***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik stood on the edge of a spire, a crooked little thing that looked like it might collapse if he leaned too hard, and from up here, he could see everything.
Everything below... and it wasn't pretty.
The city mourned.
Oasis was black.
Every rooftop was bare, every window open. No color. No sound. Not even those annoying market chants that always found their way through, no matter how far away he was. None of that.
Just black.
Tragedy had spilled out into the streets, and each person wore the same dark cloth, making rivers of ink.
Many of them helped carry the coffins.
Wooden. Wrapped in their yellow banners. The banner of Nasir.
It was a striking contrast, an incredible one, but one that made no difference.
That color felt like a joke today. A poor fucking joke.
Nearly the entirety of their leadership was dismantled in one tragic day... By one man. One Stranger. Gold... Yellow. Faded glory. A cursed victory. A cursed guest.
