Silo's smile curved further as Jibril's laughter calmed. A cold breeze passed as they remained silent, collecting their thoughts.
Jibril turned his head. "It appears that my lens is still laughing at the matter. She directed it, and now it looks like she hasn't let it go," he said, tapping his fingers.
On a screen, white wings flapped as faint audio of crying emanated. The seagull cackled in the air, circling the field below.
"She was the catalyst for how fate was defied and allowed the storm to survive. I wonder just how far her control can extend," the Head-Bearer said.
"Like they always say, nature constantly evolves, adapts, and creates," Silo muttered lightly.
Jibril placed his hand on the cheek of his mask. "You forget the other realms. All realms have their specialty, but at the root of it comes life."
"I see. But speaking of roots," he displayed a stack of documents, "we calculated the weight of Solythe in the area, and it appears that our suspicions aren't so much of a pipe dream as we thought," Silo said, grinning.
Smiling behind the mask, Jibril replied, "Elaborate."
Gripping the papers tightly, Silo said, "Our prospect, surrounded by storms, was a Seeker all along. An undocumented one, at that."
The man in the mask sat upright in his black high-chair. "Remind me, Silo, when was the last time this happened?"
"I believe this has never happened before, Head-Bearer," Silo spoke softly.
"Correct." Jibril turned his chair, facing the screens. "We are experiencing an impossibility. The fact that everything connects together proves that I'm not only an observer to them. I am a piece on the board, only distanced."
He continued, "Think about how the skies, the lands, and the seas have allowed them to continue breathing and mock me. It's nothing short of a miracle, as you say, right?"
Silo nodded silently, hugging the documents tightly to his chest.
"And I mean it when I say this, the way everything is turning out is nothing less than perfection," Jibril said.
Silence fell as the screens buzzed.
. . .
One second, Malik felt as if he stood atop the world, as if no matter how far they ridiculed him he would get the last laugh. Certain parts of the crowd booed him, others cheered, and some only copied his laughter.
The next second, his eyes opened to a new scene. He faced a plate filled with steaks, and Zayne sat in front of him, gnawing on one.
No, this can't have happened again. Did my eyes decide to skip it?
Malik last remembered being escorted by the leather-armored guards and seeing the face of the man who killed the man who exited the field, Guan Sui. Beside him, he saw a faint image of the Chief directing them.
Looking around, he appeared to be in some sort of royal diner. He saw the survivors of the circle devouring the meat as if it were their last meal. It was a luxurious scene, with a long wooden table and a golden chandelier hanging above, reminiscent of the ship.
They starved me of an explanation, and now they attempt to satiate me with lies.
Scanning the room, he noticed a doorway at the far end and a man wearing baggy rags resting near it. Malik saw his face and could not mistake him. The subordinate Guan Sui watched the men eating with razor-sharp focus.
Then Zayne spoke. "You're not gonna eat that, man?"
Malik stayed silent and handed the plate of steak to him. When he looked up, he saw a nurse with tan skin wrapping bandages around the deep gash on his arm. Zayne seemed to be charming her as she tended to him.
He smiled. "There aren't any women back in my realm nearly as beautiful as you."
The woman blushed, caressing his hair, but Malik caught something from the corner of his eye.
With serpentine eyes, Guan Sui locked onto them. He appeared to be gathering thoughts, like writing in a journal within his consciousness. His pencil would keep writing as long as his eyes remained open.
Malik turned his gaze away. He was hungry, but he knew he couldn't risk any chances in a place like this. He would rather starve than feel the poisonous joy in their cooking. Not for a second would he risk that.
He still couldn't explain why his mind had decided to skip how he got here. It was as if something erased the scene, yet he could still read the dialogue that came before it.
When he turned again, Guan Sui had disappeared. Had he gathered enough intel, or was he simply sick of watching people satisfy their stomachs? He seemed like the type who would eat a large meal in front of a hungry crowd, separated by a translucent golden barrier.
Malik felt a chill and tapped the table. "Zayne, I'm not okay with any of this. How can you just eat their food, knowing what these people do?"
"There's nothing to gain from ending us like this. Besides, they're not evil. Just brainwashed," Zayne said. The nurse beside him had fallen asleep on his shoulder.
Malik raised an eyebrow. "And what led you to that conclusion?"
"Doesn't take a genius to see it. They smile because they feel like they have to, not because they want to. The people don't mean it. Their elites don't either," Zayne uttered.
Malik clasped his hair. "It feels like my mind is all over the place. One moment I'm laughing at the world. The next I'm here, at a diner I don't remember entering, and I don't even know where this place is."
Zayne chewed his food. "Yeah, I saw it in your eyes. They looked like a cyclone, but they stopped spinning. Even when the Chief pointed to this restaurant near his palace, you remained blank. You didn't say a word when I tried talking to you."
Malik sighed. "None of it makes sense anymore, man. Hell, I don't even know what that ritual was supposed to achieve, or what we're even doing anymore."
Swallowing, Zayne mumbled, "I guess you and the people have one thing in common then."
Malik tilted his head as golden light shone over him.
Zayne put his hands together. "Despite them labeling you a storm, an observer, whatever the case, you're still lost. And so are they. That's why they all laugh. Including you."
"What is that supposed to mean, Zayne?" Malik asked.
Zayne locked eyes with him. "Sometimes, even storms don't know where they'll end up."
To Malik, it didn't sound like Zayne speaking. It sounded like a collective of a dozen voices that once clouded his mind, fused into one staticky tone.
He blinked, took a deep breath and—
Opening his eyes, he walked beside Zayne.
He carried a lantern, looking frustrated at the countless houses that all looked the same.
Malik didn't need one. Despite his eyelids being half-open, the aurora of stars above lit the pathway for him.
He saw where the lights pointed, but he still pondered.
It happened again. How much more are you going to skip, until you've reached the end of the downpour?
. . .