Misunderstood Hero: My Family Are All Villains

"Ugh..."

Malik didn’t know where he was.

He didn’t know where he had fallen.

Much like what had happened to him back in the clashing of armies, he was dazed and lost.

His mind floated somewhere between consciousness and the void, grasping at thoughts that slipped away like sand through his fingers.

All he knew was that he was alive and lying deep in a hill.

A thin layer of moss covered the stones beneath him, softening the hard edges.

Above, a sliver of sky was visible through a crack in the hill’s side, a beautiful dying light.

’Only a few hours have passed.’

His body ached in ways he had not known were possible, his every breath sending pain radiating through his chest.

Thankfully, no insects tried to eat him this time.

The red bugs that had swarmed him in the ravine were entirely and very thankfully absent.

The only creatures he could hear were birds and the occasional skitter of small animals in the far distance.

It was safe, at least for now, but the good news ended there.

Unfortunately, he could not get himself out of the hill.

Malik was pinned by his own weakness and exhaustion.

’Shifting Ground.’

His thought met no response.

The Soul Glyph did not trigger.

’Shifting Ground!’

He tried again.

Nothing happened.

Even the Rune didn’t react.

Not giving up, he tried to summon Devil’s Footsteps, to call on Goliath’s Fall, to feel the terrifying heat of Scorpion’s Sting.

Nothing answered.

He could not use his Soul Glyphs.

His earlier thoughts were correct.

Though he dodged most of Mata’s attacks when in her Divine Kingdom, especially the one that targeted him from within, his very Soul was still damaged by them.

The thought should have terrified him.

A damaged Soul was a death sentence for most Magi. It would cause a creeping decay that would end in turning Hollow, or worse.

Yet, some part of him expected this.

After all, he had just fought an Angel.

A Magi who could destroy literal planets.

This much was nothing.

He was glad he had survived in the first place.

Yet that did not change his current predicament.

What was he to do?

’I’ve no idea.’

And so, Malik lay there, staring at the sliver of sky, and waited.

Time passed in a blur of pain and exhaustion, measured only by the slow crawl of the Suns overhead, their light shifting to a deeper red.

Before his thoughts could eat up his mind, he saw a figure in the distance.

The figure was small, wrapped in dark cloth, moving with too careful steps.

They kept to the shadows, hugging the walls, their head swiveling left and right as they scanned for threats.

No doubt about it, this was an assassin.

An assassin that was slowly approaching his position.

’Ah. They really wanted me dead, huh?’

His hand curled into a weak fist behind his back.

Malik would not go quietly.

Even if he could not use his Runes and his body refused to obey, he would make them pay for every step they took towards him.

The figure drew closer.

Closer enough that Malik could see details.

This assassin didn’t exactly seem to be well off. Their cloak had frayed edges, and they wore worn boots.

’It can’t be.’

Before the confused Malik could strike, or at least try to, the figure in front of him screamed:

"There’s someone injured there! Bring a stretcher!"

The voice was surprisingly... feminine.

It was a woman.

She rushed towards him, her hands reaching out to his wounded self. Only then did Malik’s tense body relax and his fist uncurl.

She was not an assassin, or well, at least she was not an enemy. Just a woman who had found a dying man on a hill.

More figures appeared behind her, totaling four.

Two men carried a stretcher made of canvas and wood, a woman with a satchel of medical supplies, and a young boy holding a torch.

They moved quickly, as if they had done this many times before.

Once they got close, the woman with a seemingly scarred face knelt beside him, her hands hovering over his body, unsure where to touch.

"What?... this... How did you survive this?"

Her question wasn’t directed at him but the world.

"Can we save him?"

The men set the stretcher down beside him while the woman with the satchel knelt on his other side and began examining his wounds.

"Let me find out."

Her fingers were gentle but firm, probing the edges of the gashes on his chest, side, and leg.

"Multiple fractures, internal bleeding, and major organ damage. I don’t know how he’s still conscious."

The scarred woman looked at Malik with dark eyes.

"Are you a soldier?"

Malik nodded without a word.

It was the truth; he was a soldier.

He had always been a soldier, in one way or another.

The woman looked at her companion, who exchanged glances and nodded.

Seemingly accepting him, they began to work, with the woman to Malik’s left revealing herself as a healer and pressing her hands against his chest.

A warm glow emanated from her palms, spreading warmly through his body, making his ribs shift, flesh knit, and blood slow.

It was not a powerful healing, nothing like Safira’s, but it was enough to keep him alive.

"Who... are you people?"

Malik’s question came out rough.

"Are you a part of the army?"

The scarred woman smiled.

"We..."

It was a tired expression, worn thin by hardship.

"We’re the ones the kingdom forgot."

With that, they wrapped him in bandages, layer after layer of clean white linen, pulled tight against his wounds.

Though weak, at least the healer worked quickly, and soon, the men lifted him onto the stretcher.

"Careful, he’s lost a lot of blood."

They carried him through the underside of the rocky hill, following a narrow path that wound between stone pillars.

Not before torches began to line the way.

The scarred woman who walked beside him had her hand rest on the edge of the stretcher.

"How did you get here?"

Finally, she asked a question that seemed to be eating away at her.

"We didn’t see anyone walk by."

"..."

Malik said nothing.

He was not sure what answer was safe.

If he told them he had fought an Angel, they would think him mad.

If he told them he was the Sultan, they would think him a liar.

If he told them nothing, they would think him stunned.

And so, he chose the third option, taking his time.

The silence would let them draw their own conclusions.

Sure enough, the scarred woman glanced at her companions.

"Do you think that’s he’s..."

They shrugged.

"Yes, he’s probably delirious."

"There’s a high chance he hit his head."

"Either that or since he’s started to relax, his mind finally exited its fight or flight mode and had him relax."

The scarred woman nodded at three.

"We’ll ask again later."

They emerged from the tunnel into a large cavern.

The ceiling rose high above, appearing filled with moisture. Light of the torches reflected off a small underground lake at the far end and scattered across the cavern.

Nestled between the stone pillars and natural arches were tents.

Many dozens of them, shelters of all sizes, some new and some patched together from scraps.

Between the tents, a surprising number of people moved:

Children chasing each other through the narrow paths, women tending cooking fires, men sharpening weapons and repairing armor.

This was a small settlement.

Hidden beneath the earth.

Inhabited by the forgotten.

Noting Malik’s interest, the scarred woman spoke.

"This is a small settlement just outside the Aram kingdom."

Surprise visited Malik once more.

’Aram.’

The kingdom whose king he had guillotined.

Whose royal family had led an insurrection against him.

Bastard who wanted to tear down everything he had built!

’Oh... How Fate works.’