That time is not long gone – it's just been a few years and flown away in a heartbeat, fallen like drops among the sand. But, as short has their new times have been, everyone around him  notices how a major change is carved in the whole of his being, in his breaths, in his words and steps.
As he walks along the fortress, bound to his duties, he seems to tread the line between the sky and the earth. He moves in the complex turns of time with a rare easiness.
Although he talks and acts as always, keeping his gestures perfectly natural, his presence is enough to amaze his companions; they watch his steps in silence, then turn away and whisper to one another fragments of his story.
When it comes to him, it's a completely different matter. He cannot see why everyone in the Brotherhood knows his life as a legend; when he reflects on it, it seems impossible for him to have become what they think he is.
He merely leads a man's life, feeling better than ever, and there's nothing godly in that. Not one of them has changed their mind, though – not once. So he just surrenders to their misunderstanding, calmly going on with his duties and, when he was still home, exchanging a sad glance with Altaïr.
Naturally, his friend only bears and comprehends the same fate; and as they sat in the moonlight, when a shade of melancholy tinged their voices, he used to tell him that, sooner or later, he would have to believe them. Malik disagreed, and he still does.
They are wrong, that's the truth he hears from inside. The secret is carved in life itself – there's no way to see as far as he sees, not without experiencing blindness before. He has lived without a single light for long; he has tested his wings in the darkest clouds and fallen to the ground, bleeding, almost dead. That is the crossroads where a mortal can drown forever, or else become a god to others. But no man can become a god, and he definitely isn't.
He laughs, and his laughter echoes in the depths of his quiet soul. The winds are so gentle when they meet his cheeks up there.
Malik has enjoyed every evening from the tower; he and Altaïr have climbed up there since the days after their difficult healing, when the invisible wounds left by the tragedy were still open and scattered everywhere.
The platforms feel so familiar under his soles. After long months of sadness, he has learnt not to care if he cannot leap any more – he holds the sunset dear as ever, as his favourite hour out of so many.
A reddish gold tinges his eyes in happiness. He stands there, in the centre of his life, and his confidence finds the greatest harmony on the most unstable of places. On such thin wooden boards, balance is the key to every world;  balance is his virtue and he never trembles, even when the mountains and rivers send him their raging voices.
He turns to the empty platform by his side, to his missing friend, and his smile is firm and bright as the river down below. It is so hard to go on alone sometimes – he drowns in solitude among his brothers' faces, and even his ever-faithful brothers, trustworthy and brave as they are, grow more and more distant in time.
Whatever happens, however, he cannot fall. He is always there, in the concert of winds, for the people he loves and will love; he runs a perfect flight every day of his life, on to the setting sun. For now, his bright glance points to the horizon, for the only brother he's left, lost far away in a journey.
Tired and thoughtful, but sure, he marches on, with the best of reasons to. Someone would never want him to stop – someone would lose their happiness forever, and he has chosen not to let them lose it, for the rest of his days.
In each falling night he renews the same promise, to him, to them, and to those who will come. The winds murmur in return, all around. Anything to make you smile.