***
'Ah...'
Malik's face grew emotion.
'I remember everything now.'
It came in a rush—like a dam breaking through the cracks of his mind.
A tidal wave of self, of moments, of truths once obscured by the veil of forgetting.
He staggered, but not because of his body—no, his body was fine.
It was his mind that reeled, struggling to make sense of the deluge.
Memories... his memories, they were as vivid as the day they were recorded.
He was the one whose mother called Malik.
He was a bastard son, a son of a bastard.
He was the ward of Mahdi.
He was a child of Al-Zayni.
He was a boy who killed his guardian.
He was a boy who grew up a beggar.
He was a boy who was embraced by a curse.
He was a... man who took care of his little ones.
He was a man who lost his little ones.
He was a man who became the hope of many.
He was a man who let hope slip from his grasp.
He was a man who clawed his way back to hope.
He was a man who accepted sacrifice.
