to entertain guests at the moment.” Ja’far tries hard not to sneer.

“Now, now, is that really how you act to an old friend? I thought we were friends, I even let you rant to me about Sinbad, back in the day!” Yunan pouts, though he pours cups for the both of them.

“If they are disturbing my work, I would shut out even the best of friends.”

“It’s not good to just work and ignore your heart-” Yunan’s shoulders drop and he holds up the cup for Ja’far to take. Ja’far takes it reluctantly, making space for it on his desk.

 “It’s going to be a while till Sinbad even gets close to this world.” Yunan pauses to take a sip of tea and grab for the cabinet of ready made snacks that Ja’far always keeps in his office. “Do you intend to hold on till then? You only have one life, as the kids these days say.” 

Ja’far resists every urge in his body to smack Yunan’s hands away from his box of snacks and push him out of the room. “Did you come here to steal my food or talk to me?”

“Both!”

Ja’far groans and stands to dismiss Yunan from his office, forcibly if he has to.

“But I really meant to talk to you!” Yunan backpedals slightly, biscuit still in his hands. “I can tell you’re stressed, how about dumping your worries on me? As old friends?”

Yunan calling him an old friend hurts, not for any usual reason. Calling him an old friend had simply been Sinbad’s last words to him before he left for the sacred palace. Ja’far’s eyes dart to the floor and sighs, and he considers accepting the gesture while it’s offered.

“Did someone send you to talk to me?”

“And if they had?” Yunan sits back down, seeing Ja’far’s anger ease. “And even if they had, I wanted to talk to you about Sinbad and my encounter with Arba.”

That…Stops Ja’far.

He stares at Yunan, carefully and slowly going over his words. Ja’far sits back down in his chair, his desk full of paper and legislation seemingly forgotten. “Go on?”

“As the magi who chose him, he’s partly my responsibility. I met him even before you and his mother asked me to look after him.” The green clad man sighs in his chair, closing his eyes to look to a time when the world was much simpler. “I had long given up by the time Sinbad came along.”

“If I had joined him on his journey…I don’t think anything would have changed.” Yunan opens his eyes to the present, then to Ja’far at his desk. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it and I know there were too many factors at play and too little I could have done. Even as a magi.”

“So there was nothing, absolutely nothing I could have done?” Ja’far asks, his eyes staring at the parchment at his desk, not reading any of them. 

“I think so. In fact, I’m glad you didn’t. I nearly died and fell facing Arba, you, as a mere household vessel, well I guess you didn’t have it then too, wouldn’t have lasted a half a minute.” Yunan takes the cup of tea to his lips as the grim reality settles in Ja’far’s face.

“You blame yourself too much. You weren’t only fighting Sinbad, but David and Arba. Two magi from Alma Torran in addition to your best friend.” Yunan sighs and meets Ja’far’s troubled expression.

 “Funny thing is, I don’t blame him. I don’t think it's his fault he ended up this way.” Yunan takes another sip of the cup. “Acquiring that much power, being able to see fate…It affects anyone.”

“He may have been favored by fate itself but it also cursed him.” 

Yunan leaves, shortly after the conversation. Ja’far doesn’t remember what excuse he had used to shoo him out of his office, but once he’s alone he finds himself staring at the ceiling for hours. He then dismisses himself for the day, knowing he won’t be able to get any work done.

He walks throughout Sindria’s central market, though it functions much less of a market with all its merchants aiding with reconstruction. He’s met with the smiling faces of his citizens, both happy he has returned and grateful for what help he offers.

Ja’far stops by one of Sindria’s many beaches, though much less traversed because of its location- it had been one of Sinbad’s favorite spots to walk along the shore. He looks at the ocean expanse, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the view. The heavy overbearing scent of the sea reminded Sinbad of Tison village and he had often pulled Ja’far alongside him to take in the waves.

The sun still shines over Sindria now that Sinbad is gone, the waves still crash against the shores and the people still smile. Time moves forward, with or without Sinbad.

Ja’far almost wishes it hadn’t.

Even if Ja’far is back in Sindria, it doesn’t feel like home. His home had long been at Sinbad’s side. With Sinbad gone, his world will never be the same.

“Sin…I know you will be back someday.”

He says the words quietly as if reciting it to himself, reaffirming it to himself. He then sighs and wonders if he’s a fool for keeping his hopes raised on a man who was willing to throw his life away.

Morgianna's and Alibaba's wedding is not as extravagant as they originally planned it, with the world as it is. Ja'far, ever the stickler for rules and decorum, brings gifts and food and comes in his finest clothes regardless. 

Ja’far’s smiles are simple empty pleasantries shared between fellow guests- at least the smile he offers to the bride and groom are real. Only those who have known him intimately would know this, which is to say- no one here anymore.

Despite being surrounded by his friends, Ja’far pays no attention to the petty squabbles on the other end of the table or the drinks pushed his way. Instead, dark eyes and a fond smile linger to the center of the venue where the newlyweds dance in perfect sync, two halves as one.

Perhaps if he were here watching this scene a couple months ago, Ja’far would have felt differently. Maybe then when Sinbad had freshly left, he would feel anger pooling in his heart when reminded of the bond they had once shared. A king and his advisor, a metal vessel and his most loyal household vessel who fight perfectly in sync, two halves as one.

It isn’t anger that clouds his heart when reminded of bright gold eyes and warm smiles. In anger’s place, a pang rings out, a deep heartache that only grows.

“And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.”

Written words on foreign books come to mind now, as he blinks away tears. He’s hopeless, utterly hopeless- to believe in someone who was willing to throw his life away. He should hate Sinbad, resent him for turning his back on the world, his friends, and Ja’far himself. 

Slow comes the realization that there was nothing he could have done once Sinbad decided to start listening to David. 

It’s only a few hours into the celebrations, wine spilling from cups and drunken songs falling from corners of the balconies when Ja’far steps away from the noise. He’s never been keen on loud celebrations, a long standing habit that he can’t quite shake, even now. But he’s always been known for sticking with the celebrations until it’s polite to leave. But he’s breaking down, the careful image of a ship weathering the storm is falling apart, cracks in the hull visible and dragging him down

With the practiced movements of an assassin, he slips out of the building unnoticed by all except the generals whom he left at his table. It takes little time for him to find a small alcove, beneath a stairwell where he can just be left alone for a little while.

It’s silly because Sinbad and Ja’far have never danced. They fight, weapons and movements honed between years of standing by the other’s side- they compensate for each other's weaknesses, hold the other up when they can’t stand. So why did he see himself and Sinbad reflected in the tiled floor, dancing together, two pieces incomplete without each other?

There’s a part of him forever in the other, long lost beneath the tides of a fate all too cruel. It’s only when he’s alone, no longer having to look after an inebriated king, does he break down.

It’s Masrur who finds him, nearly half an hour later, a plate of food balanced in his hands. Ja’far doesn’t need to look up to know it's him, having long memorized the sound of each of his friend's footsteps. Ja’far still makes no move to run away or reject the hand extended to him.

“Eat.” Is Masrur’s simple request. It comes with a silent plea to rejoin the rest of his friends at the table.

“I’m not hungry.” Ja’far says quietly. He doesn’t ever worry about Masrur not hearing him, knowing the Fanalis has never failed to hear his words.

Masrur doesn’t prompt Ja’far to get up, nor does he forcibly pull Ja’far up by his arm. The larger man instead opts to sit beside him, settling the plate in front of the two.

If Ja’far is hungry, then he’ll eat. 

“Is it about Sinbad?”

Ja’far only nods, and Masrur shifts to sit closer to him. Though Ja’far has long prided himself in looking his best at his worst, he doesn’t care to remedy the stains setting into his clothes- he can’t seem to bring himself to. 

“If you want to talk, I’ll listen.” Masrur repeats his words from their first meeting after Sinbad left and Ja’far closes his eyes slowly.

He feels guilty, taking Masrur away from the lively festivities all because he can’t keep it together for half a day, but it’s been longer than a day. Sinbad has been gone for over two months now, his other half, an irreplaceable part of his life and he doesn’t know when he’ll ever see him next. Ja’far had only known that place beside him where they weathered every storm, even when the waves tore apart all they had, at least had each other.

Ja’far lets out a shaky breath, tears now relentlessly falling down.

 “I think I loved him.” 

Chapter Text

It’s somewhat akin to torture- Sinbad thinks. It’s already enough to be stuck in a never ending desert region for what feels like months, but another thing to do so alone. He had been dropped here by Valefor’s powers something like a month ago, and he isn’t quite sure if he’s moved an inch. He can’t tell if he’s making any progress, be it forward backwards or none at all. 

The boredom is the worst of it all, the itchiness of his beard growing in only second to that. He'd quite ever gotten to growing it out this long, Ja'far never let him, always complaining about how awful facial hair looked on him. Right now he has neither Ja'far nor a mirror on him, and he doesn't trust himself enough for a clean shave and settles for cutting it as short as he can get without brushing over his skin with a dull knife.

He’s grateful that his now, former, household has sent word from their world- truly he’s elated to see that they are doing semi okay, but next time they ought to send him something that would actually help him.

It’s definitely entitled of him to complain, but he hasn’t been an adventurer in years, and his body is old, and he’s tired and gods he’s bored.

He’s already grown tired of replaying everyone’s messages to him, though he doesn’t touch Hinahoho’s for various reasons, and the billowing desert wind doesn’t provide great entertainment. The last messages had just about everyone but Ja’far and he, embarrassingly, needs Ja’far’s words of encouragement just about now.

Needing Ja’far is very different from deserving Ja’far- he so kindly reminds himself. He's quite sure he stopped deserving Ja'far several years after their first meeting. Though Ja’far may have just been acting kind and strong for the recording, he might be seething right about now. Any words of hatred and pain, comments about his age even- are well and truly warranted by now. He’s long run short of any favors he owed the other.

The very last time he left Ja’far alone like this, their beloved country they built had just been massacred at their feet. He left Ja’far to take care of the rest, who was but a 14 year old child. He had trusted Ja’far could do it, he’s always been far more capable than anyone else his age. At 10, the chief of a secret unit of assassins. At 12, saving Sinbad from enslavement and tricking one of the richest business owners in all of Reim. At 14, holding their dying country together, taking over in Sinbad’s absence in addition to Rurumu, Vittel, and Mahad’s roles in their fallen country.

Ja’far at least had Drakon, Sahel, Pipirika, and Hinahoho to help him- Masrur helped where he could, not yet having been taught how to read or write.

Sinbad hadn’t realized what it meant to leave everything to Ja’far, until he came back after wiping his clothes free of Barbarossa’s blood. 

It was late by the time he returned to what remained of their country, hours past midnight. Any life around the buildings had long retired for the night, save for the occasional drunken man stumbling his way through the streets. 

Sinbad hurriedly hid the blood on his clothes before he stepped into the company building, not wanting to explain his blood soaked boots or blood left behind on the carpets. He bit his tongue, thinking of how to tell Drakon his brother is dead, and that he had killed him. It was unpleasant, but he had long accepted the sacrifices it would take to create their perfect world.

Sinbad dipped his hands in freezing cold washbucket water, quickly scrubbing the dirt, grime, and blood off his nails. Masrur would smell it, and Ja’far would notice it. Though the both of them were mere children, Masrur not even in his teen years yet, they had both been too observant for him to hide things from either of them. It kept him on his toes, though he often ended up resented the two of them for noticing far too much.

Ja’far had somehow learned to smell alcohol on him before he could open the bottle, confiscating each and every bottle from his secret stash that Ja’far shouldn’t have known about. Little did Ja’far know, he had only started drinking to avoid thinking of his hometown and the newest building that had to be demolished for their kingdom. Look where it had gotten him, he had sacrificed so much for it to be torn down once again. He was a fool for thinking he could use Barbarossa, even more so for thinking he had any control over the situation.

He’d been the biggest fool in the world for trying again, but he couldn’t just leave things there- families torn apart and left because of his destiny. There were and still are so many people depending on him. He had to continue on for the people who died and those who live on.

After all, Ja’far did say he would kill him if he ever gave up. At the very least, he has to keep trying for his sake.

Ja’far, who would notice the distinct smell of blood in his hair- Sinbad took a sniff of his hair and gagged, deciding to turn tail and head in hopes of some baths still open.

There isn’t, and Sinbad groaned as he returned to what little remains of their home.

It’s only a couple of hours till sunrise when he finds his room, a sleepy Masrur redirecting him to it. Sinbad knew Masrur smelled the blood but was thankful when the Fanalis child didn't comment on it. Though at the very least, he would have appreciated a warning.

Immediately upon opening the door to his room, a knife flew out just shy of his neck, embedding itself in the wall. Sinbad wanted to yell, scold Ja’far for putting holes in the wall just because he’s cranky and up at godforsaken hours in a room that wasn’t even his.

He didn’t, he decided not to, as he could just barely make out the deadly glare Ja’far gave him through the shadows.

“Ja’far?” He called out, voice strained, feeling the cord of a very sharp red wire too close to his neck. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Had to give my room to Yamuraiha.” Ja’far said from the dark corners of the room. 

Sinbad had always found it slightly unnerving how he could see in perfect darkness like that. He stood a little straighter when the wire retracted and daggers disappeared under long robes and darkness.

“Oh, did you?” Sinbad stepped into the darkened room, aiming to throw on whatever clothes Ja’far had assuredly prepared for him. “Sorry about that, here, you can take the bed-”

“You-” Ja’far stepped forward, just in front of Sinbad. There was an animalistic look in his eyes, those of a reptile, ones that he didn’t remember Ja’far ever having. “Have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Can it wait till tomorrow?” Sinbad managed, eyes fixed onto reptilian, sharp slitted pupils.

“You have blood on your clothes.” Ja’far narrowed his eyes, pupils only growing sharper.

“I do.”

“Yours?”

“None of it is mine.”

Ja’far frowned but his eyes returned to what Sinbad remembered them being and Sinbad watched his shoulders relax. Ja’far’s eyes darted to the ground, finding it hard to look at who was, by all means, his King, a year ago. “Go bathe when they open in a few hours, before anyone else notices. Your change of clothes is in the drawer by the mirror.”

“...Thanks.” Sinbad said, a sigh edging out. It’s not the warm welcome he had expected from his closest friend, who he missed terribly, upon their first time alone together. But Ja’far seemed tired and exhausted. “You should still take the bed.” He said.

Ja’far responded with a light punch in the gut.

“Fine, I’ll take the bed.” Sinbad groaned, massaging his stomach. “You should rest though.”

Ja’far didn’t give an answer but stood firmly in the room, his feet planted in the farthest corner.

“Ja’far?” Sinbad called out to him, seeing those green eyes boring holes into the ground. “Why don’t you go sleep with Hinahoho, I’m sure Kikiriku and the others would be happy to cuddle wit-”

“No!” His words came out half as a whisper and were said quickly, as they tend to do when Ja’far is upset. He seemed to realize as much and lowered his head and tried again. “No, I’m okay.” He said, breath a little too harsh for him to be alright.

“You’re clearly not.” Sinbad allowed his displeasure to show on his face as a frown and stepped closer to Ja’far. “What are you even doing up right now, you could’ve just slept here and I would’ve been fine with it.” 

Ja’far looked away from him, opting to glare at the empty bed.

“Ja’far. I can’t read your mind.” Sinbad sighed, examining the stormy expression on the other’s face. Though he’d long grown out of fits of anger and bursts of emotions he had long buried, Ja’far had his occasional moments where he proved to be equally as difficult. 

“Ja’far talk to me.” Sinbad pleaded, now taking Ja’far’s hands in his. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what's wrong.” 

Ja’far responded only with silence, eyes now focused on Sinbad’s waist, just now taking in the other’s lack of his sword. With Ja’far’s eyes downcast, Sinbad can’t see the frustration in his face or the way he clenches his teeth. Sinbad’s movements slow, careful not to startle the other as his hands touch his face, intent on making Ja’far look at him. His hands barely touch Ja’far’s face before he’s shoved back.

Ja’far’s hands remained against Sinbad’s chest after the movement, neither did Sinbad say a word, having expected it.

Pale hands curled up against his chest, grasping at the fabric- and the blood tainting it. “...Why did you leave?” Ja’far asked, his eyes not able to meet the others.

Sinbad stiffened at the question, slowly prying Ja’far’s hands from his clothes. “I had something I needed to do.” Though he hadn’t wanted to have his interrogation that he most certainly owed Ja’far and the others just yet, he sighs and resigned himself to the inevitable barrage of questions.

“Why didn’t you take me with you?”

Sinbad stopped, because Ja’far didn't ask any of the questions he had been expecting. He expected the “What did you do, where have you been, why didn’t you return sooner-”

“Why did you leave me?” Ja’far repeated, prompting him to answer. Sinbad didn’t have to see his face to see tears prickling at the corner of his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Sinbad answered, pulling Ja’far close into a hug. It’s only somehow now, soft white hair brushing against his cheek that he realizes Ja’far had grown taller since they’ve last seen each other. “I’m sorry I left you to take care of everything alone.”

Sinbad felt arms wrap around him and a muffled sniffle buried into his shoulder. “But I knew you could do it, keep everyone together while I was gone.” He rubs Ja’far’s back to comfort him, the same way he had done when the other would wake from a nightmare. 

It’s only when he held Ja’far close, feeling those warm breaths against his chest did he realize.

Ja’far was, ever so slightly- shaking.

Ja’far who had always had the steadiest hands known to man and precise calculated movements- was trembling in his arms. Sinbad held him closer, a hand coming up to the back of Ja’far’s head, encouraging him to lean closer.

"You're here. You're really here." Ja’far says.

"...I'm home."

"...Don't make me wait like that again." The grip around Sinbad tightens and Ja’far holds on tight, as if fearing Sinbad would leave him once more. “Don’t leave me- you’re the only thing I have.”

"Yeah, I won't." 

Though he said it with all his heart, Sinbad wondered why it felt like a lie.

He hadn’t realized what it meant for fate to guide him to the center of their broken home- taking in the fallen souls, David and unbeknownst to him, single handedly preventing the destruction of the world. 

(Come to think of it, Ja’far had begged him not to go, all the way back then too. )

Sinbad had always prided himself in knowing all of Ja’far’s deepest secrets, the things about himself he wouldn't tell- yet he’s never actually been there for Ja’far, has he?

He’s probably, the worst friend in the world.

Sinbad sneers, remembering all that brought him here.

No, he’s definitely the worst friend in the world.

He had made his way, his path from adventurer to merchant to king to chairman heading the world to a new future, all through his friends. His friends who had given their lives for his dream- yet he abandoned them. 

Sinbad instinctively grasps the recorder in his robes, the other hand wiping sweat from his brow as he treads across the humid desert heat. He bites his lip hard enough to taste blood.

When had he grown so heartless, to dismiss all that they built together?

Sinbad shakes his head, his long hair inadvertently whipping him in the face, to focus on the task ahead. If patterns hold, he’ll be seeing Zepar next. Out of all his djinns, he’s always thought of Zepar as the hardest to talk to, as Zepar never actually chose him as a King Vessel. His meeting in Zepar’s dungeon hadn’t exactly been ideal, with Ja’far bleeding out on the floor and Sinbad left defeated. 

Zepar’s dungeon was where his will had actually been challenged, his childish adventures of changing the world truly put to the test- and the first time he truly lost . At least that time, he was able to pick himself up without Ja’far needing to beat him up. Usually, he’d be resistant to seeing Zepar, but it’s been so long since he’s done so much as talked to someone that even an argument with an immortal being would be a welcome change of pace.

Now if only he could have some kind of hint of where to go.

Sinbad gives a groan, his eyes squinting at the now setting sun. It was about time to find a place to camp out for the night.

It’s late into the night when he sees it, a bright flash in the distance, the unmistakable whites, and yellows of a magical spell-

Sinbad hurriedly takes apart his camp for the night and takes off in a sprint, it isn’t wise, to waste his energy like this but any chance has to be grasped as soon as possible. Judging by its size, it’s about the same level of extreme magic and Yamuraiha had mentioned a rather monstrous spell to send him the recordings.

When he reaches the spot where he could have sworn he saw the bright light come from, he’s gasping for air, his thighs threatening to split open, his feet aching from the sprint. And for nothing.

There’s nothing there. 

There’s no illusion of a memory to drag him home, no bright hues of yellow to teleport him out of this desert hell. Just sand and more sand.

Sinbad curses, this time for being so stupid to believe Arba and David would ever have cared about him enough to play along with his dream. Ja’far had been right again, as one of the first people who warned him vehemently about trusting a Kou Princess over him.

And Sinbad, like the idiot- simply had one thing to say to Ja’far.

“Trust me.”

Look where that got him, the both of them.

Sinbad sets up his camp once more and shuts his eyes while listening to Ja’far’s message to him. The warm Sindrian breeze and a bright smile greet him in his dreams, Sinbad reaches out, not feeling either the wind or soft white hair. 

Sinbad wakes only a few hours later when the sunlight pours through his shoddy tent. He’s still groggy, making a game of messing with his prickly beard hair when he spots something he hadn’t seen the day before. He wonders how the hell he could’ve missed something like that but it was nearly pitch black when he went and ran out towards the magical light.

(Usually, he had Ja’far to notice these things for him.)

There’s something buried in the sand with an unmistakable black and gold hilt. Sinbad hurriedly jumps to his feet, ignoring the protests burning through his thighs. When he reaches the hilt in the sand he collapses to his knees and frantically digs it out, the hot sand near scalding his fingers.

As soon as he can unearth enough to pry it out of the ground, he gives a final heave and pulls it out of the sand. It’s much heavier than it should be and the thought that his age is truly catching up to him crosses his mind till he sees the edges of something else buried in the ground, tied to the hilt. Though his head and all his exposed skin scream in silent agony, he continues on till he can just make out the straps of a backpack.

Really, his friends have always had impeccable timing, haven’t they?

He’s out of breath, hair blown all which ways, dehydrated, multiple scars and sunburns maring his skin when he returns to his camp. What he had haphazardly dug out of the ground is undeniably a replica of his father’s sword, identical to the one his mother had gifted him. The original lay shattered somewhere in Partevia, Sinbad was never sure if there were any pieces left to pick up.

Now resting in the safety of his camp- really just some furs and clothes he had put together in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the desert heat, he grabs the hilt of the replica. His hands are bigger now than the last time he held the original. The sword fits perfectly in his hands now, as if whoever had it made knew exactly the size it would have to be.

He unsheathes the blade, feeling the steel across his fingertips. The material isn’t the same as the one his father had, but it feels lighter than what he remembers the original ever being. Sinbad gives a withering sigh, knowing who exactly had requested this be sent to him. There’s only one person who had been with him long enough, who would know the exact dimensions of his father's blade.

Sure enough, there’s a number of survival supplies, anything Ja’far could think that he needed in the bag. Jerky, flatbreads, preservatives line the pack, along with a set of knives, all made with different survival purposes in mind. It’s Ja’far’s own, undeniably the ones Ja’far had kept on him inside his robes and even in the pockets of his uniform at the Sindria Company. Digging through the bag, he finds other basic essentials he had sorely missed, including a water purifier, bandages, a fresh pair of clothes, shoes, and a first aid kit. 

Forget his best friend, his lifelong friend who he is absolutely nothing without- Ja’far is a god, a shining beacon of hope he’s never deserved.

It’s only when he completely empties the bag, does he see the tape recording sitting at the bottom. Childish excitement takes over and he hurriedly shoves the tape into the device, nearly stumbling over what should be practiced movements.

He can feel the wide grin set on his face as he hits play, already knowing who should be speaking to him. Ja’far, by all means should be absolutely livid, Sinbad has never known him to be forgiving to things that bother him and Ja’far’s anger was a well known emotion never to provoke. 

But if the contents of the backpack are anything to go by, Ja’far doesn’t want him dead just yet.

Call it his 10+ year crush on his former advisor, but he’ll take anything from Ja’far just about now, anything just to hear his voice. The tape starts up and Sinbad holds it up to his ear, his other hand fidgeting with one of the knives.

“It’s been two months since..everything.” Ja’far’s voice is quiet and slow, reminiscent of when they’d call each other late into the day in a desperate attempt to keep their friendship together.

“I’m back in Sindria, it's just as warm and humid. But it’s not the same without you.” Ja’far’s words steal his breath away every time, even here, even now. He isn’t exactly sure what is between him and Ja’far now. When he went up and left, most conversations between the two of them were one sided, it's only worse now.

“Drakon has been asking me to return to my position as Sindria’s Chief of Parliament. I don’t know how to feel about returning to my old position but you know me- I’ve never been able to sit put when things need to be done.” Sinbad hears a forced laugh come from the device, a tired sigh accompanying it. 

Though he can hear how tired and upset Ja'far is, the voice continues on, quickly trying to shake off any of the fatigue in his throat. "As soon as I stepped back into Sindria, Analyn, who I left to be the head of Parliament, practically begged for me to take my job back.”

“They said it’s too much work for normal human beings and that I’m nothing short of superhuman- the Fanalis of paperwork.” He hears a single satisfied snicker sound through the device and smiles alongside it. While he was never content with how Ja'far overworked himself constantly, he knew how Ja'far took a great amount of pride in his work.

The voice pauses, Ja'far's thoughts distant before speaking.  “I’ve only been away from work for a week, I thought I would give myself a break- Drakon did say the position is always open for me."

Jafar's voice turns nostalgic as he speaks, a light smile audible through his words. "Come to think of it, I haven’t really been without a job before, have I? Even before you, my life was nothing but my…profession, let's call it. Then when I joined you, we were in such a race to change the world... Now it just feels odd to sit around and have nothing to do.”

"Pisti said she would take me out shopping for clothes-” An audible snort comes from the line and Sinbad smiles alongside it once more. “Imagine that, clothing shopping with the Queen of Artemyra.”

Sinbad hears the other's smile fall off his face. “ They’re far too busy to do anything nowadays. Oddly enough Alibaba, Aladdin, and Morgianna are the ones who come to see me the most, they have business in Sindria and have made it a habit to make me cook for them. No doubt about it, they take after their mentors." Sinbad can hear that telltale, but fond frown on Ja'far's face that he often wore when various members of the palace pestered him into cooking the dishes of their homeland for them.

Each of them, though more notably Sharrkan, Yamuraiha, Hinahoho and even Sinbad himself often came to him, asking for a custom dish from their homeland. Though Ja'far scolded them about making it themselves or asking someone else to do so, he always smiled as he complied with their request. Whether happy to be pulled away from a stressful day job or to be relied on so heavily- it was never clear.

That very same fond voice is heard through the device. “Once you come back, you could write a new series. I’d love to hear it. I’ve always loved to hear your stories.”

Before Sinbad can reminisce about when Ja'far would proofread the novels of their adventures, he hears it- soft, nearly whispered into the device.

“I miss you dearly.”

The device gives a click, signaling the end of that portion.

Sinbad merely stares back at the device, it’s not the message he had been expecting. Not only was it much shorter than he anticipated, but he had also expected Ja’far to at least try to scold him, maybe even berate him. 

The Ja’far that answers him is far more reserved, having resigned to a lonely fate. Sinbad could ask himself what sort of emotional turmoil had his Ja’far gone through in these recent months to turn out to be almost docile in his message. It’d be wrong to ask that, not only because Ja’far hadn’t been his for years, but he knows exactly the pain he’s put Ja’far through.

Any chance he had of Ja’far ever being his again, is probably gone forever. And yet-

“I miss you dearly.”

Sinbad repeats the last words on his own lips, feeling how it tastes in his mouth, replaying the solemn but unmistakably affectionate tone in his mind.

He shakes away the warmth pooling in his chest, slowly packing up his belongings into his new backpack, given to him- with love.

His movements are slower than he’d like, for someone who desperately wants to come home. However, his mind is stuck on Ja’far’s tone, the soft sound of his smile, his laughter- how such small things like his only live on in recordings and memories.

Sinbad starts up the next recording when he’s begun a steady trek through the desert, alleviated through the abundance of supplies he carries. He's well aware the surplus won’t last forever but Ja’far’s lessons on pacing each meal still sticks through his mind. He'd be stupid if he didn't listen to Ja'far right now.

He has about a month's worth of supplies before he runs out of food, even with only that much Sinbad isn’t concerned. He’s been through much worse and even here he has the support of his friends.

“I had always wondered, and worried about what you would become when I first gave you power.” Yunan’s almost mystical voice comes through the device and Sinbad finds himself frowning already.

Though Yunan hasn’t done so much as prodded him about his age, yet - Sinbad knows not to trust this man for more than a minute.

“This is partially my fault.” Yunan says matter of factly. “I was the first magi who chose you. I chose you because I was desperate to see an end to it all.”

“Your mother entrusted me to look after you.” 

Sinbad bites his lip.

“I thought it over, talked it over with Ja’far and I think that even if I came along with you from the start- I don’t think I could have changed this outcome. Even so-”

“I’ve never regretted choosing you.”

Sinbad raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t think you were wrong to try to remove Alma Torran’s hold on this world.” Sinbad hears a sigh through the static. “Though you didn’t mean to, your actions brought an end to the magi system. I am eternally grateful to you for that.”

Sinbad purses his lips, because Yunan sounds nothing but genuine as he speaks the words.

“This is my 9th, and last lifetime. Yours was not the first kingdom I saw fall, I’ve seen even greater tragedies, watched as well meaning people like you become monsters.” Sinbad hears the smile in Yunan’s voice. “I, like many others, thank you for this peaceful world. I for one, can never thank you enough.”

“Thank you, Sinbad. From the bottom of my heart.”

The device clicks back as the section comes to a close, leaving Sinbad only with his thoughts. Yunan's message held no deceit, no teasing, no poking at his mistakes, it's odd. That and, Yunan has never thanked him before.

Sinbad starts up the next message on the tape when he lays his bag down at the side of an oasis to scrounge up some water for the journey. 

"When I first met you, I couldn’t help but distrust you." A feminine voice from the device sounds out.

Sinbad turns his head over to the device and raises an eyebrow. He quickly recognizes the voice as Hakuei, though he mainly knew her as Arba in the last years.

“I came to you to save my little brother, I feared for his life, and turning to you was the only thing I could think to do.” Hakuei tenses. “It’s hard for me not to be bitter and upset about everything that’s happened over the course of several years. I don’t even remember them.”

"Part of me wants to blame you for not doing anything, passively enabling and allowing Arba to do as she pleased.” The woman’s hatred of him is warranted, probably more than anyone else, and he’d be wrong to deny that. “As I understand the situation now, I don't think you could have done anything to save me from Arba, even if you wanted to."

"I hold no memories of what happened when that witch used my body. I've been filling in the gaps, but I have lost years of my life.” Sinbad can tell she’s holding her tongue, carefully piecing together just what she wants to say. "Lord Ja'far assures me your intentions were good, I want to hear from you myself. I’d like to hear about the years of my life that I have lost, from you yourself. This is for my closure more than anything else. I withhold my judgement on your character and your fate until your return.”

The recording clicks back into stillness and Sinbad gives a sigh, moving on to the next as he rinses used clothes in the oasis’ waters.

"I once considered you my equal, my rival.” Kouen Ren’s deep voice comes clearly through the recording, prompting Sinbad to listen closer to it. “You are a great man capable of doing many great things, much like my late father.”

Sinbad sneers at the comparison to the late Koutoku Ren, a warmonger by all means who forced many clans to their knees using their empire’s might. 

“I say that however, your methods couldn’t be more different than ours.” Sinbad simply mumbles a ‘damn right’ at the comment. “You may have considered our methods to be barbaric but your methods were cruel in their own ways.”

Sinbad only offers a hum in response, he isn’t sure why, considering there is no way Kouen would even be able to receive his reply.

“We shared a common enemy, and perhaps I was wrong not to take your hand and band against it.” The voice pauses, as if biting his tongue on hard words to say. “Hakuryuu was the one to expel Al'Thamen from Kou, while I let it fester and take over every branch of Kou. I knew their practices were awful but I accepted it as a necessary evil.”

“I would have done anything to unite the world.” 

Sinbad narrows his eyes as he listens, using Al’Thamen to forcibly make the world bend to their knees was Kouen Ren’s way of uniting the world- though a far cry from Sinbad’s ‘kill the world to unite it permanently’, the intention was not all that different. 

“My willingness to use Al’Thamen turned Hakuryuu against me and ultimately split my empire in two. I admitted my defeat and gave three of my limbs away.” Kouen gives an amused laugh that crackles in the recording. “And you eliminate war in the three years that follow. I was never your rival, was I? I was a mere obstacle.”

“Perhaps not intentionally, your actions have united the world once more, every nation is far too busy with their own repairs to war against one another, and the system you put in place works well enough to tide over the world for the time being.” Kouen sits back, and Sinbad hears the creaking of his wooden limbs against his wheelchair.

“If not for your subordinate’s actions- you would have much more to answer for.”

Sinbad hears the click immediately following Kouen’s last sentence. He plays it back just to make sure he heard it right. 

“If not for your subordinate’s actions-”

Actions? What Ja’far had done, what kind of clean up had he left Ja’far to do following his disappearance? Sinbad gives a groan, knowing he’s now even more indebted to Ja’far.

Sinbad starts up the next portion of the recording once he’s back on his feet traveling once more. The road ahead is treacherous and he’s tired but there’s far more people than his own friends who demand answers form him.

“I guess it’d be wrong to call you chairman now, would it?” Comes a light sigh from the device, it takes several seconds for Sinbad to recognize it, Kougyoku’s voice had been so sure the last he heard it.

“To be honest, I contemplated for a long time about sending you a message.” A tired sigh sounds through the recording. “But this is the one chance I get to speak to you, not as the Empress of Kou, or the naive Princess I was, but as Kougyoku Ren.”

Even through the recording he can feel the dignified air she commanded when she strode into the International Alliance headquarters, scared but determined. At the time he found such a gesture a threat to the peace he established, but now he’s struck with a strange sense of pride- that she’s grown into such a ruler who could stand up to even him.

“I just wish things ended differently,” She says, Sinbad hearing the frustration in her voice. “Alibaba assured me that you aren’t a bad person, and deep down I know that’s true.”

“He told me how you bled for the people of Balbadd, put your own life on the line to save another country.” A frustrated frown is audible through the recording. “When Ja’far told me all you’ve been through, how Zepar had been used against you-”

Sinbad slams the pause button right then and there, almost choking on the water he had been drinking. Ja’far? Ja’far had told her of the fall of the first Sindria? Ja’far who had never once opened up to him about his fight with Shaka or how Vittel and Mahad died? Truthfully, his lips were no longer sealed, as someone who was neither taking part in world politics anymore-

But Ja’far had felt so scared? Or cornered? That he needed to talk about it? For him to talk about it to someone who was, by all means, his enemy?

He’s never known Ja’far to be this vulnerable to have resorted to such a thing, he didn’t believe Ja’far would ever open up to someone that wasn’t him. There’s a spark of confusion, spurred on by hurt, jealousy- even if no such emotions have a place in his heart when he was the one who hurt Ja’far in this way, he’s always been somewhat irrational when it comes to Ja’far.

He calms down just as quickly as the emotions sparked up, knowing there isn’t much of anything he can do now, in a different world so far away. He still frowns as he presses the play to resume the message.

“How you lost so much, it was like when Al’Thamen took the Princes Hakuyuu and Hakuren from us. We tried desperately to unite the world to prevent something like that from happening, we would have used Al’Thamen to no end to achieve that goal.” Kougyoku bites her lip as she speaks. “In the end, we allowed them to hurt so many other people, looked the other way as they brought tragedy to place after place, saying we would deal with them later.”

“So I don’t think I can judge you, even after all you’ve done.” Kougyoku’s voice grows distant, as she distances herself from the recording device. “You used me against my own family, I shouldn’t, but I want to forgive you.”

He hears that telltale click of the recording and the tape slows to a stop. He tucks the device away and readies himself for the journey ahead into the desert once more.

He saves the final part of the recording for a particularly bad day of boredom, another pointless three day scrounge of the desert with no clue how to find his way back home. He presses the play once he’s sufficiently given up for the day, his limbs feeling far older than they should. Sinbad can’t find the energy to try to refute the thoughts on his age, merely succumbing to his fatigue as he lays down in his makeshift camp, the night wind doing little to comfort him.

“ Uncle Sinbad! ” A bright smiling voice yells on the other line and Sinbad holds the device slightly farther away. He recognizes the voice near instantly, one of the last he heard before disappearing from their world forever.

However nice it is to hear from Aladdin, he wishes the ex magi would drop the ‘Uncle’ part. “It’s good to know you’re still alive-” His voice is slightly deflated as he speaks, a wavering resolve behind it. This response comes to no surprise from Aladdin, who doubted his methods from the start. Aladdin had recognized he always acted on the greater good, Aladdin had always been wary of how he craved power.

“Yamu’s been getting better with the spell so we were able to send you a lot more things, big brother Ja’far prepared the bag for us to send-” There’s a rustling sound on the other when, someone nearby settles down next to Aladdin. “He said it should help you a lot.”

There’s an almost uncomfortable silence before the next voice speaks, Sinbad hears when whatever they’re using to record the messages is yanked away from Aladdin.

“Mister Sinbad! You better be planning to come back,” Alibaba’s voice chimes in, much louder than Aladdin’s. Sinbad holds the device even farther away. “I’m sure there’s a lot of people who wouldn’t like to see you now but I know you could manage the rebuilding efforts better than me.” 

It’s nice, hearing the assurance that he’s still needed and wanted back in his world from people other than his closest confidants. Alibaba, as someone who tried to stand on the same ground as him and still idolized him as a legend, has seemingly already forgiven Sinbad.

Alibaba, far too optimistic for someone who has died, is absolutely beaming through the device. “I had to postpone my wedding for this, so I’ll be sending the bill to you!”

Sinbad hears the groan from his own mouth before his heart stops.

“He won’t be able to afford it, you know.” Ja’far’s voice is just barely heard from the other end of the room. “He doesn’t have the company to pay for everything anymore.”

“Big brother Ja’far!” Aladdin chimes from the recording, his steps heard even through the device. “Is dinner done yet?”

“We’re missing the fruits I asked you to bring.” Ja’far’s words grow louder as Alibaba steps closer, the recording device in his hands. 

“Fruits?” Aladdin and Alibaba ask at the same time.

Sinbad can hear the click of Ja’far’s tongue from here. 

“And chives.” 

“And chives!” Both the boys repeat his words back to him in realization.

“I’ll get the chives, Aladdin you go get the fruits!” Sinbad hears how Alibaba hurriedly rushes out the room, Aladdin yelling something about being too absorbed in Kina’s talks to remember to stop by the market. The noise seems to continue on through the building, to the lower floor then rush outside.

There’s a painful silence now, as the device sits in Ja’far’s hands. It’s uncomfortable, even through the device and Ja’far seems to have something to say, since the recording hasn’t cut off yet. 

"They're just as flighty as when we first met them. Always running off to do one thing or another." Ja’far’s voice starts, he sounds tired, like a wall that stood tall for years finally breaking down. 

“Isn’t Alibaba supposed to be your son?” Sinbad hears a light laugh, though it holds a fatigue Sinbad can’t quite put to words. “How did I end up taking care of your children?”

“They remind me of us before we built the Kingdom of Sindria.” The recording gives a huff, Ja’far having settled into just what he wanted to say. “Speaking of Sindria, we changed how the government works in Sindria. After your little stunt, kindly speaking, Drakon began to doubt his rule.”

There's a pause where Ja’far holds his lips together, his mind seemingly working through his next words. “I don’t think he was wrong. Drakon was raised to be a military commander. And you remember how he was when you first met him.”

“Sindria still prospered from all the set up we did, but Drakon didn’t have the same support or the same experience working alongside him.” Ja’far pauses, an unheard ‘they pledged loyalty to you, not King Drakon’ laced in his voice. “Sindria is a democratic merchant republic now, though we wouldn’t stray too far from your ideals of keeping refugees and caring for the poor with what we have."

"We’ve been working on filling out the other seats of the council for each department but overall there is less work for me." A long breath is heard through the device as Ja’far steadies himself. “I don’t live in the palace anymore, there’s really no need to, not these days.”

“Instead, I live in the neighborhood we had prepared for the retiring Eight Generals, I’m the only one who hasn’t quite moved on.” The voice stops, as if Ja’far is tasting the words, bitterly before he begins anew. “It’s a nice place, all things considered. The balcony has a gorgeous view overlooking the bazaar- it's high enough I can see all the way to the harbor. I have a small garden where I’ve started growing some herbs for cooking. After all my years in the palace I truly missed making my own meals. Even in the company we often had food brought to us, we were far too busy to make our food.”

He hears Ja’far shift to walk around his room, he thinks if it were anyone else, he would’ve heard the footsteps. “Drakon and Saher came by to help decorate, make the place feel more lived in than anywhere I’ve ever lived in.” Sinbad feels Ja’far roll his eyes at the comment. 

“It’s…nice. I didn’t feel like it back at the company, but back here in Sindria, I am reminded there are people who care about me.”

Sinbad feels himself stop breathing, the distance between himself and Ja’far more felt than ever before. He frantically grasps at his own clothes, suddenly needing to hold Ja’far close and tell him he was undeniably- loved.

“It’s far more than I deserve.” 

It hurts, it hurts far more than any heartfelt message Hinahoho could ever give about losing his wife, or how Spartos talks about Mystras, they’re people who he failed, so long ago, people who he could never bring back from the dead. But Ja’far exists right now, he’s living right now and Sinbad can’t even tell him that he deserves to be loved, cared for, have a place to call home-

“But even so,”

Sinbad stills, Ja’far’s words forever engraving themselves in his heart.

“I wish I were with you right now.”

The device clicks back, different this time as it reaches the very end of all the recordings. Sinbad groans, running a hand through his hair, nearly pulling at some strands in frustration.

Of course, of course, of course, Ja’far wasn’t mad at him, it’s just the same as when he returned after their country burnt then sank into the ocean. Ja’far resented being left behind, made to wait, to forever worry and keep it all together until Sinbad’s eventual return.

With nothing but frustration welling up in his chest, he puts this newfound energy to moving forward. He can’t leave things as they are, he needs to tell Ja’far, he needs to hold Ja’far close and tell him he’s been loved from the start.

Even if Ja’far comes to hate him, he needs to know he was loved.

He spends what feels like another month trudging through desert sands before he finds anything again. This time it isn’t a spell, bright rays from the sky, or even an illusion.

Sinbad looks up at the familiar structure, one he had seen many years ago. It’s considerably more worn down than he remembers, but the sand under his feet is nothing but familiar as he ascends to the top steps.

He's been here before, about 17 years ago to be precise- in Heliohapt, just after meeting Sharrkan who begged to conquer the dungeon.

Zepar's dungeon.

It's not an illusion, Sinbad feels the cracked walls and steps that barely hold together under his weight. The structure is old and decrepit, as it was when he first encountered it. He gives another lookover of the structure, noting how it lacks the telltale aura of a dungeon. The conclusion they reached, and how dungeons no longer exist in their world, perhaps it no longer holds any djinn or power anymore.

Well, only one way to find out.

Sinbad pushes past the stone doors, where he’s met with a near blinding white light. It feels like the same as the bright yellows that would whisk him away to the dungeon platforms, and he braces his eyes against the assault of light.

He barely has time to adjust to the light and look off to the side of the platform before he’s brought to the cold dungeon floor. Before he opens his eyes, he hears, what sounds like, water running around him. He realizes he stands in what little of Zepar’s dungeon he experienced before attempting to blast his way to the treasury room.

There is but a moment before he continues forward when a magical spell beneath him glows and he blinks once- and is met with the cracked ground of the treasury.

“You really did make it here, after all.”

Sinbad groans as he picks himself off the ground to meet the djinn of the dungeon.

“Zepar.”

Zepar floats in front of him, hands with long fingers held up to his chin in quiet contemplation. “It’d say I’m surprised but if someone were able to make it here, it’d be you.”

“This is your dungeon, how- where, exactly is this?” Sinbad asks, though he doesn’t bother meeting Zepar’s gaze, instead taking in the scene around him.

Zepar’s treasury is exactly as they last left it, pillars crumbling and debris scattered- even Ja’far’s blood still coats the main platform. Sinbad frowns as he stares back at it.

“We djinn have lost access to your world, so have our dungeons. As it is right now, the entrances to our dungeons are scattered around the worlds.” Zepar begins, his shoulders rising as he crosses his arms. “Our power alone won’t get you back to your world.”

Sinbad bites his tongue, wondering just what kind of miracle he’ll have to pull out of his ass to make it back home. “Anything, any help you can give me I’ll take.”

“I’m not done yet-” Zepar huffs, lowering himself to Sinbad’s height. “We can get you close but to actually get back you’ll have to ask someone else or depend on someone else.”

“If not you djinn, then who?”

“You’ll have to find them, for now-” Zepar sighs, a frown on his face. “I can only send you to one place.”

“Take me there, if it's closer I need all I can get.” Sinbad quickly says, hauling his backpack of supplies with him.

“I would but-” The djinn gives a glance over Sinbad’s condition. “You really need to rest a while. Frankly speaking- you look like shit.”

Sinbad has no reasonable response other than submission, though he does pout at the suggestion. It’s only when he sees the reflection of himself in the clear water of the dungeon does he really see how exhausted he is.

That and, Ja’far was right. 

He does look awful with a beard.

It’s probably been about three months since he’s had a real night's rest, four months if he wants to be generous. Zepar doesn’t know exactly how long it’s been either, they can’t seem to tell time outside of a dungeon. Sinbad is used to conquering dungeons, making countless life or death decisions in them, with his experience comes knowing how to live in a dungeon.

He’s in the middle of taking care of a few injuries he had sustained while out in the desert when Zepar asks.

“...Can you apologize to Ja’far for me?”

Sinbad looks over from his injuries to the floating djinn, hovering over a platform. It’s a moment before he realizes Zepar had been looking at the bloodstains on the platform where Ja’far and Masrur had their fight. “...I’ll pass on the message, though my own will be the first apology he’ll receive.”

“We djinn, haven’t gotten to live for a long time.” Zepar hums. “A child who grew up as an assassin, who only in a few years had decided to turn a new leaf- rather than trusting his resolve and seeing him as a victim of circumstance, I saw him as a blade one decision away from betrayal.”

Sinbad sits up, taking his attention away from the water and cleaning his own wounds to listen.

“In my eyes, him killing one more person was nothing, just a number to add to an ever growing list of bodies.” Zepar frowns, not bothering to look at Sinbad. “I was completely unable to sympathize with him, he grew up in a living hell and I even understood he had to turn to enjoy it just to live in that environment.”

“To force him in that situation again, to make him kill again-” Zepar looks even further away from him. “I was putting him in those same shoes as before.”

“We witnessed a tragedy and were sealed away for years waiting for a king candidate to come by and give our power to. In our own ways, we’ve come to understand how cruel our fates were.” Zepar turns his head now, to Sinbad, who meets his gaze. “We were never meant to pick kings.”

“I didn’t choose you, not officially.”

“Serendine passed you onto me, to realize her dream and keep Drakon and her brother safe.” Sinbad says, a slit grit to his voice.

“And you did.” Zepar says. “Putting everything under consideration- I think you did well.”

Sinbad opts to not give a response, merely keeping those words in his head as he resumes his work on his wounds.

He gives himself several days to take care of any injuries, clean himself and rest up before deciding to leave Zepar’s dungeon. Neither of them spark any more conversations with the other, their mistakes and decisions, until the hour that Sinbad leaves.

“Your household has come a long way.” Zepar smiles, Sinbad doesn’t need to search the djinn’s face to understand its authenticity. It only stays mere seconds before dropping. “When you get there, you’ll be on your own, the other djinns should be able to find you, but whether they want to help you is a different case.”

“By the way, where exactly is there ?” Sinbad curses silently to himself for not asking this question sooner. He isn’t quite used to being the one to ask these questions, long having others to fill in the blanks for him.

“Right outside this dungeon.” Zepar answers him quickly.

“...Outside the dungeon?” Sinbad asks, his face showing the question more than his voice. He searches his mind for the answer, thinking back to the summit, back to when he first listened to David. David and Aladdin both said that the dungeons were actually the underground cities of-

“Alma Torran.” 

That’s about all the warning he gets before being taken by the bright lights of a magical spell and out the dungeon, this time to a black sky that hasn’t seen a lick of sunlight for many years.

Sinbad looks around him to desolate land as far as the eye can see. Everything in him screams that he shouldn’t be here, the very world, the ground and everything surrounding him is dead. He doesn’t quite know how he’s breathing the air around him, because even the air feels and smells different.

Sinbad takes a final withering sigh to prepare himself for the, undoubtedly long journey ahead, and moves forward. He holds with him the messages of his friends and even his enemies. On his back he carries a backpack full of their blessings for a safe trip back home, gifted to him-

with love.

Chapter Text

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried.

Well, to tell the truth- he’d been worried since the start. 

Sinbad had never been the best at surviving on his own, seven dungeons conquered or not. It’s been a year , since he’s been gone. 

Though Yamuraiha and Aladdin assure him that it’s Sinbad’s ruhk traveling their way, he can’t help but worry. David escaped the careful eyes of many for years, sat in Sinbad’s body, and poisoned his mind, if anyone would be able to fool both Yamuraiha and Aladdin, it’d be him. So of course he’s worried, If Sinbad is somehow still attached to David, if he’s still able to use the power of the sacred palace-

Too many ifs and buts to worry about for a man who’s been missing, he’s already spent too much time on Sinbad and his ridiculous dream. He needs to move forward, him and the world. Ja’far shoves the issue about Sinbad to the back of his mind, he trusts Sinbad, trusts that he’ll come back- Ja’far needs to focus on what he can do here and now.

What he can do here and now being, not much. Reworking the old system, along with throwing out the reliance on monarchy leaves him with no impulsive king to clean up after, no children across the world to babysit and check up on. Even as Chief of Parliament, his duties with the newfound expanded government have lessened as they adapt to the workload. His subordinates grow more competent with each task and Ja’far need only check up on them.

He’s left with more time than he would’ve liked, to distract himself from the emptiness of being left behind. His coworkers must mean well, intentionally taking more work so Ja’far has more time to sort out his feelings- he’d rather bury himself in it, not giving himself the chance to do as much as think.

Afternoon tea breaks are quieter now, something he didn’t realize he would come to dislike. There's no one to pull him away from his desk to drink and eat, worry laced in each tug of his arms. He no longer feels the need to play the role of the nagging mother, the palace having grown near silent as the months flew by with palace workers switching to living in the neighborhoods and stacked houses.

Sindria feels terribly empty from the one he fell in love with.

There’s no changing this reality, just accepting it.

This is, in equal part- the life Sinbad both gave and tried to take away from him.

The now former king, Drakon sits across from him during a routine tea break from work, a habit from their early days at the Sindria Trading Company of Reim that carries over even here. Very few words are typically shared between the two, especially with Sahel off running some errands for the housemaids. Each conversation between the two is stiff and stilted, but Drakon insists on prying a conversation out of him. It’s not hard to tell that Hinahoho had asked it of him.

“You feel a bit out of place, don’t you?” Without the scales and assimilation with his household vessel, the full extent of Drakon’s exhaustion is shown. Though he is only 35 now, the same age as Sinbad would be, Drakon looks like he’s aged ten years in one. 

“I’m still getting used to it.” Ja’far says simply.

“That makes the two of us.” Drakon sighs. “I was hesitant to change from the foundations Sinbad gave me, but I recognized it was necessary- if we ever wanted to move forward.”

Moving forward, in this situation, as Ja’far understands it, is moving past Sinbad, him, and all that he has wrought. The two of them, Drakon and Ja’far, aren’t too unalike as people who Sinbad rebuilt, some of his closest counsel, the closest people that Sinbad would ever consider as his equal.

The both of them stand as the two people Sinbad has left the most broken and disoriented following his actions.

“Change is necessary; the only way is forward.” Ja’far hums, closing his eyes as he says the words. “I originally said those words to Sinbad.”

“You were always the one person whose words could sway him.”

Ja’far bites his lip but stays composed. He says nothing but replies with a smile on his face. It’s horribly forced, even Drakon can tell. He doesn’t need to say it, to spell it out, to dig out that year old conversation where he failed.

There’s a slow recognition in Drakon’s face, recalling Ja’far’s sad admission to failing to stop their former king before Alibaba and Aladdin explained all that happened in the Sacred Palace. He knows Ja’far enough to know that he would never talk about it with anyone without being prodded about it.

“Can you tell me about it?” Drakon holds a hand over his heart in a show of sincerity, his eyes gently pleading with Ja’far. “You were the last to see him before he changed the ruhk.”

Ja’far knew the question was coming, as Drakon had been trying to have him open up about everything since he settled back down in Sindria. He’s declined every request, but it’s been a year and he’s tired more than anything else.

That and, Drakon does owe it somewhat, as one of many pawns Sinbad left behind. He deserves to know how little Sinbad trusted him, how even he would not have been able to do anything in Ja’far’s own shoes.

“I poured my heart out to him with words that should’ve swayed him- He lied to me.”Ja’far lets his eyes drift away from Drakon’s, unwilling to meet the pressure. “There was nothing I could have said to him, that would’ve stopped him. I couldn’t stop him, I know that now. I don’t think anyone could have.”

I know that, and it still hurts.

He bites his lips once more.

Drakon sits straighter, a sigh rippling through his figure in a long thought. “No one is blaming you for not being able to stop him, you blame yourself far too much.”

That’s rich, coming from him.

"...Have you forgiven him?" Ja’far quietly asks.

"...Yes." Drakon gives a despondent smile, his eyes downcast toward the cold tea in his hands. "Will you, once he comes back?"

Drakon is not the first to ask, nor will he be the last.

“He will come back one day.” Drakon says simply. "You and I know he will."

Ja’far doesn’t reply immediately, instead letting the silence fill the air. It’s never an easy answer, for either of them. Even more so for Ja’far who was the first to believe in him.

"Sinbad doesn't deserve my forgiveness."

Try as he might, Drakon’s frown shows itself in his furrowed brows.

Life returns to normal, this new normal. Morgianna’s lessons with him stop as Alibaba settles into his position as Prime Minister of Kou and a representative of the Fan Fan Company. Even Aladdin stops his regular visits as Sindria and Kina’s diplomatic talks resolve themselves. 

Ja’far begins to see the warmer faces he grew up with. Kikiriku follows his father’s example and settles back down in Sindria to be part of the Eight Generals. He brings with him his wife and child, who Ja’far is happy to receive occasional visits. During their visits, Ja’far tells of the mother in law Kikiriku’s wife never got to know, the grandmother her son would never get to know. 

Their visits are not solemn, he’d be slapping himself if he did nothing but mope about Rurumu’s passing, now 17 years after her death. The guilt of knowing Rurumu longer than her blood related children still lingers but at the very least, he’s learned that it’s better to celebrate her life than mourn how it ended.

If he’s honest, he’s envious of Mystras and Rurumu, who have people who ask what they were like, what sort of lives they lived. Sahel often tells stories of Tamira to the handmaidens and Drakon always spoke highly of his time working beside Serendine, even before she left. Soon, the two of them will have their own children to pass down those stories.

Vittel and Mahad have been largely forgotten to time, Sharrkan and Masrur barely remember anything about them- with Sinbad gone, Ja’far is the only one who knows enough about them to tell anyone their story. It’s no easy feat to find a story about Vittel and Mahad that doesn't revolve around their time in Sham Lash and even outside of the organization, their lives revolved around managing a company. 

What people know about them is forever cemented into the pages of Sinbad’s retelling of their conquest of Valefor’s dungeon. Ja’far supposes that’s enough, for children who long accepted they would never be known as anything but nameless assassins.

A break in his settled down normalcy comes in the form of an oddly worded advertisement about a vacation to Kou sent directly to his house. Its words imply a far more important trip but otherwise its motives are just as unclear as who its sender is. His instincts tell him that it's far more likely to be a scam if anything. He slots the strange advertisement in a neatly filed box of paperwork where it sits there for two weeks before Ja’far even remembers it exists.

His instincts are proven wrong however, when he receives two visitors who he’d happily go without seeing again.

“What are you doing here.” Ja’far asks, more a demand than a question.

“We’re here because some old fart didn’t read his mail!” Pitch black hair and red eyes meet him at the doorway with an all too happy sneer, Ja’far knows this evening will be far from pleasant. “I didn’t realize you had grown so blind that you couldn’t even read your mail!” 

Judar barges into the house, practically shoving Ja’far aside.

“ Hey. ” Ja’far warns, though he allows himself to be pushed aside, he doesn’t kindly allow people to rummage through his belongings.

Judar doesn’t even turn around but immediately runs off in search of the kitchen- but not before flipping Ja’far off.

“ Listen here you little brat- ”

“Sorry about him.” Says a voice behind him, a figure Ja’far opted to ignore once Judar barged into his house. 

Ja’far struggles to pull his gaze away from the ex magi rummaging through his cabinets and blinks, straightening out his posture to properly present himself to the other guest. “...Prince Kouha?” He asks.

“Hi, but no prince, nothing like that actually.” Kouha waves his hand in the air, as if physically erasing the title from the air. He takes a moment to peer into the house and their surroundings, then refocuses his attention to Ja’far and smiles. “We need to talk.”

“...Must we?” Ja’far asks, his eyes darting back to Judar, who re-enters his field of vision with a pair of fruits pilfered from the kitchen.

“Look- this is important and it can’t be said here.”  Kouha replies, his composure shifting and voice uncharacteristically stern and hushed. “I can’t say much, and I’m not here because I want to be.”

Ja’far clenches his teeth and studies Kouha’s frown. This is different from the Third Prince of the Kou Empire he had heard reports about, who tended to grin and smirk at diplomatic talks. For him to be asking like this, it really is important. It’s an odd pairing of people to stop at his door to chat, moreover, while they are from Kou, both of them have departed from their official positions associated with the empire.

Along with Kouha’s words, he’s sure of it. He’s being asked to work with Kou under the table for something that cannot be traced back to the officials.

Ja’far matches Kouha’s frown as he replies. “...This is about Sinbad?” It always has been.

“...Something like that.” Kouha extends another strange advertisement to Ja’far with a smile. “See ya there.”

Ja’far takes it without reply before being shoved to the side once more when Judar exits his house. 

Drakon and Saher accept the request for time off with ease, trusting Ja’far far more than they should but also under the impression Ja’far needs more time to think over everything. Oddly enough, it’s the very person who he left in charge who confronts him the most about the strange vacation.

“A vacation.” Analyn says pointedly.

“Yes.” Ja’far frowns.

“You?” They repeat.

“Yes.”

“...Huh.”

“I need you to distribute my workload during my absence.” Ja’far pinches the bridge of his nose in mild frustration. “I’ll get as much done as I can before I leave.”

“I know, I know- I got that.” Analyn plops themselves down on a chair in the office and crosses their arms to think. “You? Vacation?”

“We’ve been over this.”

“You’ve never taken a vacation before.”

“Things change, people change.”

“...Are you sure you’re alright?” Analyn’s frowns, their brows pushed up in concern.

“ I’m fine. ”

“...Can you just stop being difficult? I won’t tell Drakon and Saher- or anyone else.”

“It’s nothing that concerns you.” Ja’far remains obstinate and makes a move to leave the room.

The door slams closed in front of him, Analyn having made a beeline to stop him. Ja’far doesn’t do so much as blink, even stubbornly staring past them as they force him to look at them.

“You’ve been really frustrating to work with lately.” They glare up at him, as one of the few palace workers shorter than him, yet somehow have the gall to stand up to him. “You’ve been making our lives hell to work alongside you, exploding over every little thing.”

“...We can have this conversation another time.” Ja’far turns away once more in an effort to physically move away from the confrontation.

“We’re sorting this out now, or else it’s never going to be addressed and you’re going to stay a damn prick until Sinbad comes back, if he does at all.” Analyn stands resolutely in front of the door and doesn’t waver when Ja’far focuses cold eyes on them.

“It’s been hard for all of us, you especially - I am not diminishing your efforts and the years you spent at his side.” Analyn releases their control over the door, stepping to the side of it- giving Ja’far a chance to run if he truly wants to. “We’re all picking up after Sinbad in our own ways, you’re not alone in this.”

“You weren’t there, after the initial aftershock of it all in Sindria. Do you know how little everyone trusted us? How much everyone hated Sindria for even being associated with Sinbad?” Analyn huffs and mutters a quiet ‘ They still don’t ’ before continuing. “You aren’t the only person Sinbad turned his back against. Whatever is going through your mind, there’s not a single person in the palace who doesn’t understand it.”

“I get it okay? I get it if you don’t want to talk but everyone here just wants you to be alright.” Their shoulders slouch with a deep exhale. “But you’re better than this, we all know you are.”

“So um, if you ever need to talk to anyone I’m here.” Analyn’s gaze flicks downward just in time to miss how Ja’far muffles his laughter in his robes.

“Pfft-” 

Analyn looks rather scandalized for a moment, only adding on the onslaught of laughter. “How mean can you be to laugh at me like that!” They march up Ja’far, flushed embarrassment riddling their face. “Sharrkan always warned me you were a big bully when you wanted to be but this is a new low!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ja’far hurriedly waves their expression away, his laughter dying down. “Just- when did you grow up this much?”

“I’ve grown up plenty since you left!” 

Ja’far wipes away the tears from his face, a wide grin still spread across his face. “It’s just that I still remember when you first got here, barely 15 and practically shaking in your boots- and here you are, lecturing me?”

“I’m trying to make you feel better!”

“That is the hardest I’ve laughed in months.”

“At my expense!”

“It did make me feel better.”

“Well, good.” Analyn makes a face, hard in thinking. “But I mean it, you know. You can talk to me.”

Ja’far’s smile doesn’t fall, but he settles himself on the seat Analyn previously occupied and gently taps the seat next to it. “...There was something I needed to ask of you.”

Analyn blinks, a moment of surprise showing on their face. “Okay? ..Go ahead?” They comply, sitting in the chair next to him.

“Sinbad will come back, I’m sure of it. It’s not an if to me but a when .” Ja’far looks sternly into Analyn’s eyes as they listen intently. “What I’m stuck on, is what happens when he comes back.”

They take a moment to mull over the question, bringing up their hand to rest their head on it. “Is this what you’ve been thinking so hard about? Why you’ve been such an ass to work with?”

Ja’far grimaces, an apology working through his throat.

Analyn themselves wave away the thought, moving back to the topic at hand. “Over five million citizens and you come to me for an answer?”

“You said it yourself, while you are just a regular citizen of Sindria- you’ve had to clean up after Sinbad in your way.” Ja’far’s eyes flicker to them as they parse the words in their head. “I value your opinion. You have a unique perspective.”

“Is that what you want to call it?” They smirk, a laugh on the tip of their tongue. “How about you just spell it out for me why.”

“You’ve gotten quite the mouth ever since I left Sindria, haven’t you?” Ja’far raises an eyebrow.

“How else would I have survived the diplomatic talks with the King of Kina?” Their smirk only widens.

“Fair enough.” Ja’far relents, his mind jumping back to when Sinbad’s own antics made him grow more jaded and strict in his own way.

“Go on, don’t avoid the topic at hand.” Analyn waves off his thoughts with a hand.

“It’s because you’ll tell me your honest opinion. You won’t sugarcoat it.” Ja’far’s eyes sharpen as the tone of the conversation changes. “And you’ve never been particularly fond of Sinbad.”

“I don’t trust him more than I trust any other world leader.” Analyn replies with a knowing smile. “Every world leader has blood on their hands, the battle Sinbad, Reim’s Muu Alexius, and Kou’s Ren Kouen fought- was not a battle of morals. You know as much."

“How would you judge Sinbad?” Ja’far skips the conversation on the blood he and his king spilled for their country and leans back in his chair. “You’ve only been told what everyone else has been told.”

“Are you asking how, or if I would at all?” Analyn closes their eyes as they speak, mulling carefully over each word. “You wrote the law here in Sindria at 14. Even you at 31 can’t judge him. Do you really think the world can?”

Ja’far doesn’t reply, keeping an active effort to not show the frown that carves itself onto his face.

“Perhaps the better question is-” Analyn narrows their eyes as they open, carefully scanning over Ja’far for a response. “Can justice exist for a crime like this?” 

“You see my dilemma.” Ja’far gives a sigh but sits straight up in his chair.

"Moreover, is there anyone who can judge him properly? Give him his due diligence? Bring him to justice?” Analyn frowns, giving pause. “Upon his return, will they call for his death?”

Ja’far doesn’t bother to hide his frown, or how his body tenses at the thought. “The people who knew him don’t necessarily want him dead, but those who were strangers to all this, just living their lives and having it all uprooted-”

“Will Sinbad’s death bring anything? Is his death justice?” Analyn interrupts.

“...No.” Ja’far answers simply. “It’s not.”

“As the world is now, it's impossible to repeat his crime. His death isn’t a preventative measure, killing him isn’t stopping him from doing this again as it's impossible to repeat. The people know executing Sinbad won’t give them the previous world. His death does not bring an end to suffering, poverty, or pain- his death is petty vengeance if anything.” Analyn watches how Ja’far’s eyebrows knit in response. “The meeting where they explained everything is working against you, gave everyone a face to blame. But in the end-”

“That’s all he is, a face to blame.” Ja’far finishes their sentence. “Do you care if Sinbad is brought to justice?”

“No.” Analyn answers with ease and with traces of a grin on their face. “Frankly, I don’t even need to know whether he comes back at all. Same goes for everyone else who didn’t know him personally.”

“But you did know him.”

“He was my boss, not quite the same as knowing someone.” Analyn waves away the thought. “The average person doesn't concern themselves with any of this, it doesn't affect them in any way.”

Ja’far pauses to take in their words. "So you mean to say, that whether Sinbad is judged…doesn’t matter?”

“If you judge Sinbad, it’d only be the tip of the iceberg.” Analyn sits back to cross their legs and sigh. “How many did Prince Kouen kill in his mad quest to unite the world? Shouldn’t he be put on trial for enabling Al’Thamen? What about former Emperor Hakuryuu and his civil war? He pulled innocents into a war and got them killed using his metal vessel.”

“There’s more to it than that, you know as much.” Ja’far promptly replies.

“I wasn’t privy to the finer details, as a simple government official.” They give a half amused shrug. “A regular citizen would know even less than I.”

“Empress Kougyoku has officially recognized there is no reason to persecute Ren Kouen, former Emperor Hakuryuu, Judar or anyone else for their previous crimes nor their enabling of Al’Thamen.” Ja’far instinctively goes over Kou’s declaration and the rescinding of the Kou brother’s exile status from memory, barely paying any mind to what he knows as fact. “They passed that doctrine citing the extenuating circumstances surrounding Al’Thamen and their interference with their empire from its conception.”

He stops, noting Analyn’s lack of a verbal response and the full smirk on their face.

“Tell me why.” They mouth.

He says the words slowly, as if realizing it for the first time. “...They have no reason to repeat their actions and have all the time in the world to make up for what they have done.”

"The very same was said about Reim’s metal vessel users and how they used their metal vessels to subjugate and colonize the surrounding territories.” Analyn explains, their smirk melting into a genuine smile. “Imprisoning them would do no one any good, rehabilitation and reconciling with it all is their best option.”

Ja’far stays silent, taking the time to toss the words around his head. He mulls over every bit of law passed between Kou about those involved in Al’Thamen’s dealings, how they prioritized the reintegration of criminals as long as they don’t pose any trouble to society. He tosses the thoughts around in his head for a few minutes and only when Analyn stands do his eyes jump up to them.

“Well, I’ve got to get back to work, seeing as I have a certain parliamentary official’s work to cover soon.” Analyn opens the door and holds it open with their foot. “Oh and loosen up will you? You worry too much.”

“I’ll…remember that.” Ja’far says, his mind still reeling from the conversation.

“You have fun on your vacation and come back with a real hobby!” They laugh, quickly shutting the door so Ja’far doesn’t have the time to run out after them and scold them.

Ja’far does neither, but laughs to himself at the underhanded jab.

“I have good companions.” He quietly reminds himself.

Drakon, Saher, and the other members of Sindria’s council see him off with a smile- though Analyn sneaks a comment about bringing them a souvenir, Ja’far returns a smile. He even laughs slightly, seeing Drakon, elbowing Analyn’s side softly in a light scolding. Depending on what exactly this deal with Kou is, maybe he will bring them a souvenir, he at least owes them that for easing his anxieties regarding Sinbad’s eventual return.

All that’s left is to forgive, confront- to do away with the untempered affection for a man who left him that still burns a hole through his stomach. That issue, most likely won’t see a resolution until Sinbad comes back, as well as the loneliness he feels returning to a Sindria without Sinbad.

Even Sindria itself has moved past its need for him, as sad as it may be, it’s best this way. Truth be told, he had long questioned the role of king, as it was plain irrational to pass a crown to children, even if they were the sons and daughters of great people. Those feelings had only increased after every encounter with Ahbmad Saluja up until the point Sinbad made the decision to move him and his brother in with the people of Alma Torran that lived beside Sindria.

From that point forward, he and Sinbad carefully planned for the next rulers of Sindria, planning out what it would take to put together a council that would hold the country together rather than a single king. He and Ja’far accepted that such an option was best, should the worst come to him. At the time, Ja’far solemnly nodded in agreement, wholeheartedly accepting that if Sinbad were to face his death, he himself would’ve followed suit shortly before or after.

None of that came to fruition of course, as Sinbad’s gaze only looked farther and farther away from the present. Sinbad’s decision to put Drakon in power was a hasty one but Ja’far understood the logistics behind it better than anyone else. Drakon was the only clear option for the King of Sindria while Sinbad still lived. Drakon was always far too trusting of Sinbad’s actions, always feeling indebted to him for taking him in when he had nothing else. Though Drakon had long doubted Sinbad’s decision, all it took was a strong hand on his scaled shoulder and a sincere, “ I trust you ” from his king.

Simply put, Sinbad could control Drakon far easier than any government council.

Ja’far himself never held that same blind loyalty, not by the end of their relationship. He would’ve followed Sinbad to his death, but not blindly. Perhaps only when he had freshly joined Sinbad along his journey and worked at shoving down an insufferable crush for the boy- had he been blindly loyal. At the end of it all, Ja’far simply clenched his teeth as Sinbad was led away from his side.

Perhaps Ja’far’s true mistake, was believing that he was capable of bringing Sinbad back to his side.

He doesn’t begrudge his role in the council, as it's not much different than the role he was supposed to play when he was Sinbad’s advisor. The decreased workload at least, enables him to go on trips like these, to remote villages on the outskirts of Kou’s new borders.

The purpose of the odd request is made ever slightly clearer when Kouha handed the advertisement once more- an address inscribed on it with a date. The villages on Kou’s borders are much smaller and not made for tourists, as such, a length of the trip has to be made by foot and assisted by a magical tool. Given the discreet manner in which the meeting place and time were given to him, Ja’far assumes that paying one of Sindria’s private airships was out of the question. Traveling privately has its own benefits, while he isn’t fond of using magical tools that drain his magoi like a furnace, it's nice to be outside after so long spent at his desk making his coworkers' lives hell- something which he really ought to properly apologize for.

The past year has been hard on all of them, and they don’t deserve to suffer for his inability to sort out his feelings without anger seeping through the seams- Sinbad on the other hand, should.

Ja’far doesn’t hide the smile on his face as the thought crosses his mind. Though Analyn had made it clear that the world wouldn’t ask for Sinbad’s life in the event of his return and if the world should- Ja’far has a 40 page document countering why. It’s not as if Ja’far will let Sinbad’s crimes against the world and him go unpunished, Ja’far has his own petty revenge he needs to see out. All thoughts however, come to a stop once his destination comes into view.

While it had been a quaint farming village on the borders of Kou prior to Sinbad’s actions, as it stands currently, most of its fertile farmlands lay some 300 meters somewhere above Ja’far’s head. Its lands all but tattered in disrepair, residents fled for the makeshift shelters following the incident regarding the Sacred Palace. Today, it lies uninhabited, most of the terrain untraversable without the use of magical tools. 

Ja’far spots the building pictured in the advertisement delivered to him and sighs, redirecting the magical tool to slowly glide to it. It’s about the most intact building in the area and shows clear signs of magic use, a golden borg surrounding the entire building. He stops his magical tool right in front of the borg, giving the building a look over. Oddly enough, he’s seen it somewhere before, years ago.

It takes him mere moments to recall where exactly he’s seen it; he's seen a similar structure, much smaller, years earlier, in Sindria’s front gardens. At the time, Sinbad had been fully djinn equipped, attempting to blast focused blows past the borg in a vain attempt to hear Aladdin and Yunan’s conversation.

He had only been called out, ushered by worried palace attendants to calm his king down.

“Sin, you’re going to hurt someone if you keep going like that!” He had scolded.

“You don’t think I know that?!” Came Sinbad’s frustrated voice. Sinbad’s voice rarely wavered, especially in front of his people but the frustration of something he can’t control- someone he can’t control shows itself here. “You of all people, know why-”

“ Sin .” Ja’far had called out to him once more, now a red wire wrapped tightly around Baal’s sword. In a single glance, Ja’far had said it all, stern eyes looked up at his king and told him, “This won’t get you anywhere, this won’t help us in any way.”

That long stare is all Sinbad needed to regain his senses and think straight, his arms slumped and the instant he lowered himself to the ground, the djinn equip faded into thin air.

“...Are you alright?” Ja’far asked, letting Sinbad step closer as he took his king’s arm, thumb brushing along the metal vessel on his wrist.

“Yeah.” He answered mutely. Sinbad’s eyes had not immediately met Ja’far’s own, but opted to look at the hand on his wrist. “Stay with me, until they get out of the house.”

Ja’far merely nods, quietly understanding that it was a simple request, not an order. A request from the closest person in his life, not an order from a king in his rare moment of vulnerability. Just another one of the rare sides of Sinbad only Ja’far had been witness to.

“Ja’far?” Yunan’s gentle voice calls him to the present with a wave in his direction. “Go ahead and come in, the borg already knows the touch of your magoi, you can walk right in.”

“...I see.” Ja’far takes a moment to land, placing his magical tool down and feeling the drain of his magoi in his muscles. He blinks a bit and lays his eyes on the inside of the borg, now past the barrier. It’s much larger than the small house that Yunan had plopped in front of Sindria’s palace, with three stories and a large balcony.

“How was your trip?” Yunan smiles brightly at him and Ja’far only shrugs.

“Fine and dandy,” Ja’far sighs and brushes off the dirt from his plainclothes outfit specifically chosen for the trip. “But I still have no real idea as to why I’m here.”

The long haired blonde gives a knowing smile and motions to the door. “We’ll talk, though we’re still waiting on a few people.”

Ja’far raises an eyebrow in mild curiosity but tentatively reaches for the door handle and enters the building. It’s much larger on the inside, Ja’far chalks it up to some magical interference as he walks deeper into the warmly lit building- if it were anyone else, he would hear the footsteps echoing across the walls with how empty the building is. He hears three pairs of feet thudding down what sounds like stairs from somewhere in the building. He usually isn’t used to his presence being detected too easily but Yunan and whoever else he’s suspected to be responsible for this trip have been working on tracking Sinbad’s ruhk across dimensions for the past year.

Soon enough three smiling faces meet him as they stumble closer to him, Aladdin and Alibaba enthusiastically greeting him. He receives a mere nod from Morgianna, which he returns with a smile.

“Ja’far!” Alibaba happily grabs his hands in greeting. “It’s been a while, we’ve been too busy to stop by but I’m glad to see you’re doing well!”

“Likewise.” Is Ja’far’s simple response, a strained smile against his lips. He’s truly happy to see the trio but he still hasn’t been told why he’s here. “But I’d love to hear why my presence is required?”

Aladdin’s greeting stops itself in his throat and he looks away, the sudden pressure of Ja’far’s eyes on him too much to bear. “I’ll explain the rest when everyone else arrives but,” Aladdin’s bright blue eyes meet his once more. “You’ve been keeping track of Arba’s whereabouts right?”

“I..” Ja’far lets himself be caught off guard this once. “Yes, I have been- as has Kou and everyone else who knows what she’s capable of.”

Aladdin doesn’t question how Ja’far could keep track of a renowned criminal, a magician at that, and his eyes narrow. “I thought about it, and I really don’t think it’s okay to leave Arba alone- not as she is.”

“This still doesn’t warrant my involvement.” Ja’far retracts his hands from Alibaba’s all too warm welcome and sighs.

“We do need you for this-” Aladdin steps forward, a certain gleam in his eyes. “I’m sure you have the final piece we need.”

Ja’far frowns but carefully studies the three of them, noting the steady resolute look in each of their eyes. As if he could walk away from that.

“Fine.”

Ja’far is given a few hours to rest from his arduous trip before the final members of their meeting arrive. The building is large enough that they’re each given a room, and given how empty the rest of the building is, they’re expecting a large party of people. Ja’far uses his free time to freshen up, change out of the plainclothes he traveled in and switch back to his beloved Sindria’s official’s wear.

Though he’s not on official business, old trends stay true and he has no other clothes to his name. Given their location, it’s clear this business is strictly undercover work to be hidden away from public record anyway.

Imagine his surprise when Kou’s entire royal family arrives via teleportation circle.

He tries to not let out an audible gasp when he spots even the Empress herself atop a bright red carpet bearing the Kou emblem. So much for subtlety.

Judar sports a wide grin at the height of it all, all too proudly holding up his staff until the magic circle’s light fades away. “Long time no see, freckles!” He calls out.

There’s already a wicked scowl forming on Ja’far’s face at the sound of that voice. The only thing stopping him from lunging at the bastard is Yunan’s all too calm hand on his shoulder.

“Judar, play nice.” Empress Kougyoku gently scolds him, ushering him to her side. “We need you to be on your best behavior.”

“What is he, a dog?” Koumei raises an eyebrow, his face uncovered from a mask.

Kouen merely sighs in his wheelchair, Hakuei rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder, her other hand over the handles of his wheelchair.

“ Judar .” Hakuryuu chastises, a glare paired with the words.

“Fine, fine.” Judar hovers for a moment before joining Kou’s imperial family on the carpet as the carpet nears the borg. 

It’s only once the carpet stops inside the borg that Ja’far does a full headcount of everyone here. Even Kouha and his handmaidens are here, not so subtly flirting at the back of the carpet. If there’s anyone missing, it’s Ka Koubun, the Empress’ former household member- he must be taking care of Kou in everyone’s absence. Ja’far doubts they’ll stay long, surely all of Kou’s imperial family missing would be cause for alarm.

“Lord Ja’far, it’s been a while.” The Empress strides forward and gives him a nod. “I’m glad you could join us for this important meeting.”

“Empress, it’s good to see you well.” Ja’far returns the greetings with his hands visible and clasped together. “I’ve only heard bits of what would be discussed but I am not entirely sure of how necessary my involvement is here-”

“We can get to that, now that everyone’s here.” Aladdin interrupts their greeting, his eyes flickering to the Empress and for a moment they exchange a smile. He motions for them all to follow him to one of the larger rooms in the building, quickly dropping his kind smile.

Judar veers off into a wing of the building muttering a ‘ tell me if anything happens or when we leave ’ and no one makes an attempt to stop him. 

“Over the past year, we’ve been going into what remains of Al’Thamen’s records, the spells, and scrolls they kept on our empire and of others.” Hakuryuu says as all members of the meeting settle into a large room.

It’s his first time hearing it, but judging by the reactions of everyone else in the room, it seems like it's old news.

“As most of us already know, with the world as we know it, it is possible for Arba to come into contact with Ill Ilah again.” Hakuryuu gives time for the tense atmosphere to settle, Ja’far carefully taking in the deep breaths around the room. “Time is of the utmost importance. We need to strike before she does.”

With that, Hakuryuu sits down and prompts Aladdin to stand.

“As we’ve been making sense of the world as it is, we confirmed a theory of mine-” Aladdin starts. “We found that Arba was not actually talking to Ill Ilah- but David.”

Ja’far stills, watching the reactions of everyone else in the room. This too, seems like old news.

“She was being manipulated through David, just like Uncle Sinbad.” Aladdin’s gaze flickers to Ja’far, then back to the rest of the room. “I’ve finished devising a spell that will force her to see that truth.”

“That’s why most of us are here, we need to devise a team to subdue her so I can cast the spell on her.” 

“Why don’t you just kill her?” Kouen says aloud the question that had been echoing through Ja’far’s head. “Of anyone here, you would have the right to judge her.”

Ja’far wants to protest, asking a child barely 16 to kill, no matter how capable they are, no matter how right they would be, no matter if they alone had the right to judge-

“I don’t want to.” Aladdin’s simple answer is heard clearly. “More than wanting her punished, I want her to understand how she was manipulated.”

“...Fine.” Kouen says, prompting them to continue their discussion.

“Us magicians will lead her into a special isolation barrier I devised-” Aladdin glances at the magicians in the room, each of them nodding at his words. “In it, no one will be able to give the ruhk any commands until the barrier fades. I’ve been testing it out with Hakuryuu and magoi manipulation will still work inside of it.”

“She’s much more vulnerable without her magic, but claimed to be the strongest swordsman in Alma Torran.” Hakuryuu explains, thoughts clear. It goes without saying, that he speaks from experience. “We should assume she has a weapon on her along with her staff. If we can disarm her, that’s when we’ll have our chance.”

“For the spell to work, I’ll need her not only subdued, but on the brink of death-” Aladdin says, this time directing his full attention to Ja’far. “You can do something like that with your magoi manipulation, Ja’far?”

The full reality of why he was here had just hit but Ja’far doesn’t allow for his surprise to show, only giving a long exhausted sigh. He tries his best not to show the traces of a scowl forming on his face. “...Who told you?” He asks, ignoring the other eyes in the room focused on him.

“You told me, when you spoke of the first Sindria.” Alibaba stands, redirecting Ja’far’s muted glare away from Aladdin. “When you told of Spartos’ older brother, Mystras, and when he died. And of your confrontation with the man who killed him.”

“You only told me hints, so we asked around-” Alibaba tries to explain, his words slowing to ease off Ja’far’s aggression. “The leader of the Yambala tribe, Shambal Ramal, specifically said one of his rogue tribe members started a group that diverted magoi manipulation for assassination.”

Ja’far bites his lip at being confronted with the full reality of what he had been, put to the careful listening ears of Kou’s imperial family. He’d been not too dissimilar to Judar, held under the thumb of a ruthless force infinitely stronger than him, made to enjoy the only life that was allowed to him.

“The records of the things they were able to do, I found in Al’Thamen’s old ledgers.” Hakuryuu says, mimicking Alibaba’s slow words. “You can do this, right Lord Ja’far?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” He says simply. “I threw that away, I’m a different person now.”

“Believe me, we would not have brought you this far for a trivial thing, but you are the only person who can do this. This is a service to the world itself.” Hakuryuu interjects, a hand over his heart as a show of sincerity. “Seeing an end to Arba, making her see the truth will protect Sindria as well.”

“Her death would protect the world just as well as showing her the truth behind David’s manipulation.” He frowns stubbornly. “I still see no reason for me to be involved.”

“I don’t want to have to kill her.” Aladdin pleads with him. “I know I am asking you a steep favor but there is another reason as to why we need her alive.”

“...We.” Ja’far’s voice sharpens, almost accusingly.

“By making her see the truth, I will sever her connection to David who was manipulating her.” The blue haired boy’s words slow as the gravity of it all sinks in. “If it works, then I can do the same for uncle Sinbad when he comes back.”

His acceptance doesn’t come immediately, as Ja’far ponders over the very real possibility Sinbad is only traveling back with David’s help. There’s still a very foolish part of him that wants to believe Sinbad was completely possessed, helpless to David’s scheme. He knows that’s not the case, because he knows Sinbad.

“...One additional request.” He finally says.

“Anything we can do for you, we’ll see it through.”

“I thought it was agreed upon that time was of the utmost importance?” Ja’far asks, patience worn far too thin to hide his frown.

He’s already a fish out of water among the Kou crowd, with only Aladdin, Morgianna, Alibaba and Yunan of all people, being the only he’s particularly close to. All of whom, stayed inside the building to go over some last minute details with each other. The instant they had finished their debriefing, he had been pulled out to the courtyard like an insubordinate dog by an all too enthusiastic Kouha.

“It is, but if you are to fight alongside us, we need to see how you move.” Hakuei replies with a smile.

Ja’far meets her gentle practiced smile slowly, a hint of wariness in his movements. He had never quite known her as Hakuei, the imperial princess but Hakuei, Arba’s vessel. His words hide the unease he feels, incapable of unseeing Arba’s unnerving smile reflected in Hakuei’s features.

“...I see.” Ja’far sighs, instinctively folding his hands in his sleeves.

“We’ll put together our plan of action once we get a good idea of how you fit in with those fighting.” Kouha comments, stretching out his limbs and tying his long hair back. “Rather it be a surprise here than on the battlefield!”

Ja’far does comply, but does it with a sigh as he steps into the courtyard.

Empress Kougyoku stands on the other side of the courtyard, training garments on and her sword at the ready. All her siblings stand behind the safety of the railing, Koumei, and Kouha looking on with interest. Hakuei stands behind Kouen, her hands fixed to his wheelchair. For a moment, Ja’far notices there is a certain gleam in Kouen’s eye. Sinbad had mentioned the look he carried back when they fought the medium in Magnostat, one that delighted in battle.

Not like Ja’far is much different.

Ja’far needn’t change from his Sindria Officials wear, they are his most prized possession and he isn’t about to let Kou’s empress do so much as stain it. Despite his specialty lying in assassination, Ja’far has the advantage. No one in Kou has so much as seen him truly fight and anyone who had is either dead or no longer here. Sinbad had long kept his fangs capped and stored away only for the most dire of circumstances- Sinbad couldn’t manipulate anyone if they were dead . 

“When you’re ready.” The empress calls, her sword at the ready.

Ja’far merely nods in response.

Kougyoku moves forward and Ja’far lets a grin set into his face. All of Ja’far’s frustrations are let out in this single moment- in controlled bursts, Ja’far doesn’t want to risk ruining the friendship he alone has cultivated with the Kou siblings. Ja’far answers in kind, rushing forward. Ja’far is fast, even at 31 he is only beaten by Fanalis, he closes the gap between himself and the empress in seconds.

She responds by pulling her sword up to guard, but it's already too late- Ja’far has long had experience dueling someone far too dependent on their metal vessels and the current Empress of the Kou Empire is no different. Without their metal vessels, no djinn’s power to balance out experience and incompetence- they are to rely solely on their skills. The empress herself is a quick draw, years of sword fighting experience shine through her movements as her stance expects resistance to meet her blade. 

None does, because Ja’far does not play to her strengths. Her defense is impenetrable in the eyes of a swordsman, but in the eyes of an assassin- she might as well have been unarmed and blindfolded. 

If anyone were to think of him as a simple paper pusher, they would have fallen right into his trap. Ja’far has been nothing but a fighter since the day he was born, he had learned to kill before he could even understand he was taking a life. The same knives that sit in his hands are the very same that he used to kill his parents at six, the same ones he had stabbed into a man who could see fate itself at ten.

This is not a fight between swords, Kougyoku quickly realizes as red wires fly and wrap around her hands- effectively turning her sword into a liability rather than a weapon. This is a fight of technique, the ability to adapt to a situation, and Ja’far’s technique has never been anything short of impeccable . All it takes is a quick jab at the girl’s wrist for her sword to fall and before the sword even clatters to the ground- Ja’far’s knives sit at the Empress’ throat.

The current world is much closer to the one he grew up in, with no metal vessels or household vessels to rely on. While his household vessel was strong, it only built on what he already knew and the techniques he built up for years.

“Very impressive.” Kouen says, a wide grin decorates his face. “Though with your speed and ability, you could have incapacitated the Empress without even your weapons.”

Empress Kougyoku allows herself to show the slightest bit of frustration at the comment in the form of a slight pout, but otherwise doesn’t comment.

“I could have, but it was emphasized that disarming Arba will put her at her weakest.” Ja’far states, taking the moment to dust off his official’s robes of dirt from the fight.

“While true, I’d like a better look at your fighting style and movements.” Hakuryuu muses, taking his spear with him as he walks closer. “Another spar perhaps, against a fellow magoi manipulator?”

Kougyoku takes the hint and steps aside to join her siblings near the safety of the railing, they praise her for the effort but their attention is quickly diverted back to the palace gardens.

Ja’far finds himself frowning once more, unable to deny the necessity that they see how he fights- but they are all experienced in battles, with many of them being generals themselves. Hakuryuu is already ready in a fighting stance before him, awaiting Ja’far’s nod.

Ja’far’s gaze shifts over to Judar, who props himself on top of the railing, happily chewing on a peach. He refocuses his attention to Hakuryuu and his spear in a ready position, Ja’far noting how it bears similarity to how Spartos uses his spear. Hakuryuu doesn’t realize it but, it’s the same fighting stance Mystras once held against his own father.

He nods to start the fight, quickly dismissing the thought.

Hakuryuu rushes forth and Ja’far stays where he stands until his robes are mere hairbreadths from the sharp blade. This time he allows his opponent to stay the aggressor, to further allow all around to witness his ability to stay on the defense. Hakuryuu applies Spartos’ teachings, quick jabs with a mix of Kou’s more flexible fighting stance and fluid movements. None of it matters- Ja’far dodges every quick stab and swing of his spear, all the while keeping his own weapons sheathed. Technique wise Hakuryuu is far above standard Kou teachings, but he possesses neither Mystras’ strength and steady footing nor Spartos’ keen eye for spotting weaknesses. 

Haakuryuu has progressed far from the teenager who honed his skills in Sindria’s courtyards, having made his own mastery of his spear into his unique style. Yet even then his movements still are reminiscent of someone who relied on their metal vessel for each fight. That’s what every fight between metal vessels was only a year ago- every fight depended on how much magoi someone had for their djinn equip. As a mere household vessel, Ja’far had to find his own way to be useful in battle with much less.

His observations on technique done, Ja’far dodges to the side, this time catching his foot on Hakuryuu’s ankle- sending him to the floor. Hakuryuu never makes it fully to the floor and catches his fall, recovering quickly.

In his own way, Ja’far is testing him.

Once Hakuryuu begins to make use of his magoi manipulation training, Ja’far’s movements change and he unsheathes his blades. Ja’far’s expression changes as well, his competitive nature switching in place of actually analyzing his opponent. It’s been a long time since he’s faced anyone who used magoi manipulation and he isn’t about to lose .

Ja’far is still left on the defensive but lets his instincts and long years of practice kick in as he evades the magoi infused blade. Hakuryuu’s blade cuts through even the ground, leaving deep lines in the dirt where his spear merely scraped.

His movements however have not changed with the application of magoi manipulation, it merely adds to the strength of his weapon rather than changing how he fights. Hakuryuu had spent only a month alongside Shambala, learning their teachings and strengthening his weapons but Ja’far had spent the first ten years of his life learning magoi manipulation, even here, Hakuryuu is outmatched.

Ja’far plays a precarious game of endurance, his victory depending on how much magoi the other has in him. With each jab that comes a little too close, Ja’far matches it in magoi output and deflects it with his own blades. His blades never leave his hands, no matter how close the spear comes- dedicated to showing just how untouchable he is. 

The white sparks that shone against Hakuryuu’s blades quickly fade as he depletes his magoi. Hakuryuu lowers his spear and Ja’far lowers his own weapons, having barely used them.

“That’s good enough.” Hakuryuu says, wiping sweat from his brow.“As expected from Sinbad’s right hand man- I could barely get you to use your magoi manipulation.” 

There’s a comment on the tip of his tongue about how he wasn’t Sinbad’s right hand, not in those final years.

“I trained many years to be of use without it.” He says simply.

The spars finish, and the courtyard filters out as people file back into the building to prepare their strategy to confront Arba. He and Hakuryuu take a brief moment to cool down from their spar, a couple of plain wet towels wiped across their skin.

“I was one of the last people who confronted Lord Sinbad in the Sacred Palace.” Hakuryuu says in a hushed voice, once the courtyard is completely empty. “He spoke highly of his subjects, saying he had trusted them the most.”

Ja’far doesn’t turn to him but Hakuryuu understands Ja’far is listening.

“You, as his closest retainer, should know what he thought of you.” Hakuryuu turns his full attention to Ja’far in an effort to pull him into the conversation.

“I know. I know what he thought of me, of all of us.” Ja’far wipes his face down with the towel, catching beads of sweat. “I’ve known from the start.”

Ja’far turns to meet Hakuryuu’s eyes and in his expression lay a million words, about how he understood and accepted all the misdeeds Sinbad took on under the guise of a better world and the quiet resignation over the events of the past year-

“And you still followed him?”

“I did. I will still.”

The plan primarily developed by the Kou siblings is fairly simple and allows for a high amount of adaptability on the battlefield- a culmination of all their combined experience in warfare. Ja’far, gives advice where he can, his specialty in dealing with single targets. Hakuryuu and Judar’s first hand experience in facing Arba help the most, however. 

A few questions are raised following the formation of the plan, namely why they hadn’t brought in anyone else, Reim’s Titus Alexius or their Fanalis corps, for one. Even if Reim didn’t have the same first hand experience involving Al’Thamen, they would still be of great use. Alibaba explains, apparently a question they had been asked many times before.

Yunan and Aladdin had first taken notice that Arba could contact David under the impression it was Ill Ilhah, from there Aladdin told Alibaba, who told the Empress. It was originally a Kou only plan, with Yunan for backup, a fairly large sized operation in total. It only changed to include Ja’far when Aladdin found just what he needed to finish up his spell. 

When Ja’far looks around the already crowded room and who will fight, and how they all are meant to fight one single person- the question answers itself.

“Too many actors crowd the stage.” He says with a shrug, repeating a common Reim saying.

The briefing ends with all of them satisfied, if anything unsure how it’ll all pan out. Their role in planning done, Kouen, Koumei, and Kougyoku prepare to take their leave.

“Lord Ja’far,” Kougyoku calls out to him, gesturing to an empty area in the courtyard. “A private moment before I take my leave.”

“...Of course.” Ja’far replies, letting her lead him to the corner of the courtyard, to a simple stone bench.

“About your additional request,” She begins, but quickly shuts her mouth. Though she’s still relatively new to the position, her renewed vigor in her speeches had prompted praise from even Sindria’s beaches. Either she is comfortable enough with him to show such weakness or she is genuinely troubled. Most likely the latter.

“Will it be an issue?” Ja’far asks, his eyes catching the Kou brothers carefully watching the interaction. They’re good older brothers for that, worrying about their sister like this.

“It won’t be an issue.” She says, though her voice betrays her. “I promised it wouldn’t be.”

“Empress, would you like to do something to Sinbad, upon his return?” Ja’far asks, knowing her answer would be a resolute no, asking rather for the need to hear her say it. “Exact your revenge for how he used Zepar on you, or perhaps fine him for all the suffering he caused Kou in those final years? Or for trying to massacre everyone?”

“You know I don’t.” She says with a long sigh. “The situation is far too complicated to blame everything on him.”

“The world we lived in several years ago was very different from the one we live in today. Sinbad and your brothers committed many crimes in the name of a better world. To lead the world, there was no choice but to taint our hands in blood.” Ja’far says simply, glancing back to her brothers across the courtyard.

“You have every right to want Sinbad dead, as does everyone else in the world.” Ja’far’s eyes glaze over as he speaks, a particular sneer laced in his words. “You cannot forgive Sinbad? Fine. Do it. Take his head the moment he steps back into this world.”

Kougyoku’s eyes snap to him worriedly, a hand clasped over her chest. “What? I wouldn’t-”

“For people who truly, truly acknowledge their cruelty, the cruelest thing is to let them live with the blood on their hands.” He clarifies, his eyes softening. “Sinbad was never content with using people as he did. As hurt as you are, as I am- I know he regrets it.”

“He implanted Zepar in you because he felt it necessary. He tried to rewrite the world because he felt it necessary.” Ja’far frowns, studying her for a reaction.

Kougyoku settles, her body recovering from the initial shock. “Let me rephrase.” She takes a moment to think, properly composing herself. “As empress no, but as me? Myself? The naive child that visited Sindria-”

“I struggle with forgiving him.” Kougyoku looks at the floor as she speaks, eyes glancing over the sharp cuts in the ground that Hakuryuu’s magoi manipulation left. “I will ask him myself upon his return, how I am supposed to forgive him, how do I, Kougyoku the naive child who fell in love with him, trust him again?”

Kougyoku pulls on his robe, prompting him to meet her eyes as she speaks. “Will you do it, forgive him for all he’s done?”

“...I will ask him the same question as you.”

“You’ll all be headed back to Kou now?” Alibaba asks, though he knows they are. His previous enthusiasm has dwindled, as his mind drifts to the upcoming fight.

“Yes, of course-” Kougyoku smiles sadly. “As much as we’d love to accompany you all to confront Arba, Kouha is the only one of my brothers actually fit to fight currently. As for me, Ka Koubun can only handle so much in my absence.”

“When this is all done, I’ll come by again, we’re still working through Alma Torran’s technology and how to make it work in our world.” Aladdin eagerly pounds a fist on his chest. “Once we come back, we’ll try it out in areas like these, then eventually move on to moving all of Kina!”

Ja’far raises an eyebrow at that.

“Ah, we’re still working on it, though we’ve rebuilt most of everything-” Kougyoku steps in the fill in the blanks. “There are still areas like these, that are completely inhabitable thanks to the incident regarding the sacred palace. That is the listed purpose of my visit here.”

“We’ve done what we can, pulled up what excuses we could muster.” Koumei huffs. “I’d love to help against Arba but without my metal vessel, I'm of little use in battle. The most I could do for everyone here is put together a plan.”

“I’m placing my little brother’s life in all of your capable hands.” Kouen adds, staring at Hakuei and Hakuryuu as he speaks.

“Come back safe.” Kougyoku stands straighter. “That’s an order.”

At her command, the three of them disappear behind the bright white lights of a teleportation circle, a deafening silence following their leave.

“We leave as soon as I recover my magoi.” Judar says, dropping his staff idly to the ground. “That hag uses me as transportation too damn much.”

Ja’far retreats to the courtyard without another word, intent on avoiding every possible interaction with Judar. To be fair to Judar, he isn’t as insufferable as before. And Ja’far is trying to forgive him. But neither of them are good at understanding their own feelings. The long term effects of highly strenuous upbringings most likely.

His hasty retreat is noticed by all but only Aladdin approaches him about it.

“You don’t like Judar?” Aladdin asks, his voice echoing through the empty courtyard.

“We don’t get along.”

“You seemed fine when we visited you back in Partevia?” He raises an eyebrow and gives an awkward smile.

“Different circumstances.” Ja’far replies dryly. “I kept stuffing his face with food.”

“Hmm.” Aladdin hums, letting their conversation die.

When Judar appears in one of the openings to the courtyard with a simple wave, Aladdin turns to him and ushers Ja’far to follow.

“It’s about time.” He says, gently prompting him to follow with a touch to the man’s back.

“You saw Sinbad last. You didn’t want him to die.” Ja’far says, his voice near a whisper. “Thank you for believing in him. I’m glad you saw him as a good person till the end.”

“Till the end?” Aladdin beams at him. “Uncle Sinbad isn’t even back yet!”

“Yes, right. Of course- it’s not over yet.”Ja’far quietly reminds himself.

He thinks the worst part of the actual operation is having to deal with the awful anxiety he has while waiting for Yunan and Aladdin to lure Arba to their trap. It’s surprisingly not, but his anxiety only builds when he feels the very ground tremble when Arba flies in overhead.

Ja’far can’t see much of anything from the ground, hidden in the brushes. He stays near the frontlines but hidden, inside where their Isolation barrier will be erected so he can get his attempt at restraining her- if Morgianna doesn’t get there first. There’s a loud screaming of words he can’t hear, Arba yelling some kind of insanity in the skies above. There’s a chill coursing through his spine at her every word, his instincts telling him to run to the hills, to somewhere he feels safe. He stays put, against his better judgement, trusting their plan over any self preservation. 

The entire course of the battle turns when Arba is sent to the floor with a mighty combined spell from Aladdin and Yunan, Judar and Kouha’s servants take their chance to erect the barrier. As soon as Arba sees it form, she makes a beeline to escape but catches a knee to the chest as Morgianna rushes in, Alibaba doing his best to catch up to her. Kouha rushes in next, quickly cutting off one of Arba’s routes. Arba’s very own children block her other means to an escape and do the most to bring her to justice. Hakuei is the one to disarm Arba of her sword while Hakuryuu takes her staff and gives it to Aladdin.

In the end, Ja’far was barely needed for it all- just the final portion where Arba lay beaten and bruised before them all. She isn’t given even the chance to speak before being thoroughly knocked out with a blow to the head promptly delivered by Morgianna. There’s an odd silence before anyone speaks, only heaves of breath filling the air.

“Lord Ja’far,” Aladdin looks up from the staff, rightfully claimed from his mother’s killer. “If you would.”

Ja’far steps forward, eyes dark as he stares down the cause of so much death and many of the world’s problems. He doesn’t understand why Aladdin would try to spare her, why Judar wouldn’t gut her as soon as he laid eyes on her pathetic form sprawled and vulnerable. He understands Hakuei and Hakuryuu even less, for not making their mission to erase this woman from this world for all the havoc she has caused them personally.

“Look away. I don’t want any of you to have to see this.” Ja’far says. There’s some hesitation, but they all trust him enough to know he wouldn’t try anything. Aladdin alone doesn’t turn away from him.

“I can’t. I need to see to know when to activate my spell.” He says, as amicably as he can.

“Fine, but if you tell anyone of this, especially to Hinahoho or Pipirika-” Ja’far’s voice wavers so much that Aladdin doesn’t recognize his voice. “ That I used this- ”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Aladdin tries to reassure him.

“I will not forgive you, I’ve long run short of any forgiveness.” Ja’far narrows his eyes as he speaks, but is quick to refocus his attention on the task at hand. 

He’s not fond of using Sham Lash’s special style of magoi manipulation, he never has been. Using it to control his darts is one thing but it’s another to take the techniques Shaka taught him and actually put them to practice. It takes far too much magoi for him to be of use afterward, even without the emotional toll. 

He can’t ever forget this was the technique used to kill Mystras. Nothing will ever take away the fact that the same carvings that decorate his blades are the same inscribed on the weapons that killed Rurumu, Tamira, and many other people from the first Sindria. Nothing pushes the fact that he is alone like his past in Sham Lash, no one could ever understand him and where he comes from.

Only Sinbad could’ve pulled him out of that life, only Sinbad could give a lowly assassin something resembling a home. And only Sinbad, would have the gall to try and take that away.

Ja’far bends down to Arba’s unconscious body, Aladdin carefully watching behind him. He rolls up his sleeves and brings a hand down to her face. Every movement is cautious, knowing the sort of power this woman holds while awake. He holds her face in both his hands and closes his eyes.

He could kill her. He thinks very hard about killing her. 

He could do it, rob her of her chance at redemption, rob her of the realization she was used by David, rob anyone else who wants her life just because he got the chance first.

There are a million words on his tongue as he holds his hand on her face, death so easily at his fingertips. There is so much he could say, so much about how she and David tore everything he knew away from him, how Sinbad is gone because of her-

He says none.

He instead says the words that spell death, barely heard as a whisper. No matter how quietly he says it, he still hears the words pass through his lips, the magoi rush through his hands- a soundless command of death.

“ Divine Palm of Death. ”

Each and every technique Shaka taught him are forever engraved into his mind, no matter how much time has passed or how much he wishes he could forget them. Ja’far wishes he were taught the gentle counteracting magoi manipulation Sinbad had learned in his time spent under Yambala- his own techniques have only existed to kill. 

How exactly Shaka managed to divert magoi manipulation to assassination, he doesn’t actually know. But the techniques themselves destroy the body from the inside, specifically targeting key organs and tearing them apart. It’s agonizing, a slow and painful death.

It’s the very same that took Mystras’ life, the one that rippled through his body, invaded each of his senses, and tore him apart from the inside. Ja’far knows, even though he was never there, even though he never saw Mystras fall and cry out- he knows exactly what his death was like without being there.

Ja’far feels his fingers go numb with the heavy expense of magoi, even unconscious and beaten, Arba makes it every bit difficult.

He doesn’t actually hear Aladdin calling for him to stop, but suddenly he’s pushed to the floor and the isolation barrier fades, Aladdin starting some sort of monstrous spell with Yunan and Judar’s help.

Ja’far’s legs stagger slightly as he tries to stand, Morgianna catches him, silently asking him if he’s alright.

“I’m...Fine.” He mutters, making a conscious effort to keep his hands to the floor as he calms down. “Lightheaded- don’t touch me.” He manages.

He’s laid back gently on the ground, still winded from magoi exhaustion. He’s grateful none of them comment as they turn their attention to Arba and the whirlwind of concentrated ruhk flowing around the former magi. Once the spell settles, the ruhk disappears from sight and everyone sets their sights on Arba, their weapons instinctively sheathed.

Kouha’s magician handmaidens and Judar activate the isolation barrier when Arba awakes, even if her arms are pinned to the ground by Yunan’s magic. Ja’far quietly understands that the effect of his magoi manipulation has been mostly healed but remains the main factor to why she can’t move.

“ ...What did you do to me? ” Arba asks, her breaths short. “What, Solomon- no the fourth magi-”

“You know exactly who I am.” Aladdin frowns down at her. “I didn’t touch your memories.”

Arba seems to awaken from her stupor, recognizing everyone around her. “Should I be honored, to have so many dedicated to my downfall?”

“Not your downfall, but we never want to see you again.” Hakuryuu steps forward, his sister’s hand atop his shoulder in speechless support. “If I should see you again, I will not be so kind as to leave you alive.”

“There is nothing you can do to ever make up for the damage you have caused to the Kou empire and the world itself. Just as there can never be a single king of this world, we cannot allow you to exist as you are.” Aladdin’s hold on Sheba’s staff tightens as he takes a deep breath. “I’ve severed your connection to what you thought to be Ill Ilhah.”

Arba’s face blanches, the smile she so proudly held onto drops like a pile of bricks. She’s driven to speechlessness as she awaits Aladdin’s explanation.

“I took what you used to force Judar to fall, wiping his memories and staining his ruhk- I’ve reverse engineered it to make you see the truth of what the voice you heard was.” Aladdin doesn’t look away from Arba when Judar walks away, uncaring to the result. “You can see it clearly now, it was David all along. Using you to create his own means to become god and shape reality.”

“Where you will go is up to you. But you are not welcome anywhere here.” Aladdin’s final words to her are cold and unfeeling, but Arba deserves nothing more.  “As long as you stay in this world, we will take the personal responsibility of ensuring you do not harm anyone ever again. You have no reason to stay here. Do what you will.”

Arba stands speechless even as they leave, not a word spoken to any of them- no words of apologies could ever change the pain she has caused or bring back any of the dead they have lost because of her. She’s able to do little, Aladdin’s spell not only caused her to see the truth, taking away her reason to live- but also ripped away the massive pool of magoi in her body along with her regenerative abilities. Without even Sheba’s staff, she’s near the level of a simple magician- that was about as much power as anyone was willing to let her live with.

Ja’far’s vacation in Kou continues in relative normalcy in a top class room in one of Kou’s best hotels as thanks from the Empress. Though he wishes it were on better terms, he’s left with a full week for an impromptu vacation in Kou. It may be a simple vacation but it's not too dissimilar to how he lives in Sindria, with many visitors coming by to see him. During which, he’s pulled into Kou’s numerous libraries by Koumei, has peaches lobbed at his head by Judar and Hakuei tries to shove her strange cooking down his throat. It’s a good change of pace and he tries his best not to think about work, but he does anyway. 

“All traces of Arba have left this world. Her ruhk has vanished.” Yunan says, on Ja’far’s final day in Kou. “A simple magician she may be now, she still had the capacity to leave like that…”

“I doubt she’ll be coming back.” Aladdin replies. “There’s no reason for her to.”

“The only thing I can think she’d be willing to do is hunt David down.” Yunan hums and presses a cup of tea to his lips.

Ja’far merely shrugs, fully intent on enjoying his time away from work. Whatever Arba wants to do, wherever she goes- is none of his business nor does he care enough to even want to know.

“We would’ve had to completely regenerate her body to heal her.” Aladdin says, trying to pull Ja’far’s attention away from his lunch.

Ja’far doesn’t even look up.

“How long does she have to live?” Aladdin asks.

“Under normal circumstances she would’ve died in a few hours. You healed what you could so,” Ja’far looks up from his lunch, replying idly. “...A year at the most.”

“You haven’t made the time to stop by Sindria in anything besides a formal visit either?” Spartos folds his hands across the thin table in Sasan’s guest rooms where he and the Queen of Artemyra sit together, in increasing visits as of late.

“I tried to, but-” Pisti crosses her legs and props both her elbows onto the table. “Can you believe it, Ja’far was on vacation!”

“Lord Ja’far?” The red haired man raises an eyebrow incredulously.

“Our Ja’far! He’s gone and grown up into an old man who takes vacations!” The short blonde fake cries into her elbow but rapidly looks up for a reaction.

“He deserves one, for several decades now, I can only imagine how burnt out he must be after…Everything.” Comes Spartos’ simple response. “Good for him.”

“Good for him but I was supposed to visit him with Sharrkan!” Pisti whines against the palms of her hands. “Now he’s going to be all awkward when he visits- you know how little they’ve talked outside of Ja’far scolding him?”

“Pisti, you are talking about the King of Heliohapt here.” Spartos chides, easing her down. “He is perfectly capable of managing a casual visit with an old friend.”

She only pouts in her chair, edging it closer to the table. “Is Ja’far really an old friend? He’s more like his mom and Sharrs always had mommy issues.”

“That’s beside the point-” Spartos says, urging her to sit normally in her chair. “Sharrkan will be fine, you and he were one of the people who most made me feel welcome in Sindria- as awkward and straight-laced as I was.”

“I know Hinahoho had his family to worry about and Drakon is too stiff and Masrur and Yamuraiha aren’t exactly outspoken enough to try but-” Pisti quickly says, then promptly stops to slow.  “Lord Sinbad and Ja’far didn’t?” 

“Ah, they were close to my brother.” Spartos looks away from her, comfortable enough to show how vulnerable he is at the mention of these old memories. “Made for an awkward meeting at first. They tried, they really did, but you understand how closed off they were about the whole ordeal.”

“Mmm, it got better over time? I never really noticed.” 

“I think they blamed themselves for it- in a different way that Lord Hinahoho and Miss Pipirika had.” Spartos hums, his eyes closing as he reminisces about a time he can barely remember. “You were only three when he visited with everyone in Artemyra, but he was like the sun to me. I was always looking up to him.”

Pisti smiles sadly at him as she shifts to sit properly in the chair. “Tell me about him, your brother.”

“I don’t remember much of him, but I only have happy memories of him,” He starts, a gentle smile worming onto his face as he speaks. “I spent most of my days training with him, going through Sasan’s traditional ceremonies and teachings. He never took to it as well as I had.”

Spartos’ eyes open to Pisti leaning forward, listening intently to him. “He only spent four years alongside Lord Sinbad, experiencing so much of the world. I think it was because of Lord Sinbad that he died happy.”

He gives a final sigh as his tired eyes settle onto Pisti’s form. “I’d like to think he’d forgive him for all of this too.”

“I think he would too.”

Ja’far returns to his home in Sindria late into the night, purposely so no one would bother with welcoming him home aside from the guards stationed at the docks. He enjoys Sindria the most like this, the quiet murmurs of a country barely awake were often his only companion late into the lonely working hours.

Sinbad would visit him in those hours if he had awoken in the middle of the night. Sinbad would walk the distance from his room in the Purple Leo Tower all the way to Ja’far’s office just to check if the other had fallen asleep on his desk. In those days, he’d wake to Sinbad’s fingers threading through his hair and he’d berate himself for not waking up at the creak of the door.

“You’re exhausted, go sleep- that’s an order.”

Ja’far could remember how Sinbad spoke to him in those early hours even down to how Sinbad took his wrist and pulled him away from his work. A year has come and gone, since he’s heard Sinbad speak to him, call his name, felt the touch of his hands against his wrist-

His home is quiet when he returns to it, it’s been like this ever since he lived in his quiet Csitephon apartment. The contents are the same, wooden utensils, knitting supplies, and the occasional gift that Ja’far held onto. Most of the items in his possession are alike relics of the past as the future moves past their need of them. 

Even as the world moves forward, he clings to these parts of the past- he’s lost so much already.

“Today is the start of a new beginning, a shared future. As the president of Sindria Company I will lead the world into a new era.”

He’s ever so slightly sickened by the fact that he still misses Sinbad like this, to the point of playing old recordings of his presentations in the Sindria Company. No matter how vividly Sinbad lives on in his mind, he much prefers the real thing. He’s lulled to sleep by Sinbad’s voice from an old recording of when they started up their new lives in Csitephon.

The beginning of the end, of whatever they had.

When loud knocking rings out from his door, he’s half tempted to rip the door off its hinges and maim whoever woke him up. All thoughts about throwing out whoever woke up stop when he opens the door the King of Heliohapt stands there with two guards and a sheepish smile.

“King Sharrkan.” Ja’far blinks up at him, half surprised that Sharrkan was even awake in the early hours.

“...Lord Ja’far.” Sharrkan responds, just as stiff.

“Are you…here for something?”

“Oh, uh- right!” Sharrkan scrambles for a moment, quickly turning around to grab some sort of box from one of the guard's hands. He extends the box out to Ja’far, who takes it but stares down at it, before looking back up at Sharrkan. “A gift.”

“Do you…want to go inside? We can talk there?” Ja’far asks, barely taking the gift any mind.

“Uh- yeah, that’d be great.” Sharrkan says, after some period of time.

Ja’far steps aside, placing the box on a coffee table in the middle of the room. He gestures to the dining table in the other room, where Sharrkan settles down. He leaves his two guards at the front door- which Ja’far is more than thankful for.

Sharrkan visibly relaxes when his guards aren’t directly behind him, enough that he props his elbows on the table and holds his head in his hands.

“Is that really a pose befitting a king?” Ja’far sneers.

“...Can you give me this one moment to not be a king?” Sharrkan whines. “I’m sorry for not visiting sooner, you know how it is.”

Ja’far sighs at the informal tone Sharrkan takes but relents, Sinbad was like this too- asking for Ja’far for such moments where he was not his king. “It’s fine, I don’t expect anyone to and yet they come by anyway.”

Sharrkan grabs his gift from the table and unravels it, revealing a transparent glass case with what appears to be an animal enclosure. 

Ja’far peers into the enclosure and spots a white snake with red eyes- an albino from the looks of it, staring back at him from the depths of a log deep in the enclosure.

“Here, I thought of you when I saw her, so I took the liberty of-”

“Is this …dinner?”

“What- No!” Sharrkan quickly takes the glass case back into his arms and backs away.

“I’m joking, I’m joking-” Ja’far laughs, hiding a wide smile behind his sleeves. “I’m just used to Aladdin and the others coming by for dinner, they bring me ingredients.”

Sharrkan actively eases, settling the enclosure back onto the table. “This is a gift okay! You can find food for her really easily, the ecosystem here is really messed up and left a lot of rodent pests-”

“You’ve really thought this through..” Ja’far says, looking at Sharrkan, an odd expression on his face. “But you do realize, I spent a whole two weeks eating snakes like these? In Sinbad’s adventures?”

“What- I, I skipped those chapters as a kid!” Sharrkan hastily admits. His eyes focus on Ja’far and he smiles, realizing Ja’far’s smiles appear to be genuine. “But..Joking around like this, you’re doing a lot better than when I last saw you.”

Sharrkan breathes a sigh of relief, having only been one of the many people worried about Ja’far. He really did mean to visit, to make sure he was doing okay, but things have never been easy between all of them. Hinahoho had confided in all of them, asking them to visit when they could, knowing Ja’far would take it the hardest among everyone. But somehow a year had passed and they barely saw each other- it was expected, they had their own priorities now.

“Well you did ask me to not treat you like a king.” Ja’far says with a huff. “The last time you saw me, Alibaba’s wedding where you bawled your eyes out- I wasn’t at my best.”

“Weddings are very emotional and it was very beautiful!” Sharrkan says quickly.

“Your disciple has beaten you in that regard, when are you going to confess?” Ja’far asks with a laugh and a tilt of the head.

“Confess!?!” Sharrkan gets up to his feet again in surprise, his shock fully displaying on his face. “I am not- with?! How did you even know!?”

“You’re quite obvious, everyone in the palace had some kind of inclination.”

“That’s not fair, you know! Asking me something like that when you haven’t settled down yourself! When are you finding someone?!” Sharrkan says, his lips moving without thinking.

He spots it only for a second, the forced smile and how Ja’far stills at the question and he wonders just how badly he has messed up.

Ja’far recovers quickly, raising his sleeve to cover his mouth. “I’ve skipped that step already, I practically raised four world leaders.”

“...I won’t argue with that,” Sharrkan bites his lip, slowing his words. “You’re family to us all, we all care about you.”

“You’ve..” Ja’far gets out of his chair and ruffles the King of Heliohapt’s hair. “Been thinking too hard about this all, haven’t you?”

Sharrkan does his best not to back away from the gesture, letting all the work his handmaiden did go to waste. “You had us all worried! Don’t blame me!”

“Was this all it took to get you on the right track, taking away your bad influence?” Ja’far only laughs, retracting his hand from Sharrkan’s hair. “If you’re staying long, let me make you breakfast.”

The mere mention brings about memories of Sharrkan’s first days in the Sindria Trading Company, sitting at the table surrounded by a warmth he had never known. 

“Are you homesick, Sharrkan?” Ja’far had asked, a kind smile like Sharrkan had never quite known. “Let me make you breakfast, I sampled some of Heliohapt’s food, how about helping me in the kitchen?”

Sharrkan feels tears prick his eyes at the memory and quickly moves to wipe them away to avoid smearing his makeup. He can hear Ja’far rushing toward him, about to ask him what’s wrong. “I remembered when you first tried to make me Heliohaptan food when I was first brought to the Sindria Trading Company- I just missed this, I missed this a lot!”

“...I see.” Ja’far backs away and Sharrkan can just barely see that same genuine warm smile Ja’far had first given him when he first said his name.

Ja’far leaves Sharrkan to go prepare his breakfast, without meat as Sharrkan has always enjoyed. But he stays in the doorway for a few seconds, looking back to him. “You’ve come a long way since those days at Sindria Trading Company-”

“I’m really proud of you.”

Sharrkan cries in full force this time, even as Ja’far rushes over and pats his back reassuringly.

All of the former Eight Generals meet sometime later in the next years, everytime stopping by the memorial of the first Sindria now. It’s become a ritual for them all, to acknowledge all they have lost, desperately holding on what they have left. Pisti mourns Mystras, having barely met him once when she was three, only knowing him through the bits and pieces she’s told.

The memorial visits are lively, with Sahel, Pipirika and Kikirikui alongside his wife and child; they refuse to let it be a somber occasion, even when Hinahoho speaks of Rurumu. Ja’far even shares a few tales of Vittel and Mahad, the little he can. They share this moment with each other, even if only half of them knew those who died, even if the king that united them all exists somewhere farther than they can imagine.

They don’t have time to get stuck in the past, the world moves forward, with or without Sinbad.

Slowly, they all learn how to smile alongside each other again. 

News about Sinbad slows over time, as priorities tear everyone farther and farther away from their former king. Ja’far continues on, marching forward, this time knowing he had loved Sinbad.

Sometime after the third year after Sinbad has left, they completely lose track of his ruhk.

Chapter Text

“At the time of this recording, it’s already been about a year and a half since you went and left.”

Ja’far’s voice echoes through the barren landscape and bounces off dilapidated buildings that fill the emptiness. Sinbad doesn't bother with hiding his presence or the noise, and lets his arms slump as he traverses the decrepit world. There’s nothing to be met here, everything on the surface of the forgotten world of Alma Torran has long died- leaving Sinbad to rely purely on the gifts Ja’far and everyone else has sent him.

“Even a year past everything and we’re still rebuilding.” Ja’far’s message starts as it usually does, with how long it’s been and what has been done in his period of absence. It had been a habit from when they spent time away from each other, even from when Ja’far was little more than Sindria Trading Company’s Head Accountant.

“Most of everything is under control and life is mostly back to normal. As a part of Sindria’s government again, I’m working through the paperwork for it all.” Ja’far’s words carry a tiredness Sinbad can’t put into words. He sounds muted, as he presses the recording device close to his face. “I’m not alone through all of this, of course. Drakon, Sahel, Analyn, and even Pipirika are here to help me, along with the rest of my coworkers.”

The last bit didn’t need to be said, but Ja’far says it anyway, as if he knew Sinbad would worry for him. (True to Ja’far’s intuition, he had.)

“Everyone has been housed and taken care of, everyone who we could find, I mean.” Sinbad can hear the frustration lining Ja’far’s voice, even now as he rattles off facts pertaining to the aftereffects of Sinbad’s actions. Ja’far had always been rather honest in front of Sinbad- only in front of Sinbad. Old habits die hard, no matter how estranged.

“Drakon has been working on transitioning our trade routes to rely on airships, Sahel has her hands busy with- never mind, I’m sure Drakon will tell you.” Sinbad can hear the faint smile on Ja’far’s voice and he raises an eyebrow. Before he has the time to think about it, Ja’far’s voice starts up again.

“Analyn is sorting through how the districts will be divided with the land as it is and Pipirika is back and handling our treasury.” The note of fondness quickly drops from Ja’far’s voice as he prattles on. “She only came back a few months ago, after she finished up business back at the former Sindria Company.”

“The precious company you left in my hands doesn’t exist anymore, for your information.” Ja’far says the words with a particular kind of vile lining his throat. “The building is being torn down as I speak, though with everything that’s happened it was a miracle it was still held up together for so long.”

“It’s being broken up into smaller companies- as per Partevia’s new laws about monopolies. Not exactly good for business or government if a big company like that grows to be corrupt or files bankruptcy.” The voice pauses for a moment to reel back in carefully concealed hatred.

“As for me, I’ve been busy with the spike in crime. Not in Sindria, as we long recognized poverty as the main instigator for crime-” Sinbad hears the creak of a wooden chair, one that Ja’far had followed Ja’far from Sindria to Partevia- and back.

“But Kou and Reim never dealt with crime and criminals well, especially with the world as it is. The world has moved a little too fast for them to be able to adapt to change, they need help and their long history of enslaving or executing criminals actively works against them.” Ja’far begins to ramble, as a lot of his messages seem to have been nowadays. Sinbad doesn’t mind, merely happy to hear the other is doing well, as well as he can be.

“…A lot of citizens still have trouble with Kouen being alive, though he’s been forgiven by the Empress.” Ja’far gives a sigh and the image is vivid enough that Sinbad can imagine him sitting in front of him, a free hand massaging the creases in his forehead. “If that wasn’t enough, their prison system has pretty much fallen apart and they don’t have the means to hold criminals like they used to, they’re asking me to help them- with remaking their laws and updating them to fit the time.”

“That’s what they said, however, I somehow still find myself mudding my hands while working alongside their investigators. Word got around that I’m best at working out crimes that can’t be solved through magic.” Sinbad can hear the frown in Ja'far's voice, as his tone slows and he bites his lip.

“Takes one to know one- I suppose.” Ja'far says it like he expected Sinbad to be unhappy with it. Sinbad is, but it's not like he's there to scold him for it.

“People have always had a funny way of reminding me of where I come from.”

Sinbad has to stop the audible protest in his throat, with another harsh bite to the lip. Though he had made a joke out of it over the years- it had always been a notoriously difficult part of Ja’far’s life to move past. Sinbad’s first attempts at joking about it, however misguided, we’re made to help Ja’far notice how far he’s come.

Ja’far had always been a little too hard on himself about his past and never quite did enough to deal with the trauma of exactly what he'd been through. Sinbad shares that aspect, but Ja’far had always been a bit better at tuning it all out. As it is now, Ja’far probably stares death and blood in the face, now more than he ever did in his time in Partevia’s Sindria Company.

Sinbad isn’t there to grab Ja’far by the arm, or pinch his cheek for thinking too hard about a history he can’t change. He doesn’t doubt everyone around Ja’far in these, very trying times- but they were never quite privy to how his past influenced his thoughts.

It’s all just another reason why he needs to come back.

“Speaking of violent offenders-” Sinbad’s attention snaps back to the message.

“We’ve dealt with Arba.”

Ja’far leaves it in the air, what exactly ‘ dealt with ’ means. A heavy, long silence follows before Ja’far speaks again. He gives Sinbad space to think through his choice of words, dealt with, and who we is.

Ja’far’s voice starts anew, once Sinbad has been given enough time to think over his statement. 

“Everyone’s been making time to visit Sindria, to check up on each other. We’ve been doing alright, we're all here for each other- I figured you'd wanted to know that."

"We all want you back, safe and sound."

The device clicks back and moves onto the next portion of the tape. Sinbad merely sighs and pockets it as he trudges along.

Ja’far’s message comes from the newest batch of tapes sent to him, bundled up with preserved food and more water. The packages have been the sole source of food he’s had since leaving Zepar’s dungeon and he’s had to ration them carefully- it’s about the only thing keeping him alive.

It’s probably been about several months since he’s left the comfort of Zepar’s dungeon, it's not as if he can tell. If he was able to have some semblance of time in the dimensions before, then he has even less of an ability to now. Alma Torran’s surface world is completely dead , even down to the sky that is dark but not quite night. 

It’s almost frozen in time. Sinbad squints at some mirage of a sun that beams down at him, but it doesn’t burn his eyes to look at it. Even so, he’s been told off far too often by his mother not to look directly at the sun, and averts his eyes. At the very least, he doesn’t seem to have to worry about sunburns while out here.

Though it’s mildly refreshing not to have to sleep with one eye open or worry about the searing sun scalding into his skin, the loneliness is getting to him. Zepar wasn’t exactly much of a conversationalist, neither did he have much time to speak with Baal or Valefor. It’s just nearly two years since he began this new adventure if his mental count is to be trusted.

He doesn’t completely trust his count of days, months, or years- Ja’far had done it for the majority of their journeys together, along with keeping track of rationing all their food- Ja’far had always been better at him at all of that. 

Sinbad shakes away the thought with an audible groan. The messages and his own memories have been his only source of comfort and entertainment for the past two years and he finds his thoughts easily drifting off to better days far too often.

It’s hard not to think of better times, how Sinbad left them- above everything else he regrets that the most. It’s one thing to leave all of Sindria behind- their city of dreams, all in his pursuit of a dream. It’s another thing to look Ja’far in the face, Ja’far who would follow him to any corner of the world, as the one person who he could be honest with- and lie.

Ja’far has every right to want him dead, even more so, to want to do it himself.

Before he can bury himself any deeper into melancholic thoughts of the last time he saw Ja’far before he left for the Sacred Palace- a pillar of light in the distance interrupts his thoughts as it shreds through the dreary landscape and tears a hole through the sky.

Sinbad’s neck cranes to see it, it’s close enough that he can hear the sheer amount of magoi bursting from it. It’s far too soon for him to receive another set of tapes, but the burst of light looks exactly the same as the spells that drop off his little care packages. 

He spares no moment rushing towards it, burning through his thoughts. It becomes obvious the closer he gets to it- golden eyes narrow as he steps over the ruins of a building to get a better look at the spiraling light that reaches to the skies.

All the previous times he had received his bundle of tapes and preserved fruits and water, the magoi that he could see by the sheer amount of it used by the spell- had always spiraled down from the skies. It takes him a mere moment to reach an answer he’s satisfied with. If the magoi flowing downwards delivered him the messages, the change of direction could mean his way back home.

It’s a bit of a stretch and he knows it, even as he nears the shining beam of light he feels a knot in his stomach. Even ignoring all the previous messages Yamuraiha detailed about how hard it’d be to manage a teleportation spell from his end, the sheer magoi it would require isn’t something they could get a hold of so easily. If Yamuraiha and the others had already planned his way back home, they would’ve told him in their messages. Unless he’s missed one, which is entirely possible. 

As he approaches the pillar of light it doesn’t dwindle in its brightness at all, continuously outpouring magoi. He eyes it with slight apprehension as he looks it up and down. Sinbad could call himself crazy, but it seems to be waiting on him.

Well, he’s been through worse.

“Fuck it.” He says, bracing his eyes as he steps into the light.

In the few seconds that he closes his eyes, the floor- decrepit buildings and crumbling rubble disappear, they fall away to a place unknown, and his body braces for something to catch him. His hands and feet find solid ground once more, before his eyes even open.

A familiar voice speaks to him before he looks up.

“Welcome to Alma Torran’s underground cities, Sinbad.” Ugo says.

The moment Sinbad realizes who exactly is speaking, he scrambles to his feet, sword firm in his grip. “...Are you here to finish what you..started?”

The words leave his lips before Sinbad can quite register the noticeably different appearance then trail off once he gets a look at Ugo and his surroundings. Ugo is whole and properly clothed for one, but he holds a solemn look to his face as Sinbad’s sword stays focused on him.

Sinbad doesn’t recognize the clothes from any civilization he’s personally been to, but he recalls it from the Summit, Aladdin’s magic, and the very day he began to listen to David. The Ugo standing in front of him is most reminiscent of the one he saw through the memories of Alma Torran, complete with plain white robes with a single red cloth draping from his shoulder to waist. Ugo’s most drastic change from Sinbad’s own encounter with him, is that he appears human.

“I-I’m sorry,” Ugo stammers, in stark contrast to the Ugo Sinbad had met back in the Sacred Palace. He quickly holds his hands up in surrender. "Nothing like that, I promise!”

Sinbad hesitates as he steadies his sword, in an effort to keep Ugo from getting any closer. He hasn’t felt remotely safe in years and he isn’t about to fall here, after he’s come all this way. “ You killed me , give me one reason why I should trust you won’t kill me again.”

Ugo frowns as he notes the caution and distrust in Sinbad’s glare. He holds his hands up but takes a long breath as he speaks slowly. “You and I both know I was only playing my role as the Guardian of the Sacred Palace, In playing that role, I killed you. I was only doing what I thought was right.”

Sinbad groans as his extended hand falters and he sheathes his sword. "...I was too. I thought I was doing what was right.”

Ugo’s arms drop too, as he watches Sinbad’s shoulders drop. “I want to make things right, with you and all of your world. There’s a lot left unfinished, for me and for you- I’m sure.”

Sinbad takes the chance to take in their surroundings, inherently feeling that Ugo is hiding some sort of truth from him. His eyes catch the ceiling far above him and the long lines of empty buildings that surround them. He squints when he catches sight of a familiar structure lining the top of the mountain of cities. “...You brought me here?” He asks.

“Yes, that was me- my spell.” Ugo follows Sinbad’s eyes up to the ceiling then away as he brings a hand to his own head, carefully massaging out creases. “I’m glad it worked, I haven’t done a spell since I was in the Sacred Palace..” Ugo trails off into some inaudible mumbles about the bodies of magicians that Sinbad can’t quite follow.

Question not quite answered, Sinbad rewords his words. “... Why did you bring me here?”

Ugo brings his head back up, but quickly turns away from him as he feels the note of impatience in his voice. “I…can’t really tell you.”

“I don’t appreciate being left in the dark.”

“You’ll know later, if our hunch is right. Please just trust us on this-”

“Us? Our?”

“Me- and the other djinns. After…Everything, the djinns were brought back to their dungeons, yours included.” Ugo quickly pipes up, words increasing in speed. It reminds Sinbad of Yamuraiha’s long winded ramblings about spellwork and theories. “We don’t exactly have it all together but how the world ended up affected our end too, the dungeon's entrances have been, scrambled a bit, we’re doing a fair bit of rebuilding on our end. Blessing and a curse it's been, Baal, Valefor, and Zepar were able to find you and teleport you all over because of that.”

Sinbad absorbs the information just as quickly as it's offered, and opens his mouth to respond, just before he’s interrupted.

“Ah Furfur helped me find you, he wanted to speak to you.” Ugo’s lip turns up in mild contemplation. “The both of us, actually.”

“Furfur-” Where exactly he’s seen this landscape before hits him with clarity as he feels a sudden burst of energy barreling through him. “Gods how could I forget- This is Furfur’s dungeon. The treasure room is right ahead, I conquered his dungeon with Ja’far, Masrur, and Sharrkan.”

Ugo stays silent for a time, mulling over the moment with slight apprehension. “...You have fond memories of it here?” He asks after some time.

Sinbad immediately beams at him, possibly the first genuine smile he’s worn since everything. “Furfur’s dungeon was the 4th I conquered, the first after I remade Sindria- it’s a little different than how I remembered it but I suppose that's just how Furfur rebuilt it after Masrur and Sharrkan trashed the place-”

Ugo only gives a solemn smile as he follows an overly enthusiastic Sinbad to the treasure room, hearing the long exaggerated tale of how Sinbad conquered Furfur’s dungeon. He doesn’t speak up once, only when prompted to, at the doors of the treasure room.

“...Are you alright?” Sinbad asks, slightly out of his league. He’s always been good with people, and gotten along well with even people who had tried to kill him. “It’s been a while since my last telling of this, but usually they’re met with some enthusiasm.”

“No, it’s fine, really.” Ugo forces his smile to widen as he speaks, raising a hand to deflate Sinbad’s concern. “It’s just that, Aladdin showed you all of Alma Torran’s history, I made all of this, I was the one who designed the dungeon system as a way to choose king vessels-”

Just who Ugo speaks to, he seems to forget as his voice loudens, words spilling out. “I imprisoned my friends to wait for years for a hope that may never come, all to stop a tragedy only we remembered.”

The outburst surprises Sinbad initially, but he quickly dismisses it with a long history of dealing with troubled children. He waits for the other to steady before he gives a reply. “...It’s just like what you said before…You were only doing what you thought was right.”

Ugo struggles to meet his eyes, eyes seemingly caught onto the floor. “But I..” 

Before he can speak another word, the treasury doors open on their own, and a loud voice chimes in.  “Lord Sinbad is right-”

The both of them immediately turn at the sight of the decorated doors opening with wide eyes.

“You’re too hard on yourself, you only managed what you could in Sheba and Solomon’s absence.” Furfur smiles down at them from a great height, surrounded by an empty treasury, he floats down to meet the two of them, soundlessly landing on the ground. He lowers his head in greeting. “Uraltugo Noi Nueph. Lord Sinbad.”

“Furfur.” Ugo addresses him simply with a nod of the head.

Sinbad, on the other hand, shuffles awkwardly in place and leans over to Ugo’s shoulder and whispers. “... That’s your full name ?”

“...Yes?”

“I don’t remember it being that complicated from Aladdin’s little presentation.” Sinbad quietly muses, but then quickly rebounds, waving away the thought. “Well, I’ve dealt with far more complicated names.”

“Pardon?”

“Well you two get along quite well!” Furfur bellows loudly with a smirk and a hearty laugh. “Sorry Lord Sinbad, Ugo here’s always had low self esteem, even now that he’s not a djinn he’s like this!”

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that, actually.” Sinbad adds in, like he’s just remembered it. “You’re human? Or..a magi?”

“Magician, to put it simply. Magi can’t exist anymore, since their power is tied back to the Sacred Palace-” Ugo stops himself, suddenly shaking his head. “The more important question, is what are you ? You died , became the Guardian of the Sacred Palace then got torn apart by David, then you’re back here- whole and alive? That makes less than me putting myself back together using what little I could gather of the Sacred Palace’s power!”

“Look, I don’t know what exactly I am either. I was battling it out with David and then he was gone and I was like this and seeing illusions.” Sinbad explains with a shrug. “I can’t even tell you if I won or lost against David.” 

The two hear his explanation and exchange a concerned glance before looking back at Sinbad. 

“We were right, to bring him here.” Furfur says with crossed arms, the usual smile he sports sinks into a frown as he speaks. 

“Care to explain why…?” Sinbad raises an eyebrow with increasing impatience.

“You’ll know eventually, whether you like it or not you’re stuck here.” Furfur laughs as he says it, his smirk lining his face once more.

“But we will help you get back to your world. Just give us time.” Ugo is quick to say, in an attempt to reassure him.

Their only response is a sigh from an, albeit quite grumpy, Sinbad. As much as he hates to admit it, they’re right and he has no reason not to trust them, despite how unwilling they are to spill just why he’s here. Baal, Valefor, and Zepar are about half the reason as to how he’s gotten this far, that and- Aladdin had believed that he was a good person till the end, and as a final favor to him, he’ll extend the sentiment to Ugo and all the other Djinns.

Over the next several months in Alma Torran’s underground cities, he spends it traveling with Ugo as his guide- the underground cities are difficult to travel on foot, and many of the entrances and exits have been scrambled ever since the dungeons left the other world. Each and every level are being put back together and connected, with their respective djinns helping. Sinbad helps where he can, with what little he can do. 

He feels like he’s being reminded of his growing age every day, with digging through the tunnels connecting each dungeon. Ugo bears the brunt of Sinbad’s endless rambling about random aches and pains, about how scary the big number ‘40’ rings in his head.

The added company is well appreciated, as Sinbad hadn’t had a proper conversation or interaction in years, and neither has anyone else. No matter how charismatic he had once thought himself, he finds his foot in his mouth in more conversations than ever. Ugo trips up far more often than he, and he at least gets a laugh at that. 

It’s safe here and he finds himself not missing the still air that pervades the outside, more importantly it’s easier to survive on the food and water throughout the dungeons rather than the packages sent to him. He’s grateful to still receive them, along with the occasional bundle of messages. Ugo himself, teleports the messages and tracks their magical energy signature through some flurry of words Sinbad doesn’t understand.

Each and every time Sinbad opens these packages, he opens them like a ten year old child on their birthday. While each message is honored like a well packaged candied treat, each portion of the tapes is savored over several days before Sinbad moves onto the next. Of these, Ugo greatly enjoys Yamuraiha’s message, always some long diatribe about magical formulas and devices she’s developed. 

Sinbad eagerly tells him, they’d get along quite well. Ugo smiles happily, hearing and learning about each of Sinbad’s companions, just how proud Sinbad is of all of them- he hears most about Ja’far. Sinbad sticks to the happier memories, the unspoken knowledge that he had left all of them, all of that behind willingly, hangs over him with every spoken word.

Traveling with Ugo also serves to make sure any of the more pissed off Djinns don’t kill him on the spot. Sinbad isn’t a popular guest, he quickly finds out, especially among the Djinns who were quite fond of their King Vessels. Of all the Djinns, he gets the biggest mouthful from Paimon.

“I can’t believe you brought him here-” Paimon throws up her hands in exasperation, before blinking twice. “Oh he does look exactly like Focalor.” She scrunches up her nose in distaste.

“If I had 10 dinars every time I’ve been told that..” Sinbad mutters under his breath.

“You better put him back where you found him before I kill him myself!” Paimon frowns deeply at Ugo, completely intent on ignoring Sinbad’s entire existence in her dungeon. “You know what he did! He sat by and did nothing while Arba possessed my king vessel!”

“We’re just passing by, looking for a few other djinns-” Ugo tries.

“I don’t care! I just want to know if Hakuei is okay!” Paimon near shrieks, her voice elevating.

“She’s stronger than that you know-” Sinbad near interrupts.

“Oh like I want to hear that from you !” Paimon juts a long pointed finger at Sinbad’s throat. “You didn’t know her like I did!”

“I can’t change what’s already happened but-”

“No buts! Just get out, get out!”

“Maybe it’d be better to hear from her yourself!” Sinbad yells out before he can be interrupted. Paimon stills at the declaration, but the knots in her forehead haven’t faded as she waits for an explanation. Sinbad slows his voice, both to regain his breath but also to make sure the djinn hears him properly. “I get these messages from my world.  She sent me a message a while back, she seemed to be doing alright, considering the circumstances.”

“What are you blabbing on about then, just show me it!”

“Fine, fine-” Sinbad whines as he scours through his bag, his patience wearing thin. “But it’s a recording so you’ll have to be quiet!”

Paimon huffs at being talked down like a petulant child by Sinbad of all people, but otherwise doesn’t give speak another word.

Sinbad takes a glance at Paimon to make sure she won’t interrupt the recording. She merely replies with an irritated stuckout tongue, but stays quiet as the recording starts up.

"When I first met you, I couldn’t help but distrust you."  

The minute Hakuei’s voice echoes from the device, Sinbad is promptly shoved aside and onto the hard pavement of the dungeon floor. He’s just about to protest but stops himself when he sees how deeply absorbed Paimon is into the recording, pressing her ear and getting as close as possible to it. She’s pressed up so close to it that he can’t hear a single word from the recording until it comes to a stop and Paimon grabs the device and looks at him and says-

“I’m keeping this.”

“What? No no no no,” Sinbad jumps to his feet, and disregards any sort of properness about Djinn and humans as he tries desperately to pry the device back from Paimon’s hands. “This is the only thing I have to hear from my world-”

“You want to hear from them despite trying to destroy the world?” She huffs and holds the device closer and turns away. “You don’t deserve this!”

“I know I don’t, I really don’t - but I need this-” Sinbad’s voice dies a bit as he watches Paimon float up with a petty huff.

“Please?” He tries.

“Paimon, hand it over-” Ugo adds in, his voice tired but stern. “I’ll make you a copy, just give me time, alright?”

She hears him, at least, and floats down, gingerly handing Ugo the device. “I’m still not happy about having him here.” She frowns seeing Ugo hand it back to Sinbad and shoots him a glance so sharp that it could shatter steel.

Needless to say, they spend the next couple of days producing a copy of the tapes and device from scrap so Paimon can hear Hakuei’s voice. In the long run, it’s a mere hiccup on his journey back home, a necessary one, however. 

“Who exactly are you looking for?” Paimon hums, watching Ugo take apart the tape recorder to mimic its components. She still refuses to do so much as acknowledge Sinbad’s presence, but it’s preferred over trying to kill him.

“Belial, Phenex- and Dantalion.” Ugo recites, almost a mantra at this point with the number of times he’s had to repeat it. “Dantalion would be best to find, he could help us get around- with all the djinn still trying to find each other. The other Djinn are to make sure of something.”

Paimon turns her head over to Sinbad, who had been enjoying some dried out fruits by a water fountain in her dungeon, then looks back to Ugo. “Has something to do with him, doesn’t it? It has to.”

Ugo doesn’t respond, whether it’s because he’s far too absorbed in his magical spell or unwilling to answer, Paimon doesn’t ask again.

“Give me some kind of hint, this ones not ringing any bells.” Sinbad hums while making their way through an empty city. Their paths had them navigating through a system of caves then later what is obviously the once sprawling cities of Alma Torran. “The dungeons I conquered never showed the actual once inhabited cities..” He muses.

“You wouldn’t know this one, or the next ones- you didn’t conquer any of them.” Ugo hums, weight supported by his staff as he walks.

“Hm.” Sinbad brings a hand up to his chin as he mulls it over. “Do I know who did? Actually, scratch that, that wouldn’t narrow it down at all.”

“The person who conquered this dungeon is younger than you.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down either.”

“He is a big fan of yours.”

“Well, that just gives it away.” 

“You were a big inspiration to a lot of kids, dungeon conquerors alike I’m sure- don’t you think you’ve narrowed it down a little too fast?”

“You said ‘is’. There’s only one kid stupid enough to both conquer a dungeon and still be my fan after everything I’ve done.”

Ugo offers no response to that, letting the noise between them fall into silence. Sinbad’s usual enthusiasm drops to a halt at the mere mention, and they move forward only with the sound of their footsteps all the way to the doors of the treasury and even until the doors open for them. 

Amon welcomes them with open arms and a bow, as is most of the djinn’s usual greeting. “Uraltugo Noi Nueph and Sinbad. I welcome you to my dungeon and treasury.”

“Amon,” Ugo steps forward and prepares a well recited question. “We’re looking for Belial, Phenex, and Dantalion.”

“Belial, Phenex, and Dantalion?” Amon takes a deep breath, stroking the long beard on his chin. “A very specific group of djinns you’re looking for.”

“I have good reason to.” Ugo says, his eyes glancing back to Sinbad, who remains in the background of these interactions. He’s a stranger to this world, even to the djinns that do acknowledge his presence.

“...Are you trying to make up for everything?” Amon asks, after a brief silence. Ugo visibly stiffens at the question. “The dungeon system, the fate you asked of us?”

Ugo manages out an unsteady sigh rather than a response, his eyes dropping down to the treasury floor.

“We were the ones who accepted it, accepted your conclusion- we have already forgiven you, if there was any need to.” Amon says, lowering himself to Ugo’s height, trying to console him. “Our fate, our lives- you are no longer the Guardian of the Sacred Palace, or a god. Your burden is over.”

Ugo’s grip on his staff tightens as he takes a deep breath. “I never wanted to sit atop the world- but that was just the responsibility that was left to me. I did what I could, what I thought was right, what I thought Solomon wanted of me. I was wrong. Solomon was wrong.”

Amon heaves a deep breath, his presence as the djinn of this dungeon felt through his sheer power alone. “Then, why do you stand before me today, looking for Phenex and Dantalion?”

Ugo sighs again, this time more steady than before. “I haven’t forgiven myself. It may not be my responsibility anymore, but I will do what I can, as a mere magician- I want to make things right. For my sake, and not for Solomon or anyone else's.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Amon breathes a solemn exhale with a smile that exaggerates his crow’s feet. “I managed to connect my underground city to Phenex’s a few days ago, I’m certain you’ll be able to find Dantalion’s through hers. A familiar of mine can guide you till the edge of my city.”

Ugo raises his head to look in the direction, his eyes narrowing. “Thank you.” 

“Sinbad, is it?” Amon redirects his attention to Sinbad, standing at the edge of the treasury, long learned that his presence borders on the unwelcome to most interactions with the djinns. “I have a few words for you.”

Sinbad raises his head, but steps forward at the djinn’s calling. “Of course.”

He’s used to the jeering and outright namecalling from djinns he and Ugo had visited till this point. His intuition tells him Amon is different, but he expects something like an unkind lecture anyway.

“My king vessel trusted you were a good person till the end. Aladdin did as well.” Amon begins, his arms crossed as he speaks. “I want to believe the same.”

“Lord Alibaba looked up to you, as did many others. You guided him, helped him through his first encounters with Al’Thamen in Balbadd, played the role of a kind mentor- all with the single goal of eliminating the irregularities in the world.” Amon’s gaze softens, his eyes closing bitterly. “In your heart, you know how you became the villain of your own story. I hope you’ve changed for the better. For your world and the people who stood beside you.”

“...I hope so too.” Is Sinbad’s only response.

The walk to Phenex’s dungeon begins with a undiscernable mutterings from Ugo, Sinbad is immediately put off by the behavior, having relied on the banter between the two to fill time. He’s been through this rodeo far too often, if Yamuraiha’s legendary magical ramblings are anything to go by- and figures it’s best to remain silent.

If he’s honest there are only a handful of people he’s comfortable with complete silence, or at least one sided conversations. It had always been Ja’far and Masrur, as some of the best listeners in all of the palace. Complete silence with Masrur was always the norm, the man being as unspoken since he was a child. Ja’far on the other hand, was best when he’s quiet- for one it’d meant he wasn’t nagging or complaining about palace inefficiencies and funds.

A quiet Ja’far is a happy Ja’far. Sinbad quietly reminds himself. So much hadn’t been true in their last years before Sinbad’s great betrayal, but such a thing was most true back in Sindria and prior to that. Quiet were the mornings where Sinbad would stumble upon Ja’far’s sleeping form atop his desk, hair disheveled from a failed all nighter. He had always resented himself for making Ja’far work so hard, but he’d always loved seeing Ja’far sleep. It’d always felt like such a still moment in time, reserved for only him, for him to indulge in the warmth of his beating heart that rolls around in these moments.

Sinbad’s daydreaming is quickly cut short when Ugo’s mantra of formulas and mental notes grinds to a halt as Phenex’s treasury doors open to welcome the duo in, Phenex’s giant blue form materializing before them.

At her summoning, feathers fly about the room and settle among the tiled floors. She looks at both of them, her eyes gentle and caring. Sinbad ignores the way it’s probably the kindest look any djinn has given him in months.

“Uraltugo Noi Nueph.” She says in a short greeting. “And…Sinbad, is it?”

“It is.”

Her gaze doesn’t sharpen or neither does she frown. “I am Phenex, Djinn of Kindness and Mediation.” She says, a hand splayed on her chest as she greets him.

Introductions out of the way, Ugo steps forward, closer to her. “Phenex, I can’t tell you the details here, but I require your assistance.”

“Of course. Anything I can do for you, I know your heart is pure.” She replies.

“Do you have anything that can extend your mediation magic outside of your dungeon?” Ugo exclaims quite desperately, as if Phenex wouldn’t understand him. “Something to exert your influence on something else, I don’t mind waiting any amount of time for you to prepare it.” 

Her back straightens at the question, head lost in thought for a moment. “There is only so much I can do as a djinn, the most I can give you is a magical device from my dungeon. If that much is alright-”

“It’s fine, as long as it works, it’ll be fine.” Ugo hurriedly says, now brimming with a smile.

Sinbad only looks on, still not quite understanding his role in all of this.

“This is a dungeon, isn’t it?” Sinbad asks aloud, though his eyes haven’t departed from the near mirror image of Sindria’s palace standing before him. 

It’s odd because Sinbad knows this isn’t Sindria, nevermind the fact that he hasn’t been to his world in three years- he feels the sea breeze that he had called home for so long, the place he’s tried desperately to come home to for the past three years.

“Ugo,” Sinbad turns back to Ugo, only to find neither him nor the dungeon tunnel which they had entered from. “...Damn it.”

Sinbad turns back to the mirror image of Sindria’s palace and walks forward. Whatever djinn is manipulating this dungeon, they’re obviously directing him to one place. It shouldn’t be surprising to him that there’s a djinn capable of creating a whole replica of Sindria’s palace from a visitor’s memories alone- at least that’s what he thinks it is. It’s far more likely than one of his djinns recreating Sindria for the mere chance that he stumbles upon it.

It’s scarily accurate, it’s like this Sindria was pulled from his memories- down to the faint smell of salt from the crash of the ocean against rock walls. But more than scary, it’s painful. He’d rarely been to Sindria aside from the yearly visits to the memorial of the 1st Sindria, in those last years. Part of it was his ironclad determination, to not look behind- only for those that aren’t here to see his new tomorrow.

This is, by all means, the Sindria he left behind.

He walks through each empty wing of the palace, barely paying mind to the illusion of palace workers greeting him in the hall. None of them would greet him with a smile, gleefully call him king, not after what he had done. Sindria doesn’t even look the same as before, from what he hears on his tapes.

Sindria is exactly as he remembers it, long curtains billowing through grand windows and elegantly tiled floor. He walks with no real destination in mind, his feet carrying him automatically, though his right hand stays trained on his sword hilt.

He finally stops, in front of the grand doors of what was his office. He remembers it like it were yesterday, designing the palace, and giving some exaggerated speech to a tired Ja’far about how ‘even a king’s office should be grand’. Sinbad runs a hand down to the handle of the door, gold plating- as he had insisted upon years before.

He feels the insistence to move, to block, before he actually does.

It’s like a slap in the face.

A deep cut into his cheek, the spray of his own blood against his neck.

And a deep red wire- connected to its owner. It retracts when the summoner calls it back, steel daggers zipping past him and back into pale fingers.

“Ja’far!” He yells without thinking, all while moving behind a long marble pillar. “We can talk this out!”

Sinbad doesn’t need to look to know it’s Ja’far, there’s only person in the world that could manipulate a weapon like that, Sham Lash’s very last assassin- Ja’far had made sure a long time ago that he would be the very last. And he’s never known Ja’far to be anything less than thorough.

“There’s is nothing for us to talk about!”

Well, he’s probably right about that. 

“Give me a chance!”

“You and I both know you’ve long run out of chances!”

He’s right about that too.

Sinbad grimaces, wiping the blood away from his cheek. This wound is real, as well as the blood staining his clothes. But this is most certainly not Ja’far he’s fighting. It feels like it would be, because Ja’far has no reason to forgive him, to not want him dead the minute they see each other again.

The real Ja’far isn’t here, but back in the real Sindria, cleaning up after his mess- probably regretting that he ever trusted Sinbad in the first place.

But god does it feel like he’s fighting Ja’far.

Down to the soundless steps that stalk around the side of the pillar Sinbad isn’t watching, down to the sharp knives that catch in his abdomen, down to the downright sinister glare Ja’far gives him as he stares down at him- like a serpent that’s just caught a stray mouse.

Sinbad immediately bolts, ignoring the tug of the wire in his gut, and pushes open the doors of his own office as he tackles them. He had closed his eyes for mere seconds while parting the doors, but upon opening them, he stumbles into his office in Partevia, the darkened city skyline replacing the bright Sindrian sun.

He isn’t offered the time to absorb his new surroundings before the door bursts open again. Ja’far stands again before him, this time clad in his Csetiphon uniform. 

(He looks good in it, still.)

Adrenaline coursing through his body enables him to get up, despite all the aches and pains pulsing across his veins. He’s sprier than he gives himself credit for, in his age, he jokes mentally. There’s no escape from this room, not unless he wants to have a bloody encounter with this Ja’far in his bedroom, attached to his office.

He barely has the time to think before Ja’far’s body collides with his and brings him back down to the floor with a hard thud of his head against tile. The sheer violence and suddenness of it all shock him, and he’s a bit delirious, even as Ja’far bundles the cloth around his neck and forces Sinbad to look at him.

“ I thought I understood you. ” Ja’far says, his voice far more broken than Sinbad has ever heard it.

There’s really nothing he can really say to that.

“ Why? What was worth so much, that you left everything behind? ” 

Sinbad has to remind himself, that this Ja’far isn’t real.

One of Ja’far’s arms lets go of his collar, and winds up- Sinbad braces for the impact without thinking.

When he opens his eyes, he’s staring up at a blue sky and a Ja’far that can’t be older than 13, he still holds Sinbad’s collar in his, smaller hands. In the corner of his vision, he can see the edges of a colosseum and a tower of smoke emanating from a pyre of bodies.

“ Build it with those dirty hands of yours - is that how you interpreted that? Have you always twisted my words to fit your selfish desires?”

Has Ja’far always been a fan of giving him questions he can’t answer?

Seeing Sinbad give no answer once more, Ja’far’s fist winds up and connects with his face again.

This time when Sinbad opens his eyes, he’s laying on the floor of Valefor’s dungeon, where he had saved Ja’far, where Ja’far had promised him-

“If you disappoint me, I’ll kill you.” Ja’far says. He can’t be older than 10, now. “Well I’m really fucking disappointed now!”

Sinbad doesn’t have the strength to get up, or even fight, when this Ja’far speaks with such hatred in his voice.

Sinbad blinks again, and he’s staring up at the rafters of an Imchukk styled house, wooden beams all across the roof. Ja’far comes into view, and pins one of his arms with his foot, and he holds up one of his knives.

“Was it worth it?” Ja’far asks.

There is only one thing he can say, to all of Ja’far’s questions.

“I’m sorry.” Sinbad says, his eyes locking onto Ja’far’s.

As he is now, he wears those same eyes, the eyes of an assassin. Sinbad isn’t sure if this Ja’far hears him, until the knife held at his throat drops to the floor and Ja’far merely gets up and turns away from him.

“Ja’far?” He wheezes. “Talk to me, Ja’far.”

Sinbad strains himself to get up, his blood stained clothes feel like they’re pushing him down, but Sinbad pays them no mind as he wills himself to his knees.

He reaches out a hand to him, and it passes right through his back.

Sinbad blinks again and he’s staring at the undeniable tiled floor of a dungeon’s treasury, his outstretched hand grasping a new tape.

“What the hell.” Sinbad says before he lets his body knock back onto the floor. He holds up the tape to his line of sight and gives a groan. He closes his eyes and as calmly as he can- “Ugo. Please tell me you’re here. I’m bleeding out.” He manages to say.

“Sinbad? Sorry, I was just talking to Belial about how to-” He hears, from some unforsaken corner of the room. “Sinbad you’re bleeding!”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” He groans.

“Belial said he was going to test you, I thought you’d be okay.” Ugo says, kneeling down at Sinbad’s side.

“I am fine,” Sinbad grimaces, opening his eyes to the blinding light in the treasury. “I’ve had worse, just patch me up, or heal me up- I’ll live.”

“Your condition aside, you’ve got excellent timing- I was just about ready to leave.” Ugo heaves a sigh, pulling medical supplies from Sinbad’s bag. “Oh, you got the tapes from the surface? I guess Belial gave them to you?”

“That’s how I got them before?” Sinbad asks, half a question, half a statement. “Actually, have you ever done this before-”

“...First time for everything?” Ugo smiles nervously down at him.

“...Gimme that, I’m not the best at it, but I’ve done it before.” Sinbad huffs, snatching the bundle of bandages from him and doing his best to sit up. “We are done here right?”

“Go on and leave,” Says a ragged and deep voice behind Sinbad.

Once Sinbad turns to him, the voice speaks again.

“I am Belial, Djinn of Truth and Conviction.” The djinn announces itself, bones encircling his shoulders. “I have recognized your truth and permit you to leave my dungeon.”

“My truth? Never mind that,” Sinbad heaves out. “...You were Hakuryuu Ren’s second djinn?”

“Yes, rather-” Belial answers with his arms crossed. “That magi forced me to be.”

“Judar?” Sinbad shrugs, all while wrapping a bandage around his waist. “Figures.”

“Ugo, you know where to go from here, correct?” Belial turns to Ugo, wayward hair flowing with the movement.

“Yes, I’ve got a good handle on where we need to go from here.” Ugo replies, straightening out his robes. “Thank you, for all you’ve done.”

“It’s only natural, we fight for the same cause.” Comes his simple reply.

“One more thing,” Sinbad coughs, struggling to stand. “You were the one, directing me to these,” He motions to the tapes in his hand. “Using the illusions?”

“Aladdin asked it of me, when the Sacred Palace was falling apart and all the djinn were separated from their king vessels.”

“...Figures.”

“Oh I know this one-” Sinbad starts off with a run, leaving Ugo to trail after him. “This is Focalor’s dungeon!” 

Ugo doesn’t respond, far too focused on trying to catch up with Sinbad’s sudden childlike wonder. He gives a wheezing huff once he does, hands clutching his knees as he coughs. “Magicians,” He whines. “Weren't made to physically, exert themselves, like this!”

“You really are just like Yamuraiha like that!” Sinbad merely laughs, pulling Ugo to his feet. “You could use a good workout!”

“I’m trying to conserve my magoi-” Ugo wheezes, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I don’t have endless magoi like before!”

“Lord Sinbad is right!” Focalor’s voice booms from a place unknown, and Sinbad barely pays it any mind, far too used to Djinn’s randomly chiming in from their treasuries. “You could use a good workout!”

“Focalor please-” Ugo near cries. “Just teleport us to you…”

“Fine, fine.” 

With a flash, and Focalor’s flick of the wrist, they both are instantly brought to the treasure room, landing softly on their feet. Just like Furfur’s and the other djinns who had their dungeon’s conquered, the treasury is bare. This time it contrasts sharply with the many jewels decorating Focalor’s body.

“It’s been a while you two, I’ve been expecting you.” Focalor brings his large form down to the ground, arms still crossed but somehow still welcoming.

Ugo immediately steps forward, hands over his heart. “Focalor, Phenex informed us that we could find Dantalion’s dungeon through your-”

“Ahh that that, you’re awfully quick to get down to business aren’t you, Ugo?” Focalor huffs with a lackadaisical wave of the hand. “I understand you might be in a rush but I wish to have a few words with my former king vessel.”

“I, I see.” Ugo frowns but relents, stepping back as Focalor floats to Sinbad.

“It’d been so long since I’d seen you that I forgot how similar you look to me!” Focalor gives a boisterous laugh that echoes across the empty treasury. “It must’ve been fate for you to be my king vessel!”

Sinbad laughs a bit sheepishly at the familiarity that Focalor offers him, but accepts it with his rekindled charisma. “Quite ironic to be speaking of fate, in this way, after all that’s happened. I figured at least one of you would’ve regretted choosing me as your king vessel at this point.”

“Doubting our choices, now are we, My lord?” Focalor is still all smiles as he smirks down at his former lord. “You were, far too perfect of a king vessel, but especially for me, as Djinn of Control and Obedience. I knew you would be able to use my power better than anyone else.” 

Focalor exhales deeply and his smile falters. “Your djinn equip, reflected my view of you, how closely it looks to my appearance. But I also recognized the darkness inside you for a long time, the manipulativeness of yours- I believed your subordinates would keep you right, on the right path. They did, for a while- even with David inside you.” Focalor’s eyes flicker back to Ugo, who bites his lip sharply overhearing the conversation. Focalor continues his words, regardless. “He had no power, no control. All he could do was speak to you, his vessel.”

“Everything changed during that Summit, when you learned of our history- of Alma Torran. That everything David said was true.” Focalor’s eyes narrow and sharpen. “At first you believed you could use him, like you thought you could use Barbarossa, like you thought you could use Arba.”

“Because if there was anyone who could, it would be you- am I wrong?”

“No.” Sinbad answers simply.

“That pride and arrogance, the willingness to control and manipulate anyone, no matter how dangerous- you were the perfect king vessel for me.” Focalor says it with a frown, however confident. “I don’t regret choosing you- I’m sure the other djinn would say the same.”

“If-”

“ If vepar or crocell had maybe chosen one of your subordinates over you, we might’ve been looking at a very different outcome.” Focalor interrupts him, throwing out any doubts he might’ve had. “But we can’t change the past. We can’t change who we trusted, who we confided in when they betray us, you were a shining light, we looked to you to prevent an event from our world.”

“We, your djinns, believed you would prevent that tragedy, and you did.” Focalor pauses, tasting the bitter words in his mouth. “And then you started another.”

Sinbad bites his lip but offers no response.

"As your aspirations became ever larger, you pushed aside those who stood beside the longest, those who could remind you of all you’ve ever been. We believed you would be the one to lead the world, we believed you could amend Solomon’s mistakes and ours.” Focalor’s words turn painful and he slowly lowers his head.

“I offer you my most sincere apologies, my lord. We have led you astray, we were complicit in your conquering of the sacred palace, we believed you were right and we were so exhausted of waiting for that peaceful future- we were wrong. You were wrong."

Sinbad stands stunned, eyes caught on the figure before him, bowing before him. “...You have nothing to apologize for, it was me- it was all me, believing only I had the right answers. You merely agreed with me.”

“As your king vessel, the blame lies on me and my shoulders alone.” Sinbad gestures for Focalor to raise his head. “I have woken up to my dream and am ready to face reality.”

“It’s now been over three years since you tried to destroy everything you wanted to protect.” Focalor rises, but does so slowly as he locks eyes with Sinbad once more, looking over his figure. “I have to wonder, how much have you changed, really?”

He speaks once more before Sinbad can respond. “I and the other djinns are not the people you need to convince that you’ve changed, that role belongs to your subjects and the people who believed in you to the end.” The smirk worms itself back onto Focalor’s face. “Offer us all the apologies you want- we are not your judges or the people who need to forgive you.”

Focalor looks distantly, gesturing with his head. “Past my grand gardens lay the tunnel connecting Dantalion’s dungeon to mine.”

He focuses his full attention on Ugo and speaks urgently his next words.

“Ugo, take him- end this once and for all. Separate David from his body, and send him back to his world to be judged.”

“You knew all along, that David was still connected to me?” Sinbad gasps, nearly out of breath. He paces around Dantalion’s treasury as Ugo and Dantalion put together some sort of spell, Sinbad can’t seem to care enough about it.

“Not exactly,” Ugo scribbles some notes down and rolls up his sleeves as he talks. “My first hint was talking to you about it, how you mentioned you didn’t know if you had won or lost against him, then later you saying how he seemed to fade away- Furfur thought so too.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sinbad asks, almost a plea.

“I didn’t know how much control David had over you, Belial, Focalor and Phenex cemented that he’s dwindled so much in power that he can only listen to us and you can’t seem to do so much as communicate with him.” Ugo barely pays him any mind, absentmindedly answering the questions as he and Dantalion work.

“Was this ever about getting me back home or getting rid of David?” Sinbad throws up his hands in frustration. 

“Can’t it just both?” Ugo groans. “I didn’t want to omit that kind of information but everyone here  but you seems to understand how dangerous David is.”

“Of course, I know how dangerous David is, look what he did to me, what he convinced me I could become!” Sinbad runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I just would’ve liked to know.”

“Telling you would’ve meant letting David know.” Ugo replies bluntly, barely looking up from his work.

Sinbad merely huffs, muttering something along the lines of ‘just call me over when you’re done’.

“Is he always like this?” Dantalion quietly asks.

“No, but he’s going through a lot lately- forgive him.” 

“If you say so.”

Outside the treasury room, Sinbad breaks off into a brisk run to the edge of some other door, just somewhere, anywhere where he can be alone. There’s something infuriating about it all, to still be connected to David. He knows he’s lost his way, him more than anyone else, especially after Ja’far told it to his face. David merely accelerated him to that end.

At this point, more than anyone else, he knows he was the one who was wrong, he knows he can’t blame David for it all, no matter how much he wants to. David may have convinced him to seek something more than what he already had, but Sinbad was the one to go through it all.

David wasn’t the one who broke into the Sacred Palace and bring his sword down on hordes of angels.

David wasn’t the one who pushed all of Sinbad’s friends away, in the name of world peace. 

David wasn’t the one who left all that he had behind.

All David had to do was convince him, that he was right to.

A thousand doubts and living legend, High King of the Seven Seas was mere putty in David’s hands, a puppet to be used and discarded when he outlived his use.

Perhaps it's more terrifying, than infuriating.

That David could still now, have a hold on his body.

Sinbad leans against a wall, lets himself slide down to his knees, buries his hands in his hair, and closes his eyes.

“When an old friend puts it to me so bluntly…It really opens my eyes.”

Lying to Ja’far always came with a specific vile taste in his mouth, a guilt that stays in his throat after he’s downed a bottle he swore to Ja’far he’d stay away from. It keeps a tight grip on his heart, hours after the lie spills from his lips and he’s pressing a drunken mouth against a stranger’s skin.

Ja’far had long accepted these lies, every broken promise between them with practiced ease and a sigh. The disappointment in his eyes was always something Sinbad avoided, it burned a hole through his chest even without meeting the other’s eyes. Somehow, the disappointment lining Ja’far’s features when he’s found the stash of alcohol, could never compare to the smile Ja’far gives him when he believes Sinbad.

“I’m not god’s vessel, I’m just a king's vessel and the head of a company.”

Sinbad saw the smile curve onto Ja’far’s face, ever bright. Ja’far’s arm met his in a playful smack and a smile wormed itself onto Sinbad’s face before he could register it. Ja’far’s smile, a gift in his dreary world where he felt so alone, an ever shining light in his sprawling world of darkness, one that he hasn’t seen in months- shines here.

He can never lie to him and not feel immensely guilty. 

Ja’far trusts him too much. He always had. Far too much. Even when he shouldn’t.

Even now.

Especially now.

Sinbad felt his heart drop, all while a smile plastered to his own face, guilt rushing through in waves. Even when the waves of guilt threatened to overtake his heart, he stood strong in his lie, burying his heart by his own hands- and smiling.

“You’re right, you’ve always been right. That’s all I am.” He lied. Each word a nail through his heart. “Thank you, Ja’far.”

Ja’far’s smile widened at that, a brilliance he’s never deserved. His smile alone holds so many thoughts that pour out here, how he had longed to say these words, how he missed being honest with the other. 

Sinbad only smiled in response, forcing out a laugh.

It’d been convincing enough, that Ja’far didn’t question it. Ja’far looked ethereal in the nightlight, more animated than Sinbad had seen him in the past three years. Sinbad’s eyes stayed focused on the upward curve of Ja’far’s lips, even as Ja’far straightened out to signal his leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Ja’far had smiled again, this time with closed eyes.

Sinbad carefully carved into his memory, at the very least so he’d recall it should these be their final moments.

“Of course- You can count on it.”

He'd screamed in his head, to not let it end like this. That for once he could be honest with Ja’far, be honest when it matters, not let their last moments be one filled with lies.

Because should the worst happen, Ja’far will live with that, he will leave Ja’far like this.

But he knew, if he were to fight Ja’far on this, to talk it out, genuinely with him- Ja’far would try to keep him here, by force if needed- dragging back that childish promise of killing him should he truly disappoint Ja’far again. He can’t do that to Ja’far, put Ja’far through that.

In those mere seconds, he convinced himself. It’s easier, no- better, to lie to Ja’far. To let his last moments with Ja’far be a lie, to never say his true feelings to him- to let this be their goodbye.

“Ja’far wait.”

Traitorous lips betrayed him, stuck on a fence that pulls between the man he loves and a future he can no longer see.

“Sin?” Ja’far had turned back to him, nothing but concern laced in those gentle eyes. The very same that he had pushed away for so long. “What is it?”

Ja’far stepped closer, to Sinbad. To the person he had dedicated his life to, the foolish man who needed him more than anything.

Sinbad’s mouth had opened instantly, thoughts rushing to the front of his head.

I’m sorry, I have to go. If there’s a way to better the world, to truly reshape the world, then I have to chase it. I’m sorry for leaving you. I don’t want to leave you, but I can’t see what direction the world is going and if this is what it takes- I have to take that chance to better the world, I will make my world, for you, even if you don’t agree with me. 

I’m so sorry.

Please forgive me.

Goodbye.

“Sin?”

I love you.

“It’s nothing.” Sinbad finally said, his mouth complacent in the betrayal of his heart. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are you ready to go, Sinbad?” Ugo touches his shoulder gently to rouse him. “The teleportation circle to the Sacred Palace is ready.”

Sinbad leans against the wall, using it to heave himself to his feet. He feels unusually heavy, with the knowledge of still having David with him weighing him down.

“After we teleport you there, you won’t be able to receive any more messages from your world.” Ugo purses his lips. “So I’ll ask you again, are you ready?”

Sinbad gives a final glance to the recording device and the latest tape he’d received. It’s likely the last he’ll hear from his friends, understanding the final steps of his journey. As much as he wants to hear from them before he goes, he knows more than anyone else, that nothing will happen if he doesn’t take this first step.

“The only way is forward.” Sinbad mutters, following Ugo’s turned back.

Sinbad stares up at the tattered ceiling and collapsed structures surrounding he and Ugo, his gaze drifting to the debris floating aimlessly in the open space.

“Don’t stray from here, reality isn’t as stable as it seems.” Ugo frowns, his eyes scanning the area. “This is what is left of the Sacred Palace, with its power we can finally end this.”

Sinbad carefully follows Ugo to a single spot amid the checkered landscape and watches him spill out a bundle of parchments and magical devices from his own bag, each from the various dungeons they’ve visited. 

“I sure hope you know what you’re doing.” Sinbad says, watching Ugo spread each device out and organize them. “Even after you explained it to me, I’m not entirely sure I follow.”

“...First time for everything?” Ugo laughs, a bit nervously. The joke at least pushes a laugh from Sinbad’s mouth. “Just going over this again, but I can only open the way for you, but you will have to cut David off yourself.”

“You're just giving me the means to do so.” Sinbad rephrases.

“I’ve saved all my magoi for this, days and days worth of magoi stored away for this- that bit I took from your friend, Yamuraiha.” Ugo taps the ends of his ears, mimicking Yamuraiha’s earpieces. “Now this, isn’t the most exact art, but we are using the Sacred Palace for this, so you may see more than you should…But I’ll try my best to hone in on exactly the moment you first connected with David. Use that moment to sever the connection.”

Sinbad tries not to let the frown show on his face at the memory. Even without David, the mere thought of revisiting the day the first Sindria fell brings about bitter feelings. 

“Belial tested your resolve, if you want to truly make up…You need to cut David away completely.” Ugo looks up from his notes to solidify his point. “Once you cut him away from your body, we get rid of him forever. After it’s all done, I’ll send you on your way.”

“...Thank you.” Sinbad breathes out. “I would’ve never made it here without you, any of the djinns or even Aladdin.”

“It’s like I’ve said, I’m merely taking responsibility for our mistakes.” Ugo straightens up, now standing up from his bundle of notes and devices strewn across the floor. “I created the magi system, the dungeons- all of it. Without it, you wouldn’t have reached this conclusion.”

“You were only doing what you could, as we’ve already established.”

“As were you.”

“Let’s get this over with then.” Sinbad says, a strained sigh escaping him. “I’m ready to face David.”

Ugo gives him a nod and raises his staff, the bright whites and yellows of ruhk illuminate everything around them. The bright lights are only joined by purples, Belial and Phenex’s magical devices contributing to the onslaught of color. 

Every single one of his senses are overwhelmed for seconds before his new surroundings come into view. Sinbad gazes at a single doorway in the blank white space. From this distance, they could be the doors to the Sacred Palace, it would be relevant, seeing as he had just been there.

But upon closer inspection, he’s seen these doors before, not from the Sacred Palace but from a certain island that has long sunk to the ocean floor. As soon as he realizes it, his surroundings slot into place. With it comes the dirt roads, the smell of burning bodies, and the numerous buildings that are minutes away from crumbling. None of them seem to matter in that instance, as he quickly picks up his pace to reach those large doors. 

He reaches out a hand to push past them as he nears them, only to fall right through them. It’s like Belial’s illusions, the ones he had seen before arriving at Alma Torran’s cities. But also completely different, as Belial’s illusions could only pull from what the Sinbad knows and remembers. 

Sinbad never saw this fight, and neither did Ja’far ever tell him, what exactly happened in that dark dreary blood stained room where he first assimilated with his household vessel.

It makes sense that the Sacred Palace would have this event stored, as the Sacred Palace was something like an omnipotent tower that oversees the events of the world with control and records of all the ruhk. 

Sinbad arrives mere minutes after the fighting started, helpless to watch Ja’far, Vittel and Mahad’s final stand against the very man who carved their lives as assassins. He watches in horror as Shaka transforms into a monster created from Sham Lash’s magoi manipulation, he sees exactly why Ja’far had always been so hesitant to develop the art.

Finally, he stands beside Ja’far as Ja’far clutches his side, as if trying to hold onto the arm he longer has- a habit that cemented itself here.

Sinbad knows the end result of this fight, of the people who do not leave this room with their lives. 

“ How about this: if you want to, you can… ” Shaka begins to speak, his voice cracked and horrid. “Return to Sham Lash. If you do that, I will spare that life of yours.”

The mere insinuation brings Sinbad’s blood to a boil, it brings insult to all the progress Ja’far had made, the values and life Ja’far cemented over his years with Sinbad. Ja’far puts to words exactly the thoughts running through Sinbad’s mind-

“...No.” Ja’far says, taking a long deep breath. “I won’t go back.”

There’s a swelling pride for Ja’far from Sinbad, as he watches him here- pour his heart out to a man who could never understand these feelings.

“I have changed.” Ja’far steadies himself, his legs parted to better stand up straight. He will not waver, in this moment. “Thanks to them. I got to feel the warmth of the people, I got to know the brightness in the world. They showed me the path to a bright future, and to repay that gratitude-”

“I will not give in to you.”

Sinbad feels his breath leave his body as Ja’far says those words. Ja’far had repeated many times his gratitude to Sinbad and everyone, in order to strengthen his resolve, but none of that compares to here, even as Vittel and Mahad repeat them back to Shaka. 

“Chief, the two of us feel the same as you.” Vittel’s voice grits, biting back the blood between his teeth. “We want to…Protect what is dear to us too. If it’s for that sake..We won’t regret this choice!”

A burst of magoi fills the air around them, flooding the bloodstained room with light, it only grows in intensity from there. In the back of his mind, Sinbad understands he listens to Vittel and Mahad’s last words and their acts of sacrifice for a country that has already been massacred.

Ja’far’s only hand joins theirs in absorbing Shaka’s magoi and all of Sinbad’s view is buried in that all encompassing light. At this point, their words are barely audible, as the very room shakes and shudders with the sheer amount of magoi coursing through it. 

Through the blinding light, Sinbad just barely hears it. Their last words.

“Right now, I’d gladly give my life-”

“...That’s right.”

“As long as we can protect this country and everyone…”

Sinbad scarcely sees it in the blazing light, Ja’far’s smile- nothing short of dazzling, even as his vision whites out and he hears the distant sound of the roof of the building blown away.

He sees nothing anymore, hears nothing but the violent surge of magoi tearing its way through the air, but somehow he hears it clear as day. Ja’far’s voice, heard even now.

“ ...Sin. This time, I’m truly…Leaving the rest to you. ”

It all stops, shortly after that.

All the noise, the magoi tearing holes in the building- Shaka, Vittel, Mahad…Ja’far.

All of it is gone.

Sinbad doesn’t get to see their last moments past that point, Shaka’s end, or even Ja’far’s assimilation- he doesn’t need to, and neither does he want to. Like he said after finding Ja’far splayed across the floor of that bloodstained room-

He understands without anything being said.

Sinbad opens his eyes to a blank empty canvas of a space and a single figure.

The instinct to frown is there, but Sinbad doesn’t let it show. He has to remain strong when facing David like this. Neither of them say anything to the other immediately. David wears heavy robes that reach to the floor, complete with a headpiece not unlike a crown of his time. He’s older, older than Sinbad remembers him looking, even in the Aladdin’s summary of Alma Torran. 

Sinbad approaches him slowly, calmly, until he stands just a few steps away from him.

“David.” He says simply.

“Sinbad.” David’s hoarse voice addresses him just as simply. “Are you here to kill me?”

“Is there any other way this is supposed to end?” Sinbad says, as neutral, emotionless as he can. “If you leave here alive, you use me again. If I give you the chance, you will destroy everything without a shred of remorse. You will not stop, you will never see reason beyond your goals. There is no peaceful way to end this.”

“You have changed, Sinbad.” David smiles with a tilt of his head. “You have always been foolish but you seem to have forgotten your grand role in this play.”

“You’re right-” Sinbad’s eyebrows knit together. “I was foolish, foolish enough to believe you were looking out for me, foolish enough to believe I could use you. Foolish enough to not recognize I was just being used.”

“You seemed quite comfortable with it before.” David shrugs, his shoulders shuffling. “Shame, you and I both know you are destined for so much more, that you are capable of so much more.” 

“I’m done dreaming, I know all that I am.” Sinbad says, wrapping a hand around his sword hilt.

“So let's say you kill me, then what?” David’s narrow, eyes bore holes into Sinbad’s. “You run back home, back to the world that you tried to destroy, do you think they’ll just accept you with open arms?”

“No, I don’t expect anything of the sort. I don’t deserve their forgiveness.”

“The way I see it, you’re better off with me.” David extends a hand to him. “I could make you a god.

“What you describe, isn’t that just running away?” Sinbad’s eyes don’t even move away from the other’s face. “We could conquer the world together, the very stars- I could forget all I’ve done, leave the life waiting for me, the people who continue to wait for me, but what would that make me but cruel?” 

Sinbad shakes his head, using a hand to swat away David’s extended hand. “I am better than that. I was too blindsided, too foolish to think such a thing before- but my place is not at the top of the world, among the stars- I am but a feeble human who couldn’t even save my country. The people who I have been able to save, they wait for me.”

“You’ll go to them, after throwing them aside? You’ll accept any punishment they offer you?” David retracts his hand into his long robes but his sinister smile sticks to his face like it's painted on. “Either you’re even more foolish than I thought or you're an optimist.”

“If joining up with you or facing death at my former friend's hands are my only options- I would rather face my death.”

“You think you will find peace, like that? Even if they let you live, you will be alone. Without me, you are alone.”

“If that is your perception of my life, the two of us have very different views of the world." Sinbad near laughs, allowing a smirk to show on his face. "Was I? Or did you push me away from all that cared for me?"

"Your subordinates could not understand you till the very end.” David hums, holding a hand to where his heart would be. “You will never find anyone who understands you like I do- as a fellow singularity, I am the only one who can understand you."

“You? Understand me? Now that’s laughable- you who has never had a single human relationship in your whole existence?” Sinbad crows, his shoulders shaking with holding back laughter. “All you’ve ever done is use people to any end, anything to get what you wanted.”

“How is that any different from you, I stood in your body and watched as you threw away every single human relationship you forged over 16 years, and for what, adventure?” David shakes his head slowly, in open mocking. “No matter how grand our goals were, we did the same- we have committed the same sin.”

The very words, Ja’far’s very own- from years back, are a mere ploy to provoke a reaction out of him, and it angers Sinbad even more that it works. He frowns but keeps his composure together. “Nothing can ever take away the fact that I tried to destroy all that I had built, nor that it was by my own hand- my own will that I walked away from all that was precious to me.”

“I could have stayed there, I could have lived happily, I could have stayed with Ja’far, Masrur, Drakon, and everyone who actually cared for me but you were the one who made me blind, and I thought I was so above it all that I listened to you.” Sinbad follows every one of his movements, never letting David’s eyes unfocus from his.

“How can you speak of their forgiveness when you have never understood the feelings of the people, you have never understood me-” Sinbad steps forward, now within arms reach of David. “And neither have I understood you.”

“Kill me then, kill me and become nothing, meaningless to fate, a mere human who chooses to stay as nothing. Become nothing but a corpse, rotten and ugly.”

“That’s the fate of all things, including you. David, it is time you die.”

“I am at my weakest at this moment-” David only sighs. “How, tell me Sinbad, how will you kill me. As I am, I hold no form, no body you can erase.”

“I know what to do, Ja’far showed me.”

Sinbad closes his eyes, recalling the previous memory- just before his encounter with David. Back to the day of the destruction of the first Sindria, watching Ja’far’s magoi manipulation, absorbing Shaka’s magoi, destroying his own body in the process. 

Magoi Manipulation. 

Ja’far had only ever taught him the basics of Sham Lash’s magoi manipulation, at its core it is an art that uses ones own magoi to tear apart an opponent from the inside. On the surface, it’s not something that would help him, given that David hasn’t had a body in years. But in combination with Sinbad’s own Counteracting magoi that he learned from the Shambala tribe-

Sinbad opens his eyes and seizes the front of David’s robes, even as he smiles at him. 

“Ah, so you can touch me after all- what form of magic is this?” David asks, unphased.

“It’s an answer you could have never predicted.” Sinbad says, unable to hide his smile. It’s been far too long since he’s used his magoi manipulation, and never like this- yet he can’t hide the excitement in his face. “I would’ve never reached this answer without my friends and all the sacrifices we’ve made.”

“David, did you foresee this at all, your own death at my hands?”

“No.”

“Do you have anything to say to your grandson, Aladdin?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Goodbye then, David.”

Sinbad pushes his own magoi through- straight to where David’s heart would be. David stares down at the hand grabbing at his robes, blankly staring past it. In the end, Sinbad isn’t sure if he feels a thing. Till the end, Sinbad wasn’t quite sure what David had been thinking, if he understood him at all.

The next moment, David is gone. The Sacred Palace fades back into place, Ugo along with it.

“Good work, Sinbad.” Ugo greets him while seated around a flurry of papers and drained magical devices. He looks exhausted, nearly all of his magoi seemingly drained from the spell alone. As exhausted as he is, he plants his feet on the ground and makes the effort to stand, using his staff as support. “...We should leave. I used the last of the Sacred Palace’s power for that- this place will fall apart soon.”

“Back to Alma Torran?” Sinbad coughs, mind somewhat clouded from the magoi use and events of the day.

“Just me this time.” Ugo grins at him, with a tilt of the head. “Sinbad it’s time you return to your world.”

Ugo motions him forward and Sinbad follows, as he is guided to the very edge of what remains of the Sacred Palace. “I asked an old ally of mine, from Solomon’s age to bring you back. It may take a while, but there’s only so much I can do.”

“You know I wouldn’t have made it here without you or the djinn.” Sinbad says, dismissing Ugo’s last statement.

“Without the djinn, you wouldn’t have reached this ending. The magi system led you astray. I can’t change the past, and I have many regrets.” Ugo lets his head drop for mere moments before meeting Sinbad’s eyes again with a bright smile. “Go back to humanity, Sinbad. Perhaps we will see everyone again, but as humans standing on the same ground.”

Sinbad gives a snort of a laugh, patting Ugo on the shoulder. “I know Aladdin would love that, some of the other djinns especially.”

“Goodbye for now, Sinbad.”

“Goodbye, and thank you- Ugo. I’ll be sure to tell Aladdin how you’re doing.”

Ugo gives him a smile and a short wave of the hand, before activating Dantalion’s magic device- and disappearing. Ugo leaves just before the Sacred Palace starts crumbling, and Sinbad keeps his eyes trained on the ground below him as it starts falling apart. He’s in the middle of cursing Ugo for leaving him here when a great shining light descends near him.

He’s even more surprised when it begins speaking. 

“You are the one named Sinbad, correct?” 

“That would be me.” Sinbad mumbles, responding to a face he can’t seem to find on what looks like a long scaled body.

“Climb on then, before the Sacred Palace collapses.” The face finally shows itself, past some of the falling debris, revealing the long snout of a dragon. “Solomon knew me as the Mother Dragon- you may call me the same.”

“You were the one to bring Alibaba and Judar back- how exactly did you get all the way out here?” Sinbad asks, eyes caught on the remains of the Sacred Palace as it gets farther and farther away. It all seems so trivial, his plight to take control of it, his fight with David over it- as it all crumbles before him.

“The barriers around worlds have broken down, while it’s only possible to communicate to other worlds- the Sacred Palace was attached to yours, it’s not hard to follow it.” The dragon replies, her head so far ahead that Sinbad can’t see it. Stranger than this whole encounter, Sinbad can hear her voice clear as day.

“I’ve heard about you.” She says simply.

Sinbad raises an eyebrow. “Ah- from Alibaba?”

“No, from Aladdin- I asked if he would kill you, like how Solomon killed David.”

Sinbad takes a deep breath. “And he said I wasn’t a bad person.”

“...He did.”

“I’d like to believe I’m not.” Sinbad asks, shuffling to make himself comfortable. “Do you think he regrets not doing so?”

“No.”

Sinbad almost sighs in disappointment, at that. “How long do you think it will take, to arrive back to my world?”

“Four years.”

Sinbad bites his lip, an answer he had been expecting. He shakes it off, with the might of newfound optimism. “It’s a good thing then, that I’m very talented at storytelling. If you’d like- I’ll tell you of my adventures, my friends, of the life I left behind- and of the fool I’ve been.”