The true meaning of a word is not always in its definition but in the heart of the speaker who uses it.
The True Meaning of It
The next morning, I found myself alone in the kitchen, nursing a mug of cocoa that had long gone cold. The house was eerily quiet, with everyone still asleep or pretending to be. I relished the rare silence, letting it settle over me like a heavy cloak.
But peace was short-lived. The most unrelenting and darkest mage in the world had decided to pay me another visit.
The front door creaked open without warning, and Mazen strolled in like he owned the place. He was dressed head-to-toe in his usual somber attire as if he were always prepared for a funeral. Or maybe he just had an unhealthy obsession with black.
I couldn't help but imagine him in a bright pink poncho, a thought that nearly made me snicker. We'd already had an argument about fashion once, where he indignantly explained that mages wear robes, not ponchos. Ever since I'd made it a point to call robes ponchos just to annoy him.
His presence was a subtle but distinct shift in the room's atmosphere—a darkness that seeped into the corners and shadowed the morning light.
Today, though, I had a feeling he wasn't here to critique my wardrobe choices.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded without greeting me, his voice a mix of exasperation and genuine curiosity.
I barely looked up from my cup. "Good morning to you too, Mazen."
He ignored the sarcasm and pulled out a chair, sitting across from me with an intensity that was hard to ignore. His dark eyes, always calculating, never missing a detail, bore into me.
"How long are you going to waste your time studying the idiotic fantasies of silly, magicless people?" Mazen said, his voice dripping with disdain as he glanced at the book I was reading.
I glanced up lazily from the pages of the book. "It's called entertainment literature, Mazen. You should try it sometime."
He stared at the cover—an illustration of a black-haired boy flying on a broomstick—and the disgust in his eyes was palpable. I made a mental note to gift him the first volume for Christmas, just to see his reaction.
"You're not learning anything from this rubbish," he said, as though personally offended by the book's existence.
"Oh, I think you're wrong about that," I replied with a confident smirk. "Better start being afraid. I'm learning how to defeat the Darkest Lord of All Time."
Mazen stared at me, blinking a few times as if he wasn't sure whether to be amused or furious. Then, to my surprise, he chuckled. It was unsettling, seeing Mazen so relaxed; it reminded me of the times when his laughter usually preluded someone's tragic demise.
"So," I said, closing the book with a snap, "why do you honor me with your unique presence? I'm guessing it's not just to discuss our reading habits."
Mazen's face turned serious, his playful demeanor vanishing. "No, it's not." He glanced at the cup of tea I had set out, arching an eyebrow but saying nothing about how I always seemed to know when he was coming. He settled into his chair with the elegance of someone used to controlling every room he entered.
"The Syndicate is gathering its forces again," he said quietly. "You know what this means."
I nodded, taking a slow sip of my cocoa. "Yes. And that means I, too, must continue to expand."
Mazen's expression faltered, caught between confusion and contemplation. "Five dangerous dark mages are hunting for your head. If it were anyone else, I'd say you don't stand a chance."
"Make that two," I said casually. "Eden and Derel won't move against me, and Jelal is still observing."
"Don't be so sure of that. Jelal is more interested in you now than he's ever been. That's unsettling," Mazen said, his cold gray eyes not leaving mine for a moment, "I need to know what you've done."
I sighed and set my mug down, the clink echoing through the quiet kitchen. "I haven't done anything, Mazen."
"Bullshit." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "I know Jelal, and he doesn't just change his mind. Not without a damn good reason. Whatever you're doing, it's working. So spill."
I met his gaze, unflinching. "Maybe he's finally seeing the potential of an alliance."
Mazen scoffed, his expression twisted in disbelief. "Jelal doesn't care about potential. You know that as well as I do."
I considered lying—telling Mazen it was just politics, that I was playing the long game. But he'd see right through it. He always did.
"He's testing me," I said finally, my voice low. "Trying to see if I can be what he needs."
Mazen's eyes narrowed, suspicion mixing with something that looked almost like concern. "And what does he need, Shay?"
I hesitated, feeling the weight of the truth pressing down on me. "He needs someone who can change the way things are. He wants to know if I'm that person."
A heavy silence settled between us. Mazen's expression shifted, unreadable for a moment. Then he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "And are you?"
"Does it matter?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even. "As long as he thinks I am."
Mazen let out a dark chuckle. "It matters more than you think. Jelal isn't someone you can string along forever. He is a dark mage for a reason. If you let him down, he'll find out what makes you tick, and when he does, he'll crush it."
I gave a small, humorless smile. "Let him try."
Mazen studied me for a long moment, his face a mix of frustration and reluctant admiration. "Just be careful with him. Whatever game you're playing, Jelal's playing one too. And he's been at it a lot longer than you have."
"You seem to know him well, Mazen," I chuckled. "Are you friends?"
He pressed his lips into a fine line. "No. I found him and I gave him his name. That's all."
"Hm, interesting," I mused.
"Two dark mages are still too many," Mazen said before I could dwell more on the topic of his relationship with Jelal. His eyes flickered toward my phone, which displayed an article on a recent prison break. His gaze darkened. "You should have killed Pitou when you had the chance."
"I know," I replied lightly, watching his reaction. Mazen's brow furrowed, caught off guard by my nonchalance.
"Then why did you let him live?" he asked, his voice edged with genuine confusion.
"He was the price I paid for my quiet life," I explained. "I had to give the hunters something big to clear my name. The fact that they couldn't keep him locked up isn't my problem."
"You should've just defeated the hunters too," Mazen countered, sounding almost like a scolded child.
I chuckled, leaning back in my chair. "That's why you lost to me, Mazen. You think it's all about brute strength. But real victories? They're won up here," I said, tapping my temple. "The most dangerous opponents always win with their wits."
Mazen's eyes narrowed, unimpressed. "You shouldn't plan so much, Shay. You're strong, and now you're one of the kings. If someone stands in your way, you simply destroy them."
I laughed, genuinely this time. "If you're too strong, people will unite against you, Mazen. And then you'll be crushed. You need balance. By taking out enemies, I send a clear message to the kings."
Mazen raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what message is that?"
"I will show my dignity," I said, my grin widening. "But I also make it clear that the kings should never conspire against me."
"But didn't you just say that being too powerful means you'll be crushed?" Mazen shot back.
I nodded. "True, but I won't be feared for my abilities alone. Most of the kings are stronger or faster than me. No, I will be feared because of my alliances."
"Alliances?" Mazen's skepticism was evident.
"Yes," I said, leaning forward, the intensity of my words matching the darkness in Mazen's eyes. "They will fear me because I unite alliances that no other could. I belong nowhere, yet everywhere. I stand on the edge of every faction, beholden to none, and that makes me untouchable. No law, no king, no dark power can dictate who follows me."
Mazen's expression shifted—part shock, part admiration. I could see the gears turning in his mind, realizing the depth of what I was proposing. "You'll create a neutral power," he murmured, more to himself than to me.
"Exactly. A force neither light nor dark—a hueless alliance," I declared, my voice firm. "One person is easy to crush, Mazen. But an alliance? An alliance is almost impossible. And the Hueless King will be feared because he controls it all from the shadows."
Mazen sat in silence, staring thoughtfully at his cup of tea. He knew, just as well as I did, that even a beast without claws could still bite hard enough to kill. Perhaps that was why he didn't argue further. He simply watched me with a newfound respect, knowing I'd woven something far more dangerous than any spell or curse.
Mazen sipped his tea in thoughtful silence, his earlier bravado replaced by a contemplative calm. I watched him for a moment, letting the weight of our conversation settle between us. The room felt thick with the unspoken, with the realization that we were both toeing the line of something greater and far more dangerous than either of us had anticipated.
I decided to switch gears, steering away from the theoretical and towards something more practical.
"On another note," I began, leaning back casually in my chair. "I've been meaning to ask you about Alex's foundation. What's your read on it?"
Mazen's expression turned sharp, instantly shifting from contemplation to guarded skepticism. He set his cup down, the faint clink of porcelain breaking the stillness. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything," I said, not missing a beat.
Mazen gave me a long, assessing look. He knew exactly what I was getting at.
His expression was a tight mask of begrudging acknowledgment, his usual stern demeanor cracking just enough to show the faintest hint of reluctance. It was almost painful for him to admit—even indirectly—that Alex wasn't a complete idiot. I could see the struggle etched into the furrow of his brow and the sharp set of his jaw as if the words tasted like ash in his mouth.
"He's not a lost cause," Mazen finally muttered, his voice laced with a bitterness he couldn't quite hide. The admission hung in the air, heavy and reluctant, like it had been dragged out of him against his will.
I couldn't help but smile at that. For Mazen, a man who would rather bite off his own tongue than praise someone, this was the equivalent of a glowing endorsement. "High praise, coming from you," I said, unable to resist the jab.
Mazen shot me a withering look, his lips curling in faint disgust. "Don't get carried away, Shay. All I said was that it's not hopeless." He straightened, crossing his arms defensively. "Not that he's good."
I chuckled but didn't push further. Mazen's grudging concession was already more than I'd expected. For him, to admit that Alex wasn't a complete waste of potential was significant—an acknowledgment that perhaps there was more to the wolf than met the eye.
But it wasn't just Mazen's reaction that amused me; it was the unspoken subtext. Mazen was a man of absolutes, a dark mage whose standards were impossibly high and whose patience for mediocrity was non-existent. The fact that he saw even a flicker of potential in Alex, however faint, said more than his words ever could.
"I'll take what I can get," I replied lightly, leaning back in my chair with a satisfied smirk.
Mazen just rolled his eyes, clearly done with the conversation. But his expression, that brief flicker of bitter acknowledgment, stayed with me. It was rare to see Mazen bend even slightly, and rarer still to see him concede anything about someone he barely tolerated.
"Well," Mazen said, trying to regain his usual composure, "let's not get ahead of ourselves. He's still a liability."
"Yeah, I'm aware," I said nonchalantly. "But sometimes, those kinds of risks pay off."
Mazen scoffed but didn't argue. We both knew that in this world, the line between asset and liability was razor-thin, and those who could balance on it were the ones who ended up on top. Alex wasn't there yet—not by a long shot—but he wasn't as hopeless as Mazen would have preferred to believe.
For now, that was enough.