Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His peaceful days are over.

It hadn’t lasted very long, had it? It’s been what… a week since Alhaitham was finally freed from his Grand Sage duties? And he can already tell chaos is coming his way.

The reason? The house is quiet.

There is nothing burning in the kitchen, no cacophony of noise from a hammer hitting whatever piece of scrap, no rude exclamations about the place not being pristine. The house is calm. Too calm.

This unprecedented silence begs one major question:

Where is Kaveh?

To this question, multiple theories are plausible.

Theory 1: He is simply sleeping in his room, at 4 pm, in the middle of the day (or at least, the middle of the architect’s day, which tends to run from 11am to 2am). It is a possibility, and it has the added merit of being on the lower end of annoying. But Alhaitham doesn’t put much faith in it, since Kaveh stopped working at a decent hour yesterday (decent meaning at 1am), there is no reason for the architect to be asleep in the middle of his work day. There were also no signs of fatigue, no runny nose, and no sneezing to account for either. And so Alhaitham also crosses out “being sick” as an answer. 

Theory 2: He is drinking whatever frustration away at Lambad’s. While it is unusual for Kaveh to be at the tavern this early in the day, some precedent episodes confirm that this is not off the table. But Alhaitham has two problems with this: he hasn’t heard any complaints about any current client, and there is no trace of compulsive cooking or cleaning, established precursors to an early evening at the tavern caused by annoyance with a project. If theory 2 is the right answer, then the cause of Kaveh’s frustration is Alhaitham himself. No further explanation is needed as to why this would be much more annoying than theory 1. But it doesn’t make much sense: Alhaitham hasn’t really been around the house these last few weeks. How could he have pissed Kaveh off without even seeing him?

Theory 3: He went off on a project without alerting anyone. Which is unlikely, because Kaveh can't keep his mouth shut to save his life. Therefore, Alhaitham would have heard him boast about it days beforehand.

Theory 4: He was kidnapped. Also unlikely. Kaveh would die fighting before getting abducted. There would be a bloodbath somewhere in Sumeru, be it Kaveh’s or his assailant’s (probably his assailant’s), and surely someone would have led his housemate to the crime scene by now.

It takes only a few seconds for Alhaitham to conclude: this is not a Usual Kaveh Pattern (UKP). Within 3 seconds of opening his front door, Alhaitham is already sure some sort of bomb he has yet to identify is waiting for him.

Carefully setting a foot inside, the Scribe continues to pounder. 

Theory 5: Kaveh wouldn’t have set traps around the house in a fit, would he?

But nothing of notice springs up at him. Alhaitham sighs in relief. Kaveh’s not a terrorist after all, and the only thing he has ever attempted to terrorize is Alhaitham’s sanity (although he has yet to succeed).

Now safely in his house, another circumstantial clue draws his attention: in the middle of the perfectly clean living room, on the table sits a letter, neatly sealed and aligned to the borders with careful precision. A faint Padisarah’s smell emanates from it. Why would Kaveh perfume a letter, and leave it in the middle of the living room? Clearly, it’s meant for his roommate. 

Less than a minute after opening the front door, Alhaitham isn’t sure why his stomach drops to his feet as he carefully picks up the envelope. He doesn’t understand why the air closes in on him, trapping his breath inside his chest. Perhaps he had forgotten to ventilate the house this morning. Yes. Surely that must be it.

He slowly rips the top of the envelope, carefully leaving a neat opening to easily grab the content between two fingers. It is quite thick.

With as much calm as a humanly possible, Alhaitham pulls out the stack of paper folded in half, sits on one of the sofas, lets the now empty envelope fall back on the table, unfolds the pages and reads the first words:

““Alhaitham.

I won’t say my dear, my dearest or my love, or any other sweet names you don’t deserve. You never call me those anyway. But it doesn’t matter.

Because this is goodbye. You won't see me for a while.””

What feels like 10 seconds after opening the front door, Alhaitham sighs one of the most worn-out sighs ever sighed in the History of Sighs. He should close his eyes and count to three.

One.

Two.

Three.

This is not how Kaveh will finally get rid of his sanity.

Slowly lifting his eyelids, he nonchalantly, unhurriedly, not frenetically, slips a finger behind the first page. Then the second. Then the third. Fourth. Fifth.

Five pages.

That is ten times longer than any previous messages of the sort, which can usually be summed up as: “I didn’t like your comments last evening, so I’m leaving a note on the table to tell you what a horrible boyfriend you’ve been, even though you’re right and this is so entirely my fault that I can’t face you now.”

 Even if not a regular occurrence, there is at least enough precedence for Alhaitham to translate those messages to: “I will be at Gandharva Ville, waiting excuses and some good reconciliation sex, emptying Tighnari’s scrap of wine in the meantime.”

So naturally, theory 6 then comes to mind: Kaveh has flown all the way to Gandharva Ville to release whatever pent-up desperation has swollen inside his ridiculous big heart. Theory 6 suggests an emotional turmoil of magnitude 8 on the Kaveh's Emotional Burst Scale (KEBS) at the least. Alhaitham doesn't want to guess how a message ten times the typical size modifies this estimation. 

Despite all the years in his proximity, Alhaitham hasn't completely figured out the coefficients between external factors and Kaveh's emotions. Sometimes they seem linear, sometimes unrelated, other times exponential. And while Alhaitham isn't that bad at math, Kaveh is too complex of an equation for a mere scribe to resolve. However, an identified variable of that hypothetic model can be described as the Alhaitham's Presence Chaos Factor (APCF): let him be involved, and Kaveh's emotional unpredictability explodes all predefined models.

Now, Alhaitham could read the five pages, probably criticizing him as a human being and everything he ever stood for, but he decides to do something productive instead. He hasn't any other ideas as to where Kaveh might have gone, so he should probably act before this fool ropes someone else in their couple’s dispute. A 5-page letter suggests him to hurry before all of Sumeru is included. The middle-aged women already gossiping around their household are enough (And the sages. And the Mahamata. And the Matra. And the Akademiya… is there even anyone left unaware of their couple’s antics?) 

His first instinct is to pack up his stuff for Gandharva Ville. Maybe the situation isn't as bad as it looks. Maybe Kaveh was just particularly inspired today, and 5 pages doesn't mean much more than the usual half sheet. This is fine. Kaveh's fine, just a little more dramatic than usual. Alhaitham's fine, and his boyfriend hasn't changed his identity and fled to another country. He won’t. Wouldn’t. Not yet surely. Probably. He hopes.

Anyway. To Gandharva Ville.

———

He's not in Gandharva Ville.

"Sorry", adds Tighnari tentatively after the affirmation that, no, he doesn’t need to check, it’s not a scheme to get Alhaitham to leave, Kaveh isn't hiding in his hut, drinking away his wine and crying that his boyfriend doesn’t love him anymore (which isn’t true. Obviously. And Kaveh knows it. Surely. Probably. Does he?). Why does Tighnari look so wary? Why is he looking at Alhaitham like he’s a bomb about to explode? "Look, maybe he got distracted on his way there? You know how he is…"

The forest ranger continues his speech, but Alhaitham isn't listening anymore, his brain already catching up. Theory 7: On his way to Gandharva Ville, Kaveh got distracted by a strange mushroom or a beautiful bird and is now a) hallucinating somewhere in the forest or b) chasing after an animal with a sketch pad and a pen. That's fine. That's cool. That's still a somewhat Usual Kaveh Pattern (UKP).

But night is starting to fall, and the imbecile might not realize that he is not in his study, where he can crash on the ground out of fatigue. It might be better if Alhaitham finds him before that happens. Yes. Simple.

"… Anyway, we have a patrol leaving for the night shift in ten minutes. I'll tell them to look for him."

"I'll go."

Tighnari blinks. "Excuse me?"

Why does he always have to repeat himself? "I'll go search for him myself. Do you have a map of the area on you?"

Tighnari blinks again. Maybe he has something in his eyes. "Alhaitham, listen. You've just arrived from Sumeru City, and that's still a three-hour walk. You're not Cyno, the night is falling, you're tired and worried, you should-"

"I'm not worried."

"Sure, you're not", his ear twitches, "The point is, this isn't a good idea. Leave the perimeter to us, alright? We know what we're doing."

"I don't doubt the capacity of the forest rangers Tighnari, but no one knows what is happening in Kaveh's head better than I do. Surely, I have a better chance of producing actual results in tracking him down. No offense, of course."

"Is that so? How about using this mind reading ability of yours to stop him from running away next time?"

The ear twitches again and his arms cross. If the bite in his voice wasn't clear enough, they are signs that Tighnari is reaching the end of his patience and getting truly annoyed. ‘I shouldn't respond to his provocation’, Alhaitham chooses wisely.

As planned, when there's no response to his sarcasm, the forest ranger relaxes and exhales. "I'll tell Collei to make you tea, and I'll join the patrol, alright? We'll extend our route towards the west to cover more of the road. And Kaveh's perfume is very distinctive, I won't miss it."

"Right". The Scribe doesn't know what to make of the sudden sweetness in Tighnari's voice. It makes him feel pampered, and he decides he doesn't like it.

"I'll go fetch Collei then." He pats Alhaitham's shoulder before walking away.

Well. If the forest rangers will cover the west, Alhaitham shall cover the east. He would have preferred a map to help, but relying on the vague descriptions he has gathered while reading about the area will do. If he remembers correctly, not far from Gandharva Ville is the entrance for the chasm and Liyue. Surely Kaveh isn't foolish enough to venture into the mines alone, So Alhaitham's research zone is pretty restricted. He just has to check every crevasse along the mountain's cliffs, and behind every cascade. Pretty simple. He must be very thorough, because Kaveh hides really well when he doesn’t want to be found.

———

Kaveh is not in any crevasse nor behind any cascade.

But that’s fine. Tighnari was right. Kaveh got distracted on the way here. Yes. Breathe. Deep breath. Alhaitham sits down and rolls his head back against the stone of the last crevasse he checked. Okay. He’s becoming annoyed. How dare Kaveh make him go on a manhunt like this past his work hours?

His frantic eyes stop on a wall of the cavern. That’s weird. Something’s written there. And badly written at that. Alhaitham can barely read the words. “You… bad… nara” and “makes… cry”. Huh. The message is made of fresh mud, sliding down the wall, so it couldn’t have been there for too long. Maybe there are children playing in the area? That would be dangerous, the chasm isn’t far from here after all. He makes a note to himself to alert Tighnari.

This is bad, his mind is starting to wander. That means he’s getting tired. Out of options while he physically recuperates, Alhaitham gets out the cursed 5-page letter and decides that in the middle of Kaveh emotionally tearing down every fiber of his being, there may be some clues. He reads the beginning again:

“”” Alhaitham.”””  Why does even his name seem extra, how does Kaveh manage to do that.

“”” I won’t say my dear, my dearest or my love, or any other sweet names you don’t deserve.””” Right, right. Cue the violins. Alhaitham is truly a horrible being who only thinks of their finances, health, and lodging’s wellbeing first. What malicious acts. Nothing new here.

“”” You never call me those anyway.””” Has he ever asked to be called those things? Kaveh likes saying them, but that doesn’t mean he HAS to hear them back. If he wanted it, Kaveh could have just asked instead of running away. Alhaitham stores his reflections in a corner of his brain, to be sure that they will be heard once he gets his boyfriend back. 

“”” But it doesn’t matter.””” Right. Focus.

“”” Because this is goodbye. You won't see me for a while.””” Okay. If there is a clue, it should be after this sentence.

“”” I’m going on a journey to find what’s really important to me. It seems you occupy a place in my life much larger than the one I occupy in yours.””” Right. Because invading his house mostly rent free isn’t enough, neither is making him run all the way to Gandharva Ville after a tiring workday. Idiot. Why does he think Alhaitham doesn’t want the Grand Sage’s seat? Sure, the position isn’t interesting, and could be resumed by working yourself to death on boring paperwork only for the prestigious. So not Alhaitham’s cup of tea. But it’s far from being the only reason.

“”” I know you’ll get worried,””” He is not. “””so, I am leaving you this letter and hoping you won’t fret too much. I love you too much so I can’t—I don’t believe how much I still care about you while saying goodbye.””” Alhaitham can’t help but smirk. Well. Isn’t Kaveh getting cute?

“”” You’ll probably laugh at me for writing that.””” His smirk disappears instantly. A strange smudge on the paper seems to indicate a dried tear. He just finds it cute though. Laughing doesn't mean it's bad, or even that he’s mocking it... Right?

The writing of the next part is a bit uneven, as if Kaveh couldn’t keep his hand from shaking. “”” Anyways, I’m going. I need it to find myself again, outside of what you are to me. I don’t know what place you’ll occupy in my life once I get back. Maybe I won’t.””” Alhaitham tries a few times but can’t read this last sentence. Kaveh scratched it so violently that it nearly went through the paper. He doesn’t push his attempts too far though, more preoccupied with the sentence before. What does he mean ‘he doesn’t know’!? Does Kaveh see himself not liking Alhaitham anymore after his return? Is he really reading a break-up letter here!?

As he skims through the words, Alhaitham finds himself more and more dumbfounded. It isn’t the five pages of dull and meaningless insults he expected. The artist’s raw nerves exult from the letter by the multiple crossings-out and deletions, by the uneven writing, sometimes beautiful, sometimes unreadable because of stains of ink, and of course by the ever-changing tone in the words. It’s a cycle of subtle spikes, crossed-out declarations, and litanies of self-pity. Kaveh usually seems so angry in those quick messages he leaves, but here, what transpires between the lines is desperation.

The more he reads, the more Alhaitham’s resolve strengthens. He starts to understand where the problem is coming from. Theory 8: Kaveh was starving for attention and flew because he didn’t get it. It isn’t as childish as it seems (for once). That’s just who Kaveh is. He wants praise, he wants compliments, he wants reassurance. That’s the way he feels appreciation. And if the Kaveh’s Gauge of Appreciation (KGA) isn’t full enough, he is prone to make rash and extravagant decisions.

Lately, Alhaitham hasn’t been home. It might have been because of his acting Grand Sage job. Or because he spent the last week catching up on his reading pile. Or because of his craving for all the books he couldn’t read before, and so his reluctance to go out with Kaveh at nights. Or because he spent his first week back as a scribe secluded in the house of Daena. But he needed it ok? He missed too many new book releases, and it was torture to not read as much when the disappearance of the Akasha caused the paper format to grow popular again. The consequence being, he might have neglected that Kaveh perhaps missed his company as much as Alhaitham missed his readings sessions. He overlooked that the genius architect buried himself into his work, and repressed his needs when Alhaitham was busy. When nothing changed after the scribe returned to his usual position, the dam broke, and Kaveh ran away.

This is such a stupid misunderstanding, but it is so like Kaveh to make a mountain out of it. Even if the letter screams to let him go for a while, Alhaitham must find him. He refuses to let his boyfriend go on his journey to find whatever deep insight into his own soul, with the fallacious thought that he isn’t loved. The Scribe makes a point to correct everything Kaveh wrongfully thinks, and he will certainly not be stopping today. If he still wants to go away for whatever self-journey, he can do it after Alhaitham corrects his objectively wrong way of thinking.

Again: how dare Kaveh leave a letter only to avoid Alhaitham’s heated arguments and to miss out on some make-up sex?

Chapter Text

Alhaitham doesn't know how long he stays there, planning his next make-out session or murder, he isn't sure which. Such a common conundrum every time Kaveh does Kaveh.

He doesn’t know if he slept either. But he supposes he did when light footsteps stir him from his slumber.

Confused, Alhaitham blinks his eyes open, then uncurls his tired back with a grimace and stretches his arms to wake up his sore muscles. Sleeping against cold stones was not his best move, he admits. 

His eyes then travel from the Cursed 5-Page Letter (C5L) on his lap, to the opposite wall of the cavern, now cleaned of any mudded traces, (Strange. Did it rain last night? Or is the zone really that humid?), before they stop on a pissed Cyno.

Oh. Alhaitham is dead.

He will try to mitigate the situation nonetheless. His mind can’t seem to find what caused the General Mahamatra’s visit, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try to negotiate. “Cyno. I’m surprised to see you here. Have you been well?” Tactic 1: act normal.

“I’m surprised too, Alhaitham. And I would be doing better if I wasn’t expressly requested by Tighnari to ‘go save that halfwitted scholar who went out alone in the rainforest in the middle of the night’.”

So that’s why Cyno’s here. Alhaitham relaxes. He hasn’t found out about any of the knowledge capsules, or the mysteriously half-assed reports, or any loopholes that the Scribe may or may not have used during these last few years. Anyway, Cyno is mad, and that isn't good, even if he isn’t here as part of the Matra (well… not entirely. Let’s say Tighnari is abusing his power over the general for a bit - with good intentions but still). Time for tactic 2: convince.

Cyno’s stern mask slips a bit into concern. “Why am I running after you Alhaitham? Why are we in this situation?”

“I don’t know. While I am grateful for your worries along with Tighnari… As you can see, I am fine.”

“Right.”

Cyno doesn’t need to point out that Alhaitham is currently sitting on a humid stone of the cavern. He doesn’t need to point out that the Scribe, usually very peculiar about his comfort, spent the night sleeping outside and is now obviously sore all over. But the unimpressed gaze the general addresses him with says enough. Tactic 2 isn’t off to a good start.

“I’m fine, really.” He tries again, “I just wanted to gain efficiency, and help with the search as well; in addition, we are all partially at fault with Kaveh for this situation, and I can’t let the burden of that fool fall on Tighnari alone. Moreover, Kaveh left me a letter and I appear to be the source of his stupid act of disappearance, so it falls on me to find him before he does anything stupid. I won’t get into the details, but I may or may not have to apologize to him, and he may or may not want to see me, so the search risks being bothersome. Knowing Kaveh, he might have even fled to another country already, and if we don’t catch up to him, who knows when or in what state we’ll find him— “

“So, you’re worried sick.”

“I am not.”

Cyno frowns. Again, he doesn’t need to point out that Alhaitham has just gone on an unprompted monologue, that may have sounded like nervous rambling. It’s impressive how much sermonizing the unemotional General Mahamatra can do with only his eyes and flexing of his eyebrows. But really. Alhaitham’s fine. He’s cool. He’s doing great. Kaveh is not heartbroken, he is making purely logical decisions, and this is not a break-up letter.

Anyway. Moving on to tactic 3: deflect.

“Well, in any case, Kaveh isn’t anywhere around here, that much is clear. Do you have any news from Tighnari’s search?”

Cyno’s pointed stare makes it clear that he sees through Alhaitham’s attempt to change the subject. “I would, if I wasn’t requested to go after you as soon as I met up with him”, but being a sweetheart underneath that tough exterior (Kaveh’s words, not his. Even if it's apparently Tighnari's words that Kaveh just repeats), Cyno indulges Alhaitham and responds to his question. “I crossed with the patrol group last night on my way to Gandharva Ville. Tighnari was fuming with rage, and I didn’t see Kaveh with them. Then he asked me to go after you. That’s all I know.”

Alhaitham brings down his gaze to the crumpled letter on his lap and lets this new information sink in. Since he left the village in such a hurry, he didn’t worry about stealth and his absence might have quickly been noticed. From Tighnari’s point of view, he now had two missing persons instead of just one. Of course he was going to get mad. (Even if Alhaitham can fend off for himself. Really. Again, he’s fine. Kaveh’s the problem here.)

Cyno sighs at his lack of response. “Come on. How long are you going to stay on the ground? Let’s get back to Gandharva Ville. The forest rangers may have found him already.”

“Right”, He won’t admit it, but having Cyno on the case is reassuring. He’s known for not giving up and would probably die before abandoning anyone. Alhaitham doesn’t know under which star Kaveh had been born, but he is lucky to count such a stubborn man as his friend. 

The Scribe gets up with a groan and stretches once again. Archons, his back hurts. Kaveh will pay for that. But he feels refreshed nonetheless. Strangely, he had slept very well. Maybe the silence of the jungle had lulled him through the night. With this new energy acquired, he walks up to the general and sets a hand on his shoulder, “Thanks.”

Cyno flinches at the touch, as if surprised. But Alhaitham is already jumping out of the crevasse, pressing on to Gandharva Ville. Who knows? Kaveh might be there already.

— — —

Alhaitham doesn’t know if it’s disappointment, or desperation that hits him when he finds himself in front of Tighnari again, only to hear a:

“Sorry.”

It does sound pissier than yesterday though. But Alhaitham understands. Of course Tighnari isn’t going to let him off the hook. “You should apologize as well.”

That’s fair. “I’m sorry to have underestimated the value of your advice.”

How naive would he be if Alhaitham had thought that  would be the end of it. “And I think you owe apologies to Collei as well.” Oh boy. Here it comes. The Scribe wasn’t planning on stepping on the ‘Collei’ landmine. The most deadly one, guaranteed to make Tighnari pop off. “Do you know how stressed she was? How much she has blamed herself for your brash actions? She couldn’t even shut an eye to rest! I hope you are aware of how this individualistic view of yours caused so many problems for others last night.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“And what about Cyno, huh? Have you apologized to him as well? It was supposed to be his off night. You took that away from him.”

They both know that if Cyno came home to the news of Kaveh’s disappearance, he wouldn’t be resting anyway. But Alhaitham bites his tongue before he points that out. Better not add fuel to the fire. “Right.” He says instead, then turns to the silent general by his side, who’s waiting patiently. “Sorry, Cyno.”

Cyno gives a slight nod in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything. Surely, he knows Tighnari well enough, and recognizes the signs of an oncoming nagging.

“Do you know how long we searched for you in the forest? The morning shift is already gone with instructions to look out for Kaveh AND you. Collei insisted on going with them, despite not sleeping last night. Thankfully Cyno was here! Since you took a path the exact opposite way from ours! We would have searched for days! When were you planning to warn us, dear scribe, huh? Where in that big brain of yours and when in that masterplan of five years would you have stopped us from running ourselves ragged?”

That’s where Cyno decides to interfere. He walks over to the forest ranger and sets a hand on his back, smoothing down his clothes with a reassuring caress. “Tighnari, I think he’s heard enough. You can stop.”

Tighnari sighs and allows his head to fall on Cyno’s shoulder, his ears twitching slightly at an emotional turmoil Alhaitham isn’t sure he identifies correctly.

“God…where is he…” he sighs against Cyno’s neck, letting himself be comforted by the general sliding an arm around his shoulder.

“You don’t need to worry so much. Kaveh isn’t as helpless as he appears. He’s resourceful.” Responds Cyno, in a whisper.

They’re sweet, but Alhaitham is getting annoyed. Of course, they are friends of Kaveh. Of course, they have the right to be worried; and he is grateful to them for caring about his disappearance so much. But Alhaitham is the one who’s lost his boyfriend. Alhaitham should be the one being comforted. Not that he needs it. Because he’s fine. He’s not worried. Kaveh’s resourceful, Cyno’s right. So, they don’t need to act like a heartbroken couple that has just lost their child. 

And no, Alhaitham isn’t becoming jealous. Or lonely. Or touch starved. He doesn’t even really like to be touched. Kaveh is the one who jumps him for a bear hug most of the time. Kaveh is the one who comes and nuzzles beside him on the couch, even when all the other seats are free. Kaveh is the one who leaves feather-light touches on Alhaitham’s arms, and in those moments they look at each other with perceptive eyes. He has no idea why he is thinking about all those instances right now, watching Tighnari and Cyno yearn for each other’s comfort when they are usually so professional outside their private sphere.

That’s it, he has seen enough. Alhaitham decides to give them privacy because they clearly need to spend some time alone, and he definitely doesn’t want to third wheel. (It has nothing to do with the little pang in his chest when he sees them gaze at each other, or how any touches they share make him think of Kaveh. Because they don’t. Alhaitham’s not the sentimental one here.)

He sits crossed-legged on a branch a bit further away and gets out the Cursed 5-Page Letter (C5L) from his belt pouch, to give himself a support for reflection. The quiet murmurs of Cyno and Tighnari fade into the background as he zooms in on the letter once more, a hand supporting his chin, bent over the papers.

Kaveh talks about a journey. Journey means traveling, probably to new places. He slept on the thought during his impromptu nap in the cave, but Alhaitham still thinks that Kaveh might search for a way out of Sumeru. This hypothesis became even stronger when the Cursed 5-Page Letter entered the equation. He decides to acknowledge this sleep deprived thought from yesterday, and thoroughly flesh it out.

Let’s suppose Kaveh fled to another country. Which way would he go? If he really thinks about it, there aren't that many ways out of Sumeru. 

You can go to the east, by the chasm, but it is a dangerous and tightly surveilled spot of Liyue. Without taking the mines into account, you can quickly anger the wrong person by walking in at the wrong time in the wrong place. The Qixing of Liyue are very peculiar about the chasm, and it’s not good if their secret network finds unauthorized personnel there. So, most Sumerians don’t leave by the chasm.

If you go a bit north, there are some climbable mountains to pass the frontier, but this is not a usual route people choose. To be fair, the north of the country is boarded by sharp cliffs, and the topography isn’t kind to casual travelers. So, the general public doesn’t often cross through these borders either.

In the west awaits the desert. It is harsh, vast, and probably not where a normal person would choose to go. Though, Kaveh is not a normal person. However, this vast sea of inhospitable sand doesn’t stand as an uncharted territory to the architect, who loves to go exploring the ruins on occasion. Alhaitham smirks a bit at the reminiscence of their last expedition together.

It wasn’t a peaceful journey. It never was when Kaveh tagged along. But hearing his boyfriend whine about the sun, about the heat, arguing about which path to take, was far better than having Kaveh sulk and -even worse- get depressed at being left behind. Losing themselves in the ever-similar sand dunes, screaming in each other's faces, letting a mild panic settle at the sun slowly disappearing and at their absence of shelter… if it felt aggravating in the moment, all that lingered afterwards were fond memories. 

At the end of the day, when they sat close together under a blanket on the freezing dunes, warmed only by their made-up fire and each other, Alhaitham realized that taking Kaveh with him made all the arguing worth it. He would listen, lulled by his over-romantic architect of a boyfriend. He would let him talk about the clear sky, the meaning behind every star, and the new facts he learned from a random Rtawahist scholar. They would both marvel —Kaveh out loud and Alhaitham in his own mind— at the deep darkness of night being punctured by light, an impossible sight in Sumeru City. Be it in the middle of the desert, or in the comfort of their own home, arguing with Kaveh never felt like a waste of time.

Alhaitham shakes his head and pushes two fingers against his eyelids with a sigh. He is getting distracted. He probably hadn’t slept last night as well as he previously thought. Moving on. The point is: Kaveh wouldn’t flee to the desert if he wanted to distance himself from Alhaitham, because he would see their time together on every grain of sand.

So that leaves the south and Port Ormos. Usually, that’s the gate to the rest of the world for Sumerians, and probably the first one that comes to mind when you ask someone where they would go to travel outside the country. If Kaveh wants to leave, that's probably where he would start too. 

Alhaitham realizes his excessive optimism at betting on Gandharva Ville: the Cursed 5-Page Letter (C5L) might seem overly dramatic in a very Kaveh way; but as erratic as his habits are, such a drastic deviation from the Usual Kaveh Pattern (UKP) should have alerted Alhaitham. 

Now, over 15 hours after the Scribe discovered his house to be empty, he must come to terms with reality: this is officially a Kaveh Special Crisis (KSC), and not a drill. Measures must quickly be taken. Alright. Time to draft a plan.

First, he must narrow down his area of research. He needs to know if Kaveh left the country, and if so, for what destination. Second, he should scavenge through his few clues; study the Cursed 5-Page Letter (C5L) in depth, and comb through their home with unwavering carefulness. Third, he should at least take a leave of absence from the Akademiya, and request some vacation time to devote his full attention to this crisis’ management. (And by request, he means impose. It's not like most would dare stop the late acting Grand Sage, a savior of Sumeru and its Archon. Kaveh would, but he is currently missing.)

Anyway, here is his next destination: Port Ormos. Yes. It's decided.

When Alhaitham raises his eyes, ready to depart for the next step in his plan, he finds himself face to face with Cyno and Tighnari. They both stand with their arms crossed, taking advantage of the Scribe's current sitting position to tower over him with their relatively short statures. Oh. So, it's not going to be that easy.

Ever observant, Tighnari notices the slight twitch of Alhaitham’s posture, and somehow, deduces his intentions. “And where, exactly, are you going? To sleep, I hope. Because I am not letting you leave Gandharva Ville without proper rest and a meal. Did you even eat last night?”

Alhaitham’s stomach answers for him. Oh. Right. Eating. That’s a thing humans do. 

Tighnari sighs. “What is that face, Alhaitham?” Right, what face is he making? “I really wonder how Kaveh puts up with you sometimes.”

“Nari, not now.” Alhaitham is thankful for Cyno’s interference. Because yes, given the current situation, that remark stings.

“Alright, alright… I won’t be giving any more lectures… for now.” Finally, some pity from the forest ranger. Alhaitham doesn’t want to know what he does to his enemies. Tighnari probably doesn’t even need his bow, and the Scribe wouldn’t be surprised if he has already verbally roasted someone to death. Frankly speaking, he is amazed at how someone as sensitive as Kaveh has survived a friendship with Tighnari. At the same time, if you need a paradox in humanity, Kaveh often proves to be a good example. 

“But please. Wait to leave until we cook you something.” Finally adds the forest ranger. Alhaitham wouldn’t be surprised if Tighnari was a mother hen in another life.

———

It’s quite a strange atmosphere that settles around the table. 

Tighnari is in the kitchen, preparing some quick mushroom dishes, while Cyno, Alhaitham and Collei —freshly back from her patrol— sit in total silence. Not that Alhaitham cares. His mind is already on the future, anticipating his trip to Port Ormos.

He doesn’t have time to pass through Sumeru City to pick out a boat and follow the river. It would be the quickest way to Port Ormos, but the time it takes to reserve and rent a boat would make him lose half an hour at best. And the road back is already a three hour long trip. He already wasted his morning, because Cyno and Tighnari forced him to take a nap and eat breakfast, and then lunch. Alhaitham is sort of thankful, yet sort of resentful for that.

Anyway, thank the Archons he has a vision. He already knows that many four-leaf sigils stand in the wild, so maybe his quickest path is to charge right towards the south, through the forest. No; he is sure of it. When dealing with Siraj, he had followed the traveler through the woods, and had seen how much time they saved. His principal problem is going to be how to convince Tighnari that he will be okay going off alone in the forest. The ranger is just doing his job, Alhaitham is aware, and infinitely appreciative of the care he accords to every living soul. But in his case, the Scribe must take risks. It’s not like a few spinocrocodiles or Rishboland tigers would be much of a problem anyway.

“Uh… Um… So… You’re… Alhaitham. Right?”, Collei suddenly asks.

He is a bit irritated at being interrupted from his thoughts, but couldn’t ever dream of telling that to the poor girl. He had never met her before, and even without receiving a rundown of her personality through Kaveh; right now, Alhaitham would have been able to guess how uncomfortable she gets when meeting new people. He can relate, to an extent. “That’s right. And you’re Collei. You probably know me through Kaveh.”

“And you’re… roommates?”

Alhaitham throws a curious glance at Cyno, who catches it quickly. Is that all Kaveh has said about him? He had been under the impression that Gandharva Ville is a place the architect feels comfortable with, where he can be honest and open. So, naturally, Alhaitham thought Collei was aware of their relationship. That’s what he transmits to Cyno, his eyes full of questions. Or at least, what he wants to transmit. The general just looks blankly back, even frowning a little, clearly losing the signal to interference. Archons. Kaveh would have got it.

“That’s right, we live together”, Alhaitham simply responds when he doesn’t receive the support needed from the other end of the table. If this is intentional on Kaveh’s part, he shouldn’t risk revealing things without permission. This is a sensitive subject, and he doesn’t need to create new reasons for Kaveh to run away.

“So I’ve heard…” This conversation is getting nowhere, and an uncomfortable silence takes its place in the middle of the table; a bit more and it could even talk by itself. Collei seems at her wits end after trying to lead the conversation. Alhaitham is almost tempted to help her. Almost. But the cringier the atmosphere gets, the quicker he’ll have an excuse to leave.

That turns out to be a better calculation than Alhaitham originally thought. 

“Hey, Collei, are you hungry? I am”, starts Cyno, coming to the girl’s rescue. Or at least trying to. “I like mushrooms. They really are fun-guys after all.”

The girl looks to the ground, letting out a strangled squeak. Alhaitham looks at Cyno as if he had grown a second head.

“You both get it, right? Mushrooms are fungi.”

Oh, it was totally clear the first time. But because Alhaitham wants to know what neurons just fizzled out in the general’s head, he responds: “No. I don’t.” 

“Come on. Mushrooms. Fungi. Fungi are mushrooms, but also monsters affiliated with mushrooms, something sentient. But at the same time, a mushroom is something we can eat.”

The Scribe isn’t sure which dimension he has just accessed. What is this situation he is living in? In all the numerous theses he has ever read out of Haravatat on the subject of humor, he has never found a joke that was as badly explained with that many details as Cyno’s (and Archons, are scholars who research humor not funny). The mood just got weirder. What horrible joke timing. Kaveh had warned him of Cyno’s humor, but Alhaitham wasn’t ready for it to be on this level. An entire thesis could be dedicated to it.

“I’d even add that, since Tighnari is currently preparing mushrooms, the situation adds to my joke.”

It absolutely doesn’t. Collei seems to melt on her chair from embarrassment. A plan takes root in Alhaitham’s head. What would happen if Cyno told more jokes? Maybe that’s the twisted scholar inside him, but Alhaitham is taken with a sudden morbid fascination for the cringe. He is a Haravatat graduate after all. His soul is bound to study language in all its forms. Even the most cursed ones.

“Please, tell me more”, says Alhaitham. Collei squeaks again beside him, half astonished, half pleading.

The general’s eyes light up, as if Alhaitham has just brightened his entire day. “These fungi aren’t yours, they’re MY-celium.”

When the Scribe doesn’t respond, Cyno continues, “You know, the mycelium is part of fungi. By putting emphasis on the first syllable, it plays with the fact that it is mine, and not yours.”

Cyno’s scholar education shines through this one. How can such a beautiful vocabulary sound so degraded by such a foul sense of humor? There really are grounds for a research project to be done here. Alhaitham isn’t even joking anymore.

“Sorry for the wait, here’s something quickly—"

“Do you have another one?”

“—made.”

Tighnari, coming into the room with his hands full of plates, observes with visible confusion the sight before him.

“I used to hate mushrooms, but then they grew on me.”

Tighnari’s face seems to change color at least 5 times, but one sole unwavering question is conveyed: ‘what circle of hell did I just walk into?’

“Master!” Collei jumps up off her chair, as if burned, and runs towards him. “I’m not that hungry anymore…” She takes two mushroom skewers off one of the plates, and makes her way outside. “I’m going on my next patrol early today! I’ll eat these on the way!”

His ears rigid on his head, Tighnari stays frozen for a  second before slowly turning towards the table.

“What…did you two do?”

Cyno seems clueless, and Alhaitham smirks and stands up to grab some skewers for himself.

“I’ll be doing the same as Collei, then. Thanks for the food. I’ll be on my way now.”

A confused ‘what?’ escapes Tighnari, but he doesn’t do or say anything to stop the Scribe or his smug expression. 

Mission escaping Gandharva Ville: Complete. Next stop, Port Ormos.

Chapter Text

The ever-bustling docks of Port Ormos greets Alhaitham as he arrives in the middle of the afternoon. 

It took him four hours to rush right through the forest, and frankly speaking, he has no idea how he made it this fast. Tighnari’s mushroom skewers disappeared along the way, and he isn’t sure if it is because he ate them. 

Walking in the middle of hustling merchants and burdened porters, leaves in his hair, mud everywhere, Alhaitham is aware of the curious gazes he gets. But it doesn’t matter, he must hurry. Kaveh could be on a ship, off sailing right now. He rushes to the end of the docks, sliding between the numerous crates obstructing the way. This is where the port's administration stands, and where they keep the ships’ registrations: if a log for departures exists, it’s in there.

As soon as he sees a port deputy, he doesn’t bother with formalities and gets straight to the point. “Do you keep records of passengers by ships?”

The poor guy steps back a bit, startled. “Uhm… we sort of do?”

Alhaitham’s mood becomes bitter already. 

“Sort of?” He has a bad feeling about this port’s administration.

“Well, we have a record log for incidents, so that we know which passengers aren’t supposed to be here. If stowaways and unwanted people were on a ship’s board, we'd know about it, since it always causes a ruckus. For passenger’s logs, you’d have better luck at Wakala Funduq. Maybe they keep some.”

“No. They do not.” Alhaitham, from his past visits in Port Ormos, very much knows that they do not keep passenger’s logs at Wakala Funduq. Most merchants are busy trying to scam each other, while the trade supervisors argue whether it’s fair or not.

“Oh.”

Oh, indeed. This feels like a fever dream. What are the Navbed doing? How is this port still standing?

“Uhm… Sir? Can I ask who you are? And also why you’re interested in the logs?”

Why is this his life? Well. If he is lucky, Kaveh was too rushed to book a ship, tried to stowaway, and is now waiting cozily for Alhaitham in prison. What a strange way to describe ‘being lucky’.

“I am from the Akademiya”, he gets out his Mahamata’s badge. “Other than that, my identity doesn’t matter. Someone might be trying to flee the country.”

The deputy pales. “Another fugitive? He shouldn’t have gotten past us! But- But we get so many of them so he might have—”

Alhaitham knows that with the new reformations, many questionable scientists trying to flee the country are being chased down by Cyno and his Matra. His phrasing was intentional, to get the deputy to panic and speed things up. But it deepens past all calculations as a second pebble visibly drops in his interlocutor’s brain, washing away all colors from his face.

“We- We had a brawl between Eremites we had to manage yesterday, so… Some boats left without being checked. Someone might have taken advantage of the chaos.” 

Alhaitham knew he was too lucky these days. Alhaitham knew that the inescapable laws of probability were going to kick back with pent-up revenge. Their incredible luck in the battle for Sumeru and its Archon has a price, and the statistics sadly decided to take their due today.

No. Breathe. These melodramatics aren’t necessary and are very Kaveh-like. Alhaitham must get a hold of himself quickly.

“A-Anyway sir, please come in. I’ll show you yesterday’s logs.”

When he gets into the office, Alhaitham’s brain supplies that the person jumping at the sound of the door is the port master, Reza, a former classmate from somewhere in his studies.

 An utterly useless piece of information right now.

 Alhaitham ignores him and walks straight for the bookshelves where the logs should be. Since the disablement of the Akasha is still recent, there are very few books lying on sad empty shelves, fighting against gravity to stand straight. The pages are slightly whiter on the right end, so these must be the newest. 

Bingo.

“Wha— Alhaitham!?” Finally reacts Reza.

“Please excuse him, master!” Comes the port deputy from behind the Scribe. “This is an emergency; we might have let a stowaway go through because of the Eremites’ brawl yesterday!”

“Masrur? What is this about? Why would the Acting Grand Sage— “

“Scribe.”

“Oh, right, you resigned. —then why would the Scribe be running after a stowaway! Isn’t that the Matra’s job?”

“It’s a special case.” Says Alhaitham without thinking much, already flipping through the pages of the newest logbook.

Finally, some silence. From the date on the first page, it seems they keep a book per month. He skims through it until he reaches the last few entries. 

Alhaitham gets to focus for three seconds before being interrupted.

“… Oh. It’s Sir Kaveh.” 

Darn. Reza didn’t lose any neurons as port master. He is still sharp. Or they were obvious, even back in school, even when they legitimately thought of each other as just friends. But now that he thinks about it, it doesn’t make a lot of sense: they were always arguing back then, how could people assume… wait. That’s exactly what they do all the time nowadays. Dear god. Were they a couple before even knowing it? And again: how many people already know? 

Breathe Alhaitham, he thinks, he just guessed it’s about Kaveh. Not that he knows you are literally living together and that you are practically married at this point. The married part of that reflection isn’t as comforting as it should be.

This could get annoying if they know too much. Kaveh really doesn’t like people poking into his private life. Anyway, Alhaitham does the smart thing and flips back a few pages instead of acknowledging the comment. 

There. Yesterday’s entries.

“““6 am. An unregistered scholar was on the Galilea from Fontaine. Called the Matra. No further incidents.”” Alhaitham skips this without thinking too much of it, because 1) Kaveh wouldn’t be up and ready in Port Ormos at 6am and 2) Cyno would have learned about it by now.

Although, the fact that an intrusion aboard a ship at 6 in the morning isn’t considered an uproar does worry Alhaitham for what he is about to read.

“““7:30 am. Illicit merchandise on the northern docks (dock no. 3). Undeclared Inazuman guns. Model unknown. Administration notified by Lord Sangemah Bay. Three eremites arrested. No further incidents.” It seems Dori is doing a great job sinking the competition. 

But Alhaitham has a problem with this entry… ‘Model unknown’? Sure, the merchandise wasn’t registered, but an unknown article? He takes a deep breath. He’s not here for that.

“““8:45 am. Children ran into Mondstadtian crates of wine. Merchants outraged and called for the administration. Asked for compensation from their guardians. Guardians uncooperative because ‘the crates should not have been in the middle of the road’. Called the Corps of Thirty who arrived at 11:15 am. Issue taken to court. No further incidents.””” It… what?

Nothing seems right here. First: crates in the middle of the road? Sure, the docks are cluttered with packages everywhere, but Alhaitham didn’t believe it to be to the point where children would run into them while playing. Second: why were the Navbed even called? It shouldn’t be relevant to them. Aren’t there any other competent authorities in this port? Third: why did they call the Corps of Thirty? They are based in Sumeru city! Aren’t there other mercenaries guarding Port Ormos? Alhaitham is pretty sure he has seen some of them around. 

And fourth: what do they mean by ‘no further incidents’ since these last three entries?

Alhaitham takes another deep breath.

Not his problem.

He continues.

“““10 am. A cat ripped the sails of the Bolang from Liyue. The cat had no owner, repairs fined to the port’s administration.”””

No, Alhaitham isn’t going to comment on this one.

“““11:25 am. Two ships collided while entering the wharf, the Lorraine (Fontaine) and the Elsass (Mondstadt). Superficial damages. Fight between the two crews. Third occurrence this month. Tired. Present members of the Corps of Thirty called from the 8:45 am incident helped settle the situation down.””” 

“““12 am. End of morning activities.”””

Dear Archons. That’s a lot for one morning. It’s not his problem but…

“Reza. How would you describe yesterday morning?”

The port master, who engaged in a frantic conversation with his deputy while Alhaitham was reading, turns towards him, surprised by the question. He then thinks for a bit. “I’d say it was quite calm, compared to normal. Nothing really noteworthy.”

“Oh.”

Not his problem. But the human power of resilience is scary.

“““2pm. A brawl in the port. wE ArE RuNniNg to ThE Sscene—~””” Dear lord. Despite all the years he spent behind a desk, staring at strange scripts, applications, and foreign languages, translating some of the most obscure dialects that ever existed, the next bit is completely unreadable for the Scribe. And… is that some blood on the page?

“““5pm. Returned to calm. Brawl settled.”””

Ok, this is the worst one yet, and Alhaitham very much has a problem with it.

“Reza?”

“What?” He sounds a bit more annoyed this time.

“Why aren’t there any details about the brawl?”

A long sigh escapes Reza. The deputy –Masrur if Alhaitham caught his name correctly— tenses. They both seem to grow older at the question.

“Look. We did what we could Alhaitham, ok? We are understaffed here, and the Eremites won’t help us. We are not inside your cushy Akademiya in your comfortable Sumeru City, where help is available around every corner.”

Alhaitham won’t deny that. It’s exactly why he chose a job in Sumeru City after all. But still. 

“Why don’t you report it to the Akademiya then? They could send more people.” He thinks for a bit. Usually, at least one Mahamata should be in Port Ormos to account for this mess. If he remembers correctly, her name is… “And where is Mahshid? It’s her job to report these problems.”

“Ah!” A tense rictus draws itself on Reza’s face. Masrur jumps beside him. “She’s too busy trying to beat some sense into the Eremites! You can probably find her tonight at the tavern, drinking all these problems away!”

“The situation won’t get better if you don’t try to get yourselves out of it.” Alhaitham seriously can’t fathom what people don’t understand about this. Why suffer continuously when you can search for a way to resolve things? “Anyway. I’m not here for that. Which ships left for the sea during that time? How many?”

Reza sighs again but relaxes, visibly happy to drop the subject. “Just the Alcor.”

“How would you describe the crew?”

Masrur lets out a noise between a laugh and a mouse squeak. That doesn’t bode well.

Reza’s answer confirms it. “A nightmare.”

“How so?”

“Always finds a way to mess with the rules. Finds breaches in every treaty. Smuggles. Illegal brawl championships. Fights. Beats up other crews… I could go on. The captain doesn’t put restraints on anything. Good thing she doesn’t come by very often.”

Alhaitham lets out a breath he's held since Gandharva Ville. This crew sounds like a brash, unashamed pack of ruffians, so not the types Kaveh would be fond of and trust for a voyage across the seas. The architect’s high moral compass surely wouldn’t let him be part of a band of regular offenders. 

“What about other departures since yesterday?” Alhaitham asks, abandoning the mess of a log.

“Didn’t have a lot of them. It is more of an incoming period. A few ships leaving through the river for Sumeru City. The Alcor was an exception.”

“So, no other ships left the country?”

“Yes.”

It seems luck hasn’t tipped that badly for Alhaitham yet. Kaveh is still in the country. He might even be waiting for his chance in Port Ormos. If that’s the case, Alhaitham just has to block all exits and search for him in this mouse trap. Simple.

“Thanks. That’s all I need to know.” 

He closes the useless log and puts it back on the shelf before walking in the direction of the door. “Could you pass on a letter to the General Mahamatra with what you just told me?”

When he doesn’t get any response, he turns back to see what’s wrong. Alhaitham finds Reza frozen with irritation, tiredness and anger painted on his face, where Masrur besides lets out a sob.

“I can’t.” Masrur pathetically squirms.

A suspended silence.

“I can’t!” he screams this time, eyes going wild. “I—I can’t pass a m—message to the gen—general, no! Stop! This—This one of the hardest people in all—all the country to—… F—First the traveler with this weird blue guy and his freaking cryptic address that I should have reimbursed if I could’ve, and—and now the general who runs across deserts and forest and is never –NEVER— at the same place at the same time I—I can’t—" 

Alhaitham doesn’t understand the rest as he witnesses a full-grown man slump to the floor, wailing like a little kid. 

Reza puts a hand to his forehead, as if massaging a headache away. “Oh good. My deputy has also snapped.” The casualness of the remark says it all. 

Again: how is Port Ormos still standing?

“Y—Yesterday F—Feroz punched me b—because the logs! And— and kids laughed! I—I’m—"

He can’t put his finger on it, but this specific scenario reminds Alhaitham of something.

Oh.

Right.

Kaveh.

When he has gone way past overworked, it happens that Kaveh collapses to the ground just like that. The architect cries his eyes out from pure fatigue, sometimes surrounded by numerous unfinished drafts and there is nothing else to do other than get him off the floor and tug him into bed. Alhaitham was really scared the first few times, but now he knows that this is just Kaveh’s reaction to being overly sleep-deprived. 

It is still a problem, as he should never push himself past his limits like this, but let’s say Kaveh’s life has lowered his sense of self-preservation, and Alhaitham can’t always make up for it. When these crises occur (a strong 9 on the Kaveh’s Emotional Burst Scale (KEBS)—so strong that Kaveh doesn’t even think about running off), Alhaitham indulges him for a few days, nursing him back to health. He gives in to all of his tantrums, takes him for any outings requested, and does anything to get Kaveh’s head out of his work. 

At night, they sleep cuddled together, Alhaitham disregarding his own bedtime to listen to Kaveh’s rambling, caressing his hair, his back, his nape, giving him all the attention he could ever need, kissing him in the crooks of his neck, reaching for his heated skin—

“M—Mr. Scribe?”

Big watery eyes of the wrong color stare at him, hairs too rough against his fingers. 

Dear lord. 

Why is Alhaitham currently petting this guy?

As calmly as possible, Alhaitham pulls his hand out of Masrur’s hair and clears his throat. He pointedly doesn’t notice the drop of wonder in the brown eyes watching his movements, or the silent bewilderment of Reza a few meters away. Alhaitham is cool. He is alright. This is totally normal behavior for him. 

Maybe if he lies to himself enough, it will be true in the end. What a Kaveh way to think.

“Just get my notes to the Akademiya and tell them to pass it on to Cyno. I’ll go check for any concordance of information at the lighthouse.” 

He then flees, escapes, runs away, departs from the port office.

Like every time he’s approached anyone in the last two days, Alhaitham greets the lighthouse’s guardian with a question.

“How many ships have left the port through here since yesterday morning?”

The guardian, an Amurta student –he isn’t going to question anything about this administration anymore— jumps awake from a lazy haze. Confirming information with this guy isn’t going to be fruitful. 

That’s fine. Alhaitham has another reason to go into the lighthouse. 

“Uhm… One? I guess? I don’t really count them. I’m not here for that.”

So, a guardian isn’t supposed to guard. Great, the Scribe thinks, deeply annoyed. If he stays too long in contact with Port Ormos’ administration, he thinks he’s going to develop a rash.

“Oh? Really? Then you won’t mind if I check inside.”

“Wait, huh!?”

Alhaitham pushes the guardian out of the way and runs for the entrance. Not even locked. Figures.

“Hey! You can’t do that!”

He goes up the stairs as quickly as possible. If Kaveh is still in Sumeru, hopefully in Port Ormos, he should hurry. He has wasted enough time here already.

“Stop –huff— right –huff— here—!”

As expected, this poor guardian student can’t keep up with him. But Alhaitham will also need to catch his breath once he’s up there. He lifts his hand to his temple, focuses, and activates his vision to zoom a few steps ahead. This will be quicker.

“Come –huff— on now! That’s cheating—!” comes a complaint, a few 20 meters behind. 

Alhaitham disregards it and finishes his ascension.

He looks frantically around the destroyed room, searching for a specific device.

Ropes, crates, books, artifacts, rotten cabbages… How long has it been since anybody has stepped a foot in here?

Ah! There it is. The speaker.

Kaveh, on an occasion where he was trying to prove the genius of his Darshan to Alhaitham, bragged about the beautiful, hundred year old running Pheros Lighthouse and his sound device that could be heard through the entire city. How Kaveh to be the reason for his own demise. If the passionate architect had kept his mouth shut at the time, Alhaitham wouldn’t have ever known this peculiarity. 

And Kaveh, in a typical Usual Kaveh Pattern (UKP), forgot mid-rant the original topic, to describe with stars in his eyes how it all worked. Alhaitham wasn’t even doubting Kshahrewar's genius. He never does. 

(What he doubts is the intelligence of most scholars in it. Then again, it isn’t exclusive to Ksharehwar. Kaveh argues every time they bring the subject. 

“You always find people stupid Alhaitham!” 

“It’s not my fault if they act like it.” 

Fond memories.)

Alhaitham picks up the input device of the speaker, pushes the button, and breathes.

“““ ~~~ Your attention please. If you see a blond man with scarlet eyes, who’s tall, thin, carrying a sentient suitcase, probably wearing a red cape and a quill in his hair, please report to the port deputies. You will be rewarded generously. ~~~ ”””

He hears the Amurta student finally catch up to him, gasping. He won’t have much more time.

“““ ~~~ If you bring him any harm, no rewards will be attributed. He must not leave the city before the responsible personnel arrives. ~~~ ””” 

The loud noise of the lighthouse’s door opening once again resonates. Hurried footsteps can be heard in the stairwell. 10 seconds left at best.

“““ ~~~ If, by any chance, you recognize yourself in this description, please visit the port office on your own. If it is learned that this message is voluntarily ignored, the consequences— ~~~ ”””

“ALHAITHAM!?”

And his time is up.

Reza bolts into the room, the Amurta student jumps with a shriek.

“I—I’m sorry sir! I—I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t catch up to him!”

“Well great job, you failed! Thanks, really! What a guard! Can’t even stop a mere scribe!”

“B—But sir!”

“Look forward to your next paycheck!”

“W—What’s going on!?” Masrur arrives behind and looks around the room, confused and still a bit jittery, probably from his breakdown earlier.

Alhaitham watches calmly as the chaos ensues. He knows it will soon be his time to be reprimanded. But this is not important.

As resourceful as Kaveh is, he can’t fool all the merchants and Eremites in the port, motivated by greed at the prospect of a reward. He can’t escape through Port Ormos now.

Mission stopping Kaveh from fleeing the country by sea: Success. 

Chapter Text

Alhaitham sighs with irritation as he slams Port Ormos’ signature on the umpteenth document. This really isn't what he planned to do when coming here. But then again, it’s better than fidgeting around. Recently, he can’t read a book without fidgeting, or letting his mind wander elsewhere. The only thing keeping him in check is paperwork. It is not pleasant, nor comfortable, but reading hasn’t been much more fun. Conveniently, this is what Port Ormos needs the most.

It’s now been four days since the beginning of the KSC (Kaveh Special Crisis), and there are still no signs of Kaveh.

During these last three days, Alhaitham has been waiting for him to show up in Port Ormos, fortifying his trap by reorganizing the city: the more secured the port is, the less likely it is for Kaveh to slip through.

Or at least that was the plan. 

In Alhaitham’s mind, he would have only made two or three suggestions to sort out that administrative hell before leaving things running on their own, waiting leisurely to see if Kaveh would show up.

But here’s the problem: Alhaitham can’t relax. 

Every time he tries to read a book, his mind escapes somewhere. This somewhere is often the C5L (Cursed 5-Page Letter), mentally going through it and over analyzing every word. This somewhere also leads him combing through their last few spats, laughs and outings, trying to find any signs of oncoming doom. It also means visualizing Kaveh’s smile, or his cute frown when he gets mildly upset, a mere 1 on the KEBS (Kaveh’s Emotional Burst Scale) … Or his knitted eyebrows, his mouth opening around a moan, his breathing trembling as Alhaitham slides a hand into his open shirt, caressing his naked chest like they have all the time in the world, making him shake, craving for more, then dipping further down his body, unwrapping his clothes, tasting sweat on his bare skin—

And that’s exactly why Alhaitham tries to kill his thoughts, stuck in an administration office with a huge mountain of Port Ormos' paperwork.

Snapping out of it for the third time this morning, he fixes the quill in his hand like it has answers to all the questions of Teyvat. However, it stays completely still in his hand, the tip hanging above a word, cruelly silent under his stubborn gaze.

Alhaitham needs to secure this city quickly so he can move on to another location. He needs something less mind numbing than grueling paperwork to pass this drought of interest in literacy. How dare Kaveh ruin his reading sessions. 

A part of him sneers at the irony the world decided to inflict upon him: he ignored Kaveh in favor of books, and now he can’t read any because of Kaveh. What a fitting punishment.

The Scribe of the illustrious Akademiya, the demon of applications, the ultimate reference for any written documentation in Sumeru, tries to focus again on the mere 20-line-long draft before his eyes: an article for a treaty to regulate the trade of Wakala Funduq. Alhaitham sighs again. It’s just absolutely fascinating and engaging. Although, it’s still better food for thought than the never-ending cycle of unfulfilled fantasies, memories, and self-pity cycling through his head. The Scribe pushes two fingers against his eyelids to force back his attention. So. Article 2.5.34: Pets and non-human beings’ ship registrations. 

A light knock on the door interrupts his much lighter focus. For once, the distraction is welcomed.

“Yes?”

The door creaks slowly as a shy face slips through the crack. It’s Layla.

“Scribe Alhaitham”, she starts, slow and tired, “here is yesterday passenger report for every ship of the Northern docks. I went through it, and there are no signs of Sir Kaveh… I think.”

“Great. Give them here.”

She walks hesitantly into the office and bows a bit as she gives the sheets to Alhaitham before straightening, tense, waiting for his review.

He abandons his draft immediately to skim through the report, his attention capacity back in full. As his eyes fly through the paper, he hums with contentment at the well penned details that describe the weather, the date, the noisiness of the port, standing beautifully under the names of every ship. Below these clear, short, and precise introductions are lists of passengers, just as neatly presented, giving gender, destination, and travel companions. What a great idea it was, to assign this task to the famous honor student of Rtawahist. What great luck it was, to find her idling in the port stressing over her credits.

“Good report. Clear, concise. But no Kaveh indeed”, he says when he finishes, a short ten minutes after.

Layla’s shoulders drop with a long exhale. Alhaitham would feel amused, perplexed, or perhaps aggravated at her nervousness each time, if he wasn’t getting more and more pissed at each report lacking a mention of Kaveh. It seems the architect hasn’t planned for his journey to come through Port Ormos any time soon.

Alhaitham feels a bit stuck. On the off chance that Kaveh suddenly decides to leave by sea, he can’t leave the port totally unattended. But at the same time, it is blocking him from searching elsewhere. 

“Uhm… Sir? Must…I do that tomorrow too?”

Alhaitham shakes his annoyance away. He must not be hasty. If he wants to reunite with Kaveh, this is his safest bet. “Yes. Until the Eremites learn to do it themselves, you must take care of this task.”

Layla deflates at this news. This isn’t good. She must stay motivated, or the quality of her reports may deteriorate.

“I remind you, that this will count as a part of your transversal course in Haravatat, ‘Applicated Essays to Practical Situations’. As your supervisor, I will attribute you credits based on your performance.”

“Yes… sir.”

“Since it is a practical course, I won’t demand any other thesis on the subject, and will only note your performances through your tasks.”

“I know, sir.”

“Scientific articles are a great source of stress through a student’s curriculum, I am aware. Consider yourself lucky to have one less to write and avoid the gruesome exercise to produce theory-based essays for an elective course.”

Layla lets out a short sigh, before raising her head. “You are right…”, she then yawns, “I’ll remember that.”

“Great. Keep up the good work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Against all odds, Layla doesn’t scram away in a hurry and stays before his desk, posture as straight as her tired body allows, eyes shifting nervously. She apparently still has something to say.

“What’s the matter?” Asks the Scribe, totally eager and ready to go back to his fantastic draft about pets or whatever.

“Just… I am not doing this only for the credits… if my friend disappeared, I would be worried too.”

Alhaitham stops himself before saying they’re not friends. Right. Kaveh doesn’t like that.

“After all, you never know what might happen in Sumeru… the country is wide and the cities far in between. Who knows what can happen in the forest, or the desert.”

A slight pressure twists the Scribe’s guts. Maybe he ate something weird this morning.

“There are so many monsters, so many dangerous animals… Not to mention ill-intentioned people. Who knows what’s living in the deeper woods—”

“Alright, noted. Thank you for your concern.”

He has already had enough of the chills this conversation sends down his spine. Kaveh ran away, sure, but he is alright. He must be. Even if he isn’t the best at taking care of himself. Even if doesn’t know his limits. Even if he forgets and disregards his needs entirely when he’s upset.

Dear Archons.

Is that why he hasn’t arrived in Port Ormos yet? Adding his usual luck to his questionable habits, this naive idealist running into trouble sounds likely enough. The floor sways under the Scribe, despite his seated posture. Has Kaveh passed out? Is he in danger? Completely dehydrated?

Alhaitham shakes his head. No, he banned those thoughts away three days ago. Stressing over what state he might find Kaveh in won’t get things done. Time is bound to make worries resurface, but reigning them in should be manageable.

“Uhm…. Mister Scribe?”

Coming out of his stupor with a flinch, Alhaitham notices that Layla has suddenly transformed into Masrur. Oh. He didn’t hear her leave the office. Or Masrur enter.

“Mister Alhaitham…” says the deputy, a pained look in his eyes, “shouldn’t you take a break? You’ve been staring into the void for the past five minutes.”

Alhaitham sighs. Every. Single. Day. 

Every single day, everyone looks at him like he is a bomb about to explode. They ask if he’s alright. And yes. Yes, he is. His mind isn’t exactly at peace, but he doesn’t neglect his basic needs. He eats at least once a day. He takes a shower at night. He tries to go to bed at around midnight. It is a bit later than usual, but if he doesn’t feel tired enough to overcome his buzzing mind, he has trouble sleeping.

(In the dead of night, he can’t close his eyes without imagining the light breaths of Kaveh sleeping next to him, or the heat warming up his chest when he cuddles against his back, or his hair and its fragrance, invading his senses… Or the slight tremble of his lips, his legs, his arms when Alhaitham slides into him, grazing every part of his chest with his mouth— Anyway. He has trouble sleeping.)

“What do you need me for Masrur?”

“Oh, right. It’s Ayn Al-Ahmar, sir.”

He sighs. “Again?”

“They ask you to come out.”

He sighs harder. Again. This is why this port, even after three days of hard work, stays sufficiently unsecured, causing the Scribe to worry that it will all evaporate once he leaves. Some Eremite groups apparently didn’t appreciate his schemes when in pursuit of the divine capsule, and his return in Port Ormos has caused quite a stir amongst their ranks. 

Who knows what they’ll do to Kaveh if they find him first.

Still, these last few days actually have been a delight to handle: at 7, Alhaitham wakes up, then eats at 7:30, to start working at 8. Around 10, he usually needs to blow off some steam. And the Eremites, despite their apparent disarray, are surprisingly punctual.

“Alright. Lead me to them.”

Masrur flinches at his response, cheeks reddened. “Y-Yes sir.”

Maybe Alhaitham needs to tone down his bloodthirsty gaze.

———

Out of the office, he slips on mud in his haste. Some clumsy letters can still be decrypted despite the smudge of his foot. ‘G…od Na… ra… Ups… N… a… Lha.. bad.’

The scribe shoots an unimpressed stare at Masrur. “Again?”

“I-I’m sorry sir! W-We can’t seem to catch them!” The deputy looks confused and upset. “Still, what weird kids…we post guards every night, block them off from the docks during the day, and yet they still persist to sully the front of your office! How come we don’t see them!?” His eyes then widened. “Do you think this has a link to the Eremites’ attacks!?”

Alhaitham stays unimpressed. “No. Don’t worry. These are children. I saw something similar near Gandharva Ville. Maybe a new fad”, he theorizes, “They do seem to like writing in adventurous places though… Parents should be notified. It can be quite dangerous, depending on where they play.”

“Right, sir.”

Alhaitham speeds up, Masrur in tow. He just dismissed them, but these mudded marks stay on his mind. It bugs a corner of his brain, a little voice repeating that he is missing something. A weird coincidence, that both the children of Gandharva Ville and Port Ormos decided to write in mud everywhere, especially in hazardous places, at the same time. For the last few days, wherever he goes, Alhaitham finds some of these mudded messages, painted in uneven strokes, speaking about something ‘bad’ and ‘Nara’. Another strange thing: in all the languages he studied, Alhaitham has never seen that word. Even if it was from a foreign language, why would children know how to write it? Is it from a new popular children's book? Maybe Tighnari knows something about it.

Even then, the forest ranger seemed perplexed when Alhaitham evoked the mudded traces before leaving Gandharva Ville three days ago.

He doesn’t allow much more of his brain capacity to the problem. Kaveh stays his priority. 

Confidently walking through the docks, he admires the tidiness of the road, a total transformation from his arrival. The crates he slid through to get to the office the first day are no more, safely away from children, where they won’t have the courage or stupidity to play. (Or at least he thinks so. He didn’t spot any mudded traces back there at least.)

“I see cargo has been stocked in the warehouses.”

“As you said, sir. We just needed a clearer chain of command. We followed your recommendation.”

Good. This way, if Kaveh ever makes it to Port Ormos, he won’t be able to hide behind crates, waiting for his chance to jump aboard a passing ship, or stumble into some trouble, getting himself into further debt and problems. If it’s child proof, it’s Kaveh proof. Usually.

“What about the lighthouse? Is surveillance in place?”

“Yes, sir. We organized a rotating shift with the Eremites employed. It really just needed some quick reorganization.”

Great. Even aboard a ship, Kaveh can’t go far from the watchful gazes in the lighthouse. If there is money at stake, Alhaitham is sure that they will watch like hawks.

“And the rest of them?”

“It is working wonderfully, Mahshid is over the moon! All it took was stricter and clearer orders. They’re really good at following directives.”

Fantastic. This is not the Corps of Thirty, but now, the port has somewhat functional enforcement. Kaveh shouldn’t get past them.

“Um… Scribe Alhaitham?”Masrur starts hesitantly. The tone slows down their steps to look at each other. “I just wanted to thank you. I’ve been working in his port for… quite a few years, and really, I was resigned that things would never get better.”

Alhaitham’s heart twists a bit. That sounds like something Kaveh used to say, when he first sheltered him after bankruptcy. I never thought it would get better. 

It sent such a sharp pain through the chest at the time, making the newly appointed Scribe regret ever leaving his side. It was hard to watch Kaveh stumble over his mistakes. His younger self could barely ever stand it. That day, witnessing his crestfallen senior fight back tears, curled up on his couch with a mug of tea, Alhaitham learned that ignorance only led to something harder: knowing only the consequences.

(Watching Kaveh get flustered does have merits though. Teasing him a bit reveals to be consistently rewarding. To watch him squirm in false anger or embarrassment, watch him trembles despite his heated gaze, pleading for hands to touch him, parched for Alhaitham’s body and his—)

Alhaitham puts a hand on Masrur’s shoulder. He feels muscles tensing behind his grasp. “You’re welcome. I hope you’ll uphold our agreement in return.”

“O-Of course!” the deputy suddenly straightens up, his gaze filled with determination. “We will find your friend as soon as possible!”

They’re not friends. They’re dating. In a relationship. Living together. Practically married. 

Archons. Would Kaveh magically show up to berate him, if Alhaitham screamed it in the middle of the city? 

No.

Bad idea.

Kaveh wouldn’t like that. At all.

He might break up with him. Definitely.

———

“Oh! Mister fancy Scribe!” greets Feroz with an excited grin when they arrive.

The big bulky Eremite Captain has taken a liking to Alhaitham these last few days. It might not have much to do with the Scribe’s personality, but more with the good reason for confronting Ayn Al-Ahmar it comes with: Feroz curses them every chance he gets. He supports Alhaitham’s plan to ‘dynamize’ Port Ormos’ defenses whole heartedly. After all, your enemies' enemy is your friend by default. And one pair of bulky arms is never too much when dealing with extremists.

“They’re waiting below the lift for us to show up. Probably ambushers hiding on the higher level too”, dutifully reports the captain. “What do we do?”

His carnal grin indicates that clearly, he knows the answer. Alhaitham does ignore Ayn Al-Ahmar when he doesn’t have nerves to spare (he also can’t go beating down Eremites multiple times a day – he is only a feeble scholar after all), but when he does, it usually means a good bashing. From the beginning, Feroz was very eager to help. 

Alhaitham, himself, has more reservations. On one hand, it helps him release frustrations from excruciating paperwork, on the other hand, these multiple threats a day are the reason why he can’t delegate the port’s surveillance just yet. 

“We know of their ambush. Since it won’t be a surprise, it won’t work.”

“So… we go straight in?”

“Us two, yes. Keep your men a bit further back so we can surprise them back.”

The grin on Feroz’s face only widens. “Ya know, I really like your style. Wanna join?”

He scoffs. Him? An Eremite? “Please.” 

———

A punch to the right. Evade. Plunge with the pummel of the sword to the stomach. A strangle grunt escapes his opponent, who stumbles backward before sliding down against a pillar. Out. Feroz did give him a good hit on the skull five minutes ago.

Next, Alhaitham materializes a second blade and surprises the Eremite trying to ambush him. The shock makes the attacker recoil far enough for the slice to cut only through his skin. The fright lingers longer though, and Alhaitham doesn’t wait to turn and thrust his elbows into his opponent’s guts. The Eremite flies a bit further, hitting the ground. He tries to get up, but the dendro follow-up is quicker. A translucent tile catches the light and bolts right into his wound. He stays down.

Alhaitham turns to the rest of the fighting, his calculating brain itching for more, planning his next move, only to stop and take in the battlefield. Like his head just got drenched in cold water, he witnesses the chaos. The dock is damaged. The bridge and lift system, proud works of the famous light of Ksharehwar, bear scratches and slices all over their base. A cord from the lift was cut. This masterpiece of engineering, standing firm ever since it was put in place, is drowned beneath the dust of battle.

This is not a place for Kaveh to arrive. This is not a Port Ormos for him to return to.

How many cumulative years has Kaveh been in Port Ormos even? This place always needs organizing, structures, buildings, or renovations. How long had Kaveh spent on the draft of this particular bridge, high above the river, connecting the two sides without impairing the way for a bigger boat? How many times did he erase and scratch the braces of the upper floor, to make it aesthetically to his tastes? Alhaitham doesn’t know. They weren’t seeing each other at the time.

But he doesn’t need to know. He can very well imagine Kaveh scrunched over his drawing table, posture terrible, face contorted by concentration, animated with each stroke made on the paper. His tongue sometimes sneaks out, and all Alhaitham wants is to grab his senior’s chin and taste it.

Kaveh can’t see this. He can’t see his hours of work destroyed progressively by the fights Alhaitham caused. I don’t mind, he’ll say, don’t worry about it, with a little smile hiding his pain.

“Hey there mister fancy Scribe! Whatcha doing standing like that? The fight’s over. Aren’t ya going back to your paperwork and stuff?” Comes Feroz’s voice from his left.

He initially planned to wait for the Ayn Al-Ahmar’s waves to drought. In a battle of attrition, Alhaitham is bound to win.

“M-Mr. Scribe Alhaitham… maybe you should take a rest after all”, follows Masrur’s voice.

But the longer it takes, the more the city will be degraded. The sadder Kaveh’s expression will get when he finally comes back.

“Uhm… Sir Alhaitham… maybe I am not the most suited to say it, but you should try and take a nap…” it’s Layla.

He can’t wait for the attacks to stop. Blocking his search is one thing, destroying Kaveh’s work is another.

“This can’t go on any longer. I am raiding their camp”, he hears himself say.

There’s silence. Then Feroz’s booming laughter.

“Well mister fancy Scribe, I sure like the way you think!”

Chapter Text

“S—Sir… I think I heard something.”

Layla shivers, a few steps behind, staring hesitantly at the thick forest surrounding them.

“That means our information was correct. Let’s go further in.”

“B-But sir… If they saw us and aren’t attacking us— “

“They’re planning an ambush, yes.”

A squeak escapes her. Alhaitham ignores it and advances with false nonchalance. 

They prepared for this. 

Still suffering from their defeat this morning for the third day in a row, Ayn Al-Ahmar must feel a certain fatigue settling. They will probably try to use mental games and territory advantage to chase out intruders. If Alhaitham has learned anything from his last stay, it’s to not underestimate their determination to go through with their plans. It is not an optimal situation. Usually, he would have waited a while longer for their spirit to weaken, too. He then would have plucked them out from their hideout, exhausted, mentally weak, falsely comforted in the belief that Port Ormos would not retaliate.

But he doesn’t have time for a few more days of this. He has no idea where Kaveh is, and in what condition. He has no idea if he will show up tomorrow, or one week later. Whichever the truth, Alhaitham can’t afford to play for attrition.

Yes. Raiding a well-established Eremite camp, even if outnumbered and short on resources, is the best course of action he can take.

He turned the problem in his head all afternoon, abandoning all drafts and paperwork in favor of finding a better idea than just barging in. They all require waiting. Which he can’t afford to do. So going straight in it is.

“W-We could have taken Mr. Feroz with us, at least…”

“They’ll never let their guard down with him around. We are not here to raid them.”

They totally are here to raid them. But the spies in the bushes don’t need to know that.

Even if done in a hurry, Alhaitham has a plan, of course. As much as he does stay fit for health’s sake, his profession won’t change: a scholar. He has very few chances against a long-standing base of mercenaries. 

Here is the plan: him and Layla are sent as envoy from the port to discuss terms. Of course, these discussions are very unlikely to end on a positive note, so they’re merely a cover. Their true goal is to attract attention and allow the bigger troupes to ambush the camp. Since he and Layla both have visions, it shouldn’t be too dangerous for them. In theory.

But his theories don't stop Layla from shaking like a leaf behind Alhaitham. She’s been anxiously rambling the entire way, and he can’t exactly blame her. He caught his own hands trembling imperceptibly on the way, his mind desperately backing out and asking, “isn’t there another way?”. But only plan A and plan B stayed viable, he couldn’t prepare more in only one afternoon. It feels too few for comfort. 

“Hey there. Are you two lost?”

Two eremites, with spears at their fronts, and wicked grins on their face finally emerge from the thick vegetation. He hears the bushes rustle with numerous men still hiding, but Alhaitham smirks internally. They took the bait.

He doesn’t need to hide his glee, as he’s never been anything other than completely composed to unknowing masses. Layla slides behind him, as she seems to phase out of existence, praying something to the stars in a whisper. Maybe not his best idea to bring her along. Her keen sense of observation should be an asset in addition to her vision, but if she freezes mid-crisis, it might have been better to leave her in the city. Oh well. Too late now.

“We came to talk agreements with your leaders”, starts Alhaitham.

“Oh, did ya now… do these agreements include a trip with the Matra? Boss Mizri’s still in their claws after all.”

Alhaitham widens his eyes slightly. Are they talking about the leader who turned mad after using the divine knowledge capsule? 

“I’m… sorry for your loss, but I don’t recall my involvement in that.”

“Oh yeah!? That hit in the head you gave him really helped with his arrest though!”

So it was their boss who’d gone mad. 

“Would you have preferred I let him beat you all to death?”

Because that’s what their sweet, sweet boss was doing, last time Alhaitham checked. He screamed to the sky before plundering one of his underlings to the ground, without leaving a chance for escape. 

The two eremites grind their teeth, their grips tightening around their spears. They obviously do not agree that Alhaitham saved their lives that day. What a shame. It would have made things easier. 

What fools. Whether by fondness or by pride, they are still denying that their boss would have killed at least a few of them, had Alhaitham not interfered. 

He takes a deep breath. He shouldn’t bother. Telling the truth doesn’t always help, and this is an instance where he’d better shut his mouth. Raising his hands above his head in a sign of surrender, he continues: “I am not here to dwell on past mistakes. Our conflicts will drown Port Ormos, and I am sure both of us see no gain in that outcome.”

This port is, after all, Sumeru’s best place for international trade and shady business alike. Ayn Al-Ahmar has interests in keeping it standing. 

His opponents back away a bit, keeping their weary gazes on him, trying to find a gap in the Scribe’s reasoning. But they are too intelligent, yet too stupid to completely discard the point raised. It’s good to see they haven’t changed from last time. 

“We’ll take you to the bosses”, starts the first one, a frown incrusted on his face. “But first…” A slight grin stirs his lips. “Hand over your vision.”

Layla shrieks behind him, and Alhaitham feels her getting closer. Right. That was a possibility he saw coming. 

He lets his expression be troubled by the idea, and touches his green ornament as it pulses reassuringly on his cape. They want to disorient him. So Alhaitham gives them what they want: a conflicted face.

He takes time to pounder, to frown in displeasure, making a show of his uneasiness before answering. “Please. Take only mine. My colleague has done nothing to offend you in the past.”

At his pleading, the grins on their faces turn into wicked smiles, feasting on his vulnerability. “That’s more like it.”

The second moves a few steps in Alhaitham’s direction, spear in front of himself to set the blade just under his chin. Alhaitham’s head raises with it, tense, ready to react at any brash movement. From them, or the bushes. 

“Fine”, the eremite mumbles after a few long seconds. “We won’t take the lady’s vision. It doesn’t look like she’ll be able to use it anyway.” 

From the shakings at his back, Alhaitham doesn’t think she’ll be able to either.

The blade retreats, and a hand extends before him. “Now. Yours.”

An irritated sigh escapes his lips before unclipping the trinket from his cape. Alhaitham lets the green pellet weight in his palm for a bit, caresses its surfaces, and bathes in the comforting glow, the same glow brightening Kaveh’s hip. 

These last few days, a foolish yet soothing thought has formed in his head: their visions are one of their few common points and couldn’t be any more similar if they tried. They both shine with dendro energy, both graced by the gilding of Sumeru. These last few days, Alhaitham caught himself unclipping his viridescent orb from his cape, rolling it around in his hand, pushing its cooling surface against his head, wondering if Kaveh thinks of him sometimes, when watching his own vision. Does the APCF (Alhaitham’s Presence Chaos Factor) still stand when Kaveh remembers him?

To Alhaitham, it’s a reminder that they stem from the same sprout. To Alhaitham, it indicates that, despite their arguments, differing ideals, and conflicting ways, they come from the same place. They aspire for the same things. A life fulfilled by knowledge and wisdom, parched for curiosity and experiment. When holding it in his hand, he suddenly feels closer to Kaveh. How strange. It has never been anything more than an asset to him before. When reuniting after years of broken contact, noticing that they both gained the exact same vision during their separation did nothing to his heart, except a funny twist at the coincidence. What stands in its glow today that appeases Alhaitham?

He has read testimony of people losing them during the Vision Hunt Decree in Inazuma. He knows those people turned into empty shells of themselves, wandering aimlessly. A vision is not inherently needed to live a comfortable life. On the contrary, a vision enables you to endure most danger in this world, pushes you to explore uncharted territory. But once it appears, you can’t live without it. Once your ambitions, dreams and convictions have materialized, they can easily be taken away from you. 

What is Alhaitham’s ambition? To live a peaceful life. To read, study, pounder, learn and satisfy his curiosity at his own rhythm until his death. To live in comfort. With Kaveh. How much of it stands in this little green pebble? What quantity of it is he holding out for these eremites to take?

No. Breathe. He planned for this. Feroz is behind them with his troupes. Even if he let go of it now, it will find its ways back into his hands in a few hours at worst. 

Alhaitham finally extends his trinket, and the eremite takes it without waiting, rudely cutting him off his dreams and cores. The scholar staggers back, whole body revulsed by this separation.

“Sir Alhaitham!” cries Layla behind him. Her hand meets his arm, steadying his posture.

His head hurts.

But surprisingly, that’s all. He watches his vision in the hand of the cackling eremite, dimmed slightly, but shining with the same shade. A dazed reflection crosses his hurting mind: maybe staying within a certain perimeter of the vision alleviates the side effects. It offers a bit of relief: his goal of finding Kaveh stands firm, at least.

-- -- --

Alhaitham blinks a few times before his eyes adapt to his surroundings. He stares haphazardly at the walls only lit by flimsy torches, taking in the uneven walls of dirt surrounding them, and smells the dust falling from the ceiling of this stuffy underground room. If it wasn’t the case before, he definitely feels trapped now. Layla, still by his side despite her constant shivering, pale face, and wide eyes, looking two seconds away from fainting, grips his arms between hers with a crushing force, half-painful, half-grounding. His headache hasn’t subsided since they took his vision, but at least the pressure circling his bicep allows him to focus on something else. 

In the center, at the depth of the cave, stands three worn out chairs covered in dirty velvet, mocking a comic grandiosity. Two of them are occupied by big bulky eremites covered with scars, lazing around in their seats, while the last stays empty. The rest of the underlings crowd against the wall in a noisy racket, agitated by the two intruders following their companions. 

“Well, well, well… Look who’s here.”

Nonchalantly sat on the middle chair, the first leader laughs sarcastically at Alhaitham’s entrance, mouth not completely hidden behind his scarf. The one on the right sits straight, giving himself a confident countenance, but stays silent. 

“The Akademiya’s Scribe…” continues the first one. “Are you lost, honey?”

A chill runs down his spine. Oh wow. Even Kaveh refrains from using that specific surname (And Archons know how surnaming is a UKP (Usual Kaveh Pattern)). Alhaitham doesn’t dwell on the revolt rising in him and disregards the appellation.

“I am here to talk.”

“Here to talk he says… I remember you were also here to talk when you went and handed Mizri over to the Matra. With the divine knowledge capsule as a bonus! So kind of you…” the leader puts his hand on his heart to accentuate his speech, only to fall completely stern the second after. “Too kind of you.”

“And as always, I only have both our interests in mind.”

An unimpressed laugh.

 “Well. Let’s listen to what he has to say, Souad.” Interferes the second.

None of the clemency these words suggest can be heard in his voice. All Alhaitham hears is a malicious intent to tear him to pieces at the smallest mistake. The second leader appears like a bigger threat despite his clement words: he puts up a front and waits for his opponent to self-destruct. Sadly for him, he will have to wait a long time before Alhaitham slips up.

The Scribe decides to start his game. “I am grateful for your mercifulness.” His verbal opponent frowns, upset by the perfectly polite response. Let’s see which one of them cracks. Let’s see which one loses their cool first, so that the other can innocently claim self-defense in front of a court of law. 

Alhaitham continues. “As we are both well aware, Port Ormos is a valuable asset to Sumeru. It would be a shame to watch it go up in smoke because of the amber of our conflicts.”

“Yeah right!” cuts in the first, “Shoulda thought of that before provoking us!”

“Souad. Calm, please.” scolds his companion.

Alhaitham smirks internally. Keeping this Souad guy in check is going to be difficult. Seems like the discussion won’t be proceeding smoothly. What a shame. 

“As you are well aware then”, he continues, “we both can’t risk anything happening to this city. We must achieve coexistence.”

His opponent frowns slightly, struggling to keep an impassive mask, as if he had stepped on a needle. Alhaitham reads on his face that this is an already existing concern of his. 

“And your proposition is?”

The Scribe takes a deep breath, steadies himself and pushes his headache to the back of his consciousness as much as he can. This is the turning point. They won’t like his answer, even find it injurious. His eyes focus on the underlings that ‘captured’ them earlier and notes internally the position of his vision, which is in the pocket of the left one. At the beginning of a fight, he will plunge forward, and dive his hand in to get it back. His sword is also in reach. Good. 

“You leave all military responsibility to us.”

Clammer rises from the audience, who has listened religiously until now. 

The boss on the right chair scowls even deeper, spine as tense as a bow ready to shoot. 

His companion joins the crowd in its indignation. “We’re mercenaries! You expect us to give up our job for your sake!? If this is some kinda joke, it isn’t funny!”

Cries of approbation rise. Layla squeezes his arm even tighter. Any minute now. 

“You ransacked this port for years. Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

‘Ransacked!?’ resonates in the mass as it grows rowdier. The middle chief is fuming, two hairs away from jumping and strangling Alhaitham. The two soldiers who brought them turn towards them, spears at their fronts. Good, thinks Alhaitham, bring my vision closer, that’ll be easier. 

The somber gaze that the right leader wears stays the clearest sign that the discussion is about to end. “I don’t think you’re here to talk after all, mister Scribe.”

Alhaitham lets a sufficient smirk split his face. The pretense is off. “If you like to guard this city that much, you can always join our ranks.”

That’s the last taunt he needs to make. 

The right chief whistles, and the rowdy crowd jumps towards the two scholars in one movement. A shriek pierces through the cacophony as the pressure around Alhaitham’s arm disappears. 

Did Layla pass out? He doesn’t take the time to check and launches for the eremite holding his vision. Even if she has passed out, Alhaitham doesn’t need to change plans: the quickest way to protect them both is to reach for his powers. His headache intensifies with the cries, hurrying him to act, a clear line of pain stretching on his forehead. 

His target quickly understands his intention and jumps out of reach, jerking his spear in his retreat. Alhaitham dodges and rushes after him. 

Unfortunately, the rest of the eremites have already caught up. They were ready for a fight ever since he entered the cave, only waiting for the signal to start. Of course, they reacted quickly. 

The path to his vision closes quickly before him as a sea of eremites charges. Change of priorities. He gets his sword out and just in time parries three men attacking him. The shock of the clash sends him back a few meters away from his goal, resonating in his hurting skull. 

His vision and its thief stand now safe behind armed troupes, out of reach. The snatcher puts his hand in his cursed pocket to retrieve the green crystal, a mocking grin splitting his lips. “Is this what you want, perhaps?”

Fine. That didn’t work. It would have made his life easier if it did, but he can still fight long enough without it. He regroups towards Layla, finally checking on her state. 

Alhaitham finds her in combat position, sword out, standing tall at his back. Her shivers completely stopped, and her eyes stay focused on the assaulting mob. 

“Sir Alhaitham, stay close to me.”

Her vision shines brightly as a cold wind sweeps the room, a translucent orb rising out of thin air above their head. Scintillating diamonds then dash out of it, whistling in the direction of the nearest attackers, piercing through the fabric of their clothes, frost biting their skin as they scream in pain and surprise.

Well, that’s a change of attitude and a half. 

She rushes forward, sword in hand, confidently repulsing the escapees of her projectiles, securing a safe zone for Alhaitham to fall back into. 

And she calls herself a mere student. Where was she when they saved Sumeru? If it wasn’t decided before, Alhaitham will definitely offer her a post in the Akademiya once she graduates. She would make his life so much easier. 

Confident that she has his back, he plunges forward, fending off enemies with his blade, widening their safe zone around Layla’s globe. They’ll hold.

And so, engaged in an unending dance of self-preservation, slashing right, dodging left, entrusting each other with their backs, they keep the eremites at bay. That’s all they can do. The waves of enemies don’t stop, charging again and again, each time with a new fervor under the feasting gaze of their two leaders, waiting for them to crack. 

At some point, a blade grazes Alhaitham’s arm, an arrow misses his cheek, a punch catches his cape, his hair gets pulled, as his heart pulses adrenaline in his veins. He doesn’t have time to check on Layla anymore, his head hurting, his mind turning under the chaos raised around him. Sometimes, a reassuring frozen breeze pushes him forward, the only sign that Layla is still holding on, her crystals plunging into some of his opponents. The support is appreciated, a reminder every few seconds that his back is safely guarded.

Ten horrendous minutes later, Alhaitham feels his heavy breathing turning to desperate gasps. He takes a step back and feels the weight of Layla’s back on his. She is also huffing loudly from the continuous effort. He feels her vision quiver in his lower back, freezing through his clothes. The cold oscillates against his back, like a cryo slime failing to summon its shell before the cooling sensation stops and human warmth takes over.

“I can’t summon another glob”, she informs between two huffs.

The fact that she renewed them for a total of ten minutes is already impressive enough.

“Any time now”, Alhaitham reassures her, also winded. 

As trained as Alhaitham is to handle difficult situations in his research trips, he is not used to continuous intense effort. He always deals quickly with his opponents, striking weak points after weak points, fighting for thirty seconds maximum before retreating to analyze his next move.

Seeing the poor scholars out of energy, the eremites only scream louder, get rowdier, fill the claustrophobic room with battle cries and charge back with a newfound vigor. Alhaitham’s head hurts and spins so much he wants to hurl. Arm trembling under the weight of his blade, back still supported by Layla, he swings his weapon around in a last attempt, knowing he’ll hold them back only seconds more at best. One word -or name- keeps his sword up, a string in a desperate pit. Kaveh. Kaveh. Kaveh.

Another piercing whistle resonates in the cave. All the eremites surrounding them, grins dripping bloodlust, eyes injected with a morbid glimmer, stop in their tracks, forming a perfect circle around their targets. 

With leisure, reveling in seeing his enemies backed into a corner, the calm leader rises from his chair, slowly walking towards the battle while the crowd splits in his wake. Now standing tall in front of Alhaitham, he studies his ragged face, looks over each graze in his clothes, on his skin, and on his face with satisfaction. Not so mighty anymore huh, he seems to think. 

“Excuse me dear Scribe -or whatever your title is- but it seems we won’t be retiring from this city after all.”

Alhaitham’s mind soars with delight. Please give him the villainous speech while he catches his breath. He frowns his eyebrows for show, hoping it’ll encourage continuation. 

It indeed does. “After all, what would Port Ormos do without us? If all they can bear to send is a poor scholar and a poor student… Such a shame, really. We may have trusted you with our safety otherwise!” the sarcasm drips from his tone. “Oh, dear, I’m nearly worried for you!” He then turns theatrically to his men, arms raised. “How are they ever going to find that architect huh?”

Alhaitham closes his eyes, trying to shut out the speech. He doesn’t trust his own reaction if they bring up Kaveh now. But he must hold on. He has no objective excuse to restart the fight himself. 

“Yeah, that’s right, I know of your little architect friend…”

They’re not friends.

“… Is that why you’re here, dear Scribe? To make sure we don’t hurt him when we find him? Is that what you want? You even put a conditional ransom on him to prevent any harm! Tell me… How dear is he to you?”

Alhaitham squeezes his eyelids together until they hurt. Don’t listen to him.

“How much are you willing to pay above that ransom, to get him back safe? Huh?”

Alhaitham lets out a shaking breath. The honeyed tone makes his skin itch with an uncontrollable disgust. Not to mention the words. 

“Right. No matter how much you’re willing to pay, we don’t care. If we find him, be sure we’ll send him your way…” The leader bends to his ears to whisper the last part. “Bit by bit.”

A shiver runs down his back. A punch to the eremite’s face. Alhaitham’s punch.

He widens his eyes as his breathing escapes his control, watching the big eremite leader stagger back from the assault, as surprised as the feeble, worn-out scholar who just landed that hit. 

He didn’t mean to do that.

The false sweetened expression of the leader morphs into anger and bloodthirst as he dashes back towards Alhaitham. But the scholar’s brilliant brain doesn’t register. He struggles for air. His sight blurs. His skin shivers. Transpierced. By needles. Thousands of them. He loses control. His senses don’t respond. He gasps louder. Is he dying?

“Sir! Please brace yourself!” shouts Layla, grasping his arms, hoping it’ll snap him back into focus.

Suddenly, the ceiling begins to shake.

And that’s all he needs to remember their plan.

“Layla! Your shield!” Alhaitham hears himself shout.

The frost surrounds him once more, as a translucent bubble forms around their bodies, Layla’s vision vibrating under the ultimate effort.

He drops to his knees, letting out a long exhale, begrudgingly, methodically.

Right. That was the plan.

As expected, eremites like to construct their bases with multiple layers. Ayn Al-Ahmar is no exception.

As expected, they like to hold their meetings in rooms under the surface.

As expected, capturing someone as irritating and problematic as Alhaitham attracts the attention of all the base, leaving only a few unlucky guards outside.

Explosives aren’t rare in Port Ormos. Feroz and his backup were ordered to find some and blow the ceiling off the lower floor, leaving only Alhaitham, Layla and her shield standing while the agglomerated eremites would be buried in rubble.

Everything went according to his plan. As always.

This is fine.

This is not wasted pain. This was only a bad moment to overcome. A nightmare to wake up from. He knew. He’s fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

And most importantly, now they can’t lay a finger on Kaveh.

Chapter Text

Alhaitham feels the piercing cold of the ground against his knees, frost remaining from Layla’s protection. What now?

“Hey! They’re here! They really made it out alive!” Reverberates Feroz’s voice throughout the ruins.

The sun shines too bright after being locked in this cave for the past what… thirty minutes? Forty? It only amplifies his migraine. Why did it have to come to this again?

“Find any survivors and tie ‘em up! Don’t let any of them escape!”

He lets out a long sigh, focusing on the breeze washing over his face, soothing his agitated mind. He needs to calm down and move quickly to the next task at hand.

What… is his next task?

“I can’t believe it. All that… for his architect friend. What devotion. We can never get enough of that in the Eremites.”

“Yeah! He should join us!”

“Why don’t ya propose to him boss?”

“Hey. Don’t say it like that. ‘S rude to him. And don’t ya think I tried already?”

Why are these voices so loud? Alhaitham just wants peace. He doesn’t want to think. He doesn’t know why he must. 

“Sir Alhaitham?” comes a quieter, worried voice at his back.

Oh. Right. Layla. She helped. With… what exactly?

“Stand aside. Let me through.” Cyno’s voice. What is he doing here?

What is Alhaitham doing here?

The general enters his gaze, hiding the sun for a bit, and a relieved breath slips through his lips. His head feels a bit better.

The eyebrows on his friend’s face scrunch up. “Where is your vision?”

A… vision.

Right. Alhaitham has a vision. On his cape. A Dendro one. 

Usually.

An indescribable energy pushes him off the floor, and towards a lump of rocks, rubble from the ceiling. He throws himself on the ground and digs through it in a frenzy, possessed by desperation from an unknown stem.

Amidst the ruins, nudged against an unconscious body, a light appears under Alhaitham’s hands. A comforting, verdant glow. A vision. His vision.

With precaution, as slow as possible, as if a simple blow could make it disappear, Alhaitham scoops it up in his palms.

And then, everything makes sense.

The port. The administration. The Eremites. His search, his life, his wants… Kaveh. Archons. For a moment, Alhaitham forgot Kaveh. He pushes the cold surface of the glass against his forehead, shocking yet soothing to his headache. His grip incrusts the ornaments on the pads of his fingers, puncturing his skin, letting the slight pain ground his lost mind.

He feels overwhelmed and at peace. It’s unexplainable. It is like finding himself back, like he was living in a foggy realm for the past few hours, an erring lost soul, going through the motions without knowing why. 

He… thinks the goal of getting Kaveh back held strong until the end. 

But it did disappear for a moment. A sick shiver crawls up his back. He forgot Kaveh. For one moment, he forgot Kaveh, and all they had. Their home in Sumeru city, for one instant, reverted to the hall of solitude Alhaitham built, relaxing but unknowingly incomplete. His visits to Lambad’s tavern turned into a simple time to enjoy wine, erasing countless discussions, arguments, and teasing/nagging/make-out sessions once back home. His trips to the desert became so much more grueling, void of sense. Night sky dark. Sand meaningless.

The frightening part of it all is that Alhaitham sees himself enjoying that life. Like a vision, it doesn’t need Kaveh for his days to be complete. And forgetting everything that ever happened between them won’t change his core, won’t make his house disappear, won’t rob him of his tranquility (heck, it may even give some back). 

But Alhaitham chose this. He chose to let this foolish senior get so close. He chose to give him a part of himself, and chose to relish in their arguments, their miss matched schedules, and their shared times. If he loses Kaveh, he loses an intangible part of himself. Left still complete but missing a piece.

A warmth on his shoulder stops all these spiraling thoughts. “Alhaitham. Are you hurt?” Cyno’s blunt voice, straightforward, steady, worried. He doesn’t have the force to tell him it is unnecessary.

“I’m… fine. Physically. But— give me a minute.”

“I think you’ll need more than that”, sighs Cyno. “What were you thinking, dismantling an entire Eremites group without any support? This isn’t like you—”

“They would have killed Kaveh if they found him before me.”

A second of silence. “Oh.”

Cyno can’t say anything to that. They both know what would happen if the general, uncompromising for those he cares about, ever finds himself in a similar situation: when Tighnari got hit by lightning during their fight for Sumeru, it was as if he could jump all the way to Celestia and assert revenge against the laws of nature. He can’t keep reprimanding Alhaitham without sounding hollow and hypocritical, so Cyno drops the subject.

“C’mon. At least rest now. We’re getting you back to Gandharva Ville. Don’t run away this time. Please.”

“Hm.”

As much as Alhaitham would like to follow his friend to regroup and move on to the next part of his plan (and also convince him to NOT bring him back to Gandharva Ville, but to Sumeru City so Alhaitham can start turning his own house upside down for clues), there is still an aftermath to take care of. Under Cyno’s scrutiny, he stands up, takes a deep breath, and walks toward the victorious Eremites, joyfully rampaging through the ruins, picking up the rest of Ayn Al-Ahmar. 

In the middle of shouting his orders in an unusually cheerful voice, Feroz turns around and brightens up when he sees the Scribe approaching.

“Hey! Mister Scribe! Ya good now? That was some good planning and executing ya pulled off there! Ya sure ya don’t wanna join?”

“I thought you gave up on him boss!”

At their boisterous chief’s voice, the buzzing mercenaries lift their heads to greet Alhaitham with variations of “hey Scribe!”, “How are ya doin’ Alhaitham?” or “Hey there Mr. feeble!” and leave their posts to gather around him. His first reflex is to step back from the overdose of enthusiasm. Cyno, still watching over like a hawk, stands in front of the Scribe, putting some distance in between them. Alhaitham can’t express how grateful he is, and barely represses the urge to hug Cyno. What the fuck.

Better ignore that.

“I’m fine. But this is not the end”, the gathered troupes begin to listen religiously, “Ayn Al-Ahmar, though they may be the loudest, isn’t a unique group of extremists in Port Ormos. Multiple brigades are entangled together in a complex network and play of alliance. Some will search for vengeance.”

The glint he sees in the fascinated gazes worries him. Looks a bit too eager for reacting at what sounds like a war speech. Feroz seems ready to vibrate out of excitement.

“I personally don’t plan on doing anything against them. Without their leading force, they lost enough edge to not be a significant threat.” To Kaveh at least. “But you should be warned. This isn’t the end.”

Alhaitham isn’t prepared to hear the cheers and battle cries flee out from his audience, bouncing around through the ruins. 

Feroz then takes the lead, as if he had been the Scribe’s right hand man throughout the years: “Ya heard him brothers! This is not the end of our mission!” More cries from the crowd. “There’re till some bad-mannered rats runnin’ through our streets!” More cries. “But we’ll show ‘em. We’ll show ‘em this is not how the followers of king Deshret should act! And they’ll learn it the hard way!”

A resounding “YEAH!” fuses in the air, carried by a wind of change that will probably sweep all of Port Ormos in its wake.

Not Alhaitham’s problem anymore.

While the rampaging Eremites start to move back to the city, carried by their enthusiasm, it’s sadly not the only problem to address:

An aggravated Layla and a mildly upset Cyno now stand before Alhaitham.

Layla starts. “Were you out of your mind?”

She needs to be more specific because this is a critique he often hears.

Seeing his blank stare, she changes gears, raising her voice. “You don’t even realize!? Dragging Layla through the forest to destroy an Eremite’s base was one thing —and already had me on the verge of presenting to smack you— but giving up your vision and provoking their leaders!? Do you have a death wish!? We didn’t sign up for double suicide!!”

Wait, what is this total one eighty in behavior?

“I’m sorry Mr. Scribe, but no matter how much Layla needs her credits, I am not letting her work under you any longer! Bye!”

And then she leaves. Hang on. Was she talking about herself in third person? 

“Alhaitham. Who is going to take care of the mess you started in Port Ormos?” chimes in Cyno.

He gives the question some quick thought. “Sounds like a job for the Matra.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Cyno stares harder. “… Don’t you think we’re busy enough with the complete reorganization of the Akademiya—that you also started might I add?”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Right. Alhaitham does feel bad about the load of work he just added on top of Cyno’s already humongous pile. But hey. That’s his job. He wouldn’t have taken the General Mahamatra’s position if he wasn’t ready for it.

Cyno stares. Alhaitham stares back. There’s a short silence.

Then Cyno gives up. 

“Alright. Let’s get you back to Gandharva Ville.”

Once again, Alhaitham wants to hug the man. What. The. Fuck.

———

But as always, nothing is smooth sailing. Alhaitham must go back to the administration to pick-up the C5L (Cursed 5-Page Letter). Even if it’s been skimmed through many times already, Alhaitham still hopes it bears some clues he has yet to identify. He can’t leave it behind. 

But as he is ready to abandon his temporary office, on his way to meet up Cyno at Port Ormos’ outskirts, shutting the front door (and barely avoiding the new mudded traces in front of it. Again.), someone calls him, shouts his name even.

“Mr. Alhaitham!”

It’s Masrur.

Alhaitham resists the temptation to act like he didn’t hear anything.

Repressing a sigh with great difficulty, the Scribe turns around and waits for the Deputy to catch up.

Masrur stops in front of him, then folds in half, breathing hard, recuperating from his sprint in big gulps. All that, just to ask: “I heard you were leaving?”

And the tone in the voice bothers Alhaitham somehow. Some hesitation slips through, as if the question passed Masrur’s lips instead of something else, as if to block whatever hides behind.

“Yes.”

“S-So, we won’t be seeing you around then.”

“Indeed.”

“…”

“…”

This is awkward. And if Alhaitham is the one thinking it, then this must be unbearably awkward for any other human being. So why is Masrur… still standing in front of him? Fidgeting around? Scratching the back of his head? Blushing…?

…

Oh.

“T-Then… I uhm… I hope—”

Oh, Alhaitham doesn’t like that.

“I hope you come see us… next time you’re near the port.”

Oh archons. He didn’t sign up for this.

“I—We’ll be missing you.”

Masrur has a crush. 

On him. 

What a terrible thing. 

One, this wasn’t in Alhaitham’s plan. Swooning the port deputy wasn’t an objective, and he isn’t sure how to deal with these circumstances.

Second, Alhaitham has a boyfriend already. Who absolutely didn’t break up with him, and, as far as he knows, they are very much in love.

Third… Kaveh gets jealous. And not externally destructive jealous. It’s very much internal. It usually starts with a little smile, a bit too tensed, then a little voice, blabbering “no, don’t worry, you do what you want, I trust you completely” and end with an avoidance strategy. Because Kaveh does trust Alhaitham. What he doesn’t trust is himself. And so, the architect’s jealousy ends with a trip to the tavern, wallowing in self loathing, drowning his worries with wine until someone stops him or he passes out. If there is one thing as bad as making Kaveh sad, it’s making him jealous. It is an emotion that quickly increases the KEBS (Kaveh’s Emotional Burst Scale) by playing with the APCF (Alhaitham’s Presence Chaos Factor). So, as much fun as picking on Kaveh is, toying with his jealousy can’t be recommended.

Masrur’s crush must be killed. Quickly. 

Tactic 1: Suddenly act like a complete jerk. Sadly, that’s already what Alhaitham appears to be doing in any given circumstance. If Masrur developed a crush despite it, that’s not going to work.

Tactic 2: Do something gross, or weird, or off putting. And as much as Alhaitham doesn’t care about his public image, he is in a hurry, and too tired to deal with the aftermath. (It would sadly not only repulse Masrur, but all the surrounding crowd.)

Tactic 3… Insult him. Without any reason behind it. Sure. Alhaitham is a blunt, brutally honest jerk (Kaveh’s words). But he doesn’t give unwarranted admonitions.

There are, probably, one hundred tactics and more. But his head still hurts from the whole ordeal, and the more he thinks about it, the worse it gets. To be fair, there is a big, red, flashing solution that popped-up in his mind as soon as the problem presented itself: telling the truth. 

Shouting it out loud even. Hurting his own sensible ears.

No. They aren’t friends.

Kaveh is his boyfriend. The man he lives with. His romantic interest. His unresolved schooldays crush. His comfort. His teenage wet dreams. The man he fucks and is fucked by into the pillows. His most beautiful mistake. His most illogical decision. His safe place. His home.

Archons.

When did Alhaitham get this sappy? Again, that’s a sign of Kaveh’s presence in his life. Of his influence. Had they never talked, never argued, never kissed, Alhaitham would never have had those thoughts. Would never understand how his emotions could not only overwhelm, but reign over his logic. 

That said, as strong as his feelings can get, he never demonstrates. So, right now, he just stares, gaze empty, frozen in what looks like a serene reflection from the outside, while his mind races through whirlwinds and labyrinths, trying to mediate between his urge to blurt everything out and his boyfriend’s extreme wants of privacy.

There might be a compromise.

Tactic 4: Act so madly in love with Kaveh that Masrur gives up before even trying. Not the entire truth, but not technically a lie. Let’s go with this. 

After unending seconds and Masrur growing more nervous under Alhaitham’s stare, two ticks away from melting into a puddle of red goo, the Scribe finally breaks the silence. “Thank you. Masrur. But I don’t think I’ll be back soon.”

Both relief and disappointment spring to the deputy’s face.

“After all, we still have no trace of Kaveh. He is very dear to me, so I will not indulge in any visits of courtesy until I find him. I can barely sleep without knowing his whereabouts.”

Wow, that came out much more dramatic than Alhaitham thought. But he can’t ignore the little knot that untangled from within. 

A slight pang of realization tears through Masrur’s face. “Dear to you, Mr. Alhaitham?” How dear? Is the unasked question.

“I… love him. With all I have.” As clunky and weird as it sounds in his own voice, it is like his lungs just started working again. His chest elevates with a fuzzy, warm, light kind of feeling. Wow. So that’s why Kaveh is so talkative about what he loves? Alhaitham could get used to this. 

He might as well try it out a bit more. “He is a ray of sunshine when I wake up, mind shrouded in the night’s fog. The simple thought of him clears it away.” Wow, look at him, using extravagant and cheesy metaphors to talk about his feelings. How disgustingly sweet. 

He should continue. 

“He is my comfort, when the outside grows too loud, when the world goes too fast, and when my senses are overwhelmed. It is strange. As noisy as he is, he never quite mixes with the masses I want to block out. His voice always pierces through my headphones, through my thoughts.” Kaveh’s voice does soothe his headaches. After long days of work, filled with boring meetings, unending applications, and bustling colleagues, Alhaitham is always relieved to find his silence. And his silence includes Kaveh, his hammer, his nagging, and his rummaging through the house. It is such a weird phenomenon that Alhaitham finds himself a bit at loss, noticing he doesn’t yearn for complete silence anymore. 

Anyway, it still sounded horrifyingly sweet, but it hit too close to a cherished, intimate, and honest place. Better find something a bit more generic. 

“He is—” Archons, how else can he say it? “—everything and more. I… Don’t want to picture my life without him in it.” It stings. Still too honest. 

“I could… traverse all of Teyvat to find him”, oh, Alhaitham a hundred percent would. Does that mean he is still being too honest? 

“I will go through all of the abyss alone if need be”, he would. 

What would he not do? Maybe if he starts listing these out, he’ll sound madly in love enough, “I would create a new Archon, summon the heavenly principles, cheat the Liyue Tianquan out of her jade chamber, wake up any malevolent god in my wake, disregard all of the 6 academic cardinal sins, I would—"

Someone choking in the background stops his rambling. They both turn around to find Cyno, coughing to death on the side. “Sorry, I—” cough. “—I just—” cough. “—swallowed at the wrong—” cough. “—time.”

As they wait for Cyno to regain his composure, Alhaitham pictures the situation: the Scribe took too long to go meet up with the general, so, worried that he might have fled again, Cyno’s keen Matra senses were triggered, and he came to check if Alhaitham was trying to run away like last time. He must have heard the end of their discussion.

What was the last thing Alhaitham said again? … Oh dear, sweet, sweet benevolent lesser lord Kusanali. He better explain himself to Cyno after this (wouldn’t want to have the General Mahamatra investigating him because of a few throwaway ideas—of some things he would NOT do moreover).

Assured that nobody is dying, Masrur turns back to Alhaitham, face pained, eyes wet, but smile sincere. “I see. Well then, I…” he gulps with difficulty, “I wish you good luck. May you find your architect… friend.”

He then takes a few quick steps back, running away, hiding his soon-to-fall tears. “Then… Bye!”

Masrur disappears after that.

Once again, Alhaitham is left with a semi-murderous Cyno.

“… Care to explain why and how you plan to disregard the 6 cardinal sins? And no, finding Kaveh is no excuse.”

Despite all the reasons he could use to justify the draw of his spear, and behead the Akademiya’s renowned Scribe, the fearsome general still asks for an explanation. This theory of Tighnari’s, that a fluffy teddy bear’s mind is trapped behind mean red eyes and taunt muscles trained to kill, starts to prove itself true. 

Alhaitham can’t contain it anymore. “Cyno. Can I hug you?”

And so, Sumeru barely avoids losing its general to a coughing fit for the second time in five minutes.

Port Ormos Bulletin Board

“““This Bulletin Board is set up by the Port Master of Port Ormos to publicize important matters in and around Port Ormos. Questions or doubts regarding the notices on the Bulletin Board can be posted here as well.”””

“““Navbed Announcement: The warehouses to the north have been cleaned and cleared up. For any merchants wishing to stock their goods, please visit the port between 8am and 5pm. 

All zones will be attributed fairly. 

Ps: new reforms are being implemented for the security and the maintenance of the port. Starting next month, any crates in the middle of road could result in a fine from the port administration.”””

S.B – this is outrageous! How are the clients going to see the goods in these circumstances!?

Reply —you’ll have to setup a shop, with a declared warrant of commerce for displaying your products on the public road.

“““Port master’s Recruitment Notice: For many years, lots of Eremites have been stationed in this port. We decided to take some action and formed an enforcer group for protection. 

If interested in employment, please contact deputy Masrur.”””

“““Reply: Uuh… so I tried to, but when I asked for the name of the brigade, your guy just melted into tears.”””

“““Port master’s response: It’s a private matter. Do not worry. You can ask your questions at the port administration office between 8am and 5pm.”””

“““Administration notes: It’s been brought to our attention, that the surveillance of the lighthouse wasn’t adapted to the throughput of the wharf. 

We are currently recruiting responsible personnel, but we urgently need rounds to be organized. We are recruiting volunteers to fill up the shifts. If interested, please present yourself in front of the lighthouse.”””

“““/!\ /!\ ---- NEW EREMITE BRIGADES IN FORMATION: WE RECRUIT! ---- /!\/!\”””

“““Hey there, dear Eremite brother!”””

“““As you can see, the port’s changing. We’re the new troupes put in charge of its protection.”””

“““Don’t let any of these new Navbeds members trick you into believing they did that themselves, they didn’t!”””

“““It then falls onto us, to remember the soul of the glorious man that saved this port from extremism, and shady business alike.”””

“““From today onward, the enforcers of port Ormos are united below the foundation:”””

‘The Scribe’s Light’!

So we don’t forget that after the fog of the night there is a morning,

So we don’t forget his guiding lines, wit and tactics,

So we don’t forget his devotion to his own light. 

!!!JOIN THE SCRIBE’S LIGHT NOW AND LEARN DETERMINATION AND LOYALTY THROUGH OUR FOUNDATION NOW!!!

““Port master’s response: Please Mr. Feroz. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’ll handle the recruitment. Stop using our board for your propaganda.””

Chapter Text

The return through the forest is unbearably quiet.

Neither Cyno nor Alhaitham have ever been small talkers, especially in each other’s presence, and it has never been a point of dissatisfaction between the two. They are usually fine standing quietly side by side, watching scholars hurry past, or whatever else stands in front of them. 

But today, confusion fills the silence.

Alhaitham can’t properly wrap his mind around this new sensation: he is touch-starved. He is so immensely touch-starved that he wanted to hug Cyno. 

This is a new feeling for him. He never wants hugs, as his entourage usually provides the little physical contact he needs before he even misses it.

Younger, it was his grandma softly caressing his cheek when she wanted to get his attention out of a book, addressing him with a fond smile when he finally raised his head. Later, it was Kaveh and his overexcitement, aggressively grabbing Alhaitham by the arm, then by the neck, and since they’re boyfriends, invading his space when they spend time together.

Kaveh misses physical touch unimaginably fast. It is like he needs a tangible anchor while his emotions send him spiraling on cloud nine or into the darkest corners of the abyss. Sometimes, he needs the reminder of his own flesh and blood, before getting lost in whatever fantastic creation his mind came up with. It feels like Kaveh would vanish from reality, the moment Alhaitham lets him go.

A sting to his heart.

If Kaveh gets touch-starved so fast… has he found another anchor during his exile? Has he found another immovable pillar to latch onto, to remember human sensations? If Alhaitham himself is getting needy, just at what level of deficiency is the KGA (Kaveh’s Gauge of Appreciation) currently?

“Alhaitham. Stop. I can hear you overthinking.” Interferes Cyno.

“Hm.”

The Scribe wants to hug him again. But the memory of the awkwardness refrains him from asking (barely).

Because yes. Cyno is a big softy. Tighnari was right from the start. 

———

Earlier, after recovering from an endless coughing fit at Alhaitham’s unusual request, the fearsome general—the same one who instigates fear in all scholars at the simple mention of his name—awkwardly cleared his throat before responding with a little “sure”, and opened his arms like he was asked to wrestle with a sumpter beast. Alhaitham let out a chuckle before indulging, crowding Cyno’s space, circling a firm grip around his shoulders. 

As expected, it had nothing to do with Kaveh’s svelte body, stretched and smooth with light musculature, resulting from his rare jobs on construction sites. When hugging Cyno, Alhaitham felt the power under his skin, not an ounce of softness or fat squeezed between firm muscles. But it was still somewhat comforting. Cyno felt strong and reliable in his grip, even if a bit awkward when the shorter man hugged hesitantly back, circling his arms around the Scribe. It made Alhaitham release a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The aftermath was beyond weird though. They separated clumsily, the general tensed to the max, as if ready to engage in a tough battle, and Alhaitham recovered his senses, wondering what the fuck just happened. After a long moment of silence, Cyno simply said: 

“Should we go?”

“Sure.”

They didn’t discuss it further, a tacit agreement to forget this ever happened. The awkwardness of the whole ordeal at least allowed Alhaitham to easily convince him that their next destination was Sumeru City.

———

“Alhaitham. You’re still not here with me”, Cyno’s voice pierces through. He could activate his headphones and ignore him, but for some reason the Scribe needs someone else’s presence. 

“Hm.”

A sigh. “At least let me send a dusk bird to Tighnari when we get back. Let him check on you.”

“It’s just some scratches Cyno. I’ll go to the Bimarstan if that soothes you.”

“You’re—”, another sigh. Alhaitham is really good at pulling them out of him recently. “Listen. That’s only part of the problem. I think you need more than medical attention.”

And that’s exactly why Alhaitham can’t deal with Tighnari right now. He really doesn’t want to hear the harsh truths and scolding the forest ranger is certain to deliver. 

“Plus, you get to stay at home if you let us help. How does that sound?”

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, the calm of his house is far more enticing than the busy beds of the Bimarstan, always noisy under floods of urgencies, children crying and parents panicking.

“All right. I get it.”

“Good.”

Cyno is deceptively caring, isn’t he? Alhaitham starts to understand why Kaveh goes to Tighnari and him for the smallest problems. Usually, he doesn’t like people fussing over him, because they take detours into venting their emotions as if they could hurt him with them. But these two are refreshingly direct with their care. 

With a slight smile on his lips, Alhaitham lays a hand on Cyno’s shoulder. The general jolts in surprise but doesn’t draw back from the touch and looks up with a new layer of worry in his eyes. 

Is wanting to hug Cyno a new feeling Alhaitham should get accustomed to?

———

The atmosphere in the living room is suffocating while they wait for Tighnari. Only the slow tick of a clock can be heard (a clock bought by Kaveh because who doesn’t have a way to tell the time in their living room!? How do you even arrive on time at work! That’s the secret: he doesn’t. It’s not like anyone can say anything to him. Being a national hero does have its perks.)

Sat on the same sofa, Cyno doesn’t stop scrutinizing Alhaitham, calling him back to reality when he sees his eyes getting lost. He is also making sure that the Scribe doesn’t start anything stupid while recovering from a raid of an Eremite’s base (or so he says). At least Alhaitham is allowed to pick up a book. But the gaze of the general unnerves him and saps his focus.

Against all previous habits, It’s Alhaitham who decides to break the silence under pressure. “So. What are you going to do about Port Ormos?”

“You tell me. What were you planning?”

“Nothing much”, Alhaitham shrugs, “Just reorganizing the administration and information systems. It isn’t anything too noteworthy.”

Cyno frowns. “Right. It is so not noteworthy that the entire port has been entirely reformed in three days.”

“It is not my fault if no one else was qualified enough. I only took the simplest of actions.”

A snort. “Just because it’s simple for you doesn’t mean it’s simple for everyone.”

Alhaitham doesn’t respond to that, pretending to read his book. He is tired of explaining things. That’s what he’s been doing non-stop for the last three days.

“Did you at least sleep and eat enough back there?” asks Cyno after a short silence, letting Alhaitham drop the subject. “Do you want me to cook you something?” 

Darn it all.

“Can I hug you again?”

“Wh—Again!? S-Sure but—” 

Alhaitham doesn’t let Cyno finish his sentence and moves closer before putting his arms around his shoulders. 

“I wasn’t sure if I should address it, but you’re creeping me out with your… physical needs, Alhaitham. You usually avoid even the smallest contact. It’s worrying.”

“Well, you can say no. It was never my intention to pressure you into it.”

“That’s—not what I meant.”

Yeah, Alhaitham knows. He feels weirded out himself. And Cyno’s indulgence means a lot.  The Scribe lets out a “hm” and starts to ruffle his white fringe.

“Wai—hey! I didn’t agree to this—!”

Suddenly the door barges open, revealing an alarmed Tighnari.

“What happened!? I heard Cyno—” The next bit happens in three separate sequences: after taking in the scene in front of him, the forest ranger narrows his eyes in confusion, frowns his eyebrows, and finally shows his teeth (quite literally). “—shout.”

Alhaitham thinks he has an out-of-body experience for a moment.

“Nari—!” tries Cyno after the initial surprise makes room for panic, “It’s not what it looks like—!”

“So, Alhaitham”, Tighnari closes the door behind him, a fake smile pasted on. “Care to explain what you’re doing to my boyfriend? Surely you didn’t mistake him for yours.”

The Scribe watches in a daze the flattened ears and the puffy tail standing straight up behind Tighnari. Not what he expected from the usually calm and understanding forest ranger. Maybe territorial instinct is part of the Valuka Shuna’s blood. 

Or maybe their situation is understandably suspicious. 

He brings his gaze to his and Cyno’s tangled limbs, the general’s white hair in disarray, the red on his face, and then it hits. 

This is widely suspicious.

“Oh.” Alhaitham simply says.

“Oh, indeed.” Tighnari’s tail now furiously lashes back and forth, whipping the air.

“Nari, calm down, he just asked for a hug!”

“Alhaitham!? Asking for a HUG!?”

———

After a proper and embarrassing explanation, here they are now, the three of them sitting on the same sofa, Tighnari holding Alhaitham’s arm and spreading some disinfectant onto the scratches. Cyno observes, sitting on the edge. This time, it isn’t silence that fills the room with tension but—

“—An Eremite’s base!? With how many people again? Two!? Alhaitham, surely you know this, but this is the best way to get yourself killed. What were you thinking!? What will Kaveh think when he learns all the risks you took for finding him, huh? How were we going to explain to him that his boyfriend got himself foolishly killed while he was away? Now, really, what were you thinking!?”

—Tighnari’s non-stop nagging. 

This was expected, but Alhaitham wasn’t prepared for how soothing it would be. He dreaded it even. But now, watching the forest ranger’s precautious hands swiftly bandaging his few wounds, all superficial, while rambling with his eyes full of worry (even after finding his current patient in a compromising position with his boyfriend just a few minutes ago), the Scribe feels a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

The warmth of a parent worrying over him. 

Alhaitham doesn’t even think about stopping himself when he asks: “Tighnari. Can I hug you?”

It stops the forest ranger mid-rant. Closing his eyes and sighing, Tighnari doesn’t respond and grabs Alhaitham’s head to lower it against his neck. The Scribe circles his arms around his waist, breathing in the calming smell of plants and forest. If less noticeable than Cyno, you can also feel solid muscles underneath the thick clothes. It does feel softer though.

“Cyno, no.” Suddenly interjects the forest ranger.

“What do you call—”

 “Cyno…”

“—someone that's hungry for some cuddles?”

A resigned sigh.

“Hugry.”

Tighnari groans.

“Come on. That one was fine!”

Alhaitham snorts. As always, what horrible timing. This consistency is an art form at this point.

Offended, Tighnari ends the hug to grab him by the shoulders. “No, you will NOT laugh at that joke. Don’t enable him.”

“See? That one’s funny.”

“No, it’s not!”

Alhaitham lets out another chuckle at their banter, sounding very young to his own ears. Really. He gets why Kaveh keeps them as friends. It feels comfortable, being by their side. After three days of harassing hard work, lost amidst paperwork and Eremites’ attacks, the Scribe finds a bit of comfort back in his own skin. The tension of having his vision taken away is lifted completely off his shoulders. He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes. Ok. This is fine. He feels fine now.

When he opens them back, he sees their worried faces right in front of him, honest, unobstructed. 

“Do you want us to stay here tonight? We can sleep in Kaveh’s room.”

Right. Kaveh isn’t there after all.

“O-Or on the sofas if you prefer!” Tighnari quickly corrects himself, probably at the hint of gloominess on the Scribe’s face. It’s weird to have someone other than Kaveh decipher his emotions. He doesn’t know if he likes it or not.

“I’m fine”, Alhaitham responds. Because he is. Really. They cleaned his injuries, eased up his remaining tension, and now all he needs is a bit of silence and solitude. Yes. He’ll feel even better after that.

“Right, okay… then… it’s getting late. We should probably go back to Gandharva Ville now.”

“No, too late”, interferes Cyno, “let’s sleep in the city tonight.”

The general pointed gaze doesn’t escape Alhaitham. Tighnari quickly catches on.

“If you have any problems, don’t hesitate to call us.”

Really. They don’t have to do all this. They’re Kaveh’s friends. Not his. But it still does something to Alhaitham’s heart. He refrains from asking for a hug again because it will probably convince them to stay even closer (“in the living room on the sofa” closer), and that’s the last thing he wants. He has other plans.

“All right”, he says instead, “see ya.”

After observing his face for a while longer, trying to discern any signs of internal conflict, Tighnari and Cyno simply nod before taking their leave, reminding Alhaitham of their address in the city if he ever needs help. And with a last look, they close the front door.

It resonates in the room, followed by a profound silence.

And Alhaitham immediately feels his chest cave in. 

Sat on the center sofa, a book forgotten on the familiar table, and his coffee mugs waiting in the sink, Kaveh’s absence sticks out like a sore thumb.

It isn’t the relaxing calm, coming from the certainty of Kaveh’s whereabouts. it’s an unbearable variable floating in the air, bouncing on the parquet, jumping across the walls, occupying all the space available.

And Alhaitham doesn’t have a solution. So, it carves its path into his chest.

Soothed nearly to sleep by Cyno’s and Tighnari’s chatter, he suddenly can’t stay put. His legs carry him off his seat, towards Kaveh’s shelves on his right. There might be some hints here. He opens the first box in the top left corner and finds a wooden hair ornament. It’s a familiar long stick with what looks like three flowers, grossly cut out, badly painted in uneven strikes of red, blue, and yellow, not even coordinated to create a balance. The thing is objectively awful and could have been made by a child.

(“Alhaitham. What the heck is that?”

“A present.”

“And for who?”

“You.”

“Wha— you know, there are couples who break up for less than this. How could you buy me such a horrible thing?!”

“Well, you liked that wood carving so much after all.”

“You— I knew it, you’re mocking me! Hey! Stop smirking! I’d never wear that!”

“You can throw it out then.”

“Hmph. No, I won’t…”

“Hm? What was that?”

“I said I won’t!!”)

A bunch of other trinkets in the box, but nothing else. Alhaitham moves on to the next boxes. Most of them are archives of architectural projects, drafts of aborted constructions, filed by dates, themes, and cities. Contrary to the mess of a life that Kaveh leads, he really likes his stuff organized.

Box after box, he skims swiftly through them, retaining as much information as he can while simply glazing over titles, going over years of works, reworks, tears, and drafts. Sometimes, a design catches his eyes, rekindles an old memory. But as he moves on to the latest projects, it’s all unimportant arguments and banter that resonate in his ears. 

(“And… Mmmh… Do I move it closer to the Port Ormos section or the December section?”

“Hm?”

“Because it IS a renovation in Port Ormos, but it took longer than most of the other projects, so I was already working somewhere else when I finished it.”

“Hm.”

“Then… Do I put it up with the renovation projects? But even then, I also added an entire extension to the design. Can it really be categorized as a renovation?”

“Hm hm.”

“Hey. You’re not listening to me, are you?”

“You didn’t ask for my attention, so no.”

“Urgh… I can’t with you sometimes. Ok. Then: oh, please, dear scribe who spends his days organizing files for the whole Akademiya and bothering people over semantics and applications, would you please allow me the honor of your input on this cornelian problem?”

“No.”

“Wait, what!?”

“I’m off the clock right now.”

“Seriously!?”

“…”

“Hey! At least put that book down when I’m talking to you!”

“…”

“That’s it! I’m confiscating it!”

“All right, all right! Let me finish this chapter first.”)

As expected, nothing of note. Kaveh would never leave anything unrelated in the middle of his own precious personal archives. Moreover, if he doesn’t want Alhaitham to find him, he wouldn’t have left any clues in their living room.

On that thought, he gathers all the papers he left on the ground before putting them back up. If he wants clues, he better go straight to the point: Kaveh’s room. Alhaitham doesn’t like his intimacy to be bothered, so he doesn’t like to trespass over other’s. Yet, only a pin of guilt pierces his chest as he pushes open the wooden door. For his tranquility, he needs clues.

Just from entering the room, Alhaitham feels like its occupant is still there. A mixture of Padisarahs, freshly cut wood, and a hint of charcoal reaches his nose, a combination so inherent to Kaveh. He closes his eyes for a moment and lets the perfume soothe him. Then he goes back to his investigation.

His first instinct is to look at the desk. It is the only place where Kaveh tolerates a bit of mess, and only because he sometimes has too many ideas to bother putting away recent drafts. Alhaitham goes through the few lying around. Nothing much. A little box is carefully placed on the edge. Without thinking, he opens it. An old sketchbook, corned and used, lies inside. The spine is in shambles, and some pages seem crumpled. 

Alhaitham stills his hand before picking it up.

(“N-No! This one, you’re never reading!”

“… Why? Ashamed of your earlier designs? You already put me through so many absurdities, I don’t think they’ll be quite enough to change my opinion of you.”

“H-Hey, that’s mean! But I’m serious. Please.”)

Better leave it here. It’s an old sketchbook after all, so there isn’t much chance that it holds something relevant. He moves on to check under the bed. Oh. He wondered where this shirt went.

(“Kaveh. Is that my shirt?”

“Yes, why?”

“… I might need it in a few days.”

“Or you could do your laundry.”

“That’s my shirt.”

“You’re so stingy sometimes… Fine! I’ll give it back tomorrow!”)

There’s not much else. To the wardrobe. On one of the shelves, sits a jewelry box. Most of the jewelry is from his mother, ones he kept after her hurried departure. As for the hairpins… most of them are gifts. Some well-crafted.

(“Huh? A… present for our six months?”

“… You don’t want it?”

“I-I can’t accept this! What am I supposed to give you in return!? I didn’t prepare anything!”

“Take it as an apology for the… ‘atrocity’ from two weeks ago.”

“Wha— you mean the barbarian wooden flowers!?”

“I quote, ‘it is an insult to good taste, and everything it ever touched should be burned’.”

“All right, all right, I’ll take it, fine!”)

It is kind of a surprise that both are thoroughly kept.

(“Hm.”

“Alhaitham?”

“Hm?”

“You know, you don’t need to disguise all your gifts as apologies.”

“Hm. As if you’ll accept them without it.”

“Hey, that’s low!”)

Anyway. Nothing much in the jewelry box. He goes through the clothes, forcing himself to not linger on the scent like a creep.

(“God damn it, stop sniffing me all the time!”

“But you smell good.”

“W-What!?”)

He looks above the closet. Only dust.

(“Kaveh, get down, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“But it’s dusty up here!”

“Stop fleeing from your work by doing chores. You have a deadline coming up.”

“Argh don’t remind me!”)

He shuts the closet doors.

(“God, Kaveh! Not so loud!”)

Goes to the bed.

(“Already?”)

Falls on it.

(“Get up you lazy jerk!”)

And revels in the softness of the sheets.

(“What, already tired?”)

He is exhausted.

(“Okay then. Sleep tight dear.”)

Fine, he admits it.

He misses Kaveh.

Not knowing where he went makes Alhaitham feel an insufferable longing. 

He lets out a sigh, fatigue catching up to him, his body weighed down. It suddenly appears impossible to get up from this bed. Kaveh’s bed. 

They don’t use it very often, as Alhaitham’s is bigger, but the architect still often crashes on it, when he must burn the midnight oil for an upcoming deadline. It smells familiar and comforting. Like him. The Scribe lets himself be lulled by the environment and closes his eyes, giving in to his feelings and exhaustion. 

Something boils in his lower abdomen, as he imagines Kaveh on the dark canvas of his eyelids, lying down by his side. In his mind, his lover watches over him with an unbearable fondness, letting fingers run across his bare arm, igniting chills through his spine. He imagines the rummaging of sheets as Kaveh gets closer, letting his heat radiate through the last few centimeters between them, warming Alhaitham, twisting his stomach in the most agreeable way possible. The feather-light touches are quickly replaced by soft lips, going all the way up to Alhaitham’s neck, earning a shaky breath. He imagines the slight vocal sigh in response, at the frontier between a moan and a whimper. Seeing how easily he riles up the usually rigid Scribe always excites Kaveh. 

Alhaitham’s abdomen twists even harder at the memory of his satisfied grin each time he provokes a reaction, like a playful cat who finally got the cream. It often comes with a chuckle too. His nose buried in the bed, Alhaitham now imagines the smell of fresh shampoo drowning him, Kaveh’s hair brushing his cheeks as his lover finally latches onto his lips, leaving a lingering kiss, then a second, a third, again and again until they lose count. The press then usually grows in intensity, their bodies orbiting closer each time until they are glued together by a head-turning heat, their mouths merging until they can’t be told apart. 

Alhaitham brushes a hand against the pressure building up in his pants. It’s been quite a while since he has satisfied his needs. Even before Kaveh’s disappearance, his head was stuck in books, unconcerned with what tension might or might not be building in parts of his being, other than his hungry intellectual mind. 

Imagination still vivid, Alhaitham slips his hand into his boxers and lets out a sigh. Kaveh is still dancing behind his closed eyes, touching his neck, his chest, his thighs, everywhere. It isn’t long before the Scribe’s hand finds itself replaced in this fantasy, by fingers a bit rougher, weathered by years of drawing and building, by life and arts. As always, Kaveh touches with so much assurance, sometimes retreating, teasing, reveling in the tremors he gets out of his victim, slowing down the pace until he reaches a complete stop, viciously toying with Alhaitham’s pleasure until he either snaps or begs. 

His breath accelerates, as his hand synchronizes with his lover’s usual pattern. 

He wants more. 

For a moment, he imagines reaching the end of his patience, grabbing Kaveh’s face to kiss him senseless. Alhaitham wants to taste everything: his neck salted by sweat, his thighs trembling with desire, the smooth skin of his stomach, and the juncture of his legs. And after teasing back, Alhaitham imagines himself finally touching Kaveh in earnest, seeking out endless strings of desperate moans, swallowing them with his mouth messily, just to feel the sighs, to savor each feverish breath, feasting on his boyfriend’s naked body.

Now, Alhaitham can’t even follow the flashes of his mind. It is just ragged down memories of a supple back arching, of a soft heat engulfing him, of shivers running down his spine, of rattling beds, always louder moans, and then Kaveh’s blissed-out face, as he reaches his orgasm. 

It is this final image that gets Alhaitham to tip over the edge. He lets out a shaky groan as the knot in the pit of his stomach unfolds, tension transforming into shudders through all his body.

When he comes down, he is alone.

When he comes down, he gets up from the bed and goes to the bathroom in silence.

When he comes down, he realizes:

So this is loneliness.

Chapter Text

When he wakes up, Alhaitham feels comfortable for a moment: the sheets, the smells, the sound of the roof cracking under the first rays of the sun… it all feels familiar. Then he opens his eyes. He searches around for a moment, disoriented without knowing why.

And as it has often happened during these last 6 days, when he remembers, a dull pain pierces through his chest. 

Right. He is alone.

Only then does he register his surroundings. Kaveh’s room. Right. 

After cleaning himself yesterday, he didn’t feel like going back to his bed. Their bed. Gazing straightforward, his eyes take notice of the desk, slightly messier since he rummaged through it. 

Right. He should get things back in place, or his boyfriend will get mad if when he gets back. 

Lazily, Alhaitham pushes off the sheets, stands up, and walks over to the disarrayed papers. He didn’t take the time to look through them yesterday, his head stuck in a frenzy of memories. This morning, the frantic feeling of frustration gives place to a quieter discouragement. 

With the same persistent longing, he reads the C5L (Cursed 5-Page Letter) (why does he miss even Kaveh’s insults and reproaches?), he admires the meticulous works left by his boyfriend. A house on the edge of a cliff. Another renovation project in Port Ormos. A house in Aaru Village. Yet another library for poor children in the desert (Probably something that stupid idealist of an architect wouldn’t get any mora from too). A… house? Research center? The sketch is abnormally messy. The palace of Alcazarzaray. Another house.

Wait. Go back.

Alcazarzaray? 

Why would a sketch of that palace be amongst Kaveh’s recent drafts? As much as the architect likes to talk anyone’s ear off about it, this project was finished years ago, and Alhaitham has never seen him get its sketches out in reminiscence.

A sudden realization hits him. Why didn’t he think about it earlier? This is such a UKP (Usual Kaveh Pattern): When depressed, the architect tends to do a tour of his creations, seeking confidence in his past accomplishments. Maybe this unprecedented peak in the KEBS (Kaveh’s Emotional Burst Scale) and the writing of the C5L (Cursed 5-Page Letter) point to Kaveh revisiting his Magnum Opus for a few days. Or… was detained there for a few days.

After all, Alhaitham doesn’t trust the shark who haunts that place to keep his boyfriend out of trouble.

Breakfast isn’t important: he should hurry.

--------

Standing right in front of the palace, even Alhaitham can’t deny its beauty. 

The refined and elegant structures merge with the landscape, decorating the little island on which it stands with white, blue, and purple splashes. Hidden in the middle of cascades and cliffs, it seems like a comfortable slice of paradise, ethereal and delicate, fallen from Celestia itself, as if a simple blow could send it back into the sky. 

However, even if in awe in front of the magnificent design, Alhaitham can’t help the feeling of dejection rising inside: this is what sunk Kaveh into abject poverty. This is why, years after cutting ties, he found him in a bar, drinking like the world was ending, having given up on decency and life.

This is also why after years of broken friendship and lost contact, they found the chance to reconnect, to mend and face what they had shattered. But Alhaitham likes to believe they would have reunited eventually, even without Kaveh going broke. 

He should hurry before this idiot gets himself in even more debt. If the architect has really been here for 6 days, Alhaitham doesn’t want to guess how much the greedy loan shark named Lord Sangemah Bay cheated out of him.

--------

After walking down the narrow path to the marbled bridge, ready to go into the gardens, Alhaitham is suddenly stopped by a butler.

“Wait a moment good sir. May I inquire about the purpose of your visit?”

Confused, he turns to the regal man: a pretentious monocle on his right eye, hair slicked back, clothes a mix of scarlet and gold. Alhaitham already hates him.

“Why do you ask? Last time I visited, these gardens were still open to the public.”

It is actually one of the rare conditions that Kaveh managed to negotiate: the gardens, where he spent most of his time and effort, should be accessible to whoever might desire. It came from his long-life goal of spreading the appreciation of arts in scientific fields, in hope that someone, one day, would understand what went through Kaveh’s head when looking at the meticulously crafted arches. A long-life goal coming up quickly when he has a bit too much beer. These new restrictions rub Alhaitham the wrong way.

“Of course, of course, my good sir! I totally understand your surprise but… well, this is still a private residence! And for now, access is restricted. Look: if you want to enjoy a beautiful and relaxing scenery, how about the waterfalls? Really, this palace doesn’t hold a candle to the beauty of nature!”

In 5 sentences, this guy just managed to aggravate Alhaitham on three points: one, he is trying to brush off his demands without even listening, two, his fake smile is irritating, and three, he is belittling Kaveh’s sweat, tears, and principles like they were nothing more than weeds under his foot. That third point is particularly unforgivable.

“Oh? I wonder whether you would appreciate nature that deeply if forced to spend nights outside, with Rishboland Tigers and Spinocrocodiles as friendly neighbors.”

The smile of his interlocutor tenses in annoyance. Good. “Dear sir… My deepest apologies but lashing out at me won’t help anything! I can’t possibly go against my lord’s orders!”

“Hm. So it is an order from your lord. To think she’d stooped so low as to ignore the only request of her designer.”

The face of the man starts to twist in an ugly grimace, as his smile grows only faker with surprise. After all, Kaveh’s wish isn’t publicly known, as Lord Sangemah Bay likes to let others believe in her generosity and devotion to the people (things that the said lord is absolutely devoid of). Also, not a lot of people know they are  a “she”. With two semi-concealed facts being brought up, the butler grows more alert. “May I inquire dear sir: who might you be?”

Two options: lie and go under the radar for a while longer, or tell the truth to study his reactions. Dori’s aversion towards the Akademiya (and particularly its scribe) is nothing new, and Alhaitham is used to her avoiding him like the plague. But if Kaveh hides in her palace… She ought to react a bit more extremely to his presence. It would be a clue.

“I’m Alhaitham. The Akademiya’s Scribe.”

“Ah ah!”

The butler lets out a gutted laugh before he can fully compose himself. The tension running through the employee’s spine doesn’t escape Alhaitham’s watchful eyes. Definitely a suspicious reaction: this butler has heard of him.

“I’m sorry Sir Alhaitham, but the lord is only allowing specific guests inside for now. And you’re not on that list.”

The change of tone doesn’t escape him either. If this employee sounded crafty but at least polite, the darker tone and sudden seriousness of his smile dropping tells everything: even more than not being on the list of guests, Alhaitham appears to stand on the enemy side. 

Lord Sangemah Bay and the Scribe, as much as they cordially hate each other, never categorized themselves as outright enemies, and never opened any fire of hostilities. Seems like this semblance of peace ends today.

“Is that so? Then tell Dori that I’ll be waiting here until she’s free enough to see me. This is quite urgent.”

The first name of his boss, supposedly secret, throws the butler so off that he forgets to deny it.

“G-Good sir? T-This could take a few days you know.”

“That is fine. I’ll wait outside. After all, who needs lodgings when surrounded by this beautiful nature, right?”

Alhaitham barely restrains his triumphant smirk as he watches the stuck-up jerk fume with rage. 

“Well then. I’ll be waiting for your lord just under that arch. Unless… you’re willing to let me in.”

“I’m sorry sir, but you’ll have to wait”, He should give props where it’s due, this guy knows how to refuse, even in a tense situation. This random employee is going to be harder to crack than the Eremites. “As I already said, I can’t go against my employer’s orders.” Never underestimate a worker in customer service.

“All right. I’ll wait.”

------

Alhaitham isn’t naive. From the house staff’s reluctance, he guesses Dori won’t be seeing him just because he asked. This level of resistance is suspicious: the rich merchant is hiding something, and it better not be a blond architect. 

But he has done all that’s  possible with the butler for now. Ruffling feathers with unsettling knowledge is enough for a start. It will get her antsy and make her prone to mistakes. 

Still not enough of a disturbance to get Dori out of her den, though. 

After scrutinizing the landscape on his walk back, something jumps into the Scribe’s mind: this is the only path for conveying merchandise. The palace, meant to be a stock warehouse if Alhaitham correctly remembers his boyfriend’s rants, stands surrounded by rivers, cascades, and cliffs, with only the main bridge as its access point. It is a useful defense mechanism against thieves (an advantage that makes Kaveh boast to no end for coming up with that placement idea), but what about against a siege? 

Scanning the view one more time, Alhaitham is now sure of it: caravans are bound to pass under that arch.  When he reaches the only natural entrance to the palace’s enclave, the Scribe pauses for a while, wondering how to seal it.

He observes the viridescent moss thriving on the rock, surrounded by roots, vines, and flowers. Curious, he brushes his hand against it, awakening his dendro vision, which vibrates with the pulse of the abundant nature. Under his palm, the vegetation twists around to grow, take up space, and fill the arch until the sumptuous building disappears behind a green curtain, undiscernible, unreachable. 

There must be something akin to an evil grin on Alhaitham’s face right now. 

He doesn’t plan to starve the inhabitants of the palace. At least, he doesn’t think that will come to pass: this is supposed to be a storehouse full of merchandise, so there is little chance they will ever run out of supplies, even after days of siege. And as ruthless as she is, if Dori lets her most competent resources die of hunger, she’ll lose important assets, trusts, and parts of her image. So she’ll be forced to share. 

The real question is this: how long can the greedy and cunning Lord Sangemah Bay hold when cut off from her trade? How long can she keep watching her own men empty her treasure chests before her powerless gaze? 

For good measure, Alhaitham injects a bit more dendro energy to grow a second wall of vines and roots. He’ll reinforce his craft later. Now, he needs a shelter to spend a few days in. 

As greedy as Dori is, he doubts her pride would let her give up after only a few hours. The time she resists will depend on Alhaitham’s capability at annoying her. Really. If only there were another way. He doesn’t have any choice.

(And if someone were to point out the glee he feels from the sweet taste of revenge, he would deny it. Yes, she dragged Kaveh through the mud for years, sunk him in floods of debt, and nearly broke his back with interest rates. If Alhaitham dwells on it long enough, he can’t keep his anger from rising. Even if Kaveh had it coming, even if the architect’s naivety was bound to attract dangerous sharks, Dori has never felt an ounce of mercy running him dry. 

Now.

Why would Alhaitham ever find joy in bringing misery to the woman who had fooled his boyfriend for years? Surely, if someone believed that, they would be completely, utterly mistaken. Dori just had it coming.)

-------

Upstream from the arch, Alhaitham finds a small Eremite camp. It’s nothing much: two ragged down tents, a few exploration logs lying around, card games, a fire, some water with dry food for two or three days, and – the biggest inconvenience – four mercenaries lazing under the sun. 

At the Scribe’s approach, they all snap their heads towards him, reaching for their weapons lying around. 

“Hey!” starts the lady of the group, a dagger in hand, “That’s close enough. Whaddaya want?”

They don’t seem eager to share the spot. What a shame. Alhaitham has been missing a roommate.

“Could you leave this camp for a few days? I’ll need it.” It doesn’t hurt to ask, at least.

The Eremites only grow more tense.

“Like hell we would!”

They don’t wait another minute before jumping at him with daggers and spears. Seems like the peace talks are over. Too bad. The Scribe is sure he would have been a nice addition to their pillaging group.

Swiftly dodging left and right, he brings out his sword and focuses to produce a light green projectile out of his vision. The sense of security he feels from having all his capacities available allows him to swing his blade unbothered, graciously, controlling his dendro pellets in damaging follow-up attacks. Relief shines under the rush of adrenaline: he can still fight. 

Proclaiming that the horrendous incident from yesterday -that claustrophobic and endless fight- is completely off his mind would be a lie. It will probably play on in his mind for a bit, he realizes, as the sound of clashing metal causes his senses to grow more alert than they normally would. But fortunately, it doesn’t slow down his sword, or freeze his body with unpleasant flashbacks. He shuts down that line of thought, just in case. Now is not the time to get upset over some bad memories.

The fight isn’t even worth mentioning. After seeing they won’t be able to dislodge Alhaitham on their own, the four Eremites run away, powerless, shouting a promise of revenge. Whatever. 

With a grunt, Alhaitham sits down, closes his eyes, and catches his breath. For now, everything is going smoothly. He probably has at most a few minutes until Dori or her staff notice the wall he grew. Still in profound reflection, his hand goes fishing out a notebook and a pen from his pouch, while he surveys the surroundings from a glance. He then drafts messily the landscape, jotting down some ideas on how to block the palace’s access point more efficiently.

A corner of his brain imagines Kaveh looking above his shoulder, chiding him over the messed-up proportions, or the lack of shadows and textures. Well, I’m just a scribe, after all, he wants to snark back at his non-present boyfriend. Kaveh would then playfully hit his shoulder, chiding him again because you’re fooling no one you smartass, just say you’re lazy. And Alhaitham would never miss an opportunity to annoy Kaveh even further, tackling him on the floor, responding to the provocation with witty comments, watching his boyfriend squirm under his weight. Then, their bickering would shift ever so slightly until disappearing, leaving space for their lips to meet, their bodies to merge— 

No. Not now. Focus.

At the entrance of the arch, the road splits in two. Alhaitham needs control over both paths if he wants his plan to be effective. To test his reaction capacities, he summons one of his chiseled pellets and throws it to the other side of the furthest road. It reaches it without a problem. Good to know. But if he can totally block that path as well, it might be even better.

Luckily for him, the forest is quite dense around here: with a bit of concentration and time, he effectively obstructs the two tracks in the same manner as the arch, growing the nearby vegetation. He also realizes that some thorny plants stem in this part of the forest, when his hands get stung by the green barriers as he brushes over them to verify their solidity. Maybe he’ll try making them bigger next time. Or build an entire dome around the area. For now, his vision needs a rest. And so does he. 

As Alhaitham settles down once more in the Eremite camp, something catches his attention.

“““You bad Nara should stop make good Nara cry!”””

He blinks. Again, with these muddy traces and Nara talk. But this time, the eerie impression that something is not right evolves and surpasses a simple feeling. It’s a certitude: his explanations don’t hold.

The Scribe’s first hypothesis in Gandharva Ville, that these messy mudded messages were written by children, never did quite bring the same sense of completion he gets after resolving a mystery. He looked past it. When this enigma followed him all the way to Port Ormos, his reasoning became wobbly, but he didn’t have enough evidence to completely rule out the possibility. 

But now? Alhaitham is sure these traces weren’t there ten minutes ago. He just explored the surrounding area in great detail and couldn’t have missed a kid playing in the mud right beside the camp he was guarding. First and foremost: what would a kid be doing alone in the middle of the forest, near the palace of Alcazarzaray?

Intrigued, Alhaitham gets his notepad out again, looking through his notes about the previous mudded traces.

With this one, it makes five:

“““You… bad… nara (…) makes… cry.”””

“““Bad… should… Nara… stop!”””

“““You… Ararakalari … nara… for… cry!”””

“““G.od Na… ra… Ups… N… a… Lha.. bad.”””

And finally: “““You bad Nara should stop make good Nara cry!”””

This is the clearest one yet. 

It seems like all the previous messages wanted to pass on the same information but failed because of the bad writing and the smudges caused by other happenstance. It is also just a hunch, albeit quite strong, but this “coincidence” of catching these traces numerous times makes Alhaitham thinks they are addressed to him. He wonders what will happen if he responds. 

Determined, he plunges his index into the soil, just below the message. 

“““Who are you writing to?”””

From the difference between the traces left by his finger, and the ones left by these mysterious entities, Alhaitham can guess they were written with a wooden stick. Not much to go by, but it is still new information. He notes it down on his paper, under the rest of his findings.

As he starts to hypothesize some more, startled cries pull him out of his reflections. Annoyed, he turns his head to the green wall sprouting in the middle of the arch. Seems like the palace’s staff noticed, finally. But now, Alhaitham feels a bit tired, and the first entry on the list of “things he doesn’t want to do right now” is “speak with that pompous butler one more time”. He could clearly explain the terms of his demands and try more negotiations. But these mudded traces are far more interesting than any of that. So, if it isn’t Dori’s voice he hears crying on the other side of the wall, he won’t bother. 

For good measure, Alhaitham still walks back up to the arch, and grows another layer of plants over it, smirking with satisfaction when a thorny vine appears in the middle of the laced roots, meddling with the rest to transform into a pointy trap. Good. They’ll at least need some sort of tool to take care of that. And Alhaitham is pretty sure Kaveh never put thorns in public spaces for safety reasons, so Dori won’t have any in her gardens, and nothing to deal with it. 

However, the Scribe forgets his petty sense of victory against the palace’s staff as he hears battle cries in the distance. Oh. It seems like the Eremites from earlier have returned with more support. 

He sighs before walking back to the also blocked tracks, reinforcing his barricades. Maybe he should just make a dome all around the area right now. That will be easier. 

The cries of the Eremites turn confused when they arrive before his creation. They might be harder to stop, as they do possess sharp weapons. He needs to adopt a different strategy than with the palace’s staff if he wants to fend them off. 

Alhaitham focuses again and sends chiseled lights in the direction of the paths. Surprised cries come from the west one: this is where the assailants are. To enhance his control, he brushes his hand on the west barrier one more time, trying to gauge the form of his thorny wall by running dendro energy through it. He closes his eyes, and the plants pulse with his heartbeat, as he feels his mind fusing with its shape. Once he gets the hang of it, the Scribe commands the branches and thorns to bend in all directions, to fuse through the air. He vaguely registers more scared cries from the other side, growing softer as the Eremites retreat. 

Even after the other side of his wall turns completely silent, Alhaitham doesn’t stop: if there is one thing he remembers from Port Ormos, it’s the persistence of the Eremites. They’ll be back soon, and it will require stronger defenses to retain them. 

Taking advantage of the sensation of focus running through him, the Scribe continues to bend the vines to the maximum of his capabilities, until he doesn’t know where they start or where they end. At some point, he loses precise control over these extremities, simply asking them to go further, to grow denser, to turn and tangle, until no clear path can be seen. 

His concentration breaks when a wave of tiredness hits him. Maybe he used his vision a bit too much. Alhaitham brings his hand to his shoulder, lays his fingertips on it, and retreats them immediately. His verdant trinket is burning. Yep, he definitely needs to stop for now. 

As he opens his eyes again, the light around him is noticeably dimmed. First intrigued by this obscurity in the middle of the day, the mystery is quickly solved as he admires his three separate walls now merged in a messy bush, grown three meters over his head, and leaving only a small opening above. Oh. Here’s the dome Alhaitham wanted. Now he can study these annotations in peace.

Ready to go back to his ponderings, something caught his eyes:

“““Who else could Arapandu be writing to? It’s you, bad Nara. You made a golden Nara, a chosen by sarva cries.”””

“““Wow Arapandu know very well how to write Nara now!”””

“““Yes! Yes! Aragaru been training Ararakalari too!”””

“““Good writer Arapandu!”””

“““Yes! Yes! Nara Prakasha very good at teaching to write!””” 

“““Hey! Arapandu didn’t write for speaking to Aragaru! Arapandu must write for bad Nara!”””

“““That’s right! Bad Nara needs to stop making Nara Prakasha cry!”””

Many more messages appeared in response to Alhaitham’s. All with different shapes, different levels of penmanship, as if dozens of different writers assembled. His curiosity only grows. While he was circling the zone with thorns, some creatures -who clearly aren’t humans- slipped through his trap in numbers, responded to his message, found time to argue in a written form they haven’t mastered, then disappeared before Alhaitham caught on to any of that. 

At least, his first certitude is verified: these entities are talking to him (and apparently slandering him by calling him “bad Nara”, but Alhaitham has never been one to take offense for an insult he doesn’t even understand). Another hypothesis raises in his brain while he studies the texts. Golden Nara. Made him cry.

The Scribe feels his stomach drop both in relief and dread as this hypothesis becomes clearer: if he links contextual clues to the words he actually understands, “Nara” can mean “human”, “biped”, “mammal” or even “life form”. The added characteristics of “golden” and something that “cries” concerning Alhaitham suggest a resemblance of this “Nara” to, maybe, an emotional architect nicknamed the Light of Kshahrewar.

These entities -unseeable, unreachable- might have seen Kaveh these last few days. Alhaitham’s head suddenly grows heavier with a headache, and dizziness weakens his legs as he starts to measure the difficulty of getting information out of these ethereal beings, speaking in a language he doesn’t fully understand.

Frankly, Alhaitham wasn’t prepared for decoding an entirely new dialect right now. That’s not good. He is going to need all his Scribe’s brain power to analyze this as quickly as possible. This is far from being the first unknown language he has studied, but the lack of external references and the irregularities in writing styles are going to add difficulty. 

Palace and mercenaries be damned, even if incomprehensible, this is his biggest clue yet: it takes priority.

Chapter Text

Day 1

Alhaitham’s first day of siege is mostly spent gathering as much data as he possibly can from the mysterious entities and their writings.

He starts early in the morning, scratching in the mud, without a care for how it already starts to stick to his clothes and build up under his fingernails. He asks multiple questions like “What are you?”, “Where do you live?” or “How do you know this golden Nara?”

Prepared to be ignored, he is proven wrong when dozens of different responses appear thirty minutes later. Alhaitham, focus unwavering, spends most of his morning copying them in his notebook, circling unknown words, linking them together by context. Some messages seem more relevant than others:

“““Bad Nara really is a rude Nara! Asking what Arapas is! Arapas is a chef! And the best chef! Nara Prakasha told so!”””

“““Arabalika is a soldier and a protector. Arabalika will protect golden Nara from bad Nara.”””

“““Arayasa is as you could have guessed,

A musician that with words is blessed~ ♪♫♬

Nara Prakasha the cherished,

Also taught Arayasa how to transcript music~ ♪♬♫”””

It at least tells Alhaitham that these entities taunting him have an organized society if they have concepts like musicians, chefs, and soldiers. Although, if they do not have a defined writing system, it might be a rather small society, with an estimated maximum of 150 individuals.

Some of the other messages are totally useless. What insight does it bring Alhaitham to know that “““the last Utsuva was great! The Mahavanaranapna was beautiful with lots of Viparyas!”””, “““Be careful of Nara Valuka, bad Nara!””” or “Ararakalari needs hard work!”””, when the scribe doesn’t understand 1 word out of 3.

As for the two other questions, no meaningful answers were given, to his disappointment. They can all be summed up as “““We won’t tell you, bad Nara!”””

Fine. The Scribe is nothing if not cunning. He’ll find a way to force the answers out. After he finishes recording all the messages in his notes, he asks more questions, careful to leave enough space for these entities to answer. He then records the new batches in his book, before erasing all the writings in the mud with a rug from the encampment and writes down the next set of questions. He repeats this three times until he can’t discern dark irregularities in the mud from badly written messages.

Alhaitham won’t get anywhere if he doesn’t understand the language. The more data he gathers, the quicker he’ll learn all these unknown words.

During his patient and begrudging iterative process, on this first day, Alhaitham is already able to draw two more conclusions on these entities: first, they don’t mind the questions, and are even very eager to answer. But they tend to get distracted in the middle of their discussion, like energetic children with limited attention spans. Second, they clearly do not want to be seen. Alhaitham has tried to scrutinize the soil under his thorny dome without batting an eyelid, hoping to snipe at least a blurry form, tried to steal discreet glances at the mud as he faked reading over his notes, but no message appears while he is watching. They only write when his back is turned.

At some point, an annoyance tears him away from his meticulous studies.

From the other side of the wall blocking the palace, at around 11 am if Alhaitham believes the position of the sun, the butler’s annoying voice pierces through the thorns.

“Sir Alhaitham?”

Knees in the mud, eyes glued to his notebook, the Scribe represses a sigh at the disturbance.

“Sir Alhaitham, it is you blocking the way, right? Could we speak for a moment?”

Alhaitham doesn’t like this employee's tone, addressing him like a child, sweetly taunting him closer with a honeyed voice. The temptation to ignore him rages inside. But the fleeting theory that Kaveh might be trapped inside that palace pushes Alhaitham to his feet, off the floor, and away from his notes.

“Oh. So now you want to talk? You seemed pretty adamant to shut me down yesterday.”

“Ah, ah! You have a very… thorny humor, mister Scribe.”

Alhaitham’s face twists in disgust at the bad pun. They really only work when Cyno says them (if you can call that working. At least, their bad timing is always impeccable).

They engage in meaningless pleasantries and overly polite threats for a while before the Scribe gets tired of it and asks the most important question:

“Where is Mr. Kaveh?”

His verbal opponent pauses for a bit, taken aback by the break in the conversation flow.

“What… ever do you mean?”

Alhaitham thinks he hears genuine confusion, but without non-verbal cues, can’t say for certain.

“The architect of Alcazarzaray. I’m looking for him.”

“Oh, that master architect?” Yes. Who else? Alhaitham wants to shout. Why else would I be talking to ethereal entities through the mud, while besieging a palace!? But he realizes not everyone knows how Kaveh constantly eats at his brain (recently, his sanity too). “Haven’t seen him for a while.”

“Oh really? He isn’t… staying at the palace for any forced holidays? Just a guess.”

A painfully long moment of silence passes while the butler registers the insinuations. Then, an offended gasp responds. “Sir!? What are you suggesting? We would never—!”

And after that, he strongly resists the accusations Alhaitham throws his way. The man sounds more and more heated until he quits their arguments declaring that he “won’t entertain such lunacy any longer!”. The Scribe feels a sense of victory at making this pompous eloquent jerk storm off in rage. Whatever. His loss. If he sounded offended, not seeing his interlocutor’s expression makes it hard to check his heartfelt honesty. But that’s fine, Alhaitham has time after all. He still needs to decode these mysterious entities’ language.

His studies are stopped again around 3 pm, by annoyance n°2: the Eremites returning. Alhaitham didn’t expect them to be so protective over such a small camp. Or is it their pride that he underestimated? Either way, when he hears heated cries outside his dome, the Scribe, barely lifting his gaze from his notes, poses his palm against the tree branches again and forces them to grow further, to meddle together, always more tortuous, then tries to meddle elastic vine with hardened roots, making the texture of his wall unreadable, heterogeneous, unpredictable.

To their merits, they resist for thirty full minutes before running away. It leaves Alhaitham with a strong dip in his energy, his vision burning from overuse against his shoulder. If they keep coming back with more troops every time, Alhaitham might need a better plan than using sheer Dendro energy against them. He takes five minutes to breathe before diving back into his studies.

When the sky grows too dark to read the traces out of the floor, Alhaitham gives it a rest, deciding it is time to do something else.

After erasing the last batch of exchanges in the dirt, he sits on one of the covers of the encampment and gets out a portable lamp oil from his pouch. It is an advanced contraption made by Kaveh for one of his birthdays. The object, a well-thought mixture of glass and ornate metal, is folded into three parts, making it very easy to snag in a pocket. Alhaitham clicks the mechanisms in place before pushing the decorated small lever, snapping two rocks together to light the flaming flower stamen trapped inside. Without air to burn, it simply brightens up as if it was a small sun. The Scribe observes with fascination the light reverberating on the mirrors of the device, diffusing it through the dome. He then drops his notes beside it, and gets a new pencil out as a subtle heat burns in his stomach, some memories set in motion at the view of this tool, crafted by his lover.

(“And… There! Now you won’t kill your eyes when you want to read outside when it’s late!”

“Kaveh. If not for you, I never stay out late. Why would I ever read outside at night?”

“Hey, you never know! Life’s unpredictable!”

“Hm. If only you were that foresighted for yourself.”

“Would it kill you to just say thanks?”)

 Somehow, I did end up staying out late today. For him. Again. He sighs before shutting down the thought and pushing his pen onto the paper.

Time to get to work.

Kaveh’s Behavioral Model (KBM)

An Haravatat research project

Abstract : the origin of this project stems from the incident we will refer to as “the Dramatic Journey of the Light of Kshahrewar” (DJLK). This event, in further detail, is the disappearance of the subject of this research, Kaveh, for an unknown amount of time due to an emotional outburst of the subject (see the Cursed 5-Page Letter (C5L) in annex for further context). The goal of this research is to predict and avoid similar situations in the future.

Prior established models : For this project, some prerequisite notions must be established and made clear, as the rest of this paper will be based on them:

• The Kaveh’s Emotional Burst Scale (KEBS): an indicator of Kaveh’s emotional state, measuring the rashness of his decisions if the subject decides to take actions in his current state. Here are enlightenments on the scale’s values:
  • 1-2: Kaveh’s normal state. Will make rational decisions, but always based on his ideals and principles. Do not interfere.
  • 3-5: Mid annoyance(s) might influence Kaveh’s decisions. 3: benign, 4: short-term consequences, 5: mid-term consequences.
  • 6-7: Real problems, from Kaveh’s viewpoint. Hard to convince in this state, subject needs time to cool off. 6: mid to long-term consequences, 7: long-term consequences.
  • 8: Kaveh is unreasonably angry, nothing said will get through to him. Urgent need to be left alone. The subject might adopt avoidance strategies. (To find the subject, check Gandharva Ville at your own risk).
  • 9: Kaveh passed the point of anger into desperation. The subject won’t try to flee, but will need comfort as soon as possible before it escalates to a 10.
  • 10: Kaveh is irreparably hurt. Behavior completely unpredictable. Might break a relationship (the Graduation Project Incident (GPI)) or disappear without a trace (DJKL).

Some other factors play in the variations of the KEBS, like the Alhaitham’s Presence Chaos Factor (APCF). To keep this research essential, we will not detail it further.

• The Kaveh’s Gauge of Appreciation (KGA): An indicator measuring the level of reassurance Kaveh has received recently. A less complex model than the KEBS, yet it is intricately linked to it. However, it might also play into other aspects of Kaveh’s behavior, so it is its own model for this research. When at 0, subject needs immediate words of affirmation. At 10, the subject knows himself to be loved, and casually accepts it (value only theoretical to this day, as it has yet to be observed.)

• Kaveh Special Crisis (KSC): A record of all crises caused by a critical state of Kaveh’s Behavior. This record will be used throughout this project, to infer some variables and principles of Kaveh’s Behavioral Model (KBM).

Alhaitham really should have started this years ago.

Day 2

Alhaitham, in a trend lasting for a week now, doesn’t remember falling asleep. His back hurts from sitting against the wooden support of one of the tents, his notes scattered on his lap, and his pencil on the floor. After the 5 usual minutes of disorientation due to not finding Kaveh nearby, he gets up, eats and drinks in haste some of the rations left by the Eremites, then continues his language studies.

For this second day, in addition to his batches of questions, Alhaitham tries to ask about the words he didn’t understand yesterday. For entities supposedly angry at him, they are surprisingly eager to teach things. In doing so, Alhaitham quickly gathers that “Nara” really means “Human”, “Valuka” stands for “Desert” (so “Nara Valuka” are the Eremites), “Sarva” for forest, and “Ararakalari” is a strange power that these… entities can develop and train.

They are called “Aranara”, by the way. Alhaitham finally learns it when one of them responds:

“““Us, Aranara, are very different from you, Nara. Us Aranara don’t have any bad Aranara amongst Vanarana.”””

Now he only needs to guess what Vanarana stands for.

It rings a really, really far-away bell in a corner of Alhaitham’s mind. He doesn’t know from when, or where, but the tale of children playing in the forest, and referring to their imaginary friends as “Aranaras” was vaguely floating in his brain. These children always seem to hide it, but some loose tongues are quick to name their presence, and each time, the same appellation is used. No adults ever corroborate their existence though. The Scribe stands somewhat self-impressed for remembering it. As an indoor kid growing up in the city, this is far from anything he ever knew.

But now that he thinks about it, if multiple children’s testimonies, spread across all the forest’s villages, report the exact same circumstances, these “Aranara” were more than imaginary friends from the start. Alhaitham just never chose to pay attention to it.

How very appropriate for a childish man like Kaveh to not only see, but talk with such creatures. Maybe these Aranara were fooled and believed he was a child despite his size.

Around 10 am, a familiar voice raises from the palace’s side. The butler. Again. Alhaitham is ready to engage in another long inane debate but stops any poisonous remarks when he hears additional voices raising from the other side of the wall.

“Please, sir Alhaitham! My kids and husband are waiting for me at home, I have to get back!” A woman.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s right! My mama told me to stay out only until sunset. I’m gonna get punished so bad mister!” A child.

“Mister Scribe. I understand your grievance. But please. I have a project to get back to. My grades depend on it!” A student from the Akademiya.

And if Alhaitham had an ounce of Kaveh’s empathy, with those words alone, he would have liberated these people by now. Sadly for them, this is not the case: as touching as their pleas can be, not all of them can be as good an actor as that arrogant butler. The woman’s words have a strange rhythm to them, evidence of an act quickly put together, the child sounds too cheerful for fearing a scolding, and the student’s words resonate monotone, rehearsed.

Alhaitham knows that some employees live with their families on the palace’s vicinity, so they all are probably residents here. He doesn’t even bother responding and rolls his eyes when the voice of the butler raises again.

“You see, dear sir. I understand your grievances, but please! Spare these poor visitors.”

The Scribe pounders for a while if he should point out the inconsistency: didn’t he say that no visitors were allowed yesterday?

But before he can decide, another woman’s voice resonates. “Please, Mister Alhaitham. I heard you were searching for Mister Kaveh? We’ll help you find him.”

This is the first voice that sounds genuine. Either she is a really good actress, or she wholeheartedly proposes her aid. Alhaitham decides that such acting skills (or honesty), deserve at least a response.

“So. You’re confirming that he isn’t here, right?”

“Yes, yes! That is very much the case mister dear Alhaitham!” jumps in the butler. “And, if we work together, we could—”

After this, the Scribe isn’t interested in any part of the conversation and turns his headphones on until they all conclude their attempt failed.

On this second day, the biggest annoyance is the Eremites. This time, they return in squadrons, trying to overwhelm Alhaitham’s vision capabilities by attacking from all sides: the roads, the trees, the mountains, the rivers… But the Scribe stands firm.

After two hours of constant Dendro energy thrown in their faces, the troops finally draw back, shouting -again- that this will not be the end.

Relief hits Alhaitham like a rock, and he collapses to the ground for the next thirty minutes. This is not working. Fending off the Eremites wasted too much time. He can’t count on the raw output of his vision to keep them at bay indefinitely.

While his inert body recovers, he lets his gaze wander on the irregular walls of his dome while he brainstorms for ideas. What if he uses it to grow out a maze of thorns? Eremites are known for their determination and stubbornness, but not especially for their academic intelligence. Challenging their minds before their physiques might be a better solution, and buy Alhaitham time while they lose themselves in the maze.

When he can move again, instead of directly going back to his research, Alhaitham drafts the most complex maze he can come up with (of course, with none of the exits leading to his encampment). He should also obstruct the sky. It doesn’t hurt to disorientate the assailants, and for the Eremites who navigate thanks to the sun and the stars, they might even forget cardinal directions while stuck under branches.

While he scrunches his eyebrows over his draft, crossing out his plans again and again, he can’t help but think about how Kaveh would be better at this exercise. While Alhaitham gets an annoying headache at each complex intersection, he imagines his boyfriend biting his pen and chuckling like a child at any new impasse he comes up with. He would look back at the Scribe with eyes full of mirth when he finishes a part, showing off the most intricate components of his design, proud, proving his title as a genius with each stroke. 

(Alhaitham also imagines scrutinizing those lips closing around that damned pencil long enough to grow mad, ripping it out of the architect’s hand, and kissing his mouth senseless, until Kaveh even forgets to protest and just moans against him. But this is irrelevant to the current situation.)

After enough rest, Alhaitham spends all his evening and a part of the night sprouting his unperfected maze, adventuring further away from the encampment, and consolidating to the best of his capacities the dense thorny walls.

When he comes back, he crashes on a blanket, exhausted like he rarely has been, his back hurting from discomfort.

But he still has researches to pursue.

Establishment of databanks for the KBM

For this behavioral model, some data to analyze is necessary to infer hypotheses. In addition to the KCS, we add to this project:

• Kaveh’s Emotional Triggers (KET): Here is a list of triggers that can set Kaveh off and push his unpredictability to challenge existing models, or enhance drastically the value of the KEBS:
  • A difficult client.
  • A lack of inspiration.
  • The date of his father’s death.
  • The date of his mother’s departure for Fontaine.
  • The mention of his joint graduation project with Alhaitham.
  • People learning about his problems.
  • His debts.
  •  
  • A dispute with Alhaitham.
  • Alhaitham ignoring him.
  • Alhaitham forgetting to wash the dishes.
  • Alhaitham drinking from his glass.
  • Alhaitham distracting him when he is working.

             (…)

Note: this list is not exhaustive and not ordered by the importance of the trigger.

• Kaveh’s Intellectual Weaknesses Points (KIWP): Here is a list of conversational subjects, that might play with Kaveh’s emotional chord and cloud his judgment:
  • Idealism.
  • Grief.
  • Poverty.
  • Arts.
  • Children.
  • Home.
  • Family.
  • Love.
  • Relationships.
  • Sex.

             (…)

• Encyclopedia of Kaveh’s Emotional Faces (EKEF): Here is a guide to Kaveh’s face. Even if the subject is of an emotional nature, the subtleties are important:
  • Joy

(a.)Content        (b.) laughing                       (c.) playful                    (d.) fond.       

• Sadness

     (…)

To be honest, Alhaitham surprises himself with his capability to draw Kaveh’s face that many times so quickly. However, around 20 faces through, his productivity decreases, as he spends time smiling at his drawings, imagining all these little Kaveh springing to life.

It’s his cue to get some sleep.

Day 3

Alhaitham starts the third day of his siege by trying to trick the Aranara into revealing Kaveh’s or their positions. He asks questions like “What do your houses look like?”, or “What was Nara Prakasha doing when you talked to him?”, with the hope of forcing some clues out.

Question by question, each provoking lots of answers, Alhaitham starts to grasp some quirks about Aranara’s culture. They indeed play with “little Nara” and are very adamant about keeping it secret. They love music, and it is customary for each individual to invent a song for themselves. They are deeply linked to the forest and talk about it like a divinity. They fear the desert, and everything associated with it. They are around 50 cm tall.

Little by little, Alhaitham notes his deductions from the facts he gathers: they probably live recluse, somewhere no one can find them. They definitely have seen Kaveh and talked to him. Kaveh even took the time to teach them some writing, and to complain about Alhaitham (or the Scribe wouldn’t be greeted each day with these “bad Nara” slanders).

It is a thin line to walk. If the Scribe asks something a bit too explicit about his intentions, the Aranaras simply stop responding until he changes the subject.

This time, it isn’t the butler who bothers him from the palace’s side.

“Mister Alhaitham?”

It’s the voice of the honest woman from yesterday.

“Are you all right?” It’s sweet of her to worry. If it’s genuine.

“I’m fine”, Alhaitham mechanically responds, used to spit out this default answer this past week.

“Good. Do… you have enough food? Maybe I can share.”

He pauses before responding this time, wary of the proposition. Are they trying to get him to open his barrier? Or poison him?

“I’m fine. I have access to an encampment.” And he barely touched the reserves. Even if it was prepared for four persons for two or three days, Alhaitham feels like he didn’t eat even a portion. He is not very hungry lately.

“Oh. Great then.”

Silence. She doesn’t even try to engage in the usual negotiations.

Stuck in an inquisitive mood, Alhaitham asks: “Why do you care?”

“W-Well…” she sounds flustered. “You obviously are a very close friend to mister Kaveh and I…” her voice grows meek as she ends her sentence. “I wouldn’t want him to be sad.”

Oh. So she has a crush on Kaveh.

Not that it matters.

Alhaitham doesn’t care one bit.

She can never have him anyway.

Because Kaveh didn’t break up with him.

At least, it finally convinces Alhaitham that this girl genuinely cares. He asks again.

“He really isn’t in the palace then.” It is more of a statement.

“Yes. He is not here.”

But an annoying thought persists in the mind of the Scribe. If Kaveh isn’t here, why did Dori try to get him to leave on the first day? He starts to draft another hypothesis: to fool your enemies, you must first fool your allies. Maybe Dori, apprehensive of the Scribe’s resourcefulness, didn’t even inform her staff, and is keeping Kaveh hidden from them.

Alhaitham sighs. All these negotiations to come back to his original goal.

“Okay. Then tell the rest that from now on, I’ll talk only with Lord Sangemah Bay.”

No sound from the Eremites comes to perturb Alhaitham’s studies for the rest of the day. Either his maze is working wonders, or they are plotting their assault. He periodically runs some Dendro energy through the thorny walls, just in case.

In-depth definition of the UKP

The Usual Kaveh Pattern (UKP) is a pre-existing model. But, as a central notion of the KBM, it needs a proper explanation, and even an evolution.

Let’s classify the UKP into different subcategories:

• The Emotional UKP (or E-UKP) is the pre-existing model. It helps identify the usual variations of Kaveh’s emotional state, based on other factors. The current formula is this:

E-UKP = KEBS^APCF+ KEBS x card(KIWP) x KET/card(KET_tot).

We can notice that the variant of the APCF ^{(Alhaitham’s Presence Chaos Factor)} had to be taken out of the components, or the result would be unrealistically exponential. 

With the EKEF and the value of the E-UKP, we can predict the subject’s future emotions on the short term.

• The Work UKP (or W-UKP) is a new notion, that hasn’t been yet tested with real values. Its theoretical goal is to predict Kaveh’s work pattern, to avoid any breaking point. The current experimental formula and its demonstration are available in the annex.

• The Routine UKP (or R-UKP) is also a new model. Its goal is to predict Kaveh’s daily routine based on the other UKP and avoid any variance peaks resulting in uncontrolled behavior. The current experimental formula and its demonstration are available in the annex.

• The Sex UKP (or S-UKP) is also a new model. Its goal is to predict Kaveh’s sexual appetence, and the benefits are yet to be determined. But it is surely part of the R-UKP. Due to external troubles, the research of the experimental formula has been reported to a later date.

One might inquire, while reading the endmost entry, for an explanation of its vagueness. If ever asked, Alhaitham wouldn’t respond, in view of the fact that it doesn’t usher any worth to this delightful world. He won’t utter that, amid his ruminations for the S-UKP (Sex Usual Kaveh Pattern), he stumbled upon the Kaveh’s Boyfriend Likeableness List (KBLL). He won’t elaborate that the KBLL is an enumeration outlining all the perks of having Kaveh as a boyfriend. He won’t expound about how halfway through his listing, Alhaitham got maybe—mayhaps—perhaps a bit too eager about some of the matters concerning any… sexual intercourse. In other words: he won’t ever explain why, that night, he asked himself if masturbating in the middle of the woods was worth it.

(He decided it was not. For now.)

Day 4

The fourth day is relatively calm and Alhaitham starts to recognize personalities amongst the Aranaras, by agglomerating some of the messages. He can now name ten of them, identify twenty and only around thirty messages in his notes stay unattributed.

The butler comes back, sounding nothing like his original self. He profusely apologizes, miserable, probably coming back from the sermon of his life by his “benevolent” lord. But Alhaitham doesn’t budge: talking with this butler isn’t interesting anymore; he needs to discuss it with Dori directly. Defeated, the man on the other side of the thorny vines just whimpers that he is going to ask for her.

Still no signs of the Eremites.

Alhaitham continues his studies without any hindrance.

Kaveh’s Noticeable Memory Archive (KNMA)

In addition to the organized databank, here is an unfiltered, unclassified chronology of all events the current researcher remembers about the subject. If doubts come to emerge during this project, please refer to this archive for further references.

27 years ago – 9 July

Kaveh’s birth. Born in the Bimarstan of Sumeru City, weighed 3.2 kg, blood type AB. Born with loving parents in a stable financial situation, a suitable environment for raising a child.

(…)

Day 5

The day starts normally, his usual written exchanges with the Aranara going well. Alhaitham surprises himself by starting to appreciate their childlike and innocent nature. It makes their honesty shine through. The feeling appears to be mutual, at least in parts, because some of them start to worry about the Scribe’s state, or marvel at his exploits.

“““Be careful Nara Alhaitham… This isn’t good for Nara to sleep sitting up. Nara Prakasha told Aranara so.”””

“““Nara Alhaitham! Can Nara Alhaitham grow even more vines!? Aragaru has never seen such a powerful Ararakalari before!”””

“““Right! Right! Nara Alhaitham has been alone to get lots and lots of Nara Valuka to go away!”””

“““Nara Alhaitham so strong!”””

“““Can Nara Alhaitham beat all Nara Valuka?”””

“““Can Nara Alhaitham beat Vanagni?”””

“““Can Nara Alhaitham beat Manarana?”””

“““Can Nara Alhaitham beat Arabalika!?”””

“““Arabalika can’t be sure. But Arabalika will train his Arakalari and defy Nara Alhaitham in a duel.”””

“““Arabalika is the bravest Aranara! Nara Alhaitham doesn’t stand a chance!”””

“““Should Vanarana prepare Utsuva for Nara Alhaitham and Aranara Arabalika’s duel?”””

“““Ustuva!”””

“““Yes, yes! Ustuva!”””

Only a part of them approve though. Alhaitham still doesn’t make unanimity in their community. And the part that stays unconvinced increases their efforts to antagonize him.

“““No! No Utsava for bad Nara Alhaitham!”””

“““Bad Nara Alhaitham is too long to write. Grand Araja say Aranara shall call Bad Nara Alhaitham, Nara Duracara.”””

“““Good idea Grand Aranara Araja!”””

“““Nara Duracara is so much easier for Aranara!”””

To Alhaitham’s dismay, it is still the butler who comes to negotiate. With a trembling voice, he says:

“Lord Sangemah Bay has some conditions.”

He pauses, like waiting for the Scribe’s approval to continue. When only silence responds to him, he takes it as an indicator to go forward.

“She… for the danger to her person that might entail meeting you, she asks for… compensation.”

And Alhaitham sees red.

For all he knows, Dori could be currently draining Kaveh out of all his mora, if not more, and she has the nerve to ask money from Alhaitham? It sounds like a ransom. She is no better than the extremists in Port Ormos.

Enraged, the Scribe punches the thorny wall, scratching his gloves, piercing his skin, letting blood pearl on his tetanized hand. Scarlet drops fall onto the ground, as a burst of Dendro Energy surges without control. A strident shriek from the other side of the wall tells Alhaitham that it has probably expanded into the butler’s face. He hears an uncontrolled scream escape the poor employee, as he runs away like the devil is after him.

Alhaitham doesn’t know how long he stays here, fist still painfully glued to the wall, trying to take deep breaths and calm down. Maybe… maybe the Aranara can soothe his worries. Maybe if he appears desperate enough, they’ll at least tell him that Kaveh is okay, that he isn’t in the greedy hands of that irredeemable money grabber.

As he slowly uncurls his fist, walking back to the mud to write his begging, a loud bang makes his whole dome tremble. He waits, alert, until a second one resonates through the walls, shaking leaves out of their branches. At the third one, a crack appears on the dense vines of the western path. At the fourth one, the blockade combusts and falls to the ground in incandescent rain.

The opening reveals Dehya, fist flaming, face contorted in anger.

Additional Notes

I miss all of the behaviors mentioned above. I miss his smile. I miss him.

Chapter Text

Upon seeing Alhaitham, Dehya stands straighter and extinguishes the fire around her fist. But her gaze stays cold, frightening, distorted by an unmasked anger. It somehow reminds the Scribe of the day they met, while he was arguing with Cyno in front of Aaru village.

He understands what this is about before she opens her mouth.

“Wow. So this really was you, Alhaitham. Can you explain what the fuck you’re doing? Do you know how many mercs got hurt in your fucking labyrinth?”

He refrains from pointing out it is a maze and not a labyrinth. Maybe not the best time to be pedantic. He somehow doesn’t have the strength to.

“People outside are panicking! Did ya even think about the merchants!?”

Yes, Alhaitham did think of the blow to the economy that cutting off the famous Lord Sangemah Bay may cause. He did think over the microscopic shares some others would inevitably take over amid the chaos, in a span of a few days. He did imagine the face of Dori, contorted in frustration as she watches her mora slip from her hands, drop by drop, emptying her ocean of wealth. A necessary sacrifice, he wagered. (Is it even a sacrifice when he feels slight glee at the idea? Wouldn’t he rather have seen this eventuality from the start, and proceeded with his plan as a way of revenge? Only he would know.)

“I did”, is all he responds, because, at this moment, he forgets all these careful calculations.

It does not satisfy Dehya. Her eyes grow colder, as she summons her claymore to slam it on the ground, either to intimidate him or to restrain herself from strangling him.

"Do you know how much trouble you caused the Homayanis?"

The rich merchant family that Dehya served under for many years, protecting then befriending their daughter? Yes, he heard about them. If it wasn't already clear before, she has personal stakes in this, and is mostly here to repair an injustice to someone dear. Alhaitham guessed it the moment he saw her. There is only one way to get her truly mad.

"I can imagine", he says nonetheless, because he can't muster the strength to lie.

"So you won't see any problem in clearing your blockade, and letting honest folks do their work."

Dehya’s tone suggests she doesn't believe that he will. Her tight grip around the haft of her claymore tells as much. Her eyes exult a barely restrained self-control.

He would have liked to surprise her and drop his siege immediately, but Kaveh is still missing. With a small chance to be found in that palace. In the greedy hands of Dori. He tells her as much:

"Disappointingly, I do find problems in this."

"Figures."

She has never attended any courses or curriculum, but one might be a fool to believe Dehya stupid. Contrarily to all these brainwashed scholars who have grown flooded by the Akasha and the Akademiya’s perverse social etiquette, Dehya knows how to think for herself, knows it serves nothing to ideally hope and wait for something to change without triggers, for someone to bend their ways without confrontations. Especially if that someone is Alhaitham.

All this discussion was just decorum, a rehearsed act of respect, learned by a life abiding by a strict mercenary code: she gave Alhaitham an out, a chance to surrender, knowing that he won't take it. 

She doesn't delay any longer and lurches forward.

Her weapon trails behind as she prepares for a swing, targeting his torso. Prepared, Alhaitham summons his blade to block, bracing for the impact.

Without any surprise, it drops heavy. The mere Scribe is propelled a few steps back, his sword narrowly remaining in his hand, as he struggles to regain countenance. Dehya doesn’t give him any chances and follows after the stumbling scholar. He blocks her again with a dendro replica of his weapon, but the second impact is as heavy as the first, and once again sends him staggering back.

His mind is wiped out by the sheer violence of the hits.

At first, he finds himself wondering why.

He just counters incessant assaults with hard-learned reflexes, moving as a shadow of himself, a puppet tossed around by heavy blows.

Anyone would be impressed by his aptitude to withstand the Flame Mane’s onslaught.

Anyone who knows him even a bit would notice his lack of response and think he is planning something.

Kaveh would immediately spot the extinguished sparkle in Alhaitham’s gaze and know something was wrong.

His mind suddenly can’t make sense of anything, and the dimness of his environment bothers him. His body feels numb, the only sensations he grasps are the accelerating heart tearing his ribcage, and the air lacerating his throat at each breath.

Why is it so dark?

After being sent flying backward for the umpteenth time, he raises his gaze and sees vine-obstructed sunlight.

He is suddenly thrown back a few days earlier, in a cluttered cave, fighting endless waves of Eremites, and at his back, a mere student for support.

There is nobody at his back.

Only a swinging claymore at his front.

And his blank mind is suddenly filled with cries. Threats. Injures. Bloods. Muscle pains. Exhaustion. His vision just out of reach.

He needs air.

How does breathing feel again?

He needs light.

Where is that cool back supporting him? Where are the strong uneasy arms responding to his hug?

He needs to hear laughter and banter. He needs a calm night in the vicinity of his home. He needs a nagging forest ranger, a dorky general.

He needs Kaveh. Someone. Anyone. He can’t breathe.

His arms hurt distantly, mechanically swinging a sword, resisting purely on survival instinct while his mind runs rampant, flashing memories of cries and blades, of his vision being taken away, of his reason gradually slipping away, drowning without any chance of escape, dreading the fall of the ceiling. And no matter how much he tries to come back to the present, images keep flashing before his eyes, numbing all his senses.

The world grows overwhelming.

From a cold, detached part of himself, Alhaitham knows what this is. It is the flashbacks he’s been wary about, his mind and body telling him that they bear too much. But no amount of rationalizing gets his rising anxiety under control, his brain stubbornly shouting that he won’t be able to get away this time.

He tries to take a sharp inhale, but a wheezing gasp replaces it. The blunt strikes stop.

Alhaitham, relieved, crumbles to the ground. He knows it from his hands touching the dirt, from his view registering the muddied soil, from his ears parsing the silence after clashing metal. It is cold. If he ever gets up, he dies. Faints. Throws up. He doesn’t want to know.

He can’t know. What happens if he knows? He can’t do it, never will be able to, if something happens and he doesn’t come back, he could never—

“—tham.”

—never find him, never breathe, never get up, he can’t stop trembling, he, never—

“Haitham!”

—what’s wrong, why can’t it work, it hurts—

“Alhaitham!!”

An anxious call pierces through his rampaging mind and gives him a chance to escape. But his stomach still lurches. He needs to focus his gaze on something.

“Hey.”

A calm, soothing voice. A hand on his shoulder. Right. This is not some bloodthirsty Eremite wanting to cut him down. It’s Dehya. He tries to focus on the warm contact, going through the situation as objectively as possible.

“Hey, Alhaitham, you hear me?” she continues, as he vaguely registers, “Let’s talk instead. Do you know what situation you’re in? There have been dusk birds dropping pictures of you, with a bounty issued by Lord Sangemah Bay.”

Alhaitham knew Dori would retaliate one way or another.

“Multiple commissions have been made to the adventurer’s guild and the Eremites, and the Matra are doing crowd control outside your labyrinth.”

It’s a maze.

“Screw messing up businesses, are you aware of the danger you just put yourself in?”

It is far from being the first time. Alhaitham goes for what’s most efficient, and if he has something to gain out of it, then playing with his security can be justified. Some things are worth the gamble, and a mercenary like Dehya should know that better than anyone else.

That is what Alhaitham wants to retort. But he says none of it, still feeling like he would throw up at the slightest movement, or pass out if he opens his mouth.

Dehya waits patiently, a hand still on his shoulder, worried gaze heavy on him, but forcing his thoughts to gather, his mind back into shape, into a countenance. When he finally raises his head again, he can’t come up with a comeback.

He must give in: this is not working. Sangemah Bay still has more power, and if she already dropped bounties, he won’t be able to struggle against the combined might of adventurers and mercenaries. If Alhaitham goes any further, it might even be the traveler coming for him next.

In a daze, frustrated, he painfully stands up, and drags himself to the thorns. He silently leans on them, addressing his farewell, scratching his hands one last time as he makes it all disappear. The vines and plants he carefully grew these last few days wither and fall into a brownish muck. He hears each stem, each mock, collapse, joining the mud he scrutinized for five days. Alhaitham flops down with it, exhausted, winded, his heartbeat still not completely settled. It’s been long since he has felt this drained. It’s been long since he has abandoned any of his plans. But he must concede: this is not working.

His mind has the reflex to search for comfort by imagining what Kaveh would say about all this, how Kaveh would fuss around, chiding Alhaitham for taking so many risks, how he would insist on examining each and every wound. But it doesn’t work. It doesn’t bring any comfort because all this fussing won’t be happening.

Because Kaveh left.

Because Kaveh could be in an even grimmer situation.

And Alhaitham can do nothing about it.

Dehya comes near him once more, and he feels her hand takes back its place on his shoulder. “Thanks for listening.” She says, still soothing. “Don’t… get too upset. I know you’re not the kinda guy to do things on a whim. I’m sure you had reasons. But… now that I don’t have to get rid of ‘an annoying scholar blocking the palace of Alcazarzaray’, maybe I can help out, ya know?”

Alhaitham tries to feel comforted by these words. Right. He has allies. Tighnari is probably still combing through the forest and Cyno’s Matra have ears all around the country. The Port Ormos administration is on the lookout too. If he can add Dehya to the mix, he would also have the Eremites’ power.

Another problem can be quickly solved: he is the only one to truly know Kaveh. Maybe his allies just need a bit more information for searches to be more efficient. 

“You must know about the KBM”, he muses, half to himself.

“The… KBM?” Dehya asks, but he doesn’t get to respond, as a deeper voice cuts in.

“Alhaitham. First Port Ormos, now Alcazarzaray. How many messes do you plan to make?” It’s Cyno. Again, he comes in with his aggravated-and-worried gaze, with questions, where his spear would have all the reasons to answer instead. “Do you know how much time I lost doing damage control outside your—”

Cyno can’t finish his sentence as he is pulled down into a hug the second he gets too close to Alhaitham. The Scribe squeezes as hard as he can, trying to ground himself, to reduce his still fast-beating heart. The general startles, struggles due to the suddenness, but doesn’t comment and simply wraps his arms around him once he registers that this is not an attack. It feels strong, solid, and it helps Alhaitham settle down as he lets out a sigh of relief.

When he returns to himself, the Scribe doesn’t release the general and is immediately met with the startled eyes of Dehya.

“I… don’t remember you guys getting along that well”, she says after deliberating for a moment if she should address it.

Alhaitham feels Cyno sigh, and hears his response muffled in their embrace. “It wasn’t that bad a few days ago but… a lot happened. Kaveh’s missing.”

These simple words make the Scribe tense up, and if Cyno can be pretty clueless at times, he can’t ignore it when their bodies are literally glued together. The general passes a soothing, comforting, hand over the Scribe’s back. Alhaitham tightens the hug even more in response, forcing a light choke out of the small general.

“And… who is Kaveh?”

“His…” Alhaitham feels Cyno move his head, trying to glance at him. “…roommate.” When the Scribe doesn’t correct it, the general tucks his head back into his neck, earning him another squeeze.

“… you could have said boyfriend ya know.” Bluntly states Dehya.

And again, one might really be a fool to believe the Flame Mane stupid.

As expected, Cyno grows more and more restless into the hug, embarrassment catching up to him (or maybe some sort of guilt towards Tighnari, who has proven to not be quite all right with this level of skin-ship), and grabs Alhaitham by the shoulders to push him away, staring with piercing scarlet eyes.

(Ah, Alhaitham may have figured out why he feels so comfortable around Cyno. His irises have similar shades to Kaveh).

“Ok, now,” The general declares, “tell me what happened.”

Alhaitham fumbles a bit for words, a struggle strangely reminiscent of his days as a child: “I thought Kaveh might have been kidnapped by Dori. That she might have been running him dry. Or scamming him.”

Cyno nods, validating how likely this scenario could be.

“She refused to see me. So, I set up a camp to wait for her to crack.”

Cyno’s nod is a bit less assured. But it still indicates for Alhaitham to go on.

“There were Eremites on the camping site. So, I drove them away to occupy the place.”

Cyno just stares. Maybe Dehya’s gaze grows sharper too.

“To not be disturbed, I constructed walls around me, and if the blockade could pressure Dori into seeing me, then even better.”

The two completely blank stares he gets in response don’t stop Alhaitham. After five days of void negotiations with the butler, it surprisingly feels nice to be talking to friendly faces (well, not exactly friendly right now, they look more deadpanned than anything—but well-known faces at least.)

“To… occupy myself in my free time, I pondered over the KBM. I used the KEBS and the UKP to simulate this, with the goal to prevent a similar situation from ever happening again. I am currently still on the KNMA, as it is a thorough archive, with how long I’ve known Kaveh and…”

“Wait— hang on.” Cyno cuts in. Alhaitham waits calmly for the general to gather his thoughts, animating a bewildered  expression. The steps of reflection can be read on the general’s usually stoic face, and if Ahaitham has to guess, it goes a bit like this: Wait, what did he say? Oh lord, I didn’t understand what he said. I hope it’s not… no, no, surely not. Now. How do I ask this…

“What’s… the KBM?” Asks Dehya in his place, looking so entirely lost that her mind must just equate a strident white noise.

Oh. Right. He hasn’t explained it. “The Kaveh’s Behavioral Model.”

A heavy silence settles for some reason, escaping Alhaitham.

Cyno breaks it. “And… the KEBS?”

“Kaveh’s Emotional Burst Scale”, the Scribe blinks, confused. Why do they seem mortified? “Oh, and before you ask, UKP is Usual Kaveh Pattern and KNMA is Kaveh’s Noticeable Memory Archive.”

Cyno and Dehya look at each other with a knowing gaze that the Scribe doesn’t quite get. They seem worried. But that’s not all. Most of the people that he frequented these last few days have seemed worried. Now, they seem extremely worried, and scared.

Maybe now was not the time to introduce them to the KBM.

Alhaitham realizes how unconventional this idea is. But again, what about him has ever been conventional? Under normal circumstances, they might have just raised their eyebrows at it, and declared that “Yes. This is Alhaitham all right”. But with the recent additional factors, he might see why they are questioning his sanity.

What would be the point of explaining it all now? He will only look like a man barely hanging onto his last scraps of sanity, and none of his arguments would be registered. So, he lets them exchange concerned gazes in silence, waiting for whatever conclusion on his mental state.

“All right”, finally declares Cyno, “let’s talk more about that later.” Always so quick to change the subject when Alhaitham doesn’t want to expand on it. He wants to hug him again. “You say Dori might be keeping Kaveh captive. Are you sure about that?”

And always quick to get into business, “Not quite. But she has been refusing to see me.”

“And it’s been five days?”

“Yes.”

Cyno lets out a long exhale. “And you won’t move until you get your response.”

It’s a statement, not a question, but Alhaitham nods nonetheless.

Cyno sighs once more. “Ok. Got it. Follow me.”

He gets up from his crouched position, spear in hand, and gazes in the direction of the palace, summoning his intimidating aura, switching back to work mode. These last few days, Alhaitham saw this switch rather frequently, but now it gives him the chills. He has a good feeling about this.

“And what are you going to do?” he asks, to confirm his instincts.

Cyno throws him an annoyed side glance, discarding his intimidating persona for a bit. “Even Lord Sangemah Bay can’t escape a Matra’s inspection.”

Oh, she’ll be forced to let us in and investigate.

“Abusing yer authority much, aren’t you general?” comments Dehya, smirking.

Cyno doesn’t point it out, but the glance he throws the Scribe means: the things you make me do, I swear. It sends shivers down his spine. Of course, the man is a stickler for rules and morals, or he wouldn’t be in this position. Seeing him willing to bend those principles for Alhaitham spreads a warm sensation in the scholar’s chest.

“Cyno. Can I—”

“—no. You can’t hug me now. I won’t appear menacing enough.”

Indeed. Since the wall disappeared, a small crowd of employees have assembled in front of the palace and are observing with curiosity.

Darn it. Alhaitham wanted to indulge a little more. Thankfully Cyno is keeping track of their environment.

------

The General Mahamatra’s presence does work wonders. As soon as they approach the crowd, Alhaitham sees the butler nearly vibrate out of existence. It’s a mystery how he manages to run so fast, getting to Dori with his shaky legs. The rest of the domestics don’t dare to come close, and stay far, murmuring in ears of neighbors, stray glances thrown at the weird gathering that is the Flame Mane, the General Mahamatra, and the Scribe-Ex-Acting-Grand-Sage. It is known across Sumeru that they were major contributors to the rescue of Lesser Lord Kusanali, and if the cheers died down after a few months, seeing them together knocking at the palace’s doors is sure to bring out chatter.

When Dori finally appears, her butler, growing a strange mix of translucent and green in her tow, Alhaitham revels in the false smile plastered on her face, her eyebrows twitching from contained anger and her fist squeezed shut.

“Mister General Mahamatra! What do we owe the honor?” she starts, with a smooth voice.

“We are currently searching for Kaveh, Light of Kshahrewar, and heard he might be hiding in the vicinity of this palace. Do not impede our investigations”, responds Cyno, going straight to the point.

“Of course! Of course! You are the general after all, far from me to refute the law!” her smile makes Alhaitham sick. It drips off with so much hypocrisy that it puts her butler to shame. “But… I think since these two aren’t part of your troops, general, I’ll ask them to stay here.”

A malicious smirk twists on her face as she throws a side glance at the Scribe. Apparently, even if she can’t guard her property anymore, Dori will still delight in the petty pleasure of keeping Alhaitham out. That pest.

Cyno looks in his direction, searching for the affirmation that he will be ok with entrusting this task to another, and Alhaitham gives a nod. If he doesn’t trust the chief of the Matra to investigate, who else could he trust?

“Then, I’ll be back shortly.” The small general declares before disappearing into the gardens.

Dehya stays tense at Alhaitham’s side, ready to intercept any attacks thrown in their direction, and he can’t quite explain how reassuring it is to have some companionship after five days of lonely struggle.

As much as he believes in the power of individuality, there is a limit for one person to move crowds. Maybe someone more charismatic than Alhaitham would have more success at it, but even then, moving a country takes more than a leading man. He learned that much during their overthrow of the sages. He may have planned the whole coup, but without the Eremites, Cyno, Nilou, Tighnari, or the traveler to follow through, he would currently be rotting away in Aaru village. Each has their talents, and in a plan as big as revolutionizing a country, Alhaitham couldn’t do much on his own. He needed their quirks, their individualities. He didn’t need people who agreed, didn’t need confirmations, didn’t need a lackey to tell him how right he was. Change needed powers he didn’t possess.

How much of this understanding comes from confronting Kaveh through the years? The artistic architect might not be the only one now, but he had been the first to make Alhaitham stop and consider other points of view, other ways of doing things.

Where would the Scribe be, if not for his bothersome senior who accosted a lonely kid in the library, busy ignoring the uninteresting masses? Which genius would have shown this other genius, that in the middle of this senseless crowd, there might be a light reflecting differently on a mirror, brightening other paths?

How many of these paths will Alhaitham miss, if Kaveh never comes back?

“Hey. Alhaitham. I know you’re tired but stay with us, all right?” Dehya’s gentle whispers pierce through his rumination, bringing him back to Dori and her hypocritical smile.

When she sees the gaze of the Scribe refocusing on her, an irritating satisfied grin carves on the lord’s face. “A bit tired, Mister Scribe? You really shouldn’t have bothered to wait for me, and gone back home instead! Wasn’t staying in the wild quite… uncomfortable?”

I don’t want to return to an empty house, he thinks. “Well, I had to make sure you weren’t scamming Kaveh again. We both know he can’t afford much more.” Is what he says instead.

“Dear Scribe! All my deals have been made in complete legality!” she falsely obfuscates, “I am only an honest merchant running an honest business here! Your accusations are slanderous!”

Oh, Alhaitham will not let this chance pass. “The rules and laws don’t encompass morals, and we can always find loopholes within their grey areas. But even so”, he makes a point to placate the most condescending smile he can muster on his face, “let’s say two parties agree and sign a contract. It doesn’t make it legal when multiple conditions are trampling over human decency.”

Her smile strains, to his delight. Touché. “Right, right, you would know about loopholes, wouldn’t you? After the mess you’ve made in Port Ormos…”

“It’s true that, before my visit a few days ago, this city was plagued with all kinds of unscrupulous affairs. What does it say about its merchants I wonder?”

“Thanks for your service”, her tense voice trembles with rage, her smirk merging into a grimace. Alhaitham has developed an uncanny ability to get those borderline-horrific smiles recently. “It was courageous of you. After all, the merchants of Port Ormos have years-standing deals with the Eremites. Aren’t you scared of any retaliation?”

Despite the outwardly caring words, this is a threat. If she has already reached that point, maybe his stay in Port Ormos annoyed Dori more than he planned. But Alhaitham is not too surprised. It is a major city for merchants, where Dori can profit from the shabby regulations and deal whatever she wants. Or, should he say, it was. This new piece of information makes him appreciate the job done in the port’s administration even more.

“As you can see, being the Akademiya’s Scribe and Lord Kusanali’s savior, I have connections in the Matra and the Eremites. Right, Dehya?”

“H-Huh? Right…” the mercenary responds, surprised to have been invited to this verbal battle. From the look on her face, she doesn’t understand and doesn’t want to understand what is happening. Alhaitham can’t blame her. He wouldn’t want to take part either. But Dori started it. He should uphold his title as a scholar, and always accept a debate, right?

Alhaitham addresses Dehya with a satisfied smile and turns back to the lord. “So, as you can see, I have nothing to fear.”

Dori stands so stiff that Alhaitham thinks she might be biting her tongue to not insult him. “My mind is put at ease then. I do have to wonder, what do you plan on doing with all those influences, Mister Scribe? Between the coup and your boasting about your new connections, one might believe you are trying to abuse this power.”

At this point, she’s not even hiding her accusations. Then neither shall Alhaitham. “I don’t bother with power games, fortunately. I leave them to you, the merchants, and the sages. Hopefully, you won’t give me a reason to care then.”

She scoffs. “What could push the lazy boring Scribe to become such a careerist I wonder.”

“In your case, it has two syllables: Ka-veh.”

Alhaitham closes his eyes to appear proud and collected, waiting for more obfuscations or toxic remarks, but nothing comes out of Dori. When he discreetly throws her a glance, she is genuinely taken aback.

“You mean… he really disappeared?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

A second passes as realization settles in both of their brains. Dori, registering that it wasn’t some weird ploy to get her to confess her deeds, and Alhaitham that it was what she thought.

“Don’t you have ears everywhere in Port Ormos?” recovers the Scribe, quick to find the inconsistency, “I issued a search warrant there.”

“You did WHAT!?” Dori turns furiously to her butler, who jumps at her murderous gaze. “Why haven’t I heard about ANY of this!?”

“I-I mean…! We were busy w-with all the new reforms there, s-so we overlooked the warrant!”

“Overlooked!?” and all the fury Dori was containing explodes on her trembling butler. “A warrant!? About the Light of Kshahrewar!? Do you know how much mora this man could bring us if we found him!? Do you know how much mora he brought us, simply by building this palace!? If you thought that was the right thing to overlook, why are you even working here!?”

“I’m- I’m sorry!” he squeaks.

His sermon continues for a good fifteen minutes, during which Dori barely takes time to breathe between acerbic comments on the man, his mom, his wife, his legacy, and his whole being. It brings him to tears through an infinite litany of apologies. Alhaitham nearly feels bad for him. Nearly. But the rage he accumulated through these horrendous five days of negotiations makes this spectacle rather enjoyable.

When she finishes, Dori turns back to the Scribe with a real smile, full of relief and mirth. He doesn’t like this.

“Well sorry for the misunderstanding Mister Scribe! Kaveh really isn’t here, disappointingly; you must be worried sick about your dear… friend. Yes! Really! What a touching friendship!” her knowing tone annoys him to no end. “But I suppose that this warrant is still valid, yes?”

“Yes.” Alhaitham could have lied, could have kept her away from all matters concerning Kaveh. But, if she isn’t at the origin of his disappearance, then it would be stupid to get cut off from Lord Sangemah Bay’s incredible network. Of course, if she finds him, Dori is going to try and get the largest ransom possible out of it, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get there. Alhaitham is always ready for a verbal spar and, if it comes down to it, a more… muscled spar.

“Perfect!” she rubs her hands. “Now, dear Flame Mane! I may need your assistance in this search! Would you work for me?”

Dehya, trying to follow in case her attention needed to be brought once again, startles at the proposition. “You mean… you’re employing me to find that guy?”

“Of course, of course! Don’t underestimate my dear Light of Kshahrewar! He is a man of ambition and means! If he planned his disappearance, he won’t be easy to find, so I’ll need the best! Now. How about…” she muses, just for the show of it, “five percent of the reward?”

Good. This percentage allows Alhaitham to estimate how much she is trying to extort out of him. A decent pay for a job like this would be around 200,000 mora, let’s say 500,000 if we consider the real difficulty of this job (Dori is not wrong: Kaveh has already proved to be extremely thorough with his disappearance act). With quick math, she counts on getting around 10,000,000 mora out of it. That’s a sum Alhaitham could afford, even if barely, and with a loan.

Dehya sighs, annoyed, arms crossed. “Listen here, I don’t care for the mora. I’ll do it anyway. This guy means a lot to a friend”, she turns towards the Scribe. “I’ll help looking for ‘im. And I don’t want your reward all right?”

“I see, I see! I understand, friendship doesn’t have a price after all!” chirps Dori, a bit too happy for someone who just got refused. Alhaitham doesn’t like to see her back in control. She is definitely planning something. And the way she keeps insisting on the word friendship like it has a different meaning doesn’t escape him.

———

Cyno comes back after some time, informing everyone that indeed, Kaveh hasn’t been in the palace. The last bit of doubt evaporates from Alhaitham’s mind, only to be replaced by a thick mist of confusion and a terrible fatigue. This siege drained him more than he thought. His legs buckle a few times on the way back to the arch, but Dehya and Cyno are paying close attention to him, and prevent his tripping.

Once they are out of the palace staff’s hearing range, Dehya let out a breath of relief. “Dear god, are debates in the Akademiya always like that? This is scarier than I thought. Feels like one wrong word, and it turns into a full-blown fight. With fists, teeth, and no rules.”

“It happens sometimes when wine is involved.” Informs Cyno, “But it ended peacefully, right? At least Dori seemed to be in a better mood when I came back.”

“Yeah, but the feeble scholar over here was oozing bloodlust throughout. Frankly, I was thinking more about protecting others from him than the reverse.”

Alhaitham doesn’t comment on that. Dehya’s instincts are sharp as always. He simply concentrates on breathing, trying to get the remaining tension out. His right leg trembles and he finds his shoulders circled by both of his companions in a split second.

“Hey, don’t push yourself.”, she soothes. “You’ve had enough. Get back to the city, and leave the search to us.”

Alhaitham appreciates the sense of normalcy they’re trying to keep. But they can’t quite hide their worries. Silences between words are strained, a bit too tense, to complete the charade. It prevents him from totally relaxing. This is why he doesn’t like people worrying about him.

When they reach the encampment where Alhaitham passed these accursed days, someone is waiting for them. A boy in a tree lets a breeze of wind float him back to the ground at their arrival, hiding his eyes under a large Inazuman hat, an Anemo vision bright on his chest.

“Scribe Alhaitham, in the flesh”, he starts, a mysterious and playful allure to his voice. “I hope a genius like you has any idea of what this is about.” “The boy raises his head, revealing stormy eyes, far too wise for his young skin, and porcelain face. “Lesser Lord Kusanali would like to talk with you.”

It is not a thought that occurs to him often, but here, Alhaitham thinks that, maybe, he has gone too far.

Chapter Text

Alhaitham watches the branch above his head, gently swinging in the wind. The sky is clear, apart from scarce clouds decorating the otherwise perfect blue, the sun making the vegetation shine emerald. It seems like such a peaceful day, such perfect weather to read.

It’s frustrating that he can’t.

On his right, Cyno waits with him, pressed against the outer wall of the sanctuary of Surasthana. They split off from Dehya on their way from the palace, as she confidently declared she’ll find Kaveh before anyone else. It somehow helps Alhaitham settle. It somewhat gives him hope.

The general’s gaze doesn’t leave the scholar, with the now usual mix of annoyed and worried. Neither say a word, nor acknowledge the silence. They both stand tense, wondering what their archon might want.

The Inazuman boy went ahead inside, asking them both to stay there. He threw a glance full of suspicions at Cyno on his way in, as if to ask why he followed. Alhaitham knew. After all, he had already disappeared twice on the general these past few days, each time to be found collapsed on the ground surrounded by rubble. So Cyno is just preventing another catastrophe from happening, clearly not trusting Alhaitham to be left alone.

The Scribe should be constructing plans, should be searching for ways out of his friend’s surveillance. Kaveh has yet to be found. But his eyes are glued on the Akademiya’s verdant gardens a few meters below. Students stuck inside the house of Daena, heads in books, don’t come up here, and this spot stays as quiet as it was back during his studying days, only disturbed by rare Amurta students looking for an escape.

Alhaitham loved reading there. The busy corridors, hurried footsteps, and stressed whispers of the scholars didn’t reach up to the gardens, and it was a great spot to unwind, take off his headphones, and let the wind remind him of the world outside the lecture halls. Alhaitham hadn’t been as assured at the time. He still couldn’t shut the world out when it felt too overwhelming, leaving him constantly bothered. By the noise of robes rustling at each step, by the chatters rising from the city, by the stifled laughs in faraway conversations. It had always been too loud, and his younger self couldn’t bear it, couldn’t hide from it, and was forced into noisy spaces, where no amount of facts and logic could keep the sounds at bay. In this overactive place, the Akademiya’s gardens were his solace.

Only Kaveh knew to find him here. Alhaitham had been fine with that. As flamboyant and passionate as the Kshahrewar genius was, he never overstepped the ‘too loud’ boundary for Alhaitham. He never found a proper explanation as to why. It was Kaveh. It was different. And the young Haravatat undergraduate that he was, couldn’t fathom why this objectively loud senior didn’t aggravate his senses like the rest of the world did.

“Alhaitham.” Cyno tears him out of his head. “I know you’re tired but don’t space out now. You’ll need to pay attention while talking with Lord Kusanali.”

On cue, the massive door of the sanctuary opens, revealing the Inazuman boy.

“Follow me, Scribe.” He orders. When Cyno starts to move in Alhaitham’s tow, he adds: “And only the Scribe.”

The general freezes, and peers into the scholar’s teal eyes, before retreating to his spot by the wall with a sigh. Alhaitham addresses him with a slight smile, weirdly appreciative of the worry, and follows the boy inside.

———

Alhaitham both hates and marvels at the atmosphere in this temple. He has already been here once, when their archon asked him personally to take the Acting Grand Sage’s seat. After that, Lord Kusanali, being content to explore and discover new places through her own eyes, took the habit of going down to the Akademiya when she had something to share with him. As always, the sanctuary stands in perfect silence, basked in verdant light, with a divine aura that weighs heavy on the shoulders of visitors. If not for the wise and kind god occupying the place, he would feel unwelcomed, a simple human undeserving of standing in the viridescent glow.

The hatted boy, on the opposite end of the spectrum, seems to relax once inside and lets go of his perfect posture, floating through the space, like a bird happily flying back to its cage. He perches on an ornament high above the center of the room, making himself discreet and cozy, camouflaging his azured outfit in verdant shadows.

Alhaitham takes a deep breath to steady himself, becoming used to the weight of this sacred atmosphere, and walks towards the center where his god patiently waits. Seated on the center pedestal, she kicks her feet in the air with childlike energy. It allows him to calm down. She, apparently, is not mad (not that he could imagine her getting anywhere near angry, knowing her temperament), so the Scribe must be in the clear somehow.

Upon seeing him, she jumps out of her seat and walks to meet him in the middle. Her eyes stay wide open and focused on the Scribe for some time before she starts: “Alhaitham! I am quite surprised you responded to my invitation.”

It’s his turn to be surprised by the remark. “Who am I to refuse the Archon?”

She giggles. “We both know you won’t obey without understanding why first, and that my standing has nothing to do with your obedience.”

He doesn’t answer, properly disarmed by her comment cutting right through his personality. Each time they talk, Alhaitham is reminded of his own naivety, of the difference of wisdom between a young god, and a sharp scholar. These conversations have grown valuable to him, as they are always eye-opening. This alone is a satisfactory reason to not refuse any of his archon’s invitations.

“Do you have any reproach for yourself, Scribe Alhaitham? Is that why you came to me without resistance?”

Again, he doesn’t answer, pondering over the question. Is he searching for some kind of punishment from the archon? He doesn’t think so. So, why does he feel this agitated by the remark?

Lesser Lord Kusanali lets out a sigh. “It might sound strange coming from me, but sometimes I would like you to speak to me without thinking too much of it. There are no right or wrong answers when I question your feelings. And you can be sure I won’t trick you by asking anything I already know the answer to.”

“Right”, is all he says. Alhaitham can’t articulate two thoughts together recently, it is not a matter of right or wrong. How does she expect a proper answer when he can’t even thread one together inside his own head?

Once again, the silence stretches, Kusanali patiently waiting for Alhaitham to break it, pausing her green enigmatic eyes on him. It weights down the burden of the atmosphere on his shoulders, as if each particle floating under the high ceiling is focused on him, the Lord’s stare exulting neither anger nor worry, only curiosity. A genuine, disarming interest, that has already caused Alhaitham to spill some of his private affairs in the past, confiding in his lodging arrangements with Kaveh, their past in the Akademiya, their routines and the little cracks in them, like when Kaveh doesn’t make enough coffee for the two of them in the morning.

She always seems enraptured by whatever Alhaitham has to share about their daily lives, and he has yet to discern what withstood the Dendro Archon’s interest in his trifles with Kaveh. If he can feel her gentle and careful gaze at each moment, he can’t shake off the impression that Kusanali feels a deep curiosity, and is treating their lives together as data to be gathered for a paper.

As for now, he has yet again no idea of what she could possibly want out of this conversation, out of his mouth.

“He is safe.” She says casually.

And the floor under Alhaitham’s feet is swept away by relief. A small gasp escapes him, as he lets his gaze fly to the roof, his shoulders dropping down at the same time a wicked knot of tension unwinds in his articulations. For a moment, the world seems brighter, the air lighter, as if this single piece of news swallowed all the darkness.

Kaveh is safe.

He has no reason to doubt that from the Dendro Archon.

While he gathers his thoughts, shattered by relief, she observes him slowly building himself back into a countenance, always with a kind yet curious gaze, surely noticing all the little twitches, all the nerves relaxing one by one.

When he comes back down from the intensity, he asks: “Where?”

“I cannot say.”

Alhaitham frowns at her. She only responds with a kind smile.

“Alhaitham. This isn’t a matter I should get myself involved with. It would do neither good to you nor him. With the wide range of differences between the two of you, your only long-term solution is direct honesty. It can’t be achieved through a third party. Not even the God of Wisdom.”

Again, he finds himself to be disarmed. She is right. Bringing Kaveh back this instant won’t solve the core of the matter. From the very beginning, the problem is the act of running away, not the consequence of the disappearance. What would hinder Kaveh from once again vanishing  when he comes back?

To his disheartenment, she continues. “I informed you that he is safe, so you can stop worrying and overturning every city you walk into. But the rest is in the hands of you both.”

“Us… both?” He asks, confused.

“Yes, Kaveh too”, she chuckles, with a point of exasperation. “You might miss one another's struggles, but I assure you that you are not the only one suffering. You just… don’t have the same vantage point.”

Alhaitham gives her a blank stare. Of course, Kaveh has suffered. And of course, Alhaitham knows that. Who welcomed him into his house when his debts nearly drowned him? Who saw Kaveh crumble in tears on the counter of a bar, the first night they reunited after years of broken contact? Who designed an entire behavior model, just to prevent those meltdowns from happening again?

Seeing that he doesn’t quite get it, Kusanali wiggles in place, looking for another way to formulate it. “Here, let’s say there is a lion and an eagle hunting in the desert. They are both searching for food but inherently have different tactics.”

She centers on her feet, finger pointing upward. “While the lion prepares to run with the group through sand and storm after even bigger prey; the eagle goes alone for the smaller creatures, searching for a higher success rate.”

“Now, if the lion were to look at the eagle, he might envy the power to fly and dominate from above. While the eagle might admire the strength of the lion, capable of taking down the largest prey. And even if the lion knows he will never be an eagle, and the eagle never a lion, if they spend some time observing each other, it will lead them to believe that the life of the other is simpler.”

Alhaitham frowns harder. He never thought Kaveh had it easier.

Kusanali addresses him with a pointed stare, signifying to let her finish. “The eagle might simply think that, if the lion could just move a bit further to the right, it could catch even bigger beasts; and find the lion a bit narrow-minded for not using his full capabilities.”

“However, what the eagle knows, but will never quite understand, is that the lion cannot fly. He cannot watch his prey from a higher point. The lion is forced to run through the dirt, and with trial and error, can adjust its trajectory through years of training. For an eagle, who can just see the movements of every grounded being, this difficulty will never arise.”

Alhaitham now understands her point. No matter how much he knows about Kaveh’s life, he will never go through the death of Kaveh’s father, the slow breakdown of his mother, the downfall of his home, and the loss of all his possessions. At the end of the day, he can only imagine that pain, link it to his own experiences, and while he is capable of empathy, he will not go through the difficulty of the trials.

He does have a retort though. “Even so, the lion could listen to the eagle’s advice once in a while.”

“Well”, Lord Kusanali giggles, “The lion speaks lion, while the eagle speaks eagle. So, communication is an ever-unresolved problem.”

Alhaitham scoffs. “Right.”

A comfortable silence settles, where the archon keeps her benevolent gaze on him with a slight smile, letting him feel looked after, and cared for. Alhaitham had never found any particular appeal to the divine, but right now, he remembers the arms of his grandmother circling his shoulders after a taxing day, of her wrinkled hands running through his hair, provoking delectable goosebumps that cascaded until they cradled him to sleep. If this is the divine gaze, the Scribe wouldn’t mind indulging a bit in faith.

“Don’t worry about Kaveh”, Kusanali breaks the silence with her kind voice, “The Aranara are watching over him. I receive regular reports from them.”

The peacefulness in Alhaitham’s mind is hurdled to the ground by shock. “… You get reports from the Aranara?”

She blinks. “Oh? I thought you connected the dots. They are my familiars.”

Maybe Alhaitham doesn’t support the divine as much.

“There's no need to get angry”, the archon adds, irritation finally slipping through as she crosses her arms, “for your information, I usually contact them, not the other way around. I learned of the situation only a few hours ago when Dehya confronted you. The Aranara called for me in a panic.”

Oh. He somehow feels touched by their compassion.

Kusanali’s eyes grow dimmer. “They said you were already hurt, that you weren’t resting. That your powers were vacillating.” Then, her gaze shines with an angry sparkle. “I heard of your adventures in Port Ormos, by the way. I did wonder what you were planning, reforming an entire city so early after the overthrow of the sages.”

If only she knew of how far it went with the Eremites…

“Oh. And I know about Ayn Al-Ahmar.”

So, she did know.

Slowly crawling under the pressure she gradually adds on his back, his voice cracks a bit: “My apologies for the problems caused.”

He hears a quiet sneer from above, probably the Inazuman boy, listening quietly.

In front of Alhaitham, Lord Kusanali’s reproachful gaze melts into one of surprise and genuine concern. “I must admit”, she starts, voice kind again, “I… don’t always understand what is going through your head. And I am fine with not knowing, usually. But… you’ve been awfully quiet. I want to know if you’re all right. Would you… allow me to look inside your mind for a bit?”

He nods. It’s not like she’ll find much. His mind has been uncharacteristically blank since this morning. She nods in return and gestures for him to sit on the pedestal she occupied earlier. He complies. After trying to decipher his face one more time, Lord Kusanali sighs before extending her arms in front of her, using her indexes and thumbs to form a frame around her eye. Alhaitham feels a slight discomfort penetrating his forehead, leaving a sensation of a mass at the front of his cranium, like his brain weighs heavier. As if it started thinking by itself, Kusanali’s voice resonates in his thoughts. The sensation makes him grunt.

What are you searching for?

Well, this one is easy, he’s been searching for Kaveh.

Why are you searching for him?

Because he will get into trouble if left alone, and Alhaitham worries. He might also be missing him, but it is not that important.

Why is it not that important?

Because… Alhaitham can get through life without Kaveh. He knows that for a fact. He also knows that Kaveh doesn’t need his help to accomplish things. The architect has proved time and again that he can fend for himself, even in the direst situations.

If Kaveh can fend for himself, why are you thinking he will get into trouble?

It… is just who he is, and if Kaveh can navigate the problems he causes pretty well, wouldn’t it be better to avoid them in the first place?

That’s the eagle thinking, what would the lion wish?

The lion never listens to the eagle… whether he agrees or not, whether he is conscious of the consequences or not. The lion insists on walking into every trap, even the ones he can evade, even the ones the eagle disarmed. It sometimes… seems the lion just likes recklessly walking into danger.

And without the sarcasm?

The eagle… is scared. The lion’s love of experimentation tends to be his demise.

If he knows that’s how the lion works, why is the efficient eagle, never bothering with useless actions, continuously disarming traps nonetheless?

A faint pang starts to noticeably impair his thinking. The voice that isn’t his sounds too loud. And it can’t be blocked. It can’t be escaped.

Because… the eagle is worried. Because—the pain flares up—he wants to be useful. Because… the lion should have all the tools he can get. Because—he winces a bit—the eagle wants to keep the lion by his side.

So, the eagle misses the lion. I ask my question again: why is this not important?

Because—a stark line of pain—the lion… cannot be chained—he has enough—to the eagle.

The heaviness at the front of his cranium dissolves into a horrible headache and a mess of jumbled thoughts. Alhaitham brings his hand to his forehead, trying to stop the world from spinning. He grips the border of the pedestal.

“I’ll leave it there”, comes the quiet voice of Kusanali, from outside this time. A slight tremor can be heard in it, and Alhaitham struggles against his pain to look at her.

He crosses her watery eyes. “Even as the god of wisdom, humans are such an enigma sometimes”, she offers to his confusion. “Why does emotionless logic feel so profound?”

Alhaitham can’t answer. The experience left him in disarray, and he can’t answer.

“Hmph. It is because he appears emotionless”, responds another voice. Startled, they both turn towards the Inazuman boy, who jumps down to join them. “The deeper you bury emotion, the stronger it comes forth.”

Arm-crossed; a smirk draws on his lips. “You’d probably never guess that while looking at this Scribe. It’s true that he always seems to have it all figured out. But I guess even the mightiest can’t seal away everything. Really, it’s laughable.”

She wipes her eyes and lets out a small chuckle. “Sorry for worrying you, I’m fine”, she says to the boy, as if he delivered words of reassurance and not a bashing to the Scribe, as if the archon detected a care that no one else could. “Can you keep an eye out for him? I want to monitor the situation.”

“What, you want me to use Irminsul to watch their antics?” He receives a pointed stare in response. The Inazuman boy sighs. “All right. I’ll do what you want.”

Alhaitham barely registers their following murmurs, trying to reorganize his thoughts, to make sense of his own answers. Is… looking for Kaveh even the right thing to do now?

———

When he exits the temple, his brain is even more of a mess than when he entered. He knows that Kaveh is safe, and the divinity’s familiars are looking after him. So… he has no reason to be worried, right? So… he has no reason to look for him either. His head still hurts.

Cyno approaches as soon as he sees him. “Tighnari arrived, he is waiting in the gardens. We’ll sleep in your house tonight.”

Alhaitham stares back at him blankly, lost, like a stranger just shot him in the streets.

He can see the concern growing in those carmine eyes. Suddenly, they feel unsettling. Wrong. A few shades of red off. “What… happened in there? Did you… learn anything about Kaveh?” Is it bad news, stays unasked.

“Lord Kusanali is watching over him. He is safe.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

Yes, it is. That is all that matters. So, why doesn’t anything make sense to Alhaitham? If Kaveh is safe, then there is no need to search for him. If Kaveh is safe, then he is not trapped somewhere, in danger, kidnapped, or incapable of escape.

If Kaveh is safe, then his prolonged disappearance is done on purpose.

The Scribe feels his facial mask crack as his legs grow numb. This is the lion’s choice. The eagle has no say in it. Again, Alhaitham has nothing more to do than wait, and hope. Hope for Kaveh to come back, hope for their memories to stay remembered, hope that, in the future, Kaveh chooses him all over again.

“Alhaitham…” He’s never heard Cyno’s voice sound so soft.

The general slides an arm around his shoulders. He barely feels it.

They meet up with Tighnari in the gardens. He scarcely registers the nagging.

They go back to his house, where the forest ranger and the general focus on preparing a filling, well-balanced meal to compensate for the five days of living off of rations. Alhaitham eats but doesn’t taste anything.

They part for the night, forcing the Scribe into his bed, while they take the living room.

Alhaitham, for the first time in ten days, for the first time since Kaveh left, doesn’t sleep at all.

Chapter Text

Two or three days pass in a blur. If someone ever asks Alhaitham what he did during them, he will honestly answer that he can’t remember.

His mind constantly turns. The motions of his body hold no importance. He goes through the habits of waking up, getting dressed, eating whatever is placed on the table, and sitting in his living room in silence. He remembers seeing Cyno and Tighnari. They are probably the ones putting food on the table. He may feel grateful. He doesn’t know.

The KBM ^{(Kaveh’s Behavioral Model)} twists and turns through tortuous trails of thoughts. Maybe there is something in the KEBS ^{(Kaveh’s Emotional Burst Scale)} that can help. Or maybe it’s the UKP ^{(Usual Kaveh Pattern)}. He didn’t settle on a complete formula at the palace, he must continue his draft.

Speaking of the UKP ^{(Usual Kaveh Pattern)}, he starts to consider the S-UKP (Sex-UKP) seriously, and adds numerous faces related to the EKEF ^{(Encyclopedia of Kaveh's Emotional Face)}. Because in addition to his memory playing back all the minutes they spent together, Kaveh’s safety has allowed another part of his brain to take the space dedicated to worrying.

It is the part that, when he isn’t thinking about Kaveh’s endearing frowns while drawings, projects messy blond hair on his pillows, faint scents in his nostrils, and soft gasps in his ears: when his brain isn’t busy reliving all the memories they shared, Alhaitham imagines fucking Kaveh on the table if he comes back. Or on the counter. Or against the wall. Or on the bed.

It would just take any flat surface to push him down on, licking his way inside the blond’s mouth until they both forget how they got there. Running his fingers along any skin he can reach, Alhaitham wouldn’t even bother to get all their clothes out of the way, he would just go straight for every spot that makes Kaveh squirm, thrusting his fingers inside him in a hurry. When he closes his eyes, he imagines getting drunk on each breath, each moan, until he can finally enter him, setting up a brutal pace, becoming desperate, one of them tipping over the edge, and releasing the unbearable tension.

Sometimes, he imagines the opposite: he imagines Kaveh taking care of him, comforting him with soft caresses and slow kisses, cuddling with all the care in the world. Kaveh likes to take his sweet time, tortuously making Alhaitham’s desire grow over his threshold of patience until he decides to speed up the pace, stealing ravenous kisses in retaliation, urging his boyfriend to go faster, deeper, quicker. When Alhaitham is pushed to the point of acting needy, Kaveh can’t keep up his games. (A nice detail that he adds explicitly to the S-UKP ^(sex-UKP))

The architect then usually grows frenetic with passion, keeping their lips as close as possible, as if Alhaitham is more valuable than air itself, as if he is incapable of separating their mouths for more than a second, of distancing his fingers from the fevering skin, grasping at every reachable inch. In all aspects of his life, Kaveh has always been passionate, wanting to test and experiment with everything, putting his whole heart into each task, letting himself be consumed entirely. Of course, he is no different in bed. When sleeping with Kaveh, his devotion makes his partner feel like the center of the world. It’s addicting.

Right here, this is a blessing and curse. Because Alhaitham loves it. Because he misses it. Because he craves it. And nothing replaces the smile he gets at each moan, the soft banter between grunts, the starry eyes when a gust of pleasure sweeps over them both.

When his own head becomes too heavy and his thoughts too tangled (or when the gazes of Cyno and Tighnari grow unbearably worried), Alhaitham goes out for a stroll through the city. If walking requires more attention than just sitting on his couch, as he must avoid people, turn around a corner, or ignore a loud kid running by, it can’t completely erase Kaveh from his mind either.

There aren’t a lot of places in Sumeru city that the architect didn’t visit. Be it for renovations, or by his loud and solar presence, every spot in this city has been blessed —or cursed— by Kaveh’s existence. As he walks through main avenues and back alleys alike, Alhaitham is plagued by his echoes, by his proud creations, by his drunken messages on the boards, by the memories they created through the years.

(And he still can't keep his mind off of their “frolicking”. He thinks of shamelessly caressing his hips in public, pulling him in a back alley to shove their lips together, softly sliding his hand into the back opening of Kaveh’s shirt. Of resisting making out with him in the middle of the street, or ushering him to a discreet table in a corner of Lambad’s tavern, earning giddy laughs at the thin secrecy, the thrill of never getting enough of each other. He imagines the weak disapproving stare of Kaveh, when he slips a hand up his thigh under a table, or when he steals a peck while everyone is looking the other way.)

He passes Zubayr Theater. Kaveh used to drag him here for any new show. He stops for a second, watching the dancers practicing on stage, imagining his artist of a boyfriend’s shiny eyes upon seeing them, already planning for their next outing, not giving any chance to refuse in his excitement.

Not that Alhaitham would even think of refusing when faced with the full blow of Kaveh’s enthusiasm. He would never dream of shutting down his boyfriend’s excitement, and making his enormous, solar smile disappear.

Ah. Should Alhaitham be calling him his ex-boyfriend to get used to the idea?

A crushing weight falls at the pit of his stomach.

An excited call of his name stops him from looming over it.

“Alhaitham!” it’s Nilou, who graciously strides towards him, brilliant smile and soft energy shining as always. Even simply running to an acquaintance in the middle of the street, she flourishes in all her grace and joy. Really, an ever-natural performer.

He turns in her direction and addresses her with a small smile, secretly thankful to be interrupted from his ruminations.

As she stops in front of him, her expression grows more somber. “Is something wrong?”

Time and time again, people ask him very similar questions these past days, and all his acquaintances seem to grow worried. But Nilou doesn’t even require a word before detecting his mood. He should have already learned from living in such close proximity to Kaveh, but an artist’s empathy is not to be taken lightly.

And continuously hitting the nail on the head, she adds: “Oh, and where is that blond gentleman I often see you with? I have yet to see you two in the audience of our new show, so I was getting worried.”

He can’t restrain a scoff, feeling entirely seen through. “Nothing to worry about. He’s fine. But not… available at the moment. And since, between the both of us, he is the dedicated fan, I didn’t come on my own.”

“Are you waiting to watch it with him then?” A malicious glint sparkles in her eyes.

And the same way it short-circuited when meeting with the Archon a few days ago, Alhaitham’s brain freezes. Like something is wrong, but he can’t tell what.

All the mirth in Nilou’s soft gaze disappears, leaving only the oh-so-familiar worry. “He’s fine, then. That’s good to know”, she says in a soft voice, “What about you?”

The eagle misses the lion, why is that not important? Echoes in response inside his mind. Lord Kusanali brought up the same kind of question. It provokes the same kind of uneasiness.

“I am not”, he responds. Because he clearly isn’t. No amount of “it’ll pass” will erase his current reality: no. He is not fine.

But again, even if it is hard right now, it will pass. Little by little, he will forget Kaveh. He can allow the gap to widen between them, and respect the choice of needing distance. If it comes to that, of ending things.

 Alhaitham only asks to follow the path he chooses for himself. Above all else, he will choose his individuality, his own desires, because nothing comes out of a drowning man trying to rescue others from a wreckage. So, all he could wish for any human being, is to find footing in life, find a plank of wood to latch onto. If Kaveh, the epitome of a man jumping into the sea to save the rest despite his inability to swim, finally made a decision for himself, finally reached for a plank of wood, and that this is to cut ties with Alhaitham, why should he stop it?

Nilou stands still, her soft gaze searching into the eyes of the Scribe, looking at the cogs turning inside. After a moment, she says: “Well. If you need to talk, or even just sit in silence for a while, you’re always welcome at Zubayr Theater.”

After all the active support he got from Cyno, Tighnari, Dehya, and even Lord Kusanali, the simple offer of passive listening suddenly seems like the greatest gift of them all.

“Thank you.” He simply says.

“It's nothing.” She responds.

It’s plenty.

———

The worst idea Alhaitham gets is going to the house of Daena to escape the bustling streets. His head still stuck on the ramifications of the UKP ^{(Usual Kaveh Pattern)}, he wonders about the involvement of the APCF ^{(Alhaitham’s Presence Chaos Factor)} in other parts of the formula. Surely, it has a place in the S-UKP ^(Sex-UKP), or even the R-UKP ^{(Routine-UKP)}. They were part of each other’s daily life, after all. And like every time he reaches a stalling point in his research, his steps lead his distracted brain to the place where he can find more information.

This is a very familiar place, where he grew up through the years, scrummaging around for books as a student, working for hours on projects as an undergraduate, casually ordering the shelves as a young member of the Mahamata, leisurely reading as the Scribe. It is his default place of comfort nowadays; the atmosphere immediately soothes his accumulated annoyance at any outside noises.

This is where he met Kaveh for the first time.

The Scribe freezes when he walks by the exact table. He remembers being extremely confused at the random blond student’s coming up to him.

This is where, as Alhaitham buried his head in a book, trying his best to ignore the really loud group of students laughing a few meters to the side, Kaveh asked if everything was okay.

First, the question “Is everything okay?”, threw Alhaitham off. Was someone, other than his late grandma, actually able to read his expression? At the time, it was an already well-established factor of his life, that people couldn’t see through his stony facade, and most assumed Alhaitham to be nothing more than an abrasive statue in the corner. And a statue can’t be hurt. A statue can’t be bothered. Maybe some people expected the blade to break against hard rock if they stabbed him with a knife. People didn’t care if they were hurting Alhaitham. Because Alhaitham didn’t get hurt. He was barely human, an expressionless sack of stone silent off to the side.

And Kaveh asked the marble if everything was okay. It was such a strange and bold question. Such a pointless act of kindness. So inherently Kaveh.

The students chatting in the corner—his Haravatat schoolmates—, already well aware of Alhaitham’s character, quieted down to spy on the scene. They probably expected this blond senior to be ignored like the rest, or, if he was lucky enough to hear the cold genius’s tone of voice, to be shut down with a biting comment.

Alhaitham did deliver the bites. “Do you go around inquiring to all the loners in the house of Daena? You probably shouldn’t. Some scholars might not appreciate the disturbance.”

The group snickered. Kaveh frowned at them. But he turned back to smile at Alhaitham. “Right. It is sometimes noisy here. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. You surely don’t need any more annoyances.”

He then stared at the group one more time, reproachful, eyes shooting fire, expression closed off, so different to the one addressed to his lonesome junior a moment before, so alive. Alhaitham wondered how one could contort his face so fast to express that many nuances in a matter of seconds.

Then, Kaveh grabbed his hand, forcefully raising him to his feet. “Pack up your stuff. I know a quieter place.”

Stunned, Alhaitham followed. Oh, he realized, he thought I was being bullied.

The Scribe traces back the path they took between the bookshelves that day.

Two rows further, and three aisles to the left. Surprisingly, Kaveh did lead him to a quieter place, stuck in a corner between two racks, a little table with a single lamp occupying the space, and papers, pencils and different tracing tools spread around.

The place is empty now, gathering dust, the single lamp’s light wavering. It is still an unpopular spot in the house of Daena, the two surrounding racks gathering random logs of navigations and messed up maps. Alhaitham sits down in one of the creaking chairs, his hand caressing the table, leaving a trail in the dust.

It became their reserved spot. They didn’t talk much the first day, Alhaitham just correcting Kaveh’s false impression about the bullying, and the blond offering for him to come any time to this remote table, nonetheless. Kaveh drew in silence, tongue already into the habit of sticking out when he was focused, and Alhaitham read in peace. It was pleasant, so the junior came back the following day. And the day after.

They didn’t stay silent very long. Soon, they found themselves disagreeing on every subject imaginable, both too honest to concede, and too opinionated to simply nod along. It was a surprise to Alhaitham. With his emotionless face, he understood early on that he should use direct, blunt words to be heard, to counterbalance his lack of facial expressions. Kaveh could construct an entire argument with his mimics alone. Where Alhaitham decided to be brutally honest, Kaveh didn’t have a choice: when he was disagreeing, his mouth would tear down into a frown, his eyebrows sinking with it, his entire face twisting around the words roaming in his head.

It felt easy, direct, fun even. They spent hours sharpening each other’s minds, stuck between two book racks in a forgotten corner. It did happen at some point, that they got too heated and were invited by the library staff -not so cordially-, to take their arguments elsewhere. And they would still continue their debates outside, roaming through the streets or the gardens, discovering each other’s taste in food, drinks, plants, animals, and everything they laid their attention upon.

(Years later, after numerous trifles, drama, and one palace of Alcazarzaray behind, it also became their default make-out spot. Neither of them really proud of it. But sometimes, starting a heated debate in the library inevitably drove them to desire each other, their house suddenly so far away.

Alhaitham can’t help but remember dropping Kaveh on the table, grabbing the crest of his hips strong enough to bruise, latching furiously onto his lips to swallow a last retort. If he learned earlier that this was the way to get his senior to shut up, maybe they never would have had any disputes.)

It was also where they first kissed.

Well.

Not really.

It hadn’t been intentional, and Kaveh probably doesn’t remember it. It was one of these silly accidents that tends to happen when someone gets rowdy. As banal and boring as the context.

As per usual, they were reading and drawing. Kaveh was getting annoyed, tracing line after line, only to erase them immediately after. Alhaitham, pretending to read at that point, was watching him, amused, searching for the perfect comment to rile up his senior even further.

Dramatically, the future architect thrashed his arms upward. The suddenness of the gesture tipped his chair into an unstable balance, and Kaveh fell backward. In a reflex, Alhaitham grabbed one of his arms, only to be dragged down by the motion. Panicked, he put his hands in front of himself, bracing for the impact.

 When his palms reached the ground, he felt relieved despite his heart beating fast under the rush of adrenaline. A soft texture pressed fleetingly against his lips, disappearing immediately after. To this day, the order of realization stays perfectly clear in his mind: Alhaitham registered the ruby eyes staring right back at him, a few centimeters apart. Close. Too close. He then understood what the soft touch was when Kaveh moved back, extricating himself from the weird, tangled mess composed of his junior, the chair, and himself.

It was Kaveh’s lips, that soft sensation. Alhaitham just kissed Kaveh. Their mouths pressed together. He was granted the knowledge of what kissing the emerging star of Kshahrewar felt like. A little chapped and bitten by anxiety, but soft, incredibly hot. Probably. He wasn’t sure. It was so short.

Kaveh laughed it off with a bright smile, pointing out the ridiculousness of the “right out of a cheap romance novel” situation, before moving to pick up his chair and continue drawing, mood bettered by the silly incident.

Alhaitham stayed on the ground for a bit. Not long enough for anyone to suspect the internal turmoil, but sufficiently to realize, to notice the alarm bells going off in his head.

His brain short-circuited.

Alhaitham wasn’t blind. He had noticed that his senior could be considered objectively attractive. A nice face, beautiful eyes, and a smile that illuminates rooms. But Alhaitham had discarded that in favor of Kaveh’s enthralling mind. How could people stop at a pretty face, and not see the resourcefulness, stubbornness, and world-shattering creativity behind simple, boring (but, yes, pretty) batting eyelashes?

That day, he took it back. Kaveh was beautiful. And he just kissed him. And he wanted to do it one more time. Ten more times. Many more times.

Their fallout happened soon after, crushing every hope of that happening.

Alhaitham stays at the table until he loses track of time, with the same crushing feeling they parted on, all those years ago. His heart stands broken yet again, Kaveh gone without a trace.

Ah, right. This is what heartbreak feels like. In their complacent years living under the same roof, he forgot.

He would have preferred to remember this sensation in the comfort of his own house, not stuck between two stacks of unused books in the immensity of the house of Daena.

He ignores the part of himself that screams he would have preferred to not remember it at all.

———

“Alhaitham.”

He is awakened by a pissed-off Cyno. This is becoming routine.

“Thank Archons some Matras saw you entering and informed me before I threw myself across the country. Again.”

Alhaitham glances around, confused by the darkness that settled in the library while he was asleep, before understanding he passed out for a few hours.

It takes a few seconds more to guess that Cyno and Tighnari, when knocking on his door for dinner, as has been their usual for the past three days, immediately assumed that Alhaitham had run off when he didn’t answer.

“Sorry.”

The general peels off his intimidating mask and sighs. “How many times am I going to hear you apologize over this happening?”

Alhaitham doesn’t respond. There is still a void inside his chest, and he can’t guarantee what he’ll do while it closes.

Cyno, as it seems to be his default response to Alhaitham these past few days, sighs again. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

He scoffs. Right. ‘Home’.

———

“We’re going on a trip”, Tighnari declares authoritatively, the following morning.

Cyno raises an eyebrow, sat on the sofa. After Alhaitham’s act of disappearance to the house of Daena, they both spent the night there.

(Robbing Alhaitham of some sleep yet again, as he couldn’t indulge in his incessant thoughts crawling back to the memory of Kaveh’s body, and was forced to stare at his ceiling, his half-hard length tight in his pants, pondering, once again, if masturbating while his two friends were sleeping one room away behind a thin wall was worth it.

After much pondering, he decided it was not, and chose the insomnia. He used it to make progress in the S-UKP ^{(Sex-Usual Kaveh Pattern)} yet again. It helped neither his semi-hard erection, nor his insomnia.)

They both share a knowing glance before Cyno follows through with: “Right, I heard that the traveler uncovered new ruins in the desert. Again.”

“They do discover a new one every two weeks”, mumbles Tighnari.

It seems like a normal conversation about local news, but Alhaitham does notice the slight tension in their voices, their bodies barely turned towards the Scribe, observing his reactions. They are scheming something, but he doesn’t care. Alhaitham is tired of reading into the intentions of everyone around him, tired of dealing with everyone’s worry. So, he doesn’t react.

With and without surprise, this false random conversation reveals to be their casual way of inviting Alhaitham out of the city. It is actually a good idea; he’ll give them that. His mind stays trapped all day while stuck here, suffering from the ever-expanding KNMA ^{(Kaveh's Noticeable Memory Archive)}, sinking into the depths of his own memories.

But he is not sure the desert is the perfect place to go to forget. Most of the trips Alhaitham and Kaveh shared as a couple consisted of examining every newly discovered ruin in the middle of the sands. Going there alone can’t be the solution. But it might make him realize: this is his life without Kaveh. This is what these horrendous trips become, stuck with sand in his shoes, heat suffocating, water never enough.

So, trying to take a step in the direction of healing, Alhaitham doesn’t fuss around much, and just goes along with Cyno’s and Tighnari’s invitation. The three of them leave Sumeru city after lunch, taking their time to pack their things, and properly settle their last professional responsibilities (which consist of doing a quick rundown of the Matra’s urgent affairs for Cyno, and dumping most of his tasks in a paper addressed to Collei for Tighnari).

They take a leisurely pace as they traverse through the forest, the ranger glad to stop at every peculiar plant species to take notes, and rambles out loud on their properties, eyes shining like a kid on a field trip. He seems so happy, so free to let his researcher side out and study whatever picks his fancy. As good and natural as he is at it, Tighnari doesn’t particularly appreciate being in charge, relishing every second he gets as a wandering scholar, free of any duty.

Cyno, on the contrary, never completely lets his guard down. Alhaitham can’t decipher if there is a more profound reason for it, but the general seems to like watching over his boyfriend, making decisions for them both, and patiently listening to any of Tighnari’s long unprompted lectures. Alhaitham can clearly see the soft gazes, the slight smiles, every time the Valuka Shuna opens his mouth.

So, yes, Cyno and Tighnari aren’t the perfect companions to forget about Kaveh either. All of their shared words and interactions scream their love for the other, and would make even a married couple feel single. Witnessing this blatant display of affection just sinks Alhaitham’s mood even further. The fond but exasperated gaze of Tighnari at each of Cyno’s jokes, the casual way Cyno wraps his arm around his boyfriend’s waist to make him sidestep a hole on the road, Tighnari’s swaying tail each time they talk… it all makes him boil with envy.

Of course, with their pace, it takes two days to traverse the rainforest. At night, while camping outside, as Cyno and Tighnari talk quietly by the fire, sometimes throwing some worried glances at Alhaitham, the Scribe notices the outlines of scribbling in the soil.

“““Nara Duracara, are you okay?”””

“““Nara Alhaitham should sleep more! Nara Alhaitham only lays down at night! To sleep, Nara must close their eyes!”””

“““Don’t worry, Aranara are looking out for Nara Alhaitham and his other Nara friend in Vana! Nara Alhaitham can sleep!”””

He chuckles at the messages. For divine ancestral creatures, they really sound like innocent children. As he traces over the messy letters in the mud, he silently thanks them for looking after Kaveh. He thanks them for their innocent and honest care, a quality that has even disappeared in his two current companions, as Alhaitham feels himself getting more and more stuck in his own head.

He doesn’t respond to any of them though, unsure if they would report it back to Kaveh. If his (ex?) boyfriend is trying to forget, trying to take some distance from their relationship, Alhaitham shouldn’t make it harder. Controlling the urge is difficult. But here, Alhaitham can’t be egotistical, can’t follow his desires. Forcing them on Kaveh never ended well.

So, he lies down for the night, and his mind painfully turns itself to sleep.

(Always with the image of Kaveh dancing on the back of his eyelids, of their numerous sleepless nights in the throes of one another, of his laughs, moans, breaths, whines.)

But, in the middle of the night, Alhaitham wakes up. And, upon once again looking around for Kaveh without finding him near, his resolve wavers. He pushes the pad of his index in moist soil between a tree.

“““Do you think Kaveh hates me now?”””

A few days before, Alhaitham would have laughed at his own question. How childish. He feels like he has gone back to his Akademiya days, stuck on a simple happenstance, shaken by an accidental touch.

He doesn’t even expect a response. After all, the Aranara have always been evasive each time he asked about Kaveh. So, he turns his gaze back to the extinguished fire, and tries to make out Cyno’s and Tighnari’s mute conversations as they guard the encampment, praying for his brain to stop working, to stop throwing a tantrum, to stop looking for an excuse -any excuse- to continue yearning for the architect.

But, while he tosses and turns from yet another bout of insomnia, he catches the messy handwriting just under his.

“““Nara Prakasha couldn’t have been hurt if Nara Prakasha didn’t like Nara Alhaitham very much.”””

Such a simple, candid, obvious answer. But his mind trips on it for the rest of the night.

———

The world seems to spin around him when they reach Caravan Ribat in the morning. His distress must alert Cyno and Tighnari to a new degree as, in the corner of his disorganized brain, he registers a pair of arms circling his torso, the general initiating a hug for the first time (still under the watchful gaze of his boyfriend: Alhaitham can’t decipher if this is weariness caused by jealousy, or a prayer born of worries).

He doesn’t respond to it, too focused on the intense whirlwind inside.

‘The eagle misses the lion. Why isn’t that important?’

Something is wrong. A part of his reasoning does not hold. This afterthought now aggresses him, begging to be properly formulated.

‘What about you?

I am not.’

Alhaitham is not fine. But he knows he eventually will be. It is a lack of foresight to believe that heartbreak lasts forever. However, this fact keeps gnawing at him, like he is missing the point.

‘Is everything okay? I know a quieter place.’

He knows his needs. Kaveh isn’t one of them. He is an improvement, a marvelous joy, an infinite source of pleasure, but his involvement in Alhaitham’s life isn’t a requirement for its quality. And the reverse is true. But even so…

‘Nara Prakasha couldn’t have been hurt if Nara Prakasha didn’t like Nara Alhaitham very much.’

Kaveh chose this. He chose all of it in the library when he accosted Alhaitham. He chose to drag this unemotional blockhead of a junior through countless theater and dance performances. He chose to question the marble, to worry about the bullying, to live with the eagle.

He chose to write a 5-page letter.

What did Alhaitham choose?

To watch over the lion. To go back to the forgotten corner of the house of Daena. To offer shelter in his time of need.

But in this crisis? Nothing.

Kaveh made his choice. He dumped all of his feelings, raw on paper, either to touch Alhaitham to the core, or to free all his pent-up emotions, it doesn’t matter. It could be a breakup letter; it could be a cry for help. It could be the sign to let go, or to grab hold as firm as possible.

Alhaitham doesn’t want to let go.

This simple, easy, banal realization chases away the fog in his mind.

It was that simple. Alhaitham doesn’t want to be alright.

He doesn’t want to wait and forget; he doesn’t want their relationship to be brushed off with the tides of time.

Alhaitham unconsciously rejected the idea of letting Kaveh go. They already tried it in the past. They both remember the GPI ^{(Graduation Project Incident)}. Alhaitham doesn’t want another try at erasing all their shared memories, cutting ties, ripping it all apart.

Despite the fights, despite the noise, despite the endless misunderstandings…

Today, again, he chooses Kaveh. As a part of his life, as a solace of comfort, as a calming routine.

He didn’t need any other motive in the first place.

“I… won’t be going into the desert.”

His voice surprises Cyno and Tighnari. They frown, maybe at the prospect of their aborted trip.

“I’m not letting this go. I need to find Kaveh”, and I am the one who wants it. Needs it. Not Kaveh.

For the first time in the last 15 days, the sighs he gets in response are out of relief.

Chapter Text

The trip to the desert is immediately abandoned. Following Alhaitham’s sudden burst of energy, Cyno and Tighnari rush back with him to Sumeru city, covering the distance in merely 6 hours.

They nearly stop at Pardis Dhyai on the way under Tighnari’s advice, because Alhaitham can’t be bothered to skirt around enemies, he gets away with a few bruises. But the forest ranger understands his suggestion is useless when the Scribe zooms right past it, dashing through a horde of startled fungi. With Tighnari anxiously and aggressively reminding Alhaitham to be careful, Cyno is left in charge of their security, closing their trails, making sure nothing followed them (be it mechanical creatures, aggravated fungi, or angry Eremites).

Alhaitham arrives at his house at around 7 pm, Cyno and Tighnari in tow. He throws all his notes onto the desk in the study, then scrummages through bookshelves, piles of books forgotten on tables, and every other flat surface hosting them (again, the phantom voice of Kaveh resonates in his head as it  berates him for the mess, worsening his loneliness each time). He searches for any material that could be linked to the Aranaras: he gathers fairy tales about myths and legends, reports of strange forest apparitions, theological studies about the dendro archon, and transcripts of child testimonies around strange imaginary friends in even stranger Matra cases.

Cyno frowns at the sight of these transcripts, materials that Alhaitham dubiously kept after quitting his post of Acting Grand Sage. But if the general has learned anything from these past few days, it’s that morally grey areas will not stop the Scribe. So, Cyno adds nothing more, and without being prompted, starts reading through some of the reports, silently offering his help.

“What are we searching for?” He asks, his eyes scrutinizing testimony from three months ago, on a case about children disappearing.

“Any sightings of the Aranaras”, quickly responds Alhaitham, spreading out all the papers he can on the desk to have a broader view.

“The Aranaras? Why? They saw Kaveh?”

Eyes flying through the messy documentation, the casual tone of Cyno’s voice doesn't escape the Scribe. While he was waiting for his sanity to yet again be put into question, Cyno simply brushed over the mention of little fantastical creatures living in Sumeru.

 “You knew about them.” Concludes Alhaitham.

“Sure. They show up sometimes when I go to see Lord Kusanali. Or… whenever I’m going through the forest.”

“They let you see them.”

“Apparently.”

Alhaitham barely restrains from lashing out at Cyno about how he could have made this connection a lot sooner had they just talked. But then, he remembers the numerous times he dashed out these last few days, nose in his notes, not stopping to listen to anyone. This miscommunication might not be on Cyno.

At least, Alhaitham gives him the benefit of the doubt, and only lets out a frustrated sigh before responding. “The lesser lord told me they were looking after Kaveh. So, if I find them, I find him. Or get information on his location at least.”

“I see. Maybe I can ask the next time I see them?”

Alhaitham pauses his reading to close his eyes and ponder the proposition. The lion and eagle need honest, direct communication. “No need. I am done increasing the number of intermediates between us. I want to speak with him face to face.”

“About time”, scoffs Tighnari behind them.

They both turn to him, astonished.

“What?” He continues, crossing his arms. “I’m sick of hearing about your problems at each and every dinner, Alhaitham. While he is incredibly entertaining when complaining, it’s been years. About time one of you realizes this is not how problems are solved.”

After observing for a bit longer, the Scribe notices the way his tail swishes against the floor, and the slight furrow of his eyebrows. Tighnari is grumpy. And Alhaitham can’t fathom why.

Thankfully, Cyno reads Valuka Shuna corporal language (or maybe just Tighnari's). “Alhaitham, let him tend to your injuries. He won’t settle down otherwise.”

“If we had stopped at Pardis Dhyai, I would have had better equipment”, grumbles the forest ranger.

This is that mother hen’s instinct of his taking over. Alhaitham lets out an amused huff, and moves his chair back, giving Tighnari more space to work around. “Sure. If I can still read while you do it.”

“‘Sure’ he says” Tighnari grumbles, but approaches nonetheless, inspecting the bruises on Alhaitham’s arm.

The Scribe brings his attention back to Cyno. “Do you have any idea of where they might live? Do they have a village? An organization? Culture?”

“Hey, slow down, you are starting to sound like a rookie Matra. One question at a time, and let's gather facts first”, A playful smile flashes on his lips, and the little ‘oh no’ of Tighnari behind him does nothing to stop the next sentence from coming out. “Let’s not make any general-izations too quickly here.”

Dead silence. Only the sound of bandages being wrapped around Alhaitham’s arm.

“You know. General. My job. But generalizations. The act of making broader statements from facts. But it can also sound like Alhaitham is becoming more and more like a gen-”

“Cyno. Please”, curtly interferes Tighnari.

“Oh”, lowering his gaze, Cyno loses his smile quickly. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll switch to work mode.”

“I know these last few days have been hard on you." adds his boyfriend, in a softer, caring tone, "But hang in there a bit longer, ok?”

“Okay, I will, thanks Nari”, Cyno’s gaze turns soft before hardening back into seriousness. (‘Fortunately’ Alhaitham might add. Because again: the level of sweetness they casually display makes him feel incredibly lonely).

“So, here is what I know about the Aranaras”, starts Cyno, “they are mostly green or orange, 50 centimeters tall, round-shaped with childlike faces, and masters at hiding. I don’t have any insight on a potential village, or community, but they all seem to know each other and can access knowledge and memories efficiently. They have an impressive information network; it even helps me with cases sometimes. But other than their sporadic appearances, I have no idea about their usual locations. Most adults don’t see them. They could be anywhere.”

Alhaitham lets out an aggravated sigh, inquiring eyes back on the desk. “This is going to be a pain.”

“As if besieging Alcazarzaray and reforming Port Ormos weren’t?” adds Tighnari, moving around the chair to reach for the other arm.

“You have a point.”

They comb through files until the sky turns completely dark, and even further into the night. Tighnari joins them once he makes sure every wound has been taken care of. Obvious lies and misunderstandings are rejected, extracting the plausible testimonies. But even then, it stays messy and not entirely coherent. To mitigate these effects, Alhaitham comes up with a veracity model, to evaluate the truthfulness of the statements based on the vocabulary used, and veracity scores are attributed to each piece of information.

He works swiftly, quickly noting down the rules and hypotheses under Cyno's and Tighnari's astonished gazes, because since when can Haravatat do math like this!? Alhaitham could explain that his sudden improvements in mathematical fields are due to his latest work on the KBM ^{(Kaveh's Behavioral Model)}. But strangely, he has a feeling bringing it up would decrease his credibility. So, he says nothing, and continues to analyze the data meticulously. With a map of Sumeru, they then represent their findings in gradients, to scale the frequency of Aranara appearances across the rainforest.

(Kaveh would have shone in these sorts of situations. Topography, math, and models… while Tighnari relies on his understanding of wildlife to verify their assumptions and results, Cyno on his patrols, and Alhaitham on his encyclopedic memory, they can't match the careful demonstrations of pure logical math, or the precise knowledge about the geographic particularities that Kaveh would bring. They all seem like children playing with clay in comparison).

When the dawn breaks, they haven’t nearly come close to identifying any relevant research zones. The data they have here isn’t enough: they need more. They decide to split up, sweeping larger.  Cyno goes to the Akademiya to access any additional documents he can find. Tighnari goes to the outskirts of town, interrogating the nearby children. Alhaitham runs through the city, through all bookshops, antique dealers, and other more dubious establishments.

———

In his rummaging, Alhaitham passes once more through the Grand Bazaar. He pauses for a while when he realizes this might be a good place to get more information. After all, here resides the main organizers of the Subzeruz Festival, Kusanali's firmest believers. They might know legends about their lord's benevolence, her powers, and familiars. His arms already full of scrolls and books, he searches for someone in particular: Nilou. The most devoted follower he knows, and a deceptively wise one at that.

As usual, she is around the Zubayr Theater's scene, and Alhaitham finds her giving gentle guidance to other dancers, her graceful movements and warm smiles encouraging and inviting. As she sees him approach, she ushers some words to her students and strolls toward him without delay.

"Hello Alhaitham! Here to talk? Let me finish this dance class and I'm all ears!"

It's only then that the Scribe remembers their last discussion, her last offer. "Not… that kind of talk", he corrects, weirdly embarrassed. "Only a quick question."

Intrigued, she stills and looks straight at him. "Sure, ask away!"

"What can you tell me about the dendro archon's powers?"

Her eyes widen, not expecting this subject. "I… am not sure what you are looking for in my answer that you don't already know but…" she takes a bit of time to ponder, eyes shifting up, a delicate finger pausing on her lower lip. "I believe the dendro archon's power to be vast, and wide. I can't give you a quick answer. There are so many myths and legends, so many different stories about how Lesser Lord Kusanali's benevolence changed the lives of her people."

"Don't worry. Just… Tell me the first thing that comes to mind", After all, Nilou always has a simple, yet creative point of view: it might cause a breakthrough. He would have liked to sit and listen through all the myths and legends, all the fairy tales that the members of Zubayr Theater express on stage. But, as always, Kaveh comes first and blocks out any thoughts towards leisure or curiosity.

She lets out a little laugh. "Okay, I can do that! So: the first thing I thought when you asked me about the dendro archon's powers is her strange connection to dreams."

He squints his eyes, encouraging her to explain her thoughts in detail.

"In all her powers, the one that always amazed me the most was her capacity to visit anyone in dreams. She can see all the wonders in the world, just from inside the host's mind. Isn't it a beautiful concept? I believe that dreams reflect the deepest part of our personalities. How fitting, for the God of Wisdom, to be able to fathom every mind, to see every bit of everyone's subjectivity and experiences. Adding all perspectives together… Doesn't it incarnate the purest sense of the word ‘wisdom’?"

Alhaitham smiles at her. Talking to Nilou always turns out to be a good idea. Here again, she so easily pointed out something he had overlooked: Lord Kusanali's affinity with dreams. It isn't an obvious link to make for a brain developed in a society of scholars, treating dreams like the biggest aberrations of the human mind. For centuries, dreams in Sumeru were seen as the opposite of knowledge, closer to the brink of madness. It is easy for an Akademiya scholar like himself to disregard the deep link they seem to hold with the dendro archon.

But Nilou has grown on her own, without any thinking authority to manipulate her. She has been lulled by legends, now working to sell dreams and wonders to her audience. This life, far from books and standard education, hasn't dulled her mind nonetheless, and she has thoughts of her own, far from the strict rules of the House of Daena, far from the Darshans. Why wouldn't the dendro archon be linked to dreams? Why should wisdom reject absurdity? Isn't its goal to explain even the most improbable? And what better tool than dreams to explore the impossible?

"This power over dreams. Could it be shared with, let's say… some of her familiars?" asks Alhaitham.

Nilou smiles, visibly excited by the prospect. "Oh, I would hope so! Isn't sharing the point of this power in the first place?" Noticing she got carried away, she shifts awkwardly on her feet. "But this… is just me guessing here, sorry I can't say more."

"That's fine. Thank you for answering, Nilou."

It's plenty. Alhaitham has learned to trust her intuition by now.

With this information, the Aranaras having dream-related powers doesn't seem far-fetched.

———

When he returns to the house, Alhaitham immediately goes through his entire book, script, and report collection a second time. He searches for strange dream occurrences, or any stories about someone falling asleep in the middle of the woods, but staying miraculously unharmed. These events are much more factual and rational than apparitions from the legend, and the data he gathers is overall more reliable: the more ordinary it seems, the less people fantasize and extrapolate.

Cyno and Tighnari come back a bit later, tired, with some scraps of information, but no major breakthroughs. It takes another 7 hours to organize the new data with the old, strengthen their model, and modify the map accordingly.

“And all that to conclude, they appear all around the forest”, sighs or yawns Cyno to their blurry tracing.

“I mean… They are more frequently sighted in a 10 km radius of villages, but I do think it correlates more to the human density in those areas”, analyzes Tighnari, eyes bloodshot, “We have reports of adventurers seeing apparitions or strange dreams in the deeper woods. So, it doesn’t mean much.”

Discouragement sweeps the room. Alhaitham closes his eyes for a while, massaging his eyebrows to delay the impending headache. He reopens them on the map, and to his dismay, nothing magically springs to his view.

“Let’s… sleep on it”, suggests Tighnari, “We practically stayed up all last night, and we might have clearer perspectives tomorrow morning.”

All but that, Alhaitham thinks. All but returning to the twists and turns of an empty bed. It makes him stay frozen above their blurry scratching, hoping to suddenly find an irregularity in the statistics, a slight peak in the data, to give him a path to follow.

“There… is a slight bump around Vimara village”, he tries.

“So slight that it probably doesn’t mean anything”, sighs Cyno. “But let’s go investigate there tomorrow. I think we’ve got the most of what we could in Sumeru City. We should try other places.”

“You’re right. We should pack—"

“Tomorrow, Alhaitham”, Tighnari berates. “Get some sleep, you look horrible.”

And that’s that. He can no longer delay the dreadful restless night. 

———

They depart early, despite the tiredness of harassing days dragging their energy down. They follow the river of the Ardravi valley in a quiet state, barely talking to each other. It’s only when they arrive at Vimara village that their brains restart. Slowly.

“So. How do we proceed?”, starts Cyno, the freshest of the three, already used to streaks of sleepless nights with his job.

“Interrogate the children. They are the more probable witnesses after all”, responds Alhaitham.

“You… might want to leave that job to me”, interferes Tighnari. “Cyno tends to scare them away.”

“I’ll investigate the surroundings then. And you, Alhaitham?”

“I’ll start by investigating too. I take the north; you take the south?”

With a nod, they all go their separate ways.

Their information gathering isn’t going well here either. Most of the questioned children don’t want to “sell out” their Aranara friends and keep a muted silence around the subject. Fortunately, kids aren’t the greatest liars, allowing them to at least confirm the regular apparitions of Aranaras in the village. But, apart from adding starker color to their gradients, it doesn’t give many more clues.

By noon, they had already looked in every nook and cranny of the small village, from the fishing gear to the tallest hill, from the abandoned wooden houses to the peaceful docks.

Sat on rocks near the outskirts, map spread between the three of them, they all stare at it in silence, hoping that something comes to one of their minds.

“We might as well try to interrogate the adults”, Cyno throws out.

Tighnari nods. “That’s an idea. At least, we’ll have tested all the possibilities, and it will spare us some regrets later.”

“Alright”, the general gets up slowly, begrudgingly, like all his muscles are starting to hurt.

Alhaitham kind of envies the only “starting to hurt” state; he stopped caring about his own muscle aches three days ago. He can’t recuperate and has grown used to them by now. (Something that Tighnari must absolutely not know about, lest Alhaitham wants to be forced into bed for an undetermined amount of time).

It leaves the forest ranger and the Scribe alone, in a tired silence above their map.

Tighnari breaks it with a sigh. “I swear, that architect…”

Alhaitham scoffs.

“We now know he is safe at least. But I truly hope he’ll stop getting us so worried at times”, A tint of sadness can be heard in Tighnari’s voice. “Thanks, for looking after him after… That whole palace incident, by the way.”

“Thanks for looking after him during it.”

Tighnari sighs at the memories, a note of regret in his voice. “It was hard not to. His passion really draws you in. Whether it is to complain, or to describe which colors the plants should be, to match the pattern of a rug.”

Alhaitham throws the Valuka Shuna a glance and catches the fond, nostalgic gaze on his face. This is not the first time he thought about it these days, but what a blessing it is, for Kaveh to have a friend like Tighnari. A friend that worries, will go out of his way to help, but can also keep him in check. While looking at the dropping tail and ears, Alhaitham also realizes he isn’t the only one missing Kaveh, and isn't the only one disheartened by his sudden disappearance. Kaveh didn’t even leave a letter to Tighnari; all his reproaches and desperations were packed in the C5L ^{(Cursed 5-Page Letter)}, for Alhaitham only. Really, that’s not how you take care of such a good friend (he’ll be sure to remind the architect, if he ever sees him again).

Alhaitham, taking advantage of the last remark, tries to fish out some more information. “So, he complains about me.”

Tighnari picks up on it immediately. “I won’t go into the specifics. He put his trust in me to not divulge his secrets, after all. But…” he shifts his gaze to the sky, letting out a sigh of resignation, as if he doesn’t have any other choice but to answer. “Mostly, he needs your support sometimes. It must be tiring to not be given any slack by your partner.”

Alhaitham frowns. “He basically does whatever he wants with my house and my mora. What other support does he want?”

A short laugh. “Oh, don’t worry, you are spoiling him, that’s not even a question! But… sometimes, comfort might be more appreciated. Sometimes, you don’t need a solution, a change of subject or a reality check, just a shoulder to cry on.”

Right. Alhaitham gets it. Someone as emotional as Kaveh needs an outlet, a safe place, where all can be dumped and forgotten after. But it’s stronger than him; he needs to stop Kaveh from getting sad. Every time he sees his teary red eyes, lips wobbling, Alhaitham’s brain switches gears to find a solution, anything to get that smile back, to alleviate the heaviness relentlessly cradling those frail shoulders. Kaveh is strong. Alhaitham knows that. But, sometimes, he wishes he didn’t have to be.

Also, sometimes, Alhaitham can’t bear the blatant neglect Kaveh forces on himself, serving the world before his needs. At least one person must fulfill them, right? And if Kaveh himself isn’t going to do it, then Alhaitham has to step in. Has he been denying Kaveh’s emotions, while trying to melt his burdens away? Has he obstructed the architect’s emotional cord, suffocating it through quick solutions and help, while his attention was the only thing required?

Alhaitham only notices the silence that settles when Tighnari breaks it. “Well. I’m a bit rested. I’ll go help Cyno with his interrogations and make sure he doesn’t scare the life out of the inhabitants.”

A slight smirk draws on Alhaitham’s lips at the thought. That is a valid concern with Cyno’s bluntness and assertiveness. “Sure.”

“Wait for us, ok? Please, take care of yourself.”

A noncommittal hum responds to the forest ranger as he strolls back to the center of the village, to go look for his boyfriend.

For once, Alhaitham follows the advice, and closes his eyes, listening to the wind in the branches, focusing on his breathing, trying to occupy his mind with the outside world, to escape from the maze of memories.

When he calmly opens his eyes, familiar traces in the mud catch his eyes. Well. Mostly familiar.

“““Nara Alhaitham!”””

“““No! It’s Nara Duracara!”””

“““Yes! Yes Duracara!”””

“““Why are you looking for Aranara?”””

“““Only bad Nara forces Aranara to appear!”””

“““Are you a bad nara, nara Alhaitham!””” “““It’s Duracara! Nara Duracara!”””

“““Nara Duracara, you must not go up the river!”””

“““Yes, nothing to see up the river!”””

“““Nothing!”””

“““Yes, nothing!”””

They do seem a bit more frantic than usual, and their insistence on not going up the river really is suspicious. It makes something click in Alhaitham’s brain. Their childlike nature. Their agitation. Their weird insistence.

Oh.

The Aranaras are bad liars.

Following that trail of thought, if he wants to find them, he should absolutely go up the river.

Alhaitham considers alerting Cyno and Tighnari, but another thing clicks: they only ever write these messages for the Scribe’s eyes only. While in his friends’ presence, not a sole mudded trace ever appeared. It might be a coincidence. It might be nothing of note. But it might be a pattern too.

Surely, Cyno and Tighnari can take care of Vimara village.

Surely, Alhaitham can take a little stroll… and see what is going on further up the river.

Chapter Text

A lonely stroll alongside the riverbank reveals to be more gratifying than expected for Alhaitham. He watches the water gently running its course, dashing past him with a continuous, strong flow and, for the first time in what feels like forever, he takes a minute to feel the sun heat his skin.

As he gazes to the side, on the damp bank, he spots frenetic and clumsy writing from the Aranaras.

“““Nara Alhaitham, stop!”””

“““Not that way!”””

“““Bad! You are a bad Nara!”””

“““Yeah, yeah! Bad Nara Duracara!”””

He appears to be on the right track, then. Each time he spots a new scribble in the mud, Alhaitham can’t help the smirk straining on his lips, as their panic reminds him of a certain individual who also gets quickly worked up when teased. It brings a sense of normalcy that has been cruelly lacking recently.

The last two days of hectic data gathering switched most of his brain off. The constant rummaging, frantically searching for any relevant piece of paper felt like reliving the worst of his Akademiya's days.

Most of the time, Alhaitham breezed through assignments, as understanding subjects (or more importantly, understanding what the professors had in mind) was never difficult for him. But there is far more to the Akademiya than the pure desire for wisdom and enlightenment. Sometimes, they don't want the students to understand anything. Some professors aren’t there to teach things, but to hold their unfathomable knowledge above every head, to prove their social standing, and to brainwash the poor lost souls who make the mistake of listening.

For Haravatat, this brainwashing meant dropping a random literacy current from a dead language as a subject, with unachievable deadlines, and berating later for lack of discipline and rushed work. It was the mark of lazy teachers, whose sole accomplishment in life was absorbing all the trivia the Akasha possessed on a random subject. The only solution for passing these horrendous courses was to burn the midnight oil, exploring the entirety of the Akasha for any scrap of information, and mechanically writing it down in a neatly penned file. Those exercises felt dehumanizing and alienating. Each time, Alhaitham begrudgingly turned his brain off, noting down whatever the cursed earpiece ushered on the preciosity movement in old Fontanian texts from the pre-Khaenri'ahn war period.

(That’s just an example, really. He had written tons of assignments like this. But this study in particular stayed in his mind because Kaveh was by his side when he put this one down. The architect's presence always prevented Alhaitham's brain from shutting off completely, keeping him engaged in whatever they were discussing, and it was precisely what made this particular assignment memorable. Strangely enough, Kaveh had been invested in the Fontanian preciosity, and even brought some incredible insights on the whole romantic decorum, on how traces of it still reside in Fontaine current literature. Alhaitham had even written down parts of their arguments in his paper, as their pertinence made them difficult to ignore.

However, since no deep analyses were expected, these reflections were marked down as "irrelevant" multiple times in the margins, causing Alhaitham to lose three full points. He never told Kaveh. Because, after all, it was not his senior's fault that his insights were too intelligent for the assignment. It was not his fault that the professor looked disturbingly stupid in comparison. And it was not his fault, that maybe half of these lost points were the result of Alhaitham telling just that to the professor's face. After this incident, the young ‘insolent’ Haravatat student took on the habit of doing the bare minimum for those dumb Akasha-searching projects, shutting off his brain to get it done faster.)

While their last scrummage for information felt more engaging and meaningful than those horrible Akademiya assignments, the way it turned Alhaitham's brain off felt nostalgic. Now, without the constant rustle of Cyno and Tighnari by his side, without the duty to gather as many details as possible on these little forest fairies, the cogs mindlessly turning in his mind start to find their purpose back, to analyze before going through motions.

And as they are wont to, his thoughts tirelessly come back to Kaveh, to their memories, to their lost daily life and their silly arguments. Alhaitham expected it to be more painful, to stab him like a knife, once Kaveh inevitably comes back to haunt his mind. To his surprise, it is nothing more than a dull ache, bittersweet, and persisting, never really gone. Just flaring up every time it has the opportunity.

So, here he is again, left wondering what Kaveh would do if he was tasked with finding the Aranaras, or simply what he would do while walking by Alhaitham's side. He pictures blond hair floating behind, as the Great and Mighty Light of Kshahrewar would jump from slippery rock to slippery rock like a child, risking falling at each hop. If by his side, Alhaitham would tease about these behaviors. It might be hypocritical and petty, but the Scribe imagines indulging in the temptation of splashing Kaveh with water, just to see more of his cute, outraged face. But despite some initial complaints, the playful glint in the architect’s eyes would illuminate his delicate traits, and after getting back at Alhaitham tenfold by pushing him into the river, Kaveh would break into a pure, joyful laugh.

It all hurts. While picturing this delightful smile, Alhaitham doesn’t feel the lightness that usually comes with daydreaming. Something burns uncomfortably in the middle of his chest, trapped under contracted lungs, struggling to get out, to find an outlet. It’s a subtle uneasy sensation, almost like an itch that can’t be scratched, that doesn’t go away and drives him mad with each passing second. He comes to wish he could switch his brain off on command.

If the walk appears unfinishable in his eyes, each patch of grass an opportunity to recall something about Kaveh, Alhaitham arrives paradoxically early to the first junction. It gets him out of this ruminating state, at least for a while, as he unfolds his spare map to analyze the environment. He left the gradient one at their encampment because he wasn't planning to go very far. Initially. Thankfully, Alhaitham constantly leaves a map in his pouch, among other numerous things.

Here, the river splits into two upstream branches, one toward Gandharva Ville to the east, while the other spreads around the divine tree, circling Sumeru City with shallow water, before dispersing in an arborescence of smaller streams taking their roots inside the verdure. He has no clue which one the Aranaras consider the upstream-you-absolutely-mustn’t-follow. Looking over the countless ramifications disappearing inside the dense forest, he thinks about going back to his friends, sticking to their gruesome, harassing research for crumbs. His guts twist at the idea of regressing to an amorphous state, tossed around by blurry hypotheses and seeds of hope. But it may be the only solution.

This thought disappears immediately as he raises his head from the map and finds familiar scribblings on the soil.

“““Nara Duracara stop!! You must not go upstream, you must not search for Aranaras, or Aranaras will be very mad!”””

“““Yes! And Nara Kaveh too!”””

“““Vanarana not for bad Nara! And Nara Alhaitham acting like a very bad Nara!”””

“““But Nara Alhaitham can act like a good Nara! Nara Alhaitham got rid of Nara Valuka!”””

“““So Nara Alhaitham good Nara or bad Nara?”””

“““Good””” “““bad””” “““good””” “““bad””” “““Aranakula says good!”””

“““Anyway, Aranaras are not sure if Nara Alhaitham good or bad.”””

“““Are us Aranaras… arguing?”””

“““Like Nara Kaveh said?”””

“““Then Aranaras should stay calm. That’s what Nara Kaveh told Aranaras.”””

“““Really? But Nara Kaveh never calm when speaking about Nara Alhaitham.”””

“““Aravi is confused.”””

“““Maybe because Nara Alhaitham is a bad Nara?”””

“““No! Nara Alhaitham is a good Nara!”””

“““Araja thinks that Aranaras’ argument isn’t going anywhere…”””

And they wrote all this while Alhaitham was consulting the map. The letters are getting even messier, showing signs of panic. His simple stroll to the north is getting them more agitated than expected. They even spilled information about Kaveh. Had Alhaitham looked away for a bit longer, how much more would they have written he wonders?

With these observations, the Scribe makes his decision; he is not going backwards and will continue his ascension upstream. If he can gauge the Aranaras’ reactions by their writing style, there is a chance it might lead to his goal. At least, it will be more entertaining than drawing fuzzy gradients from irregular data. 

A fleeting thought goes to Cyno and Tighnari, left behind yet again without any explanation. He does feel a little bad; but as always, Alhaitham will do what he believes is the most profitable. Even if it means leaving everyone behind.

He brings his focus back to the map; even if separating into multiple branches at the north of Sumeru city, there are two main streams among the countless ramifications. One leads to the palace of Alcazarzaray, while the other, further to the west, goes deeper into the land, disappearing in a patch of inhabited woods where even the forest rangers don’t patrol. Both appear like valid paths.

First, Alcazarzaray is the place where he witnessed the most important Aranara activity. In addition, earlier during his listing of the UKP ^{(Usual Kaveh Pattern)}, he established that this was a possible destination for a depressed Kaveh. So, a valid hypothesis might be that, on his way to the palace, Kaveh met the Aranaras living nearby and changed course. One might theorize that their childlike and innocent disposition charmed the architect more than the ruthlessness of Dori, and he chose to live in the wild with them instead of being hosted by the merchant.

For the second stream, the Aranaras’ link to the forest and their aversion towards humans might suggest their base of operation is far from any civilization. So, they might be hiding deep in the woods, where most humans wouldn’t come to bother them. As to why Kaveh would have ended up there, it is still a mystery.

Alhaitham chooses to go to the palace first: thanks to the numerous trips towards it, he knows the place quite well, so it won’t take long to search here one last time. Research tends to be quicker in a familiar environment, after all.

Closing his map, he lets out a sigh. Going back to this accursed palace doesn’t enchant Alhaitham. The memories of those 5 gruesome days, of writing in the mud and draining his elemental power in a maze of vegetation stay fresh in his mind, and he can still imagine the dirt under his nails, his eyelids burning with tiredness, his surroundings closed off, suffocating, the KBM ^{(Kaveh’s Behavioral Model)} occupying all the available space in his exhausted mind. When his stomach starts to churn at the recollections of Dehya’s attack, he tosses all these memories into a corner. This is not the time to explore his past actions. For now, he needs answers. He needs to go forward.

With a trembling leg, Alhaitham takes the first step towards the palace of Alcazarzaray.

———

A weird bustling crowd interrupts his journey.

After passing Sumeru city and going north, a mix of adventurers, forest rangers, Eremites, and even scholars hinder the way ahead. This is usually a quiet place detached from the city, only interrupted by caravans making their way between the divine tree and Alcazarzaray. There is nothing of interest on the way, as this is just a patch of forest to cross from point A to point B, a commercial route lost in the woods. The road is maintained by rounds of forest rangers and occupied by hurried merchants, who tend to pass the zone as quickly as possible since it is a designated spot for ambushes.

Today, there’s no hurrying merchants complaining about the road being bumpy, the weather too humid, or the tall trees stealing the sunlight. Only curious gazes, people crouching and observing a strange greenish substance covering the ground as far as the eye can see. It seems like putrefied organic matter. It smells like it too.

Approaching, Alhaitham spies on the conversations around.

“And you say it was made by only one vision holder?”

“Really, common mortals can’t compete with the divine gaze.”

“It would make such a good fertilizer! Don’t you think we could start a business with this?”

“Right. And how are you going to convince a dendro vision holder?”

“It could be a breakthrough to accelerate all Amurta’s research… We should consult the sages.”

Alhaitham normally would have walked through the noise without a care in the world, but this green substance awakens a strange feeling of familiarity within him. So, like the countless people around him, he lowers his gaze to the verdant matter, hesitantly bringing his hand to it. Is it safe to the touch? He glances around him for a bit, noticing some staring in his direction (or more precisely, at his vision). He also spots two researchers, busy with their analysis, hands picking up samples of the greenish mush, discussing animatedly as they place their heist in tubes. The Amurta emblem on their chest paired with the lack of gloves convinces the Scribe to finally close the distance between his fingers and the substance.

Suddenly, phantom sensations come back to him.

Thorns against his palms spring to his senses, vines thriving further and further away, spreading wide around a dome, tortuous, twisted, incomprehensible. He feels the familiar fusion with another organism, suddenly aware of its size, from the entrance of the forest to the familiar arches hiding the palace.

"AH!", a voice exclaims, "It… It just moved, didn't it?"

"Stand back!"

A last test with elemental sight confirms it:

this is the rest of his maze.

Stunned, he gazes once more at the greenish substance, spread across the vicinity. Does… it go until the palace? Has it… truly reached that far?

Alhaitham is aware of the numerous unflattering nicknames he gathered throughout the years. The uncontrollable Scribe. The eccentric Mahamata. The Akademiya lunatic. He didn’t and will never really care for them. His individuality has always done him grace, and his quirks even helped secure a comfortable, recluse life, far from the loud crowds he abhors.

But all these nicknames reveal something other than his eccentric side, something that most people forget: his intensity. And for the first time in a while, it stares back at him from the depths of this greenish substance. This is him. He made this.

Lost in his pursuit of objectivity, he sometimes forgets how strong emotions can rage. How immovable his own will is. Because everything always appears logical in the moment. And if Alhaitham knows that he is a slave to his subjectivity, it is not often that it stares him right in the face like this.

A second realization hits: all this intensity, all these unshakeable stances stay pliant in the hands of Kaveh. The architect can simply reach to grab it, extract it out of Alhaitham's chest, and crush it between his palms if he so desires. Kaveh doesn't even know the power he has over him, over all the extremes that reign Alhaitham. As he gazes over the ocean of his putrefied maze, the Scribe asks himself: how could he ever think his feelings didn't matter? How could he think that Kaveh's actions would leave him unaffected in a few years? 

Alhaitham starts to wonder; is he even ready to meet Kaveh? Can he handle whatever the architect might say to him? He then imagines the usual love-filled gaze of his boyfriend turn politely cold, rejecting him, his expression saying ‘I can’t continue like this’. He imagines Kaveh suddenly building a wall between them, hiding boisterous passion and grief, drowning his fierce temper in social etiquette, and displaying the same mask of perfect politeness he shows every stranger.

The worst thing about Kaveh’s rejection is the kind consideration it would entail. If he chooses to hide behind his well-built image of the genius and perfect architect, Alhaitham would never know where it had gone wrong. He would continue with his life, unaware of how much he hurt Kaveh, unaware of his mistakes or the truth. It would leave Alhaitham with nothing to express this deep-rooted intensity that overthrows countries, calls for change, and reforms on a whim.

He stays stuck for a while, frozen, crouched in the middle of his realizations, oblivious to the hustle around him, it’s just an additional layer of constant noise. He exhales slowly, searching for a semblance of calmness, then forces his gaze to focus on a point in the mud.

“““Nara Alhaitham hasn’t moved for a while, is Nara Alhaitham ok?”””

“““Nara Alhaitham, as Arapacati said before, Nara need to lie down and close eyes if Nara want to sleep!”””

“““No need to be sad Nara Alhaitham! Vana is very happy with Nara Alhaitham’s gift! Fertilizer very good for Vana!”””

A scoff escapes him. Despite their best efforts, the Aranaras can’t seem to hate him, and despite himself, Alhaitham can't stop trusting them and feels comforted by their meddling. Only a small circle of opinions matter in his eyes, and it is surprising how quickly these little invisible creatures pierce through that small circle, making their spot in the middle.

But before he indulges in the warmth spreading through his chest, another observation picks at his mind. They don’t seem panicked at all. They are not telling Alhaitham to stop his ascension. He throws another gaze around, scanning the crowd of people spread across the rest of his maze, and another fact comes to mind; even if usually less frequented, the Aranaras won’t risk being near a human group of this size. It leads to a conclusion: the palace of Alcazarzaray is not the place “upstream” he is searching for.

———

To be fair, cutting his travel to Alcazarzaray short brings a sense of relief. The buzzing crowd puts his mind in further disarray than it already is, and the memories resurfacing from a few days ago aren’t the most agreeable.

However, in his eagerness to flee the scene and move on to the rest of the streams, it takes him time to notice that some people are following.

Alhaitham can’t trace back exactly when it started. If he has to guess, they might have identified him in the crowd earlier. Thankfully, his stalkers aren’t the most subtle, as some rustling can be heard in the distance through the foliage, and though the movements are matched with Alhaitham’s, his pursuers underestimate the Scribe’s auditory sensitivity.

He needs to hide, and quick.

Fortunately for him, a dendro user in a dense forest has the field advantage. A solid branch catches his gaze, and he doesn’t waste any more time, summoning his powers to travel upward before grabbing the trunk firmly and pulling himself up behind batches of leaves.

Alert, eyes down on the ground where he stood a few seconds ago, Alhaitham listens for the approaching steps, ready to flee at anything suspicious.

“Aaand the traces stop there”, exclaims a girl’s voice.

 “Drat, he noticed us!” Comes in a deeper tone.

“Well, if you’d just followed my advice and walked away from the crispy leaves, maybe he wouldn’t have fled!”

“Oh, so you’re going to put this on me!? After how many times you tripped!?”

As they come closer, Alhaitham can make out their silhouettes: a young archer and an old brawler, both Eremites. This doesn’t bode well. Why would the Eremites be tracking him down?

No casualties were had during his besieging of the palace, and no one from Ayn Al-Ahmar should have escaped the ceiling collapse or Cyno’s arrest in Port Ormos. He tries to recall any other unresolved altercations he might have started with a brigade, but nothing comes to mind. Did he anger someone else while working as the Acting Grand Sage? Obviously. But the Matra oversee these affairs closely, and Alhaitham would have been alerted if another Eremite group was after him.

“Well, we might ’ave taken him a tad too lightly. You’ve seen how he fights, even without his vision.” Adds the girl, leisurely turning an arrow in her hand, on the lookout, ready to shoot at any instant.

The man scoffs, bitter, and sits down on a rock. “Right. He’s a crafty one for sure.”

A shiver runs down Alhaitham’s spine. He has been fighting with his vision for years. Why would he not use such a useful tool? At least, it resolves the mystery. There is only one group who has seen him fight without his dendro powers recently. And it’s Ayn Al-Ahmar.

It can’t be denied: be it by miracle or curse, some of them survived the collapse, escaped the Matra, and are now out for blood.

There is even scarier news: they didn’t immediately charge Port Ormos in a desperate attempt for retribution. They chose the out-of-character tactic of laying low, waiting for the perfect moment to hit their target. This level of strategy tells one thing: they aren’t desperate but organized. Which probably means an authority figure survived.

Once again, Alhaitham’s fears are confirmed. “Well, let’s report back to the boss. That damn Scribe can’t go far anyway.”

It sends a new batch of shivers down his back. They have a way to track him down without him noticing, and he can’t begin to guess why that is. 

He doesn’t get to hear more, as the two Eremites go back on their tracks, their voices growing dim. His body refuses to move for a while, blocked by a sensation similar to panic while his mind turns as fast as possible. Alhaitham shuts his eyes tight, trying to regain control over his thoughts.

He powers through the shivers some memories induce to remember the configuration of that cursed cave: when the ceiling collapsed, he was at the center, fighting with one of the two leaders, the one who had verbally sparred with him. He was quite the manipulator, and a few of his poisoned words got Alhaitham to snap when Kaveh was threatened. His stomach twists further at the thought that this man could still be alive and after him for revenge. Thankfully, Alhaitham stays lucid enough to rationalize. That manipulator could not have survived or escaped: he stood at the center of the cave, close to the two scholars. Even if the collapse didn’t kill him, the Matra couldn’t have missed his unconscious body under the rubble. 

It then leaves the second leader, the “hot-blooded” one. Alhaitham doesn’t remember his position during the collapse, but this one stayed close to the walls the entire time. Maybe the explosion missed the edges, and the hot-blooded leader hid sufficiently well enough to escape with a few men. Alhaitham tries to rationalize again: that’s fine, at least it’s not the other leader. This man seemed far too excitable to be a real threat. And the possibility of his survival doubled by an escape is already small. It might also be a smarter-than-average lackey that took control of the survivors.

But even while forcing through it, the disgusting and mockingly sweet voice calling him “honey?”, repulses the Scribe, and sends uncomfortable goosebumps throughout his whole body.

Another, even more horrifying thought rattles his brain: if not careful, he might lead them to Kaveh.

Alhaitham reopens his eyes wide, letting out an agonizing breath, as he feels another wave of panic crashing into him.

“““Nara Alhaitham, breathe, everything is ok! Nara Valuka are gone now!”””

“““Yes, and Nara Alhaitham is strong! Nara Alhaitham already beat many Nara Valuka before!”””

The two messy lines of text he sees on the branch in front of him get his nerves to relax a bit.

Right. The Aranaras.

They are looking after Kaveh, and Alhaitham has the growing feeling that they are even hiding him.

In other words, little forest fairies that no adult can see, with an unidentified habitat, are hiding Kaveh in one of the most secret places of Sumeru. That is what Alhaitham is struggling to find after all.

A plan starts to form in his head. Maybe he doesn’t need to take care of these Eremites right away. Maybe he doesn’t need to face them and live through the whole ordeal of the cave collapse flashing before his eyes. After all, he doesn’t know their numbers, their methods, or the situation of the forest up ahead. It would be reckless to confront them directly. So, Alhaitham needs to stall for time.

If he finds the Aranaras, he finds a place to hide, to recenter, and counterattack with his full capacities. And even more, with their talent for hiding, they could spy for him and provide intel.

He doesn’t have a minute to waste.

Summoning his sword, he carves a message on the branch.

“““Can you tell me where they went?”””

He closes his eyes a moment, waiting for the Aranara to write a response. A pattern he noticed while interacting with them, is that they only write when he is not looking.

Apprehension nibbles at his chest. They might stay silent. They might judge Alhaitham as undeserving of their help. But, well, it is better to know now than later. He opens his eyes.

“““They went back to the big Nara Valuka in their camp!”””

Good. The Aranaras seem eager to share information. He lets out a short exhale of relief, as his brain starts to process, as his legs begin to move. He should take advantage of the Eremites' retreat and place the maximum distance possible between them.

“““Nara Alhaitham… the night is falling. Nara should sleep.”””

He has no time to sleep.

“““Sorry Nara Alhaitham, but Aranaras are helping!”””

A sudden dizziness crashes through him. Strangely, he can still decipher the Aranara’s writings through his fuzzy vision. Or is he hearing them? What is going on?

“““Don’t worry! Arabalika will monitor Nara Valuka while Nara Alhaitham sleeps!”””

His last discussion with Nilou comes back to him. So, the Aranara really have some powers over sleep and dreams. It’s nice to have his hypotheses confirmed.

It’s his last thought before his eyelids close on their own, and his consciousness fades.

“““Sweet dreams, Nara Alhaitham!”””

Chapter Text

Sat on his childhood bed and playing cards by himself.

This is not a memory he sees often.

“Alhaitham!”

A familiar voice calls for him from the kitchen, and he knows it is time to eat. He’s hungry. Excited, he walks to the dining room and watches impatiently as his mother sets up a table larger than him; his father, reading a dense book, sits in a chair high enough that Alhaitham has to climb it each time he wants to sit down. Or at least, he knows this is Mother and Father. He can’t see their faces, as the stars encrusted in the ceiling shine too bright, cloaking their faces in shadow. But they’re still Mother and Father, and they are all about to eat dinner. Grandma, still in the kitchen, lets out a tired grunt as some plates clank together, troubling the tranquil evening.

Mother throws a worried glance in the direction of the noise, before turning towards Alhaitham, the shadow on her face clearing up to display a warm smile he often saw in pictures.

“Could you go help her, dear?”

Alhaitham nods and quietly trots toward the kitchen, not because Mother asked, but because a vicious worry has been eating him up from inside: Grandma is growing tired lately, and he knows she doesn’t have much time left. In two weeks, she’ll be gone. In three, he’ll be entering the Akademiya. In four, he’ll finally realize that the house is quiet, that he doesn’t hear the clumsy crashing of porcelain when her stubborn fingers ply around the weight, and that the house is empty, with only him inside.

In four weeks, Alhaitham will cry himself to sleep for the first time that he can remember, for the last time too. Because crying won't help him arrange a burial for Grandma. Because crying won’t help him understand the hours of lectures where teachers vomit their knowledge like it’s a race. Because crying won’t help him manage his finances and inheritance, saving it until he gets a stable job, methodically gathering books and knowledge in the meantime, on how to manage a bank account, how to fill out administrative form after form, how to get recognition as a minor without any support, a teen, a too old orphan, barely an adult who has yet to learn anything of this world.

He doesn’t want to. He only wants to read all day. He doesn’t want to ponder over which of those cold corridors he should walk into, to officially report that Grandma is dead. He doesn’t want to stay in a house where nobody calls for dinner, where he just raises his eyes from a book to realize it is far too late. He doesn’t want to flee through the stuffy lecture halls again, where every ounce of creativity and intelligence fight against boring and unenthusiastic teachers. But books are hard to find, and it will not take him much longer to go through the entirety of Father’s library. At least, if nothing else, the Akademiya has books.

But for now, Grandma is crouched on the floor, grumbling about back pain. Alhaitham immediately walks to her and caresses between the frail blades of her shoulders, chanting a naive pain, pain go away, in his head. It doesn't work, he knows. But it always seems to put Grandma in a good mood, as if she could read through his mind and see the care under the impassive face of her grandson.

Just as expected, she turns towards him with an illuminating smile. “Thank you, my child,” and her hand finds his cheek, caressing with just as much care. In turn, he hears her thoughts through the gesture: I'm here. I'm still here, and wherever you'll be, I'll never go away. I'll be your strength. I'll be your wisdom. Please, my dear child, take care.

He leans into it. The skin is rough with age and years of working on multiple mechanical contraptions, but it is warm and so, so comforting. He could fall asleep here. His eyes close.

When he opens them again, rubies stare into his soul, rough palm still hot against his cheek.

“It’s your turn”, says senior Kaveh, infamous Urchin of Kshahrewar.

Alhaitham glances around the bookshelves of the house of Daena, making sure nobody is coming their way. This is a place of study, not for card playing. Surely, senior Kaveh neither knew nor cared.

But the bookshelves form a messy circle, blocking every path, and there is no way someone might intrude on their little world, between books of navigation and cracking table. This makeshift shelter feels cozier than the cruel empty walls of his family house, despite the Akademiya’s whirlwinds of harsh and unfair competitions raging outside, despite the plays of power and suffocations of any spark of individuality.

Here, senior Kaveh’s stomach grumbles in protest each time lunch is near. Here, their voices scatter around in ridiculous and non-sensical arguments, sometimes ending in laughter, sometimes in pouts, but always leaving their brains in fusion, ready to pour out a lava of ideas and solutions for the messy world outside.

It’s them against the rest. It’s their two conflicting minds unifying to explore wide territories that Alhaitham would have never touched trapped inside the wall of an empty house. It’s choosing to walk, side-by-side, on a road of discovery and adventure, grounded by their linked hands, pulling each other back on track when one goes too far.

Then, a voice resonates, a familiar broken voice after speaking a harsh and unnecessary truth. I regret that we ever met.

The warmth of the palm against his cheek suddenly retreats. He doesn’t want it to. As his heart picks up in panic, Alhaitham chases it, and pushes Kaveh, now Light of Kshahrewar, onto the old creaking wood of the table. If I let go, he’s not coming back.

The beating in his chest doesn’t stop. No. Alhaitham doesn’t want Kaveh gone. He wants him to stay.

He tries to reach for the rough hands and grabs nothing but air. It slips between his fingers as sand, as a mirage, and grazes his palm like paper glass, leaving only cold and pain in his empty fist. In desperation, he pushes his mouth against Kaveh’s, trying to communicate, to ask, beg him to stay. The warmth ignites for an instant against his lips before it disappears. The table disappears. Then the books. Bookshelves. Library. It leaves only the ceiling, encrusted with stars. They look more like diamonds, once devoid of their sparks. But it’s not a great loss. Alhaitham prefers rubies anyway.

———

He opens his eyes slowly, disoriented for a minute. Looking around, he situates the branch miraculously still supporting and torturing his back, his feet dangling in the void, some scribbles hidden between leaves on the stick of wood facing him.

“““Hello Nara Alhaitham! See, this is how Nara sleep! Now, were Nara Alhaitham’s dreams good?”””

It was… a dream. Of course.

"""Nara Alhaitham needs to eat now. Here! Soup! Arapas made it with the purest water!"""

Lowering his gaze, Alhaitham indeed sees a bowl, grossly cut out from a piece of wood, containing a blurry, brownish liquid. He doesn’t think they would try to poison him, by his instincts recoil at the suspicious appearance of the meal. He considers ignoring it. But then, the memories of last night come back to his mind, of how he was put to sleep against his will.

If he doesn't obey, they might try something else of a similar trend.

Repressing a groan, Alhaitham picks up the soup bowl with apprehension, pauses his lips against it, and tries to chug it down fast, hoping speed will keep him from knowing what it tastes like. It reveals to be surprisingly flavorless, and closer to aromatic hot water than the blend of rotten vegetables he was waiting for. Not good, but not as bad as he imagined.

"""Did Nara Alhaitham like it? Did it help Nara Alhaitham regain strength?"""

“““And! And! It was tough to get Nara Alhaitham not to fall from the tree! But Arabalika helped!”””

Touched, he observes the scribbles with a slight smile on his face. He picks up his sword to carve a response.

"""Yes. Thank you."""

He closes his eyes for a second and waits for the response.

"""Good! Will Nara Alhaitham stop looking for Aranara now?"""

"""No. Unless you tell me where Kaveh is."""

"""But… that is the same thing as telling where Vanarana is!""" """Hey!! What is Arakavi doing!""" """No! Aranara said not to respond to questions about Nara Kaveh!!""" """Nara Alhaitham, don't worry. Arakavi said nothing."""

His smile widens as a wave of triumph and relief overwhelms his senses.

After days of trying to trick them, they finally became comfortable enough with him to slip up. This is confirmation: the Aranara know where Kaveh is.

———

Unfortunately, what Alhaitham dreads from yesterday is confirmed: at regular intervals during his trip between springs and rivers, he hears the telltale crackling of leaves under the feet of his pursuers.

He checks his clothes multiple times for a tracer of some form, but to no avail. He tries to deduce their methods from there. It must be something he emanates naturally. The first theory is smell; maybe these Eremites travel with a trained dog tracking the Scribe by the nose, even if kilometers apart. But it doesn’t hold: why would they leave the dog behind while following him? And if it was a dog, his pursuers would have long found out that Alhaitham climbs up branches every time he hears them approach. Because a dog’s nose has no care for differences in altitude or the cover of foliage. It would only take a good sniff, raise its head, and smell the Scribe's path through the trees.

Alhaitham goes through all of Sumeru’s bestiary in his head, trying to find a creature that might escape his notice. An eagle or other hunter-birds? No, the forest is too dense, and even with their piercing eyes, they can’t see through the thick vegetation from above. Sumpter Beasts? While known to be incredibly resentful and tracking their offenders until one or the other dies, Alhaitham doesn’t remember earning the grudge of one recently.

He doesn’t want to dwell on the last option his brain comes up with: there are no animals, and the Eremites are tailing him thanks to elemental energy. This option can mean two things: They recruited a vision holder to help, or one of them gained a vision since Alhaitham last faced them. If it’s the former it can be dealt with swiftly, by buying peace with the hired vision holder with a gracious sum of mora. Another excruciating fight is inevitable if it’s the second option. Intense resentment can’t be quelled by money alone, especially for a group as extreme as Ayn Al-Ahmar.

Alhaitham tries to forget these hypotheses to the best of his ability: he can think about all possibilities and the ways to counter them once he is safe. He covers as much distance per day as possible, still guided by the writings of the Aranara, and how progressively unreadable they grow each time he inches closer. Alhaitham now has certitude that this will work, but it is as excruciating and slow as tracing gradients on a map. And now, he has no choice but to follow this path while he is being pursued.  

The Aranara's reactions seem to progressively guide him to the second larger water stream to the west, but Alhaitham is hellbound on checking every other minor river on the way. There are no villages, and nearly no marks of civilization in that batch of Sumeru’s Forest, leaving tons of potential spots for the Aranara to hide.

As he moves further away from all human activity, the trip grows progressively harder as well. Sometimes, there is no road, and Alhaitham is forced to cut through thick vegetation with his sword, climb over acute cliffs, as they scratch his skin, tiring his muscles out, each time leaving him a bit more unable to fight if the Eremites finally catch up. In this nightmare scenario, his chances of getting away are now thin.

To add to the hardships, nuisances other than Eremites pop up at regular intervals in this unkempt part of the forest: fungi, Rishboland tigers, hilichurls, spinocrocodiles… Alhaitham doesn’t take the time to fight them and chooses to conserve his energy, maneuvering tactical retreats at each encounter. It earns him some supplementary wounds, but in the end, it saves him some of the energy he desperately needs. And despite the sting of claws or the stabbing of projectiles, he has no other choice than to go forward.

At the end of the first day of this intense trip, Alhaitham also finds out he won’t be able to travel during nighttime, the Aranara stubbornly forcing him to sleep as the sunlight grows dimmer through the foliage. This time, they don’t even wait for Alhaitham to be sat. The Scribe hasn’t taken a proper break throughout the day, other than climbing up trees when the Eremites approach.

And once again, he dreams.

Unsurprisingly, Kaveh also appears that night, elusive, always a few centimeters too far to be reached. The architect dissolves in smoke each time Alhaitham catches up, reappearing in the next scene, only to disappear again, leaving Alhaitham running after him even through dreams, aching, wanting.

(Some scenes turn more intimate than others, fleeting touch making Alhaitham shiver with hunger before cruelly disappearing into the same damn fog.)

His grandmother is often there too, smiling over him, as she always is in his memories, encouraging and whispering words of comfort. Sometimes, it’s Kaveh himself who comes to reassure Alhaitham, yet fleeing every time he tries to grab onto him.

The next morning, as he wakes against the trunk of a big tree this time, a foolish hope grows for a fleeting second that these might be  messages from the real Kaveh. But his rationality shuts down this fantasy. The dreams were too patchy, without any real link in between them for it to be a proper encounter. Alhaitham has witnessed multiple samsaras under Azar’s regime and knows that fabricated dreams tend to be much more coherent than the hash of scenes he sees when the Aranara put him to sleep.

Again, a bowl of suspicious but tasteless soup waits for him, and Alhaitham drinks it without thinking, not willing to upset the Aranara any further. It is also the only meal he stops to eat, grabbing wild zaytun peaches and harra fruit while walking.

And yesterday repeats, going through the dense forest, climbing cliffs and trees when the Eremites grow near, escaping the wildlife with new wounds and bruises, his thighs splitting with the pain of unrested muscles.

———

It’s on the third day that things finally blow up when Alhaitham emerges from the dense forest, finally reaching the second large water stream. He realizes that this looks more like a swamp than a river, with seldom to no trees in sight. But the writings of the Aranara—traits so irregular and random that it looks like a new form of script—are clear: this is the right way.

Alhaitham throws a last glance at the edge of the vegetation, takes a deep breath, and then goes forward with false confidence. If luck is on his side, he finds the Aranara before the Eremites find him. That has been the challenge of these past three days, looking like a madman at any puddle of water while Eremites loomed like the grim reaper. But this is the fateful moment; without the trees around, he is moving in plain sight, and it’s only a matter of time before his pursuers locate him.

Powering through with his exhausted dendro vision, Alhaitham zooms above shallow waters, projecting his body forward as far as possible to pass this exposed area. In his haste, he leaves behind a trail of explosive dendro cores, making him even more noticeable. But since he is already out in the open, being a little flashier won’t change much. He chooses to maximize his speed to reach the other bank as quickly as possible before returning to his hiding-in-the-trees tactic.

Unfortunately, as the gods have already demonstrated since the beginning of the DJLK ^{(Dramatic Journey of the Light of Kshahrewar)}, Alhaitham pays the price for the unrivaled luck they had during the operation to save their archon.

“Well, well, well. Mr. Scribe. Funny finding you here, darling.”

The voice sends shivers of disgust crawling down his back. To his dismay, Alhaitham recognizes it: Al Ayn-Ahmar’s last surviving leader. He escaped the cave’s collapse.

By chance, this loudmouth has preferred calling the Scribe out instead of ambushing him without a word. Now, if Alhaitham starts running, he is sure that the Eremites won’t hesitate to open fire on his exposed back. His ears pick up on the string of the girl’s bow being drawn taunt and the clashing metal of the brass knuckles from the brawler. Resigned, he turns to face his opponents.

Once again, Alhaitham wishes to have been wrong. On the barely covered chest of the leader, clipped to his cape like a button, stands a familiar trinket, like the one on Alhaitham’s shoulder, but harboring the color of another element: a vision. A geo vision.

His shock and dread are probably on display, as the Eremite leader’s face cracks in a carnal smile.

“Surprised much, dear?” Alhaitham desperately wants him to stop with the pet names. “I suppose I should thank you for that. Got it from Celestia the day you exploded our base in Port Ormos. Do you remember?” he coos before his voice drops down, menacing, his next words spat through teeth, “The day you buried Hazim and annihilated our entire brigade, just over some stupid lover you’ve run all across Sumeru for.”

Alhaitham grows even more tense. They know about his relationship with Kaveh. They know how much he means to him. They know Alhaitham's weakness.

“Ooh look at him, he thought he was being sneaky!” mocks the leader as his two lackeys sneer in the background. “Y’know, us Eremites are aware that actions speak louder than words, and that also seems to be the case for you. You wouldn’t be doing all this over just some ‘friend’, we know how ya work now, dear Scribe.”

How ironic is it, that they figured that out about him before Kaveh.

“Don’t ya worry, he’s also on our list now. And we’ll be sure you see him suffer before you die.”

All the muscles previously frozen in Alhaitham’s body suddenly ignite with wrath, pushing him to finally respond through clenched teeth. “This is the consequence of my actions alone. Leave him be.”

A hearty laugh escapes the Eremite’s leader. “Oh, be grateful he still has a bit of time! We do plan to get ya first for being a general pain in the ass. After breaking you physically, we’ll look for ‘im to crush you mentally.”

These fools. They should’ve captured Kaveh first, though it would not be an easy task. They’d have more leverage with a hostage; not that Alhaitham is going to tell them that. He just gets out his sword, preparing for the unavoidable clash.

At this, the leader whistles, and an arrow zooms right past Alhaitham’s head, nearly planting itself in the arm of the brawler. Still so reckless with bows.

This is the signal for the beginning of the fight, and Alhaitham has only one goal: run away. The Eremites are obviously more used to traveling in the wild, standing as energetic as when he first saw them. On the contrary, his muscles hurt from the lack of rest, the claws of the last Rishboland Tiger printed in a superficial yet painful wound on his arm, and the cursed memories of that terrible cave won’t stop playing like a broken record in the back of his mind. He needs to get out of this situation.

His neurons fire quickly: dendro and geo are quite incompatible elements, but the presence of water gives an advantage to dendro. If he produces enough dendro cores, the brightness of their explosions might cover his escape without too much hassle. A geo vision user might have a shield to parry the burst, but at least they would be blinded for a while.

Following that plan, Alhaitham plunges his sword into the damp soil, summoning a rain of viridescent replicas to fall around him in the water, producing a minefield of cores. But his opponent stays unfazed and, expectedly, summons a geo shield around himself, while his companions gain some distance.

Not phased long enough for any explosion to occur, the leader screams a battle cry and launches himself at Alhaitham, axe at his front. The Scribe blocks to the best of his capacities but a geo construction sends him a few meters back, his dendro cores exploding in the distance without reaching any of their targets.

This might be a bit trickier than planned.

The two lackeys take the opportunity to circle the Scribe, effectively cutting off his retreat.

Still fighting against the overlapping memories of the cave, Alhaitham gets up with a grunt, his left arm hurting horribly from the impact, pain pulsing through his entire body. He hopes it’s not broken.

Time for plan B.

The second asset granted to Alhaitham with his vision is probably the enhancement of his speed. Summoning his power while staggering, he tries to take them by surprise and zooms right through the two lackeys, toward the opposite riverbank he is still hoping to attain. If it works on the brawler and the archer, the vision holder is more attentive, and bodies Alhaitham a second time to the ground, face first, this time catching the Scribe’s hurt arm to lock it behind his back and dropping his weight on the top of his body.

A winded chuckle escapes the Eremite leader, as his geo shield breaks. Thankfully, his opponent is new to elemental manipulation, so he can’t keep up his defenses for long. “Got you, Mr. Scribe! Now. Please stay still while I break more of your bones.”

Alhaitham tunes out the cruelties spat by his opponent and focuses on his situation. The Scribe’s right hand has been trapped under him, in a puddle of water. He takes the opportunity to diffuse some dendro energy into it, producing cores that stay hidden under his body. This isn’t going to be pleasant for his guts, but at least it will let him escape. He only needs to wait a few seconds for them to explode.

The pressure on his back grows stronger, his hurt arm being twisted, and Alhaitham can’t repress a scream of pain. These few seconds suddenly seem incredibly long.

“Oh, yes sweetheart, I like to hear you shout like that”, sneers his assailant. “Can I have more please?”

A hand suddenly grabs his hair and tugs back before slamming his head into the puddle. An emerging rock cuts a stinging wound on his left brow line, and Alhaitham’s sight grows colored with the red of his blood, trickling down his face. He lets out another grunt, his muscles, bones, and flesh screaming in pain, crying for rest that Alhaitham cannot offer.

“Oh no, I hope it won’t scar! You have such a pretty face, it’d be such a waste”, falsely whines his tormentor, “I wonder how much you would sell for on the market, my dear…”

He doesn’t have time to finish his threat as the world decides it’s finally time to release Alhaitham from his suffering. The dendro cores under him explode, engulfing them both in a viridescent light. Surprised, the man on top of the Scribe staggers backward and groans with pain, while Alhaitham powers through it, taking advantage of his opponent’s loss of balance to free himself, and flee as fast as he can. The two lackeys, useless from start to finish, stay blinded by the explosions, and don’t hinder his way in the slightest.

———

When he finally reaches the opposite riverbank, his legs waver as the stress and adrenaline leave his system. Alhaitham also realizes his left arm doesn’t just hurt a lot, it cracks at each movement and doubles in volume. The bone might be broken. Shit.

No time to dwell on it. Frenetically, his eyes scan the perimeter to find a hiding spot. Even if stubborn, even if used to ignoring his needs during emergencies, he knows that adrenaline and shock won’t be enough this time.

It’s a matter of minutes before he collapses.

He needs to find a safe place to recuperate. Quick.

A few meters to the north, abrupt cliffs surround strange giant leaves, vegetation taking over the openings in the rocks, and the Scribe decides that this is his best option.

“Yes! Yes! Nara Alhaitham, go that way!” “It’s fine now! Nara Alhaitham can come!” “Yes! Far away from Nara Valuka!”

Voices usher from an indeterminable distance. It could be a few meters away, it could be inside his head, he’s not sure. Alhaitham doesn’t take the time to verify and focuses on his last sparks of energy.

With a grunt, he starts walking to the first plant-filled cavity he can see, trying to follow a straight path despite his vision swaying. When he reaches the wall of the cliff, he slides down against it, letting his weight be supported by something other than his shaking legs for a bit. He should go further into the vegetation. He can’t collapse yet. But as the adrenaline evaporates at each passing second, it’s becoming harder to move.

Proving his point, the world doesn’t let him indulge in a few minutes of respite. An animalistic groan brings his attention to a hilichurl camp, nested a bit further between the cliffs, where 4 to 6 hilichurls and 2 mitachurls are looking straight up at Alhaitham with visible confusion.

The stare-down doesn’t last. They quickly all run for their weapons, and a new shot of adrenaline springs Alhaitham on his feet. Before he registers the rest, he runs past the camp of monsters, reaching further in. The wall of cliff circles around the stone pit, leaving only one opening, a small cave to the west, and suppressing a shiver, the extenuated scholar dives in.

Limping as fast as possible, he tries to quickly analyze the place inside. Thankfully, light showers from a gap in the ceiling, over a small pond in the center, and catches his gaze immediately. As rudimentary projectiles rain above his head from the monsters on his tow, Alhaitham stops to evaluate the height. With his vision, he can make it.

Gathering all his available focus, Alhaitham fixes his gaze on the opening in the ceiling, grasping his vision firmly, praying to Lord Kusanali for a last dash. A rock hits his head, followed by a roar of victory from the hilichurl that reached him. He ignores this new injury, and burns his vision bright, propelling the mass of his body upward, right arm in front to grab the border.

It might be true that the human body can surpass its limits in moments of need, because in an effort he didn’t know he had, Alhaitham reaches the brim, and pulls himself up with lightning speed, outside of the hilichurls’ range. Good.

They can’t reach him, but the fuss has surely alerted the Eremites. He can’t stay here.

As he tries to get up, all the muscles, skin, and particles of his being scream in protest, and his sight sways. His stomach feels upside down, bringing in sudden nausea to exacerbate his woes. 5 to 10 minutes at best before he passes out.

Staggering, he walks the furthest distance possible from the east’s general direction, where he escaped the Eremites. Alhaitham tries to remember where the next water stream is. But his disoriented mind already has difficulties keeping the notions of north and degrees clear.

A few meters later, Alhaitham reaches the border of the hill, gazing down at another alcove in the natural labyrinth of cliffs, this one hosting a landscape out of a fairytale. Dozens of little houses, similar to the ones found sparsely across the Avidya forest, are organized in a charming disarray around a little pound, punctuated by a small island in its center. On this island, a weird green organic construct, different from any plant Alhaitham remembers seeing.

Even in his fogged mind, it is clear: this place is suspicious, and his instincts usher him to investigate. This is it. This might be it. Although he is not sure what “it” is anymore, he might need a few minutes to figure that out.

But before the threads connect correctly in his head, a violent, blunt mass crashes into his spine.

His heart skips a beat as he is propelled off the border of the cliff. At the last moment before completely losing his footing, Alhaitham turns around to face an adult geo fungus, hissing at him aggressively. Oh. He was in its territory.

His blood pumps the last drops of stress through his pained muscles, sending his brain into overdrive. Quick. A solution. A last resort. Anything. His eyes focus on the cliff before him, and he spots a last thread of hope. Vines. He tries to grab at them to slow down, missing a few times with the velocity of his falling body.

When he finally catches one in his hand, the friction causes his palm to burn against the plant, and a pathetic sob escapes his lips at the sensation of his skin being singed off. Against all his reflexes begging him to let go, Alhaitham hangs on to the vines, enduring the stinging, in a desperate attempt to slow down and increase his chances of survival.

For the last time, he prays to his vision for a final spark, and commands the plants to grow out and entangle around his back.

Against all odds, it works. Maybe it is due to his 5 days in front of Alcazarzaray growing out an entire maze, maybe to his survival instincts kicking in, or maybe to the thought of letting Kaveh come back to Sumeru City with the news of Alhaitham’s passing as a welcome. This thought makes all the reluctant muscles in his body contract in protest, fighting to prevent this dystopian future, where Kaveh comes back to an empty house. Kaveh can’t go through that again. Alhaitham won’t let himself be the cause for the third time he faces unfair grief.

For a fleeting second, he regrets it all: the Eremites in Port Ormos, the blockade in front of Alcazarzaray, the dangerous trails through the forest, the impossible mission of rescuing their Archon. Each of these occasions was a play with fate, a defiance thrown to probability, which should have resulted in Kaveh having nobody to return to.

Blindly focused on these images, on Kaveh coming back only to bury him, Alhaitham fights for his survival until the very end of his fall, balancing his weight by pushing against the rock with his feet despite the blunt hit he takes, burning his hand until it feels numb, channeling his vision until Celestia abandons him.

But it doesn’t end up for naught. At the end of this perilous fall, Alhaitham completely stops a few centimeters before the ground, wrapped in vines, bloody with additional wounds from his encounters with the cliff, skin crisped in the palms of his hands. He relaxes, the vines snap, and he plops down pathetically to the ground, eyes towards the sky. The sun shines too bright.

Despite all his last thoughts being focused on hiding, on fleeing his pursuers, his body decisively has enough.

He can’t move. Time is up.

“Al…haitham…?”

He is already hearing the voice of his dreams call out to him.

"Is that… Really you? You're…"

Of course, this would be what he hallucinates on the brim of unconsciousness. He lets his body completely relax. What’s the point? He can’t fight it anymore. And he’s tired.

“ALHAITHAM!”

Some hurried steps resonate in his head. Is this also part of the illusion?

A shadow covers the sun, or maybe it’s his eyelids, slowly closing. He isn’t sure.

“Oh— oh my god! You’re— you’re hurt! What happened!?”

The shadow suddenly seems clearer, revealing carmine rings and blond strands, replacing the rays of sunshine they just blocked. After his ears, it’s now Alhaitham’s eyes that start to dysfunction.

“N-No, that’s fine, don’t talk. Y-You’ll tell me later.”

Of course, on the edge of consciousness, he would hallucinate Kaveh.

"Hey. Do you at least hear me? Just… move your head to say yes. Please."

This is pointless. He should try to sleep. But suddenly, the warmth of contact, a rough palm against his cheek, lightens his pain. Oh. He didn’t know that touch could be hallucinated too.

“P-Please!! I know you hear me!” the imaginary voice loses patience. It shrills, like the real Kaveh would out of worry, “Just, please, stay awake, alright? Hey, no no no keep your eyes open, Alhaitham please for once in your damn life listen to me!”

It all seems so real. The Scribe blinks a few times, stares to the best of his abilities, and the halo of blond hair doesn’t disappear, neither does the pair of crimson eyes. But they are veiled by tears. Alhaitham doesn’t want to see that. At least, if he’s going to hallucinate Kaveh, he would like to picture his smile. But the lips of the illusion are quivering, holding back sobs with an upset frown.

He wants to console it.

In a tremendous effort, he raises his right arm, threading fingers into the soft halo of hair, pulling them closer. When close enough, Alhaitham fights against the powerful gravity to lift his neck, and kiss this imaginary mouth, wanting to swallow that sad frown whole. A gasp and a sob. Alhaitham takes his chance to lick inside softly, entangling his tongue around another, and caresses further in. Pain, pain go away, he channels from his soul. It tastes like the Zaytun peaches that Kaveh loves to eat. Alhaitham didn’t know that taste could be hallucinated too.

But he is content.

Maybe this isn’t too bad, losing consciousness to the thought of kissing Kaveh, of being cradled in his arms. If only Alhaitham could make that sad frown disappear. But the illusion doesn’t bend to his will. This is fair. This reflects his own worries. He knows Kaveh won’t be able to smile if he ever learns about his state. Maybe it would be unfair if Alhaitham saw Kaveh’s smile.

Alright. This is it. He can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

“Alhaitham!? N-No, don’t you dare—!”

A last illusionary scream echoes in his mind, as he lets go of the last strings of his consciousness.

Chapter Text

Why can't he ever stop his thoughts as they run ten thousand a minute?

Even if grand, his goals were always clear, and it is what keeps him going through the toughest patches, like a straight line in the messy draft that is his life. So why, pray tell, does he get lost in the messy sketches when the path is straight up ahead?

As always, Kaveh has no idea how he ended up where he currently is.

He can narrate all the events that led to this particular point in his life, but, for the life of him, can't begin to explain how and why he is now staring at this pond with a plant shaped like a modern sculpture in its center, trying to conceptualize a water wheel around it.

And, as always, he quickly gathers what the goal is: the slight currents of the pond can generate mechanical energy to pull up an elevator set up 20 meters behind, to go up the 6 meters that isolate a little house on the top of a tree and link it to the rest of the village. The materials need to be light, and the weight transported can't go above 6 kg, which is roughly three Aranara. As always, the plans in his hands stand clear (or as clear as they can be after sessions of erasing and redrawing), accurate, just a smidge away from perfect.

It should be all that matters. It should be the only thing running through his head right now.

So why the familiar feeling of shame and guilt? Why are the images of Sumeru city, of the Akademiya, and of Alhaitham's house sliding into the background of his thoughts today?

Planning renovations for Vanarana and its dream counterpart, Mahavanaranapna, has been unexpectedly fun. No budget to account for, only the natural resources of the forest to his disposition. Around him, stands a hundred small green half-child half-cabbage fairies, excited by every last one of his designs. Even the failures, even the weird ones. For nearly three weeks, Kaveh has received nothing but praise, met with eagerness to learn whatever he can teach, the Aranara imitating his every move. He has never received so much positive reinforcement in such a short amount of time.

This environment has pushed his productivity through the roof during these past three weeks; his proudest achievement is the irrigation system for the little farm stuck in an alcove, using the enormous leaves covering the village as water tanks to collect the rain and distribute it to the soils. Of course, the appendage is barely visible, merging with the luxurious flora, made with the nearby trees' polished wood, and decorated with climbing plants. Since he didn’t have the tools to create screws, he also used an Inazuman assemblage technique, cutting tailor-made intersections on the pieces’ extremities to be slotted in with a perfect, solid, and smooth fit. It took him a bit of time to get a knack for crafting and turning his designs into reality as he is not a construction worker, but it’s a well-made system if he does say so himself.

He also renovated most of the houses and carved an observation tower in a big tree to the south. Since then, a lot of the Aranara have chosen to hang out around this tower, watching with fascination their home evolving at the rhythm of Kaveh’s hammer.

The architect also redesigned the flow of the made-up roads, bordering the paths with flowers and plants, adding stairs or lifts to go over the cliffs, reducing the time needed to go from one end to the other.

All this is just the beginning. Looking at the stone pit, vines mixing with his constructions to form a cozy, practical nest, Kaveh imagines passageways up in the air linking the houses together, a kiosk above the rock arch facing the sunset, another waterwheel under the largest cascade to strengthen the lifts…

So, simply put, an infinite list of projects with no cost, total freedom, and clients impossible to disappoint.

What else could he possibly want? Why is his chest still so thorny with the guilt of his unresolved affairs? Of things left unattended? Is he so unused to happiness and relaxation, that he just searches out a reason for his dread? 

"Nara Prakasha has been very silent for a while. Is Nara Prakasha all right?"

The sudden voice brings Kaveh out of his spiraling pity party. He stares down to his right and sees Arapurva looking back at him with his little dark eyes, and the small smile that never leaves the Aranara’s faces. The sight lightens his mood.

"Thanks, Arapurva. I was stuck in my head again, but I'm okay now."

It's astonishing how they force honesty out of him. The combination of innocence and immense wisdom the Aranara possess leaves him completely disarmed, incapacitated to put up any front. Apart from Alhaitham, Kaveh has never seen anyone so in tune with his inner demons. To think he only met them three weeks ago.

———

Three weeks ago, upon entering his home, the floor vacillated under his feet. When he opened the door, Kaveh saw the living room empty.

Today, again, Alhaitham wasn't home.

Hadn't been for weeks. For months. For… how long again?

It's no big deal, Kaveh had convinced himself. After all, he knew Alhaitham was busy with his Acting Grand Sage duties.

It's no big deal, Kaveh had obsessed sometime after. Even if back to the Scribe's position, the Akademiya was in such disarray that even Alhaitham, with his self imposed 9-5, couldn’t avoid working overtime without feeling guilty.

It's no big deal, Kaveh, in the end, convinced himself before going to his room, working the night away, catching up on the delays due to a cruel lack of inspiration and hours staring at his blank sheets, lost in the silence. It's no big deal if Alhaitham doesn't come home. And it is no big deal if Kaveh works in an empty house.

Above his canvas lightened by the moonlight and the flickering lamp on his desk, he tried countless times to force down chills.

No.

This was not an empty house.

He was not coming back to his childhood house, where nobody was waiting for him anymore, mother exiled by her grief in Fontaine, father forgotten in the sand. He was not coming back to excruciating silence, leaving only loneliness and remorse suffocating in his throat.

But, three weeks ago, Kaveh crumbled in the entrance way in tears.

The day hadn't been particularly harsh. He had lost no major client. He had no catastrophic meetings. He just felt a bit under the weather. A bit at odds with himself.

It happens. Sometimes, he has bad days without any reason, waking up with the feeling of never wanting to get out of bed.

This was one of these days. This was one of the worst of these days.

And Alhaitham wasn't home.

Kaveh felt stupid. He resented Alhaiham and felt stupid about it.

Alhaitham had always been a free spirit. An untamable entity. A lone pursuer of the truth, free enough to make Kaveh boil with jealousy sometimes. But it felt different when they were together. The reclusive Scribe showed parts of himself exclusively to Kaveh, and the countrywide famous architect showed parts of himself exclusively to Alhaitham. These lone paths, one of arts for Kaveh, and one of contemplation for Alhaitham, felt complete when intersecting.

The unreachable, unapproachable figure that the Scribe was, surprisingly chose the architect's side, without any demand, any constraint, standing as strong as supporting foundations, made to hold for years, decades, centuries.

How stupid Kaveh felt, to believe Alhaitham would stay forever by his side.

Through his tears, a worry hit him: what was his proof that Alhaitham would come back home tonight?

What was his proof that Alhaitham chose Kaveh this day? After all, someone as observant as the Akademiya’s Scribe, savior of Sumeru City, should know how unstable the architect was. After years of his junior occupying a front row seat to Kaveh's slow descent, even foreseeing it in advance, it was too late to hide. What if Alhaitham cherished their relationship, but not enough to be blinded, knowing deep down it was bound to end when Kaveh would inevitably become a burden? 

Forget about the Scribe willingly leaving what if, one day, he suddenly was incapable of coming back? Tons of possibilities flashed in front of Kaveh's eyes: an accident, an ambush, an act of revenge, Eremites, beasts, Matras… What if, one day, he went to bed and woke up to a house still empty, Alhaitham forgotten somewhere in Sumeru, left dead in one of those remote corners he likes to explore?

What… would Kaveh do? Where would Kaveh go?

A second worry hit: the void in his chest at the idea of losing Alhaitham. Of losing… everything. Associating Alhaitham with everything immediately caused him vertigo. Was he defining his entire existence through another person's presence? What about his accomplishments as an architect? His marks on Sumeru's landscapes? His many other friends? How could Kaveh even think of defining himself only through Alhaitham?

But no amount of reasoning calmed his growing anxiety. It was months of repressed stress, covered up by the same mantra over and over: It's no big deal. It blew up in his face. It blew up as anger, sadness, desperation, and turned into cries. He wanted to scream for help. He couldn't. Because nobody else was here to hear him.

Picking himself up from the floor, swaying under the swirling emotions kicking his insides, he went into the study to gain back a sense of control, and like all nights before this one, tried to slam the pain away and into his crafts, because he had no other choice than to run away. Kaveh looked at the miniature carving of a future house, another empty building, void of any warmth until a family takes place inside. What does he even bring to this world? Despite his own best intentions, why did someone like Alhaitham save an entire country, while he was stuck in the depths of struggles, barely floating on the surface? It all seemed meaningless at the moment.

He couldn't even believe in Alhaitham's affection anymore, and Alhaitham had never been good at providing it in the first place.

But Kaveh knew. Inside of himself, he knew that blaming his boyfriend was pointless. Because no matter how much was sent his way, it didn't change the fact that Kaveh simply couldn't accept. Alhaitham could be showering him with attention and affection, and he wouldn’t even know it. Only the harsh, bone-chilling logic ever attained him, its bites easier to notice. Too caught up in his own problems, his own miseries, in his life falling apart under his own choices, Kaveh was deaf to any sweet words. So why would Alhaitham, ever the logical pragmatic, bother delivering them?

What did Alhaitham see in him, he wondered? He couldn't bring any warmth to anyone, let alone receive it. He could be crawling under affection, and like a leaking bottle, would still be left empty in the end. No matter how hard he hit with his hammer or how dark he stained his fingers with ink. He, alone, was incomplete. And it was impossible to fill the void with Alhaitham. Kaveh had to find the missing pieces inside himself. He knew it was bound to be an excruciating battle, and it was nothing new. He had been battling for years.

But the sketches under his pen stayed messy, unfinished that night. The immense task of putting himself back together suddenly seemed impossible. At least not here, stuck in this house, crawling under so many spirals of negativity that he wanted to tear his brain out of his head, to become numb to the world, and forget that he and his dreams ever existed in the first place.

When morning came after this sleepless night, the rest went in a blur. A pencil. Some papers. An envelope. Then the door.

In his wandering through the forest, some small green creatures came to talk to him, and all he could do was spit out the venom he gathered for months, crumbling into tears one more time, cursing the world, his debts, his whole being and Alhaitham. Mostly Alhaitham, because it was easier to hit something stable.

———

“Nara Kaveh…”

“Oh, right. I’m getting stuck in my head again.”

He offers another smile to Apurva and looks at his drafted water wheel, then to the pond and its island. This is useless, he concludes. I won’t achieve anything in this state.

And how royal is the possibility to just close his notes, take a deep breath, and stop every activity. There are no deadlines here, so Kaveh can take the designing process at the pace of his scattered brain, visibly much more interested in ruminating over his life’s choices at the moment. (The worst of it all is that Kaveh knows: should he go through everything again, he wouldn’t change any of his choices. That’s the most frustrating part.)

Kaveh hadn’t planned this vacation and, back in the city, probably would have thought holidays to be impossible. After all, he still has commissions waiting for him when he gets back, and his debt won’t magically disappear.

But now, away from the busy city guilting him into productivity at each instant, he realizes that life can be taken easier. Even if his problems won’t disappear while he takes a break, they appear more manageable now that he holds them at arm's length, and he feels a sense of self coming back to him.

Does Alhaitham’s view of the world always look like this then? Is this why he likes to gaze from far away, judging things objectively? Kaveh can understand the perks of this point of view but… it does feel lonely. Being part of this busy mass that is society makes him feel human, capable of connecting with each individual.

But did Alhaitham ever have any other choice? Between sensorial sensitivity and introversion, the Scribe can’t go through crowds without his energy being siphoned out of him in mere minutes. As a result, by following his dispositions, Alhaitham has forced himself into the person that he is today, and never mingles with the masses.

Again. What does the stern, living-at-his-own-pace Haravatat ever see in Kaveh? Not to bring himself down, and he knows Alhaitham is always eager for a good dichotomy but, from his temporary distance to the city, the memories of his famous architect persona, running everywhere, doing shopping, visiting friends, meeting clients, it all seems very exhausting from far away. Why would Alhaitham ever willingly be caught in that storm?

Ruminating over their blatantly incompatible personalities, Kaveh picks up pencils laid down in the grass, and moves back to his temporary house, a little hut past the stone arch where a statue of the seven is nestled.

“Hello Nara Prakasha! Did Nara Prakasha already finish work for today?” calls out Arapacati on the way, waving to him  in front of her little house.

Her four brothers are occupied behind her with the new connected kitchen stoves that Kaveh created for them. They have been consistently and patiently cooking meals during these three weeks, determined to come up with something up to Kaveh’s “Nara” taste. It’s endearing, so endearing that Kaveh feels a fond smile and a smidge of fear illuminate his face at the memories of the awful culinary trials he had to go through. And he must say, they are starting to become edible. (He also promises himself to never again criticize the weird stew pies that Alhaitham comes up with. Because dear god, he misses them now.)

Kaveh addresses her with a full smile before answering. “Hello, Arapacati! I’m only taking a break for now. What are your brothers doing? There is still time before lunch…”

“Oh! Yes! Nara A—”

“Arapas need to make more soups for a friend! Friend of Arapas do not eat anything other than Arapas’ soup!” interrupts Arapas, nudging aside his sister to respond with excitement and pride.

“Not true! Friend also eating Araphala’s unrivaled fresh fruits!” interferes Araphala, pushing his sister in the opposite direction.

“Yes, but Friend doesn’t know that fruits are from Araphala, so Arapas win!” argues the first.

“Let Arasaka put sugar in Arapas’ soup!”, comes the third brother from behind, “Friend needs a taste of happiness!”

“Can Arachatora’s brothers help Friend notice mushrooms first? Friend not eating them…”

“Stop it you four!”, the sister finally interferes amidst the cacophony, “Arapacati was talking to Nara Prakasha, and Arapacati’s brothers are rude, very rude!”

Kaveh lets out a chuckle as the four brothers bow their heads in repentance under a flow of reprimands. He should leave them be.

“Well, good luck with the meals you five!”, he waves as he goes forward. Their enthusiastic responses make his smile grow bigger.

He approaches the bud containing the shared dream of Mahavanaranapna, and unhooks a wooden lyre from his belt, ready to return to the real world. As fascinating as the land of dreams is, the violet eternal hues and pink lighting always throw him off a bit, and he feels more at ease back in Vanarana, surrounded by verdure and the sounds of wildlife. As much as he has grown to love the Aranara, the dream stays their home, and Kaveh can’t help but feel like an intruder. They have assured him he can live with them for as long as he likes, but in the dream, Kaveh loses the notion of time, the sky never alternating between day and night in there. He still wants to be anchored to reality, to know exactly how long it has been since he departed from the city. After twenty days of reprieve, maybe he should go back soon, and continue his battles where he paused them.

Closing his eyes, he lets himself be transported by the now familiar melody his fingers automatically strike on the chords. Opening them back, the magical hues and the Aranara have both disappeared from his sight. Only the clicking of his last creations, perfect copies of their dream versions, and the wildlife occupy the silence. He inhales deeply, basking in the serene atmosphere.

Kaveh then continues his route, passing under the stone arch cutting off the last alcove, and carefully walks on the humid passageway to reach his abode. He dumps his unfinished sketches on the makeshift desk he put up on the fly out of some of the surrounding trees, allowing his thoughts to turn back toward Alhaitham and their history together.

He never really stopped to reflect on their relationship like this. Interactions with Alhaitham always came naturally. Not to say they never brought their fair share of headaches, but Kaveh can’t remember how it feels to care for appearances while in the Scribe’s presence.

Taking off his shoes and setting his cape aside, he crawls up into the small bed, occupying all the length of the hut, yet still not big enough for Kaveh to fully expand his legs. If he must make one critique about his current living arrangement, it’ll definitely be about the bed.

Until three weeks ago, it never dawned on Kaveh how natural his and Alhaitham’s discussions were. Alhaitham was just always there, quietly reading, or throwing rude remarks from the sofa. Until he wasn’t. Kaveh never realized how strongly he relied on that. He knew that, once home, there would be Alhaitham, raising his gaze from his current read, detecting every single emotion on the architect’s face, and deciding on the spot if it was an evening for teasing or cuddling his boyfriend until they melted into the bed sheets.

Kaveh only noticed it when it disappeared.

Staring at the mossy ceiling, he retraces their routine together. Waking up. Making coffee. Kissing each other goodbye. He lets out a sigh. Yeah. Running away from it doesn’t change the fact that he misses Alhaitham a lot.

But how does he come back? What if it’s the last straw, and Alhaitham grows tired of him?

The face of a younger, still-yet-to-be Scribe flashes on the ceiling. The teal eyes are shooting some invisible lasers that bore down a spot on Kaveh’s chest, the cheeks burn light red, and teeth clash in an effort not to shout. A pen, clenched in his fist, just crossed out his name on their paper, in violent strikes of black. Kaveh has never seen Alhaitham that externally angry since he said the phrase: I regret that we ever met. Is that what is waiting for him when he gets back?

Or even worse: what if Alhaitham hadn’t noticed his absence in the first place?

What if, when he returns, all Kaveh gets is an “Oh. You’re back”, before being ignored in favor of a book, a report, or research. That might be the worst scenario.

Wait. Could he have angered Alhaitham so much that he passed the point of caring at all?

Letting out a sigh, Kaveh shakes his head to reason himself. There is no point in anticipating any potential reaction from the Scribe, it probably won’t be close to what Kaveh imagined. Despite all his overthinking and knowing Alhaitham by heart, the man in question has always come up with ways to surprise him. Some people describe Alhaitham as bland, ruled by logic like a machine and really, they have no clue. If there is one lesson he learned from living with the Scribe, it’s to expect the unexpected.

Anyway, why is he still thinking about Alhaitham, again? Shouldn’t he be in “vacation mode” and let go of all his daily annoyances?

Kaveh sighs. He swears, this man is going to drive him nuts one day.

He doesn’t realize he has taken an impromptu nap until he opens his eyes to noisy bustling outside.

Throughout his stay here, Kaveh has grown used to the coming and going of the Aranara, who don’t seem to ever need sleep, exiting and entering the shared dream of Mahavanaranapna around the clock. And if they exit the dream, they usually don’t stay long in Vanarana, spreading across the forest to gather fruits, water, and observe humans with curiosity.

So, when he wakes up to their discernible voices outside his hut, gathered visibly in front of his door, Kaveh knows something happened.

The same gathering took place four days ago, and Kaveh wonders what the matter was exactly. When he opened to them, they all clammed up, staring at the architect with surprise or panic—he still isn’t sure—and Ararycan asked a very strange question:

“Is Nara Alhaitham a good or bad Nara?”

Kaveh stared in silence, startled, as the rest of the band immediately erupted in a cacophony of comments.

“No! No talking with Nara Kaveh of Nara Alhaitham Aranara said!”

“Nara Kaveh will cry if Aranara do!”

“Nara Kaveh! Ararycan said nothing!”

“But Aranara don’t know if Nara Alhaitham—”

“No! No talking about Nara Alhaitham!”

Kaveh wasn’t surprised by the Aranara talking about Alhaitham. From their incessant questions about literature, vocabulary, and the clumsy roundabout ways they tried to ask after his feelings, he figured that they had been watching Alhaitham closely since the architect’s outburst during their first meeting. Not wanting to make him cry again (bless their hearts) they avoided the subject and Kaveh couldn’t find the courage to pry any further.

But no doubt, whatever Alhaitham was doing threw them into a loop. Kaveh had no reason to feel proud of his boyfriend over this, but he did anyway. Expect the unexpected. It always feels nice to be proven right. (As well as to know that even a horde of dreams-yielding familiars from the dendro archon herself ended up dumbfounded by Alhaitham’s shenanigans.)

But this time, when he opens the door, he doesn’t find the same restless energy to hide the evidence as he did four days ago. What he reads first on the childlike faces of the Aranara is distress and worry. Kaveh already knows he’s not going to like it.

“Nara Kaveh…” starts Aranakin. He then turns his little head towards the rest of the horde, looking for approval, arguments, or objections, but the rest of them seem to share the decision, unusually solemn. Kaveh really, really doesn’t like this.

“Nara Alhaitham needs Nara Kaveh’s help.” Aranakin continues.

His stomach drops to his feet.

“What happened?” He asks, ignoring his hands growing clammy.

Aranakin shifts uncomfortably under his piercing gaze, like a child being scolded. Aragaru tags in. “Nara Valuka found Nara Alhaitham. Nara Alhaitham is hurt and is running away. Now, we are trying to guide him to Vanarana to hide him.”

Kaveh staggers back under the dump of information. The first emotion he feels is confusion. “Wait. What? You mean he’s coming here!? What- what is he doing in this part of the forest— Is he alone!?”, The second is dread, “He’s hurt!? To what extent? What— what did the Eremites do to him!?”

“Nara Kaveh asks too many questions. There is no time for Aranara to answer. Nara Alhaitham needs help.” Arabalika interferes. “Go. Nara Alhaitham should arrive from the southeast entrance.”

Kaveh thanks him in a hurry, puts on his shoes, calls for Mehrak, and starts to run, the landscape blurring as his sight spins. This doesn’t feel real. It’s… all so sudden that he almost doesn’t believe it. After three weeks of Alhaitham only existing inside his mind, occupying it in the shadows despite all attempts to dislodge him, here he barges in again, bursting through Kaveh’s life once more, changing all variables. Like their encounter in the house of Daena, like their reunion at Lambad’s, like all those times when the Scribe slammed the study door open, to rip Kaveh away from his current drafts when the architect was getting lost in his spirals of negativity.

This time though, it is Alhaitham who needs help. And it seems urgent. Always expect the unexpected. No matter how much Kaveh has repeated this in his mind, leave it to the Scribe to still bring surprise wherever he goes.

———

Apart from the gears of his lifts gently turning around the entrance, Kaveh sees nothing upon arriving in front of the southeast stone gate. Oh dear. What if Alhaitham’s pursuers have caught up? What if Alhaitham can’t move due to his injuries, and is currently bleeding to death in some bushes? Can he even walk? What is he even doing here in the first place!?

Focus Kaveh, focus. Panicking won’t help. Okay.

He takes some quick steps past the arch to look around and see if he spots an immovable lump of green that doesn’t look like a plant; but nothing of the sort. All he notices is a hilichurl retreating with what sounds like a grunt of frustration. Wait. Why is this hilichurl so far away from his encampment? Was he… pursuing something? Someone!?

Did Kaveh miss Alhaitham on the way!? No, the path is quite straight, and the view is clear. He couldn’t have missed him, even in a hurry. But then… Where did Alhaitham go?

Incapable to stay in place, Kaveh retraces his steps, his brain turning hundreds of rounds a minute. Alhaitham might have taken cover. The Aranara did say he encountered Eremites. Maybe he is trying to find a safe place, maybe—

The sound of vines snapping catches his attention. His first reflex is to look around at his installations for a flaw, a collapse, but nothing. He thinks it came from his left. In a trance, Kaveh takes a few steps in this direction, scrutinizing the environment for something, still not sure if this is all a dream or not.

That’s when he sees it.

The immovable lump of green that doesn’t look like a plant. Except it’s not entirely green.

“Al…haitham…?”

Red. Blood. Shaking.

It’s not a dream. It’s a nightmare.

“Is that… Really you? You’re…”

The trembling mass stops, suddenly immobile.

“ALHAITHAM!”

His brain freezes in terror, his stomach begins tearing the rest of his organs apart, and if someone ever asks Kaveh in the future, he isn’t sure he would be able to narrate the minutes following this moment.

Chapter Text

The next thing he registers is Alhaitham’s lips leaving his, the hand comfortably tucked in his hair slipping to the ground, and teal eyes disappearing behind tired lids.

“Alhaitham!? N-No, don’t you dare pass out!!” He then registers how sore his throat is from screaming.

Drowned in the noise of his cries, the sound of Alhaitham’s head falling inert to the ground will probably haunt him for months.

Kaveh tries to relax his constricted throat and breathe, but a desperate gasp is all he achieves. Air. He needs air. His sight blurs and, the third thing he registers are the tears now pouring down his cheeks. He tries to swipe them away, desperate to escape the twists of his heart, and the knots in his stomach, but they keep coming back. Nothing works.

Crumbling on top of Alhaitham’s chest, suddenly sapped of all energy, Kaveh lets out a squeak between his sobs, a pathetic whine of protest. “How dare you…”

He finds crumbs of comfort in the warmth emanating from the body underneath, in the familiar smell of coffee and books buried underneath the acerbic stench of blood. It’s been so long. Kaveh has missed it. And, as always, Kaveh only notices how much when he finds it again, except now he is left to crave, gleaming only a shell of the real Alhaitham.

He probably came looking for me.

The guilt. The oh-so-familiar guilt he could never fully carve out of his chest. It spreads like fire to the rest of his torso, sending shivers down his neck, burdening his legs with heavy shackles, chaining him to the ground.

Then, a breath.

But not his. Alhaitham’s.

He’s breathing.

He’s alive.

Maybe not for long if Kaveh just sits here and cries.

He suddenly straightens up, back perfectly upright, his eyes scanning over each detail of Alhaitham’s body. A lot of contusions. Vines wrapped around his torso. Palms cut all over, bloody, burnt red. More blood drips from the line of his left eyebrow, and his arm is swollen. Kaveh gulps, repressing his horror as he examines further. Claw marks. Messier than usual hair. Dark circles under his eyes.

If only Tighnari were here.

Kaveh recalls the forest ranger’s sermons to the best of his abilities. You should first identify if there are any threats to you or the victim around, then get rid of them. Avoid moving the injured if possible.

He scans his environment, searching for any immediate danger. The forest stays calm, moving swiftly on the whims of the wind, dusk birds chirping in the distance. Then he recalls: Nara Valuka found Nara Alhaitham. Eremites are lurking around. They should hide.

Another piece of advice from Tighnari comes to mind. Call for help.

“Aranakin, Aragaru, Arabalika!” They should still be around. And they might have some kind of power to help the situation.

Parts of the luscious grass tremble slightly before the three Aranara sprout out from the soil like fast-growing plants.

“We are here, Nara Prakasha! What— Oh!” stops Aranakin upon noticing Alhaitham’s state.

“He needs help. Please. Can one of you heal? Or magically transport a body?”

“Arabalika strong. Arabalika can carry Nara Alhaitham.”

“That’s not what I meant!” protests Kaveh, nearly hysterical. “Can one of you move him without shaking him!?”

They share a look, before turning back towards him. “Vana doesn’t remember any Aranara having an Ararakalari like this.”

“Really!? In all the fantastic and magical powers you have, you don’t have healing or the ability to carry heavy loads!?”

The three of them give Kaveh a blank stare. (Or as blank as their dark little eyes can appear.)

“Arabalika can carry heavy loads.”

Kaveh exhales profoundly.

“Fine. I’ll do it myself. But… please help us into the dream. We need to hide from the Eremites.”

The three Aranara share a frantic look again, hesitant, but finally nod before Kaveh reflects on their silent exchanges any further.

He then turns his attention back toward Alhaitham and feels a part of himself relax at the serene expression on his lover’s face. If not for the horrible ecchymoses and other smaller discolorations, one could nearly mistake his unconsciousness for a nap.

Kaveh carefully slips an arm under the Scribe’s shoulder, and gently cradles his head. It won’t be easy to carry him like this, but at least, it should help prevent his neck from moving around too much. Kaveh then places his arms under Alhaitham’s knees and braces himself to lift.

It doesn’t go as expected.

Kaveh sways under the weight of the so-called “feeble scholar”, vacillates for a moment before giving up and setting Alhaitham down to prevent his fall. Maybe the bridal-carry—while all his limbs are still paralyzed by the remnants of panic—was a bit ambitious. Especially considering the build of the Scribe compared to his own.

If only Cyno were here.

Mehrak beeps uselessly by his side, displaying worried eyes and warnings about lifting heavy weights. If only Kaveh hadn’t put a restriction on the manipulation of living things. (To his defense, if Mehrak did have this feature, Kaveh would not be able to work as the machine would undoubtedly drag him away from his desk when he goes way past regular business hours.)

Okay, change of plans.

“Arabalika, help me prop him up on my back. Be careful with his neck.”

———

They manage to haphazardly throw Alhaitham’s body over Kaveh’s shoulder and run back towards the dream bud of Mahavanaranapna. Arabalika, perched on Kaveh’s head, holds the Scribe’s arms around his neck to prevent his fall. The ticklish feeling of Alhaitham’s hair on his nape, and the warm breath on his skin comforts Kaveh, and allows him to recenter and focus on the next stage of affairs.

“Aranakin, Aragaru, open the way to the dream please”, he orders once in front of the bud.

Like earlier, they throw a glance at each other, hesitating. And he doesn’t have the patience to wait for their decision this time.

“Okay, what’s up with you all?” Kaveh finally asks, “Why are you so hesitant to bring Alhaitham in?”

Aranakin jumps in surprise at his harsher-than-usual tone, while Aragaru turns with a confused look on his face.

“Then… Tell us, Nara Kaveh. Is Nara Alhaitham a good, or bad Nara in your eyes?” asks Aragaru, sternly.

He huffs in annoyance. “This question again?”

Technically speaking, if asked ‘Is Alhaitham fundamentally good’, Kaveh would say no. Alhaitham has no regard for the notions of morality in itself and will argue that morality is nothing more than a set of social rules to maintain humanity and allow coexistence. Alhaitham follows moral rules, but more by contingency than by a real desire for honesty, as causing problems for others means causing problems for himself. Kaveh took years to accept this fact: he loves Alhaitham wholeheartedly, but they will never see eye to eye on this crucial matter. (That may be what tore them apart and made it so difficult to patch things up too, he realizes, defeated. How much more fighting must they go through to get out of their current predicament? At what point will Alhaitham finally decide that he has had enough, that Kaveh isn’t worth the effort?)

But the Aranara, when they ask about ‘good’ or ‘bad’, don’t seek an answer as profound. They are just identifying what will bring them harm. And for this, Kaveh can assure that Alhaitham will never be their version of ‘bad’. So, he responds: “Good, of course. Why?”

Aragaru and Aranakin share another look, and Kaveh feels himself growing slightly more insane.

Thankfully, they are quicker to answer this time. “Why Nara Kaveh says that Nara Alhaitham is good, when he hurt Nara Kaveh?”

Kaveh staggers. So that’s what they mean. The Aranara think Alhaitham might not be good for Kaveh, specifically. What could have brought on these doubts he wonders? Alhaitham never harmed him! As always, Kaveh got upset on his own, made a mountain out of a weasel hill, and drove himself into a corner! If anything, Alhaitham is the hurt one right now. That’s right, it’s my fault again. “I don’t… follow.”

Three blank stares weigh on him one more time. Even Arabalika stopped carefully watching Alhaitham’s head to stare. “Nara Kaveh needed help”, he exposes like presenting important evidence in a trial, “But then, Nara Alhaitham ignored you, and now you don’t trust him. Right?”

“What!? No! I don’t—”, Kaveh takes a deep breath as his stomach twists further. “No. I trust him.”

“Really?” Asks Arabalika, staring straight through his soul.

Kaveh grows self-conscious. The uncomfortable feeling of being exposed seethes in his stomach. Time to divert. “So, this dream? Do we enter today, or do we wait for him to bleed to death on my shoulder!?”

The pressure of their gaze remains as Aragaru responds. “If Nara Kaveh is sure, then of course.”

As they start singing, the architect notices their shared distressed, resolute gazes, but he tunes them out, floored—although not surprised—by this revelation.

During these past three weeks, they avoided talking about Alhaitham because they thought he hurt Kaveh. Not only can’t he provide love and care, warmth, and a home, but Kaveh can’t even talk about his boyfriend without painting a twisted version, untrustworthy, where the only source of unreliability is himself. He suddenly feels a crushing weight plummet down his legs, the same one that pushes him to run away, the same one that stops him from going back home. It leaves a gap in his chest, a shameful, exposed token of his failures.

As the vegetation shifts around them upon entering Mahavanaranapna to color in pink hues, Kaveh mutters. “How could he ever hurt me?”

It is more meant for himself, a search for his trust in their bond, but the image burning bright in his mind is the face of a young Alhaitham, distorted by anger, spitting the harshest truths that Kaveh ever heard. And he can’t deny it: today, still, it hurts.

The three Aranara turn towards him again, their innocent eyes compassionate, holding ages of wisdom in their glow.

“Nara Kaveh”, starts Aranakin, “you are a very good Nara. Maybe too good of a Nara. Nara Kaveh would save his worst tormentor. And Aranara don’t know where Nara Alhaitham stands.”

“What!?”

Now hundreds of images flash before his eyes. It’s Alhaitham caressing his hair before going to work. It’s Alhaitham coming back with take out from Puspa café ‘just because’, when Kaveh coincidentally spends days working on a commission. It’s the sad frown of concern when Kaveh talks about an encounter with Dory, but the absence of comments, showing respect and trust of Kaveh’s choices. It’s the small intentions and silent acts of care pacing Kaveh’s life to the soothing rhythm played by Alhaitham, slowing down his own frenetic beat, disarming the ticking bombs in the mess of his existence. How dare they think Alhaitham would hurt him.

Why is he growing so mad at them over this? Tears start to pearl at the corner of his eyes once more. Again, it’s his fault. It’s because he can’t display affection without it feeling wrong. Because he always feels dread after respite. Because he can’t love Alhaitham correctly, and always wants more, more than he can receive, more than he can give.

“Aranara were trying to protect you”, Adds Aragaru, “Because Nara Kaveh is so used to being hurt that Nara Kaveh doesn’t know his own threshold.”

Kaveh doesn’t respond, merely stares down at his shoes. The three Aranara look in silence again, as his trembling breaths fill the moment.

“Come”, finally says Arabalika, “Let’s bring Nara Alhaitham to village chief Araja.”

———

Kaveh sits by Alhaitham’s bedside for what feels like hours. Legs crowding his torso, arms wrapping around his knees, and gazing into the void, he stays in this position until his whole body grows numb. Now in the dream version of his temporary little hut, he vaguely watches the Aranara coming and going as they tend to Alhaitham’s wounds with various degrees of expertise, some using strange powers, others crafting weird plant mixtures, applying them on the bruised skin.

The agitation stops after a while, and all that is left is the silence filled with Kaveh’s thoughts. He is tired. But he can’t sleep. His head is a disarray of flashes, dispatched reflections, and regrets. The vision of Alhaitham’s head falling to the ground as he loses consciousness keeps replaying before him, and Kaveh stays stuck in a cycle of horror.

The memories of the blood and injuries conjure a different emotion to counterbalance. As Kaveh visualizes the cuts and bruises—now underneath the clumsy bandages wrapped around Alhaitham’s arms, torso, and legs—acids boil in his stomach, and he trembles with a heated restlessness. It slowly tips the balance of his immobility, as he feels close to breaking something. How dare they. For how long did they track Alhaitham for him to be in such a sorry state? What did they do to tire him out that much? His dendro vision sometimes heats against his thigh when the anger turns fuming inside, and the only thing restraining Kaveh from going out in search of revenge is the sight of the Scribe's closed eyes.

It all tips over when Araja enters the hut.

“Nara Kaveh”, he starts in his calm, solemn voice. “It is morning already. Did Nara Kaveh sleep at all?”

Kaveh shakes his head no, unassured of keeping his voice even should he speak.

“I see. Does Nara Kaveh want a Zaytun peach?”

He poses his gaze on the fruit extended to him for a while, debating whether or not to take it. To the memory of Alhaitham’s frowning when Kaveh refuses to eat, he unwraps an arm from around his knees, his muscles tingling under the sudden movement and grabs the food. He then brings it to his mouth and bites hard. The sweetness and juice lighten his mood a bit.

“The Nara Valuka that chased after Nara Alhaitham just arrived in Vanarana.”

His mood soars back into the abyss. But at least, this time, he has an outlet.

“Mehrak?”, it beeps readily, “Let’s go.”

“N-Nara Kaveh, don’t be hasty! These Nara Valuka are very strong! Their leader has been blessed with geo Ararakalari! See what they have done to Nara Alhaitham!”

A geo vision holder. That explains why Alhaitham couldn’t get rid of them easily. Kaveh immediately realizes how it could have been even worse. It adds fuel to his fire.

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll be fine.”

After all, he has spent three weeks surveying the land with the finest detail and can retreat into the dream if things go awry. Not that being at a disadvantage would stop him anyway.

Finishing his fruit in a hurry, he steps outside the hut, anger boiling in the pit of his stomach.

———

Once outside the dream, Kaveh doesn’t need to look around to find his targets. At the exit of the dream, He spots three Eremites exiting a hut, after having visibly thrown all the furniture out. From an architect-designer point of view, it adds insult to injury.

“Hey, be careful with things that don’t belong to you!”, calls out Kaveh.

The three of them, not noticing his sudden arrival (from apparently nowhere, since they don’t know about the Aranara’s powers), spin towards his direction, weapons raised. A geo vision is indeed clipped on the torso of the middle one and confirms their identity.

His own dendro vision being less visible, the three Eremites relax at the view of a proper, thin, pretty blond man and his floating briefcase.

“Hey there, darling!” Coos the geo vision holder. “What are ya doin’ out here by your beautiful self?”

There’s no need to state how utterly disgusted Kaveh is already.

“Have ya seen a silver-haired man by any chance?” the Eremite continues, “About as tall as you, teal eyes, stony face… quite the beauty too actually.”

Oh god. Did they talk like this to Alhaitham too? “You—!”, Kaveh, arms crossed to give himself composure, feels his hands tense against his biceps. “If you speak one more thing about him, I’ll make you regret it.”

The geo vision holder lets out a raucous laugh as his two subalterns slowly walk around to circle Kaveh, weapons out.

“He almost took the bait!”, mocks the leader, “So ya did see the Scribe, huh, pretty boy… or should I say Kaveh, Light of Kshahrewar?”

The three of them let out predatory sneers, but Kaveh stays unfazed. “I don’t care either way that you know my name. Let’s cut to the chase.”

“Since you’ve asked so nicely...”

In a flash, the two minions jump at Kaveh, and he summons his claymore, infuses it with dendro, before using Mehrak to swing it in a large circle around himself. Thanks to the humidity present all around Vanarana, dendro cores pop up all around him in protection.

“You dendro yielders and your cores”, grumbles the leader. Kaveh isn’t sure what he is upset about, but good. Get annoyed, loser.

The Eremites, visibly aware of the time these bombs normally take to explode, don’t bother taking a step back immediately. Well, too bad for them. Grabbing Mehrak, he lets out a sudden burst of elemental energy to set all the dendro cores off. Grunts of surprise and pain can be heard from his assailants.

“Dammit, you’re as crazy as your stupid boyfriend, blowing yourself up with tons of made-up bombs!” Rages the leader.

And now, Kaveh better understands the reasons for Alhaitham’s injuries. To his knowledge, the Scribe doesn’t have a sentient suitcase that can catalyze and transform the explosion of cores into revitalizing dendro energy. It twists another string in the already-tightened ball of nerves that he is. Oh, that Stupid scribe! Alhaitham will hear him out about dangerously playing with dendro cores like this!

“Call him stupid one more time, I dare you!” is what Kaveh responds, because only he gets to call Alhaitham stupid.

An arrow barely missing Kaveh’s cheek returns his focus. It is still three against one, and one of them has a vision. Now is not the time to let his guard down.

This is not the optimal spot for this fight.

Swinging his claymore again, it clings against the axe of the leader, and the velocity of the hit makes the opponent retreat. Kaveh uses this opportunity to zoom past him and run for the central pond of the village. More water means more dendro cores.

His adversary curses and screams “After him!”

“Mehrak! Keep them at a safe distance!”

A beep chirps behind, followed by clashes and grunts, as Kaveh runs as fast as possible.

The pond is only a few dozen meters ahead, so the architect arrives quickly, dashes through the water, and turns towards his opponents once more, discharging another wave of dendro energy into the pond, summoning a barrier of cores. He then recalls Mehrak by his side.

“Hah! Now come get me if you can!”

“I swear, ya two really make the pair!” Rages the vision holder. He signals both his subordinates to stay behind, and finally summons his geo powers to shield his body, then charges forward with a cry.

Kaveh braces himself. The dendro cores explode around them as his claymore and the axe impact. The Eremite throws a right punch. Kaveh evades and spreads even more elemental energy into the water. He is not afraid. He can do this all day if need be.

They exchange blows in the middle of the pond for a few minutes, Kaveh mostly evading and blocking, producing core after core, waiting for his opponent to grow tired. At some point, the geo shield goes down, and despite his efforts to summon it back, the Eremite fails and only puffs under the effort, proving he is definitely a beginner at elemental manipulation. So, he is forced to endure dendro explosions, crazed by his rage as he swings his axe. Kaveh has already won. It’s only a matter of time before his adversary crumbles.

Some punches reach the architect, and the blade grazes his skin on more than one occasion, but with the constant explosions of cores around converted into healing energy by Mehrak, all his bruises disappear as quickly as they appear, not having the time to even sting. Kaveh watches with a certain satisfaction the eyes of the Eremite turning to panic in front of an adversary that he can barely touch and can’t even injure.

Suddenly, screams resonate near the pond. Kaveh turns his attention to a flash of green zapping from nowhere, casting itself on the two other Eremites before tearing into their skin with a blade. Dendro particles follow through, deepening the cuts, throwing their victims straight to the ground.

A familiar voice twists in an unusual tone: a calm, measured anger. “Touch him one more time and you’re dead.”

Teal eyes filled with anger are directed towards Kaveh’s opponent, the two other Eremites pathetically grunt on the ground, knocked out by the flash attack.

It’s been years since Kaveh has seen this rage. It’s been three weeks since he last heard this voice. A lump forms in his throat.

Alhaitham.

Chapter Text

The first thing Alhaitham registers as he emerges from his deep slumber is the sensation of spinning in place, and the darkness of his eyelids. For a moment, he can’t situate any of his limbs, his mind at loss, fogged by a heavy weight in his skull, not quite a migraine, but sufficiently uncomfortable enough to make him grimace.

He then makes the awful decision of shifting his body around. Suddenly, he is set ablaze by violent pangs of pain, forcing a pathetic grunt out of his throat. Most of it is just superficial cuts stinging, along with horrible cramps, and body aches; but the devouring burns on his hands, exposed raw to the air, as well as his bruised left arm send powerful electric shocks through his nervous system, zapping their plights to his brain.

All these unfamiliar and unpleasant sensations force Alhaitham’s eyes open, hoping that an additional sense will help him find some sort of balance.

It does not, because the world is pink. Or violet.

His surroundings are basked in strange lights and only add to the confusion of his body screaming in pain. Is this the afterlife? No. He wouldn’t feel physical sensations if he turned incorporeal. At least, this suffering is a sign of his survival.

“So. Nara Alhaitham is finally awake.”

When Alhaitham turns his head in the direction of the voice, it doesn’t help his general state of confusion. A small ocher ball with brown leaves on his head and a salient mustache apparently just talked.

“Where… am I?” He asks, focused on the creature for their answer, to confirm if such a deep voice really came out of this little ball of plants.

“In Mahavanaranapna.”

So, this thing really talks. And the vocabulary employed finally allows his brain to make a bit more sense of the surroundings.

“The Aranara’s place.” He concludes.

“Indeed. This is the home dream of Aranara. And I, Araja, am the protector of this dream. Do not disturb it any further, Nara Alhaitham.”

Huh. There is so much that Alhaitham didn’t understand in that last sentence. The sparks of his curiosity light up, and batches of questions pop into his mind. That would be interesting research.

But as the cogs of his brain turn slowly back on, a more urgent matter springs at the forefront of his consciousness.

Kaveh.

With a grunt, he places both hands on the bed underneath himself (strange, he doesn’t recall losing consciousness somewhere this comfortable), and tries to raise himself. His left arm screams in protest, before faltering under the effort.

“Nara Alhaitham, you should lay down!” Fusses Araja next to him.

But he doesn’t listen and tries again, relying solely on his right arm, ignoring the rest of his muscles asking for reprieve. Sweat pearls on his forehead, as he painfully sits upright. He then raises his hands off the bed, the pangs of his burns adding to the cacophony of complaints sent by his body.

“Where is Kaveh?”

His question stays suspended in the air for a while, Araja staring at him between a fringe of leaves, unsettled. But without the mudded writings to hide behind, the Aranara can’t escape Alhaitham’s inquisitions, their body language betraying their thoughts. With just a look, the Scribe already deduces three things: they know precisely where Kaveh is at the moment (from the eyes shifting to a specific point for an instant), this is probably a dangerous place (from the inherent worry in those eyes), and Kaveh is in a tough spot (from the fidgeting of the body, combined with the gaze oscillating between Alhaitham and that specific point).

But they aren’t in any hurry to move, as they don’t appear alert, so Alhaitham concludes that this place is still safe and that the danger is situated specifically where Kaveh chose to go, or concerns at least what he chose to do.

Okay. Time to proof test the KBM ^{(Kaveh’s Behavioral Model)}: from what Alhaitham remembers before losing consciousness, there is a chance that he actually saw and kissed Kaveh before passing out. Judging by the eyes filled with tears, the screams, and the pain currently hindering Alhaitham’s body, the KEBS ^{(Kaveh’s Emotional Burst Scale)} is at least on a 7. The EKEF ^{(Encyclopedia of Kaveh’s Emotional State)}, working in tandem with an E-UKP ^{(Emotional Usual Kaveh Pattern)} where the APCF ^{(Alhaitham’s Presence Chaos Factor)} is active, shows a probable evolution from a devastating sadness to a profound anger.

If Alhaitham is right, then Kaveh probably boils to find an outlet for his rage. In addition, we can note the presence of certain factors from the KET ^{(Kaveh’s Emotional Triggers)} and the KIWP ^{(Kaveh’s Intellectual Weaknesses Points)}, such as death, injury, justice, forgiveness, morality… to list a few.

All this points to one thing: Kaveh is extremely unpredictable right now and might do something reckless.

Analyzing the external factors of the current situation, the most coherent theory is this: Kaveh went to confront the Eremites alone.

There are still some variables of contingency to this explanation, for example, how did Kaveh find out Eremites were the cause of this, or how did he know where he could find them? Although, considering the agent “Aranara” and their blatant honesty during face-to-face conversations, Kaveh may have found out the information from them.

It is still a “may”, but this is the most compelling answer.

“Lead me to him”, Alhaitham finally orders after twenty seconds of intense reflection.

When Araja returns a conflicted gaze, the Scribe tries convincing him. “He might be outnumbered and in a bad spot. Even if incapacitated, I can still fight. We’ll have a better chance of getting out of this together, without any other major injuries, if we can cover for each other.”

He lets Araja computes with the variables for a while, still staring straight into his little black eyes, adding pressure to enhance the probability of them agreeing under the sense of urgency.

It works.

“Very well”, Araja finally nods. “I’ll let you leave Mahavanaranapna. Then, Nara Alhaitham should find Nara Kaveh easily enough.”

———

Getting out of bed and walking the 300 meters separating him from the exit of this ‘dream’—whatever that means exactly—reveals to be close to torture. Every part of his body wails in protest as his jelly legs transport him as fast as possible.

He thanks his genetics for the hard stone expression that effortlessly composes his face, allowing Alhaitham to hide his pain from the Aranara who are guiding him, and not allowing them to reconsider their agreement. As they stop in front of a massive plant bud to start singing, Alhaitham pushes the curiosity around this particular behavior to the back of his mind, focusing on discreetly catching his breath.

His thoughts are a mess. He tries to reevaluate the KBM, but his reflection is often interrupted by the flashes of ouch and it hurts his body keeps sending.

Alhaitham opens his eyes in a jolt when the soothing voice of the Aranara is replaced by clashing metal and battle cries.

Finally, he sees Kaveh clearly, for the first time in three weeks.

Eyes burning, movements brazened, elemental energy swirls around him in violent whirls; his untamable emotions pour through each movement, crackling his anger in fits of dendro bursts. Every time he sees Kaveh fight, Alhaitham is reminded of a conductor directing an incandescent symphony, orchestrating his rage for all to see.

Kaveh seems to be doing well against his sole enemy. The two lackeys don’t dare get close to the explosions of the fight, fidgeting on the fringe while their leader loses his composure.

But the sight of this disgusting man in the throw of battle against the graceful and virtuous architect shakes Alhaitham with profound horror. Words resonate in the cacophony of his mind. We’ll be sure you see him suffer before you die.

His train of thought disconnects.

Next thing he knows, he zaps forward, and thrusts his sword into the back of one of the lackeys, a dendro replica swinging to his left to pierce through the second. Mirror pellets flash in the corner of his vision, but he isn’t sure which one is which, or where the cries of pain come from.

Alhaitham vaguely registers two masses crumbling to the ground next to him, but his gaze can’t afford to be distracted. Kaveh’s attention trails in his direction. Their eyes meet. Immediately, the two precious scarlet irises of the architect grow misty with tears, losing the fire of their anger.

The third opponent takes the opportunity to swing his axe toward the back of the blond’s head.

“Touch him one more time and you’re dead.” Alhaitham hears himself groan distantly.

It only extends the dangerous smile on the Eremite’s face, gaze crazed, not stopping his movements in the slightest.

Then, Alhaitham’s fist connects with his chin.

He isn’t sure if the choice of zooming past the few meters between them with a new burst of dendro was a conscious one, but the velocity throws the geo vision holder headfirst into the pond, his axe repelled far behind.

This is also where the scribe’s legs decide to give up and remind Alhaitham that his body is already exhausted to its limit. Water splashes his clothes as he also falls to his knees in the pond. The cool sensation putting to sleep some of his muscle pains. He lets out a discreet sigh of relief.

“Alhaitham!?” Finally Kaveh reacts, half-obfuscated, half-worried. How can he even mix those two emotions in his voice?

Archons, Alhaitham loves him.

The Eremite leader grunts and starts to get up. Shit. Alhaitham needs to get up too. But two slender legs and a red flowing cape block his view. Kaveh has interposed between them, throwing a protecting arm in front of the Scribe.

“You stupid— idiot! How are you even up right now!? You should be in bed!” Kaveh chastises, his eyes staying on their opponent while reprimanding him like a child.

Alhaitham chuckles in response. Archons, he missed this fussing.

“Hah! That’s right, mock me for caring, you— stupid— blockheaded— Urgh! This conversation is not over!”

After that, Kaveh charges the Eremite, picking up where he left off, swinging his claymore with elegance and rage, measured and passionate. His opponent, now weaponless, blocks as much as he can, summoning light geo barriers to counter each impact, his breath growing heavier and heavier under the assault.

Propagating dendro into the pond, cores appear all around the barely standing man, and without any of his usual mercy, Kaveh gives Mehrak the command: “Scanning!”

Then bursts of green, followed by a pained cry and splashes of water as, at last, the Eremite leader loses consciousness.

Seeing the man finally down lifts a weight off Alhaitham’s chest, and all tension is drained into the water of the pond. This is over. He sags down a bit, his head turning as he loses balance.

Two hands on his shoulder stabilize him.

“Hey”, comes in Kaveh’s very annoyed voice. “We’re not doing this again, you hear me? Now, go back to bed.”

Alhaitham shakes his head. No, he can’t. The Eremites will wake up at some point, they need to be tied down. But it seems like a waste of energy to speak right now. So, he stands up, still wobbly on his legs, and walks in the direction of the leader.

“Hey! You can’t ignore me now! I swear, Alhaitham listen to me! Please!” Annoyance quickly shifts into pleading concern in Kaveh’s voice.

Alhaitham’s heart quickens. He should hurry.

His right hand closes around the arm of the Eremite, and with a grunt, Alhaitham drags him out of the water. This time, adrenaline truly gone, he can’t restrain a grimace at the throbbing of his injuries.

“P-Please! Take it easy or let me do it! What do you want to do?” begs Kaveh.

Alhaitham hates the slight tremble he hears in the architect’s voice. He suddenly wants to drop everything, ignore his current task, and run to Kaveh. Alright. Maybe some help will quicken this. “Pick up the two others. Let’s gather them to the side. Take their weapons away.”

Kaveh nods and follows his instructions without any argument. The Scribe was waiting for a response in the likes of ‘WHAT? That’s how you greet me after 3 WEEKS!?’, but Kaveh must be distraught to not complain about the bossiness. Alhaitham wants to hug him. Now. The Scribe sighs, cursing his hindered body again. What is the goal of all these muscles if he can’t complete tasks like this quickly?

“Ok, done”, declares Kaveh after efficiently bringing the two other Eremites as close as possible to Alhaitham, shortening his travel distance. “Now what?”

Instead of responding, Alhaitham crouches down and puts his hands against the ground, wincing at the impact reverberating through his left arm.

“W-What are you do—”

Kaveh’s voice is cut short when vines spring from the soil to tangle tightly around the Eremites, blocking all their movements, secured.

Finally.

“Wow. Didn’t know you could do that.”

Finally, Alhaitham can direct his undivided attention…

“Will you go back to bed now…? Please?”

… to Kaveh.

In a smooth swoop, as if all his injuries suddenly floated away, Alhaitham gets up from the ground and cups Kaveh’s face with his hands.

The blond makes a slight movement backward as ruby eyes widen, but Alhaitham is done analyzing their glint.

“Can I kiss you?”

In his frenzy, he still remembers their unaddressed feud, of Kaveh flying to the other side of the country, leaving only a letter behind, proof of his pain, proof of Alhaitham‘s negligence.

But then, Kaveh gives a small nod.

Relief detonates in quick succession in his chest. He still has the right to kiss Kaveh. Which means he still has a chance of mending things. Which means Kaveh doesn’t hate him.

Alhaitham firmly pushes their lips together, closes his eyes, immediately comforted by the warm, solid touch against his mouth, by the soft cheeks against his scorched palms, and a long exhale escapes through his nose.

It feels like breathing again after a long time.

Kaveh’s shoulders drop down a bit, tension leaving the blond too, as he relaxes into the kiss, his eyelashes delightfully caressing Alhaitham’s cheek when his eyelids close. Delicate arms snake around Alhaitham’s back, hands finding their place in the middle, and Kaveh readjusts their lips to a more comfortable angle, bringing their bodies closer.

Now chest to chest, Alhaitham shudders in the warmth, in the scent, in the touch that he longed for. Fingertips trace his spine back and forth, comforting, following the goosebumps to soothe them down. It only causes Alhaitham to shiver further. Gods, how he missed this.

The hands retreat from his back far too soon. Then, they move between torsos to lie on Alhaitham’s face. When Kaveh gently pushes away, ending their kiss, Alhaitham chases after, but the kind and firm palms of the architect stop his pursuit.

He reopens his eyes to see what’s the matter. The two shining ruby eyes drip with worry, and Alhaitham gets his answer before asking. You, Alhaitham. You are the matter.

“Please, answer me honestly: are you okay?”

Hundreds of jabs and deflections could be said in response. Alhaitham, to this question, has multiple possibilities to turn away and throw Kaveh in another direction, to flee without answering it truthfully.

He could respond with a little flirtatious comment, along the lines of Now yes, since you’re here in my arms and delight from watching Kaveh melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

He could axe the problem of his very physical condition, about how his entire body hurts, that just standing up is a challenge, and that he might collapse the moment Kaveh steps away from their embrace.

He could be acerbic, vengeful, biting back with a shouldn’t I ask you that with the letter you left behind? and watch Kaveh’s face quickly turn to usual annoyance, a much more entertaining expression than the pain and worry distorting his traits right now.

But after a while, Alhaitham understood his message in that C5L ^{(Cursed 5-page Letter)}: I need change. So, Alhaitham knows what he has to say in response.

“I am… not sure.”

The naked truth.

Kaveh’s reaction is immediate.

“Oh god, this is worse than I thought.” He quickly starts panicking, his eyes jumping all across Alhaitham’s body, scanning for anything alarming  (or well… any newly alarming). His hands leave Alhaitham’s cheeks to squeeze around his biceps, centering them both, searching for a balance that’s already there.

“M-Maybe you should sit down or return to bed… can you walk? Does it hurt!? Do you want me to carry you!?” Kaveh shifts around a bit more, growing more restless by the second, detaching from their embrace in his haste “H-Hang in there, let’s start walking slowly, you can lean on me—”

“Kaveh”, Alhaitham grabs the shoulders of the blond, grounding him in place, and Kaveh snaps his mouth shut, eyes wide, waiting for his next words. Gods. He’s cute. Alhaitham wants to kiss him again. “That’s… not what I meant.” He sighs instead. “Well. Not entirely.”

Kaveh lets out a breath, and the Scribe’s hands follow the movement of his shoulders dropping again. “Then… what is it?” asks Kaveh, still buzzing under his forced countenance.

Alright, this is not the best atmosphere for discussion if Kaveh continues to frenetically worry like this. But it’s still cute though. Alhaitham deposits a quick peck to his lips. To reassure him, he thinks. Right. Who is Alhaitham kidding?

When Kaveh’s eyelashes flutter open after the chaste kiss, the primary emotion found in his eyes is confusion.

Where does Alhaitham even start? Where did it start again? Right.

“The letter you wrote.”

Kaveh tenses again under his fingers. “Yes?”

“Why couldn’t you tell me?”

Only confusion in response. “Tell you what?”

“About the sweet names.”

“What?”

“Should I cite what you wrote? ‘I won’t say my dear, my dearest or my love, or any other sweet names you don’t deserve. You never call me those anyway.’ Well, you never asked.”

“H-Huh!?” Kaveh’s eyes widen as he shakes his head in disbelief. Cute. “What does it have to do with you ‘not being okay’ right now?”

Confusion is always a good look on him. Maybe that’s why Alhaitham can’t stop teasing him. When Kaveh doesn’t understand, cogs can be seen turning behind his brilliant eyes, the palace of his mind lighting up, vitalizing his whole face. But Alhaitham is getting side-tracked again. To evacuate all intrusive thoughts, he squeezes Kaveh’s face and kisses him again. (And receive a confused squeak in response. Cute.)

“I am ‘not okay’ with the fact that you won’t bring up a point of dissatisfaction, and throw it in my face in a break-up letter.”

Apparently, Kaveh’s eyes can open even wider. So wide that he is starting to look like an exaggerated character out of an Inazuman light novel. “What!? When did I say I’d break up with you!?”

“Should I cite it again?”

“Hmph! If you’re sure you can, then go ahead!”

Gods, this blind confidence is adorable. Not a great asset for self-preservation, but adorable. Alhaitham kisses him again. (A bit longer this time, since, apparently, it is not a break-up letter. Another batch of tension leaves Alhaitham’s body.)

“Hah! Kissing me because you don’t have any evidence I see—”

“‘I don’t believe how much I still care about you while saying goodbye.’, or do you prefer: ‘I don’t know what place you’ll occupy in my life once I get back.’”

Kaveh’s cheeks blush and his confused frown says it all: Did I really write that!? Alhaitham kisses the wrinkles above his nose to soothe it away.

“E-Even so…!” Kaveh now responds to protect his pride, “It doesn’t explicitly state anything about a break-up!”

“But you do understand why I might have thought so.”

“W-Well…! I mean—!” Alhaitham kisses him on the lips. “H-Hey! Stop tha—mph!” again. “Are you trying to shut me uhmph!” and again.

“Really Kaveh, didn’t you learn anything from the time we spent together?” Another kiss. “You just need to ask, if you want my attention.”

“I don’t know if you realize how hard it is to compete with a book when it comes to you someti—mph!” Alhaitham can’t help this one. He missed his cheekiness. And to be fair, he might also be getting addicted to the little high pitched noise Kaveh makes when Alhaitham kisses him in the middle of a sentence. It sends him into a frenzy.

“I didn’t know where you went.”

“You don’t need to know every—hmph!”

“I thought you might be in danger.”

“Come on, I have a visio—hrmph!”

“I even brought Tighnari and Cyno in this.”

“What!?”

“Do you know how worried they’ve been?”

“You didn’t have to—mph!”

“I even went to Port Ormos. To Alcazarzaray. I talked with Dori.”

Since Kaveh doesn’t answer this time, he gets a kiss on the nose.

“My back hurts from all this traveling.”

A kiss on the left cheek.

“I almost became indebted to her.”

A glint of panic in the ruby eyes. Alhaitham kisses an eyelid to erase it.

“Almost. I found you first, so that is null and void.”

Alhaitham intentionally skips the Eremite’s part in all of this. Kaveh doesn’t need to know. Well… He might ask some questions about why they followed him here. But that’s a subject for later. For now, Alhaitham kisses between his eyebrows.

“I even brought Dehya into it.”

He then brushes his lips against Kaveh’s forehead. His kissing’s feverishness finally subsides as it turns longing, tender. Alhaitham keeps his lips here, breathing in the fragrance of the blond hair, a lot less cosmetically scented than usual after three weeks in the wild, but somehow, still very Kaveh.

“I couldn’t read. Barely slept. I—” he takes another inhale, his heart skipping a beat at the thought of his next sentence.

He doesn’t usually say it to Kaveh. Because it only creates more problems, while not solving any. It never convinces Kaveh to stop his self-destructing behaviors and often, only earns Alhaitham a new headache. But sometimes, logic isn’t needed. This is one of those times.

Alhaitham takes a leap of fate and finally says it. “I was worried.”

The Scribe realizes that Kaveh stopped responding around the middle of his rant, staying awfully quiet under their embrace. Alhaitham’s hands tighten slightly around the soft cheeks, as he brings the head of blond hair closer to him, tucking it beneath his chin. Please. Answer. Alhaitham waits with bated breath, waiting for the usual reaction, for a furious monologue, for cries, for anything.

“I’m sorry”, ushers Kaveh finally. “You went through a lot, huh? It’s all because of me…”

A shiver of horror scrawls on Alhaitham’s back. Without any surprise, he got the usual reaction: guilt.

No. This is not what he wants. They’ve done this dance again and again. Alhaitham refuses to repeat this pattern. But what can he say? He tried multiple times, with each thread of logic possible, and he never gave the correct answer. He searches for something unprecedented. A way out of the models.

“It was…” he starts, not sure of how to end it.

‘Nothing’? No, that would be lying. This isn’t productive.

‘Alright’? That wouldn’t make sense, when he started this rant by saying it was not.

‘Trivial’? Ridiculous, his body, still screaming in pain, objects.

So, what? What is the reason why Kaveh shouldn’t feel guilty? Alhaitham went through all these trials, all these horrendous battles, and dealt with his own personal circles of hell so why… doesn’t he hold Kaveh accountable for any of it? Because the eagle wants to keep the lion by his side. That’s right. First and foremost, the reason why Alhaitham went through all this ordeal is because…

“It was my choice”, Alhaitham finally concludes.

He detaches from Kaveh to look at him, ruby eyes raising for their gaze to meet.

“It was my choice”, reiterates Alhaitham. “I could have let you leave and never come back. I would have been worried for a bit longer, because we both know your survival skills are lacking but…” It earns him an aggravated stare, but Kaveh keeps his reflections to himself, letting Alhaitham finish. “Ultimately, I know the choices you make are always in line with your inner values. With your essence. And I trust them.”

The Scribe takes a second to lose himself in Kaveh’s eyes, exploring their deep red, the myriad of emotions coming and going in them, and it strengthens his resolve to see his speech through. “I didn’t want to. So, I chose to find you, and to find out where our relationship failed you.”

The whirl of emotions in Kaveh’s eyes grows more agitated, and Alhaitham sees something in them, a thread ready to snap, a ‘too much’ ready to boil over. “Now. Kaveh. I’ve heard you. Something between us doesn’t work. What do you want to do about it?”

Panic takes over in the ruby eyes and prompts Alhaitham to explain further: “I’m not insinuating anything. It is a genuine question. Please, answer it.”

The scarlet storm continues. Kaveh isn’t sure where to look anymore, trying his best to sustain Alhaitham’s gaze, but the Scribe waits patiently, knowing how hard it is sometimes for Kaveh to make sense of his own thoughts. “I…” he finally starts, still hesitant, “I don’t want to break up.”

“Good. Me neither.”

“Great.”

A less oppressive silence takes place. Kaveh searches for more words, but Alhaitham quickly understands he won’t be getting them any time soon. So, the Scribe slides his arms around Kaveh’s shoulder, bringing them closer, and nuzzles against the blond’s hair to bask in its scent. But when he relaxes a bit more, his legs buckle.

Kaveh tightens his hold reflexively, his body growing taunt. “Alhaitham!?” he calls, growing worried again.

“Alright. I might need to lay down for a bit.”

———

After Kaveh calls the Aranara to keep watch of the Eremites, they both retire to a little hut past the north rock arch. Alhaitham vaguely remembers going through a similar one on his way out of the strange Aranara world, and also notes the resemblance of the environment both in and out.

But as Kaveh fusses around, pushing him into the small bed inside, Alhaitham abandons his curiosity to observe his boyfriend move around, surveilling and decoding each of his movements. Kaveh seems rather frazzled. More so than usual. Which is expected with the whole C5L ^{(Cursed 5-page Letter)} and DJLK ^{(Dramatic Journey of the Light of Kshahrewar)} debacle.

Alhaitham indulges him for a change, and allows Kaveh to bring as many pillows as he can, to check his injuries over and over, understanding this is a stress response that needs to be executed. Alhaitham internally curses himself for the fright he inflicted on Kaveh. He knew this was going to be his reaction and would have preferred to never appear in this state in front of him. Kaveh doesn’t need any more stressors in his life, and most importantly, more people to take care of.

After a while, the antsy architect finally settles on a small wooden stool next to the bed, Alhaitham’s left hand in his, mindlessly stroking the back with his thumb as a way to ground himself. He seems aged, dark circles around lost eyes, blond a bit dulled.

Alhaitham continues to stare in silence, watching for any variation in the tired face, waiting for Kaveh to emerge out of his mind, to find some inner peace before facing what’s left to address.

“Is there anything else you want to say to me?” Finally asks Kaveh.

“No.”

“So, you came all this way, went through all this trouble just to answer whatever was written in that letter?”

“Yes.”

A sigh. “Alhaitham, this is madness.”

“Probably.”

“This is not okay.”

“Sure.”

“We should talk.”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Kaveh shifts around on the stool, and grabs Alhaitham’s hand between his palms before staring straight at him. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, still storming behind his scarlet eyes.

“Why the letter, Kaveh?” prompts Alhaitham to help him.

“I don’t know. An outburst that had nowhere else to go. I… I couldn’t even draw Alhaitham. I wasn’t getting anywhere. A call for help, maybe.”

Hearing this comforts Alhaitham that he made the right choice. All these trials were worth it. Kaveh doesn’t call for help. He barely accepts it. Even while homeless, broke, and without any family to turn to, it took a lot of reasoning for Kaveh to accept Alhaitham’s reaching hand. The architect often says in defense of his lofty ideals, that if he ever reaches the bottom, a helping hand will do as he usually does, that a kind soul will reach out for him. But what is the point, if Kaveh never accepts it?

Here, again, after this clumsy, immature call for help, Kaveh ran away, making sure to refuse what he needed.

“So. If you wanted help, why the disappearing act?” asks Alhaitham.

“I… don’t know.”

A lie.

“Were you lonely?”

“Maybe.”

Avoidance.

Kaveh is still keeping something from him. He cuts eye contact with Alhaitham to bury his head in their linked hands, fighting off something inside, caging it deeper so it would go unnoticed.

Alhaitham will have none of that.

“Look at me.”

No response.

“Kaveh.”

Alhaitham shakes his hand away from the rough palms, grabbing the architect’s delicate chin. A resigned gaze finally meets his own.

“Tell me.”

Tears fill red irises. “It’s never enough”, Kaveh’s voice trembles, “No matter how much I get, it never feels enough. Especially from you. You could—”, a sob, “You could spend every waking moment with me, and I would always find a way of doubting you. Of doubting that you want me here. And this has nothing to do with you. It’s me. I am never satisfied, and even while you drag yourself like this—”

The guilt again. Alhaitham has had enough. He twists his torso to reach for Kaveh’s arm with his right hand and pulls him onto the bed, against his chest. A gasp escapes Kaveh between ragged breaths.

“H-Haitham, you really shouldn't move around too much—”

“Stop shouldering all the blame in this, Kaveh.”

It cuts off his blabbering as tears are finally free to pearl on his cheeks, dampening Alhaitham’s shirt.

“I know you”, he continues, “and I know that you need my presence. Need affirmations and praise. But they don’t come to me naturally. I thought you were okay with it, that you didn’t need them from me specifically, because you never ask for them.”

“I am willing to try the pet names. The praises. The presence. Kaveh, please, let me know when you need things.”

“I-I don’t know”, Kaveh sniffles, hiding against the Scribe’s shirt, “I’ve told you; it never feels enough!” his voice raises with frustration, “All I can do is ask but never take!”

“It doesn’t erase the legitimacy of your request. Ask. It’s not going to waste.”

Kaveh doesn’t respond, bringing his hands to Alhaitham’s waist and grasping at the clothes, holding on while sniffling, trying to stop the tears.

His breaths slow down after a while. But he stays still, relaxing against Alhaitham on the bed, playing with the fabric of his shirt, the tension drops from his shoulder again. He finally takes a trembling inhalation, before releasing a long exhalation.

“Thank you, Haitham”, half-whispers Kaveh, voice winded by many complex feelings that Alhaitham could spend hours dissecting, but for now, he chooses to revel in the major note of gratitude.

“You’re welcome”, he simply responds.

Kaveh chuckles lightly. “You don’t need three this time?”

“I’ll let you off the hook.”

“How magnanimous.”

A comfortable silence settles. Kaveh shifts his head to lie more comfortably on Alhaitham’s torso, his breath still hitching, tracing circles with a thumb on the scribe’s side, much more peaceful than before. The architect’s rough fingers then grow more exploratory, caressing around his belly, going up and down in irregular movements to draw a form visible only to his eyes. They climb all the way to Alhaitham’s neck, creating delectable shivers in their wake, and the Scribe fights off the spell of sleepiness they cast, wanting to bask in Kaveh’s presence a bit more.

To be fair, it still feels a bit unreal, having him back, cuddling against him. Alhaitham is still waiting for his eyes to suddenly pop open to the dark and cold of the night, to branch cracks filling the silence. But every time he blinks, Kaveh is still there, like a miracle, like he never left.

“I never understood”, the blond breaks the silence at one point, “why you bother so much with me in particular. You never do anything for anyone other than yourself.”

Alhaitham gives a nonsensical hum before responding. “It is not as out of character as you make it out to be. Caring for you doesn’t trample over my principles. Far from it actually.”

Kaveh hums, interrogating, prompting Alhaitham to continue.

“I like to know that you are safe, content, and well.”

The Scribe closes his eyes, visualizing once again their familiar outings in the city, rummaging through stands and shops, their voices reverberating against the stone of the main street, or getting absorbed by the ceiling of the Grand Bazaar.

“I like to see you lighten up at the sight of new useless accessories, as much as I like you getting obfuscated by furniture you deem unworthy of our home.”

Then, it’s the living room, their living room where they lounge in silence during rainy days, that lights up like a storm when they argue over its decorating, or anything else.

“I like the space you take in the living room when you fuss about my books, I like your maniac choices of carpets and curtains…”

In this flow of memories, there’s only one constant: Kaveh. Kaveh smiling, puffing with rage, Kaveh shocked or annoyed, playful or fed up, but always captivating, livening up every step, offering a new path.

“I like you. And so, my happiness is correlated to yours. Why wouldn’t I ‘bother’ with it?”

Casting his gaze down when Kaveh doesn’t answer, Alhaitham is startled by ruby eyes tearing up again. But the wide smile accompanying them calms his worries immediately.

“What the hell Alhaitham? When did you learn to use your words?” lets out Kaveh with a wet chuckle.

“Well, I’ll have you know”, he responds with a smug smile, “I graduated from Haravatat.”

Kaveh giggles again, “First time I’ve seen you put it to good use.”

Then, he pushes forward on the bed, reaching for Alhaitham’s lips while closing his eyes. Alhaitham lets him, responding eagerly to the kiss, nipping at Kaveh’s lower lip when he pulls back a bit. Kaveh sighs, pressing their mouths together again, with more fervor, cupping the Scribe’s cheek with a hand, pushing him down into the cushions.

Alhaitham grabs Kaveh’s hips, as the blond climbs fully onto his legs, hovering over his body to not put pressure on his injuries. Then, when Alhaitham’s hand goes lower on his thigh, Kaveh whines lightly into the kiss, and Alhaitham feels his stomach stirred by heat, left breathless by this sound alone.

He places his healthy hand right under Kaveh’s butt cheek, pulling him higher on the bed. A moan escapes him in response, and Alhaitham takes advantage of it to deepen the kiss, exploring inside, searching, coaxing more of these delicious sounds out of his lover.

It earns him a groan, as Kaveh starts to lightly suck on his tongue, thumb caressing new shapes on Alhaitham’s cheekbones, as the other hand climbs across the Scribe’s torso to rest on his sternum.

Alhaitham’s hand wanders higher, tugging on his clothes, widening the back window of Kaveh’s shirt to lay fingers against the skin, ignoring the light sting of his burns against the scorching heat.

“Wait”, Kaveh ushers, retreating, breathless, “Your injuries—mph!”

Alhaitham brings him right back against his lips, using his left hand, his arm hurting a bit in the process. Worth it. Kaveh starts to melt into the embrace, letting his weight fall more and more on Alhaitham’s body, their chests grazing, their legs entangling, their hips—

The small curtain at the entrance of the hut is suddenly raised.

“OH LORD KUSANALI! Just—!! You—! ALHAITHAM! Next time I take my eyes off of you, I’ll start by tying you down!”

And Alhaitham must do a double take to confirm that these acerbic reproaches—contrary to what his analysis of the employed tone and vocabulary, and his previous experiences might suggest—don’t come from an angry big-eared forest ranger.

Wow.

Alhaitham has never heard Cyno so frazzled.

Alhaitham has never heard Cyno sound so much like Tighnari.

A voice in his head ushers that he probably doesn’t want to know what Tighnari sounds like right now.

Chapter Text

Alhaitham has always known Cyno to be a bit awkward, socially. After all, attacking someone in the desert doesn’t seem like the best way to introduce yourself. It’s not that Cyno is ignorant of the existence of social etiquette per se, it’s more like he doesn’t pick up on cues. Not that it has ever bothered Alhaitham, who himself willingly ignores such rules, because of how cumbersome they can get.

All this to say, despite their state of undress, Kaveh’s back exposed, a wandering hand exploring it, and his body caging Alhaitham against the bed, Cyno doesn’t quite pick up on the mood. He just stays here, the curtain raised by his tensed fingers in the enclosure, eyes throwing flames at Alhaitham. He also doesn’t stop after his first outburst.

“So. I see you found Kaveh. Will you stop running away and right into danger now?” at least the general’s shoulders fall a bit with relief, recovering the normal deep and calm tones of his voice.

With this influx of emotion out of the way, Cyno quickly goes right into business mode. “We found the Eremites you tied down on the way. Do you know if anyone else is after you?”

And if the sharp gaze stays mildly annoyed, Alhaitham mostly reads determination in it. A determination to keep loved ones safe. Alhaitham finds himself touched, to be allowed in the small circle of people Cyno holds dear. Friends. He can say it now. 

Alhaitham is then startled by a very panicked and embarrassed Kaveh climbing off of the bed, adjusting his shirt in a hurry. He pouts internally and lets his hand linger on the heat of Kaveh’s back, but nothing can keep the blond from fretting over those same social cues that Alhaitham ignores, and Cyno doesn’t pick up on. What a shame. 

“C-Cyno!” exclaims Kaveh, his voice strangling around his embarrassment, “It… has been a while, hasn’t it?!”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook because I’ve started on Alhaitham’s case”, groans Cyno, his sharp gaze shifting to him. “Tighnari has been worried sick about you.”

Kaveh gulps and shuts his mouth.

Alhaitham should divert the Matra’s attention, Kaveh doesn’t need any more stress today. “Oh? My case? Have I done something offensive?”

A playful smile draws on his lips as he imagines Cyno throwing another fit, suddenly sounding like Tighnari again, but all he gets is the return of a piercing red gaze burning through his skull. 

“I won’t respond to your provocations”, oops, busted. “But answer me Alhaitham: have you noticed any other pursuers?”

Alhaitham was waiting for Cyno to get mad, and to storm off. Alhaitham was waiting for a response out of stubbornness or a sense of rivalry, as had often been the case during their past encounters. For all the trouble he puts him through, Alhaitham wouldn’t hold it against Cyno if he just gave up on him, for being too much to put up with. After some time in the Scribe’s presence, that’s most people’s reaction. The most blatant exception to this rule had been his grandma. And Kaveh. 

Now, he can add Cyno to this list. 

“Not that I know of”, finally responds Alhaitham earnestly. He owes his friend that much. 

Cyno lets out a sigh, relaxing his stance. “Alright. I’ll continue to investigate the surroundings as a precaution. Please, report to me if you notice anything suspicious. And Kaveh?”

“Y-Yes!?” squirms the architect, assuming it’s his turn to get reprimanded.

“It’s good to have you back.”

“O-oh…”

Kaveh gives an unsure nod as Cyno prepares to leave. But Alhaitham isn’t done.

“Wait.”

Cyno stops his movement to look at him with an interrogating gaze.

“Can you come closer?”

He obliges, and Kaveh scoots away to let the general near the bed. 

Alhaitham throws an arm around Cyno’s shoulders, and pulls him in a solid embrace. As usual, Cyno grows taunt with surprise in his hold, unsure how to respond, muscles tensing like preparing for an attack.

But that is now the new usual. 

It doesn’t compare to Kaveh’s reaction.

“WHAT!?” he shrills, “Alhaitham just gave someone a HUG!?” Kaveh then hovers closer, starting to fret again. “Are you sure you’re alright!? How hard did you hit your head!? Alhaitham, how many fingers am I holding up right now!?”

The high pitch of his voice sends a wave of pain to Alhaitham’s brain. Would it be crazy of him to say that he missed this too?

“I am quite shocked as well”, adds Cyno, “I thought he would have stopped this after seeing you.”

“This is not the FIRST TIME!?”

Alhaitham lets out a small huff of amusement. Kaveh has never realized that, even if he is the one who initiates contact, Alhaitham never refuses it. Well, to be fair, even Alhaitham hadn’t noticed it before being deprived of his lover’s presence.

Suddenly, the curtains open again…

“What happened!? I heard Kaveh scream…! Oh.”

…And reveal Tighnari. 

The Valuka Shuna, after his eruption when entering the small hut— which is getting quite crowded with four adult men standing inside—quickly loses the urgency in his voice upon witnessing the scene. 

“Alhaitham”, he continues with an unamused face, “Could you let go of my boyfriend now? Hug yours. He’s right there.”

“Why is everyone treating this like it’s normal!?” Kaveh freaks out. Again. “What the hell!? Tighnari, are you sure he is not terminally ill!?”

Tighnari sighs, but fondness seeps through. “Yes, good to see you too Kaveh. And he’s… Well, I actually don’t know if he’s fine, let me examine him for a bit.”

And comforted by the banter taking place, Alhaitham makes the great mistake of releasing Cyno, displaying the extent of his injuries—clumsily patched up by the Aranara—to Tighnari.

“Oh, this is definitely not fine.” States the Valuka Shuna.

Kaveh’s eyes widen with a new wave of worry, but before he anxiously asks, the forest ranger goes on.

“Alhaitham, this is NOT fine. Didn’t you listen to me the first time, when I said the forest was DANGEROUS!? What are all these? How did you end up—is that a broken arm!? We warned you to stay with us but, as always, you didn’t listen, and now we find you four days later—FOUR—worn out like you’ve been stomped on by a pack of sumpter beasts!”

Oh. Gods. Alhaitham had been wrong about Cyno’s reaction reminding him of Tighnari’s. This doesn’t begin to compare.

“Congratulations, on displaying the intelligence of a fungus in these endeavors! Or even less should I say, because fungi at least follow their instincts, and have a better chance at survival than you!”

Wow. These insults are getting creative.

“For Archon’s sake Alhaitham, you probably read every Amurta book available in the Akademiya, and yet you still can’t figure out the meaning of don’t travel through the Avidya forest unprepared! Even the most reckless adventurers don’t go in alone! This is the most irresponsible, dangerous, and stupid thing I have ever seen—” 

“—Ok, Tighnari, go easy on him!”, interferes Kaveh. “He’s injured right now. Please?”

The forest ranger sends a half-murderous, half-analytical stare to the architect and some tense seconds pass.

“I could make the same reproach to you”, finally adds Tighnari, “You disappeared in the wild for three weeks Kaveh. Three.” He gives him another once over before concluding. “But you don’t seem hurt. So, I guess I can let this go for now.”

Tighnari’s shoulders relax. It’s only then that Alhaitham registers the reason for all these harsh words. Oh. He’s been worried.

Finally, the Valuka Shuna smiles towards Kaveh. “Glad to see you’re safe.” 

“I’m… sorry for worrying all of you”, he quietly apologizes in return. Alhaitham watches Kaveh’s throat as he swallows, his ardent gaze plummeting to the ground. This guilt again.

Alhaitham is apparently not the only one to pick up on it, as he sees the slight panic in Tighnari’s gaze.

“Now”, the forest ranger claps his hands to try and change the subject. “Alhaitham needs medical care. Cyno, could you go look for some Nilotpala lotus and Sumeru roses? A bit of mint would be nice too. Since I was prepared for this eventuality, I already have everything else.”

Cyno nods, and as they awkwardly move around in the small enclosure to exchange places, Tighnari continues to ramble out loud, switching into full doctor mode, “Then, Alhaitham, show me your arm first. There might be complications if the bone has dislocated, so the quicker I can assess the situation, the better.”

Really, the Scribe can’t help being impressed as he listens carefully to Tighnari. He just tore both Alhaitham and Kaveh down with acerbic words, and now, here he is, rambling about plants, caring for their wounds in the softest voice. Tighnari has the temperament to stand his ground while expressing kindness. To berate and heal at the same time. On top of these character qualities, shines a sharp mind and an encyclopedic knowledge of nature. What is there even to dislike about Tighnari?

On that thought, when the forest ranger gets closer to start his examination, Alhaitham grabs his wrist, and while Tighnari loses balance from shock, the Scribe pulls him in an embrace, right where Cyno was five minutes ago.

And as before, Kaveh’s reaction brings out a new storm.

“WHAT!? Tighnari TOO!? Can someone finally explain to me what happened while I was gone!?”

“Oh. So, he didn’t tell you”, Tighnari’s voice turns mischievous, and it pushes Alhaitham to shorten their embrace and look straight at him. 

He tries to communicate with a glance, staring into the enigmatic bicolored eyes of the Valuka Shuna. Don’t.

A devious grin is the response he gets. “Where do I even start.”

Great. Alhaitham doesn’t think there is a way out of this, except maybe strangling Tighnari. Which he is not going to do, obviously. It would only be a short-term reprieve anyway, as Kaveh would grow curious over such an extreme reaction.

“So. It started when he barged into Gandharva Ville looking for you, and couldn’t even sit still for one second before going near the chasm alone.”

Letting Tighnari talk wasn’t the correct solution either, because two obfuscated scarlet eyes turn toward the Scribe.

“After all the times you told me to stop ‘irresponsibly daydreaming in hostile environments’!? Alhaitham, what the hell!?”

“He fell asleep in a cave, and Cyno found him in the morning.”

“WHAT!? Hey, that’s something I’d do, really, what were you thinking?”

Not good. They are ganging up on him. Time to divert. “So, you do have some self-awareness. Good to see you reflecting on your habits, Kaveh.”

“You— stop mocking me! I’ll have you know, every single one of my expeditions in the Avidya forest went perfectly—”

“We’ll talk about Kaveh’s bad tendencies later”, interferes Tighnari. “Let’s keep it to your misadventures for now, shall we?”

Damn it. As expected, Tighnari is hard to distract.

“Alright. What happened the next day, again?”, he continues, with the same sadistic, satisfied smile on his face, “Oh, right! You purposefully ruined the lunch we had invited you to, by enabling Cyno and his jokes.”

Somehow, between ruining lunch with Cyno’s unique brand of humor, and leaving for an unsafe expedition alone in the middle of the forest, Cyno’s jokes are the worst offense (if Kaveh’s horrified expression can be taken as reference). “Now that’s just rude”, he comments.

Alhaitham throws a gaze to the door, where the general stood a few minutes ago. Poor Cyno.

“And after that, you went to Port Ormos…” Continues Tighnari. 

Gods. Alhaitham really should stop him from divulging too much on this topic. “I looked for Kaveh while helping the administration. Nothing too noteworthy—”

“You went to Port Ormos”, repeats forcefully Tighnari, “and dismantled an entire Eremite organization.”

A silence takes place in the middle of the small hut. 

Ruby eyes send incendiary looks to Alhaitham, round like saucers. Oh no. Kaveh isn’t even screaming anymore. This is bad.

Tighnari takes this opportunity to finish his listing. “I’ll skip some details, but after that, you blocked the merchant road to Alcazarzaray for five days, fought with other mercenaries, made a deal with Dori, got called by Lord Kusanali, and finally, disappeared for four days into the woods, only for us to find you beaten to a pulp.”

Alhaitham does appreciate the ‘details’ Tighnari skipped, such as the planned cave-in of the Eremites base, the state Cyno found Alhaitham after, the five other days of dissociating after learning Kaveh voluntarily disappeared, and the few panic attacks. Kaveh doesn’t need any other reason to be pushed to guilt right now. 

But Tighnari keeps an insistent gaze on the scribe. The message is clear: it’s your job to talk about everything else.

Alhaitham almost sighs, but objectively, Tighnari is already being incredibly magnanimous by giving him the choice. His future discussion with Kaveh about his hardships already causes him a headache. He would prefer to forget all about these events. If he absolutely must talk about them, doing so without triggering Kaveh’s guilt is going to require a lot of careful wording. 

He does know that, for the sake of their relationship, Alhaitham should tell everything to Kaveh. The whole point of this ordeal is to learn the right lessons from their mistakes, and certainly not to put everything behind them without properly reflecting on it. 

Just… not right now. Alhaitham wants some rest. 

And it seems Tighnari already gave a perfect dose of information, threading the thin line of informing Kaveh about Alhaitham’s whereabouts these last weeks, while not giving him any ground to overthink: there is nothing left of Kaveh’s apologetic eyes from a few minutes ago, only a scorching fury burning away every other emotion.

Kaveh takes a deep breath, trying to reign it in, but everyone in the room knows he is about to lose his control over it. “Alhaitham, you are insane”, he starts, quieter than expected.

“Even if wrongfully worded—I’ll admit—my letter did state that I would eventually come back! It isn’t an excuse for you to go across all of Sumeru and start whatever… thing— Your weird brain comes up with!”

“You teared down an Eremite organization!” Kaveh is already losing grasp on his control, his voice reaching a pitch higher… “You blocked the central hub of Sumeru’s commerce for FIVE DAYS!” …and higher.

“How many people has this even affected!? When will you finally understand that you are not the only living human in the world!? That’s— just—” Incapable of finding the right words anymore, Kaveh gesticulates his hand in harsh movements, desperate for an outlet for his rage-fueled energy.

Alhaitham can’t help but smile at the ranting of his boyfriend, relieved that Kaveh has currently forgotten his personal worries to lecture the Scribe. If given the choice, Alhaitham prefers to see his boyfriend angry at him, and not at himself.

“Oh my god, are you smiling!? You are not even reflecting on what you did, you— you fiend! Fine, you asked for it, I’m going to put you in your place—!”

“Kaveh! Please!” Interferes Tighnari, throwing an arm in front of Alhaitham, “have mercy on the wounded!”

———

Following Tighnari’s ‘advice’ (order would probably be a better description), Alhaitham mostly stayed in bed for three days after their conversation. Due to his injuries, he still couldn’t go back to Sumeru city, and chose to stay with Kaveh in Vanarana for one more week. 

Four days to go. Four days, and Alhaitham can go back home with Kaveh. 

If it was his choice alone, Alhaitham would have ignored Tighnari’s advice, and pushed through one last time, intending to collapse in the comfort of his house. 

It’s not that the Aranara have been bad hosts, and the beds are quite comfortable after getting used to them (sadly, the beds are also too small for Kaveh and Alhaitham to sleep together. A shame). 

Speaking of the Aranara, now that they have deemed Alhaitham to be a ‘good Nara’, they don’t hide from him anymore, and bury him under tons of questions, overflowing with curiosity. While entertaining, this has been quite tiring. Even during the two days where he stayed in bed, they wouldn’t stop soliciting the Scribe with questions like: ‘What does this word mean, Nara Alhaitham?’, or ‘show Aranara how to write please!’. Also, one should not be deceived by their appearances: if their first questions are simple and can be answered quickly, their follow-up remarks or interrogations are not to be trifled with. 

So, his respite in the woods has been invaded by these small forest creatures, and their surprisingly deep wisdom, despite their question-fueled innocence.

Kaveh, on the other hand, seems completely relaxed around them, answering with the same patience he displays during the lectures he gives at the Akademiya, delighted to have found such passionate students. This is another reason why Alhaitham hasn’t pressed the architect to go back home yet.

Right now, Alhaitham is leaning against a cliff, watching Kaveh navigate the enclave with a dozen Aranara in his wake, following him right, then left, then right… Completely absorbed by his drafts, the architect runs around to get the hammer he forgot somewhere, then suddenly crouches down to scribble over sketches when a sudden new idea pops into his head.

Kaveh fits right in. And it’s been pleasing to see.

Often cracking under the pressure of his job, crushed between his well-crafted theories and the harsh cold truth of the world, the architect doesn’t get much time to unwind like this. Here, with small dendro fairies as clients, and only trees and vines as materials, Kaveh’s idealistic views don’t seem as far-fetched as usual. He is allowed to fail. He is allowed to drop the mask of the genius, light of Kshahrewar, and simply think as Kaveh. He is free to let his brain work without any care for the usual masquerade.

So, if the excuse of Alhaitham’s injuries allows Kaveh to indulge in this respite for a bit longer, Alhaitham will endure the few more days until their return to Sumeru City, no matter how much he craves the comfort of his home.

“Hello Nara Alhaitham!” 

Arapacati startles Alhaitham out of his observations, turning his gaze away from the architect who’s crouched to the ground, mulling over sketches.

“Oh. Hello”, he responds simply.

“What is Nara Alhaitham doing? Taking a walk?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s good.”

He watches her with fascination. It might sound like a casual case of small talk, but it never feels like it, when talking to Aranara. He just doesn’t feel the social pressure that usually goes with the chore. They always seem genuinely interested in his answers. And while Kaveh has been running around finishing his masterpiece of branches and foliage, Alhaitham has spent these last days analyzing the Aranara and their culture. 

His current subject of study is…

“And where are your brothers?”

… the family bonds within their community.

It’s a weird concept for them to have, with asexual reproduction, achieved by either replication, or ley line consumption. With their inherent talent to hide and their power of dreams, their survival doesn’t require organization in groups, and creating any sort of deep connections shouldn’t matter to them.

Yet, Aranara know each other, share memories, and can access every piece of knowledge held by their kind. Through songs. Writings. Culture. Abilities.

Even if the transmission of knowledge is an advantage towards the evolution of a group, Alhaitham has yet to figure out what the concept of ‘family’ brings them. 

First, they choose their own siblings. Since all Aranara are connected to the forest and the ley lines, there is no point in trying to decipher genealogy.

Second, they mimic humans. This is a behavior they already display in other multiple instances, but contrary to these, the concept of family doesn’t bring any kind of knowledge, only additional companionship.

And third…

“Oh, they went to gather some ingredients for dinner.” Somehow, the ever-present smile on Arapacati’s face shines brighter. “They promised to make a really good Nara meal for Nara Kaveh and Alhaitham this time!”

… they seem really happy when someone else acknowledges their family bonds. 

Alhaitham nearly asks the reason for it to Arapacati, but a voice interrupts their exchange.

“Hey, you’ve been out of bed for three hours now… shouldn’t you go back and take a rest before lunch?”

Kaveh has finally lifted his nose out of his drafts. Upon noticing Alhaitham, he then walked up to ask the question out of worry. 

The scribe lets out a sigh. “I know my limits, and I am fine right now. I don’t feel tired.”

“Well, sure, but fatigue hits you suddenly, and I wouldn’t want you to get even more injured when your batteries run out.”

Alhaitham sends him another unamused gaze. These last three days, Kaveh had been excessively fussy about his health, and wouldn’t leave his bedside for the first 48 hours. Kaveh didn’t leave the hut until Alhaitham felt well enough to take a few steps. Only then did the architect divert his attention to his project. And Alhaitham understands the cause: after a careful analysis of their reunion, he concluded that Kaveh reached at least a 9 on the KEBS ^{(Kaveh’s Emotional Burst State)} out of worry, and is still struggling to bring it down. So, Kaveh externalizes, gathering every bit of proof that Alhaitham is fine, to convince himself. It’s cute. But also a bit stifling. Cutely stifling. Because it awakens urges in Alhaitham that he can’t fulfill.

“I’m fine”, he reiterates for the hundredth time, “I know my limits.”

Kaveh refrains a ‘you’re sure?’ but it can be read either way on his face. Alhaitham sighs again. He wants to pull him by the hand straight into bed, hug him, kiss him, tell him that everything will be alright, then cuddle him all night (and a lot more). But this is quite the ambitious idea when a hundred magical and curious cabbage run around their hut all day. And also, the bed is too small for two. Has Alhaitham already mentioned how impatient he is to get back home?

Arapacati giggles to his side, and Alhaitham’s annoyance subsides immediately. Even if invasive, these Aranara are deceivingly endearing.

“Nara Alhaitham and Nara Kaveh are always worried for each other! Like a true family! It makes Arapacati happy for them!”

Suddenly, Arasaka sprouts from the ground, startling a little squeak out of Kaveh. “Yes! Yes! Like family!”

Then it’s Arapas who raises next to his brother. Kaveh lets out another squeak. “Ooh! When will Nara Kaveh and Nara Alhaitham have little Nara?”

“Yes! Yes! Aranara want to play with little Nara from Nara Kaveh and Nara Alhaitham!” This time, Arachatora appears right behind the architect, causing him to jump right into the Scribe’s arms. Alhaitham wonders if they aren’t doing this on purpose. 

By the time Araphala emerges, Kaveh finally manages to tone down his reaction, his grip tightening on Alhaitham’s arm. Cute. “Little Nara from Nara Alhaitham and Nara Kaveh will be great friends for Aranara!”

“A family huh…” says Kaveh as he relaxes, gaze drifting far away.

Alhaitham isn’t sure how to react to this. Family has always been a complicated topic for Kaveh, and it figures in both the KET ^{(Kaveh’s Emotional Triggers)} and the KIWP ^{(Kaveh’s Intellectual Weaknesses Points)}. He watches the expression on his boyfriend’s face closely, looking for any shadow of sadness on it. Kaveh’s had enough lately, the DJLK ^{(Dramatic Journey of the Light of Kshahrewar)} proves that. Maybe it is best to avoid any triggering subjects for a bit.

But the architect’s expression stays neutral, only appearing deep in thought.

“Do you… think of us as a family, Alhaitham?” he finally asks.

Taken aback, the Scribe doesn’t know how to respond, so he stays silent. It doesn’t feel quite right to call Kaveh ‘his family’. They are a part of each other’s daily lives, and Alhaitham doesn’t see this changing any time soon, but family suggests a situation far too stable, too harmonized to describe what stands between them.

“Sorry, that… was a weird question. Please, don’t mind me.”

And there is the shadow of sadness that Alhaitham dreaded. 

He answers without thinking. “I don’t know. I never know how to qualify what we have”, Kaveh’s expression darkens even more, pushing Alhaitham to clarify: “I can only assure you that I want it to last.”

“Yeah… me too”, a bittersweet smile takes over the shadow on Kaveh’s face, but it still doesn’t sit right with Alhaitham.

The Scribe lays his hand against his boyfriend’s cheek, comforting him. His thumb caresses Kaveh’s cheekbone, as if to rub away the insecurities. We’ll be fine, he wants to say, we’ll figure it out.

“Arapacati knows!” again, the Aranara pierce through their bubble with their cute faces, and Alhaitham can’t even fathom being mad about it. “It’s because Nara Alhaitham and Nara Kaveh are still in the process of courtship!”

The four brothers look at their sister like she is the wisest being on the planet. 

“You are right!”, marvels Arasaka, “so, no little Nara until the courtship is finished?”

“Yes! That’s how Nara’s courtships work!” affirms Araphala, as if he knows what he is talking about. 

“Ooh, but Nara take lots of time, especially Nara Kaveh and Nara Alhaitham…” adds Arachatora, “so it will be long until their little Nara…”

“G-Guys!”, interferes Kaveh, “We never said that we—”

“Oh!” cuts Arapas, “Arapas know! Family from family is family, right? And since Aranara families are easier than Nara family, let’s say Nara Alhaitham and Nara Kaveh are family to Aranara now!”

From this sentence alone, Alhaitham feels himself getting a headache. 

“This is not how it works.” He tries to argue.

But it’s too late.

“Ooh! Arapas, you are a genius!” says Arasaka. “Let’s announce it to all Aranara!”

“Yes! Nara Alhaitham and Nara Kaveh can be family together now, because they are part of Aranara family!” 

“Yes! Let’s go!”

“Hey!”, tries to mitigate Arapacati, “Stop it you four, this is very rude to decide this without Nara Kaveh and Alhaitham!”

But the four brothers have already disappeared in the ground again. Their sister lets out a sigh.

“Sorry, Nara Alhaitham, Nara Kaveh”, she says, “I’ll go after them and try to make them apologize.”

She also disappears, leaving Alhaitham and Kaveh frozen in place by the chaos they just witnessed.

“Did we just… unwillingly adopt a hundred forest children?” asks Kaveh.

“Absolutely not.”

———

Once the four remaining days end, Alhaitham and Kaveh don’t wait any longer to go back. They travel at a slow pace, still adapting to Alhaitham’s persisting injuries, finally making it home after two days in the wild.

They find Tighnari and Cyno waiting for them in the city, a last check for ‘any new trace of catastrophe’. But after thoroughly examining the Scribe one last time, the forest ranger lets out a sigh of relief (and explains in great detail about the full procedure to tend to a broken bone), before making his way back to Gandharva Ville. 

After a bit more fuddling around the Grand Bazaar (an express shopping session to replenish their stocks after their long absence), finally, Alhaitham lets the grocery bags down in the entrance, looking over the verdant, comforting tones of the living room. 

Home at last.

It feels peaceful. Quiet.

Not for long though. 

“Hey, don’t stand in the middle of the door, and please, put the groceries on the kitchen counter at least”, nags Kaveh, pushing Alhaitham out of the way as he walks inside, “I swear, you really have no sense for tidying things up.”

Alhaitham doesn’t obey, doesn’t even listen, as he watches Kaveh walk around the space—their space—with fascination. With the same ease he designed structures on the fly in Vanarana, the architect goes back and forth, putting his bags down in the kitchen, letting out a satisfied sigh, strolling to his room while fumbling with his hairclips, then going back to the kitchen for storing his part of the groceries away. It’s inefficient and disorganized, but so alive, so Kaveh.

Upon walking through the living room for the third time, Kaveh finally stops to look at Alhaitham, still frozen in front of the entrance.

“And you plan to stay there for how long? Come on, bring your bags to the kitchen, I’ll put the stuff away if you’re too tired.”

Kaveh walks up to him, and lays a hand on his forehead.

“Or are you feeling unwell again? I thought your fevers were gone three days ago… Should I call back Tighnari? Or we can go to the Bimarstan.”

Alhaitham closes his eyes, basking in the heat emanating from Kaveh’s palm, and vaguely humming.

“That’s not a response, Alhaitham.”

The scribe grabs the hand on his forehead and brings it to his lips, softly pressing them against the knuckles before opening his eyes again. 

And here is Kaveh. His heat in his grasp. His soft gaze focused on him. 

It feels surreal. Alhaitham is still waiting to wake up from another cruel dream. 

But neither the heat nor the gaze evaporates.

“Alhaitham…” Kaveh’s voice turns as soft as his eyes, “I know you’re tired. I know these last weeks took their toll on you. But please. Answer me when I ask if you’re alright.”

“I am”, he finally responds, still cradling Kaveh’s hand. “I just…” want to confirm that you are really there, “Let me stay like this for a while.”

Kaveh lets out a conflicted sigh. “Sure but… I have a lot of things to take care of. Even if nothing urgent, I still have clients to notify, I should prepare my payments to Dori for the month, and… oh. I might be a bit short on rent this time. I’ll give it to you in the next few days. Promise.”

Why do you even bother paying rent? Alhaitham wants to say. It was never a requirement for their relationship. But even when they started dating, Kaveh never skipped it. To keep an equal footing, he said, It’s my contribution to this house.

Why can’t Kaveh ever see that his contribution is already everywhere? It wouldn’t even be their house without Kaveh. They both wrote the thesis that granted it.

But even without going back to this eternal point of disagreement, the curtains are Kaveh’s, the paintings are Kaveh’s, the arrangements are Kaveh’s. His echoes are in the ongoing war raging in the living room against the books taking over the place, in the cutting marks on the study’s desk, in the slight dip on the right of Alhaitham’s mattress, in the numerous product bottles in the bathroom. 

Kaveh is already everywhere in this house. That’s why it is so empty when he’s gone. All these details lose their meaning, and it leaves the place incomplete. The rent could never replace them.

“Alhaitham, please… Can you let go?”

He shakes his head.

“Oh, come on! Are you really choosing to be difficult right now?” Kaveh protests weakly, a smile in his voice.

“You can do all those things tomorrow. They do not require your attention right now, and you’ll make mistakes with the tiredness from our travels.”

“I see your point, but I should still start now. I’ll go over it tomorrow! I already procrastinated long enough on this, and it—Eek!”

Alhaitham suddenly pulls on the hand still in his grasp to drag Kaveh in his arms. 

“I missed you.”

Kaveh tenses in his hold. “Why didn’t you just say that.”

The Scribe tightens his grip, slipping a hand into the back opening of his boyfriend’s shirt, nuzzling against his neck. That’s a fair point. Even if Kaveh has grown to be frighteningly good at reading past his immovable face, it will never equate to Alhaitham stating his mind clearly. But, his reservations about doing so always come down to the same point: Kaveh is not responsible for Alhaitham’s emotions. Of course, Alhaitham knows this and never has, never will hold Kaveh accountable for any of his feelings. Yet, every time Alhaitham’s thoughts are spoken out loud, Kaveh makes a habit of atoning for them.

And since he is too tired for that kind of talk—but also misses being petty—Alhaitham stores these reflections for later. “It’s an illogical argument, used by all characters in cheap romance books to normalize emotional blackmail.”

 “Who cares, if it’s how you feel?” A light laugh. But Kaveh gently indulges Alhaitham’s deflection, letting him off the hook for now, brushing a hand through the silver strands. It brings a smile to the Scribe’s face. “And what would you even be blackmailing me about?”

“Oh, I don’t know”, responds Alhaitham kissing Kaveh’s neck. “I could… make you pay for the time we spent apart by keeping you occupied all night”, a shiver courses through the architect’s body at those words.

“Or I could…”, Alhaitham now leaves a kiss on the crook of his jaw, just under the ear, as his fingers trace across Kaveh’s upper back to delicately reach for the earrings, pushing them out of the way “Strip you, right now, in the entrance, without allowing you to take another step.”

After inhaling the scent of his blond hair one last time, Alhaitham retreats from the embrace, keeping his hands around Kaveh’s jaw, planting his gaze into red eyes. He can’t refrain from smirking at the fire he sees in the amber of scarlet, pupils blown wide.

“So, what do you say?” he finishes, playful. 

“Again”, Kaveh sounds a bit out of breath, a barely discernible tremble in his voice, “you can’t blackmail me if you have my full consent from the start.”

“Oh?”

“Take care of the groceries. Then join me in the bathroom.”

So, putting the groceries away still takes priority. As stubborn as always. Alhaitham kisses him long and hard in retaliation.

———

Showering together after weeks of separation happens to be an ordeal that Alhaitham couldn’t entirely anticipate. Because everything is as he remembers, and different at the same time. 

Kaveh gained a bit of muscle, running around Vanarana to build whatever went through his mind. The architect's body always had unsuspected rough edges that none would imagine under his delicate frame and smooth fabrics. But these weeks of respite left him with additional meat on his bones, making his complexion, usually a bit frail and pale under his daily anxiety, look a lot healthier. 

Alhaitham is left staring for a moment, already feeling a heat awakening in the lower half of his stomach, hesitant to get close. Then, Kaveh turns around, gives him a weird look, and a little “come here”, sets Alhaitham in motion. 

After this, showering reveals to be hard, because his hands were incapable of leaving Kaveh’s body for more than 12 seconds. 

Stumbling into the room isn’t much easier. His frantic lips chase Kaveh’s, his arms push him backward towards the bed, his whole body feverish, mind boiling all thoughts into irrepressible want. 

But every time Kaveh caresses Alhaitham’s upper lip with his tongue, sliding inside, sighing against his mouth, the Scribe is forced to stillness by faltering legs. They move erratically like this for a few seconds too many, forced to stop each time their bodies glide against one another, each time Kaveh lights a new flame in Alhaitham’s chest, and each time a touch sends uncontrollable shivers down his back. 

At some point, Kaveh succeeds in separating their mouths, his nails digging into the Scribe’s shoulder to keep his balance, as if kissing Alhaitham had been the only thing allowing him to stand up straight.

“Wow, someone’s eager”, he comments. “I’ve never seen you like thi—mmh!”

6 seconds before Alhaitham shuts him up with a new kiss and –finally— they reach the bed as Kaveh falls backward, Alhaitham on top. 

That’s where Alhaitham decides they’ve waited long enough. 

He slides his hand between their naked bodies, as they didn’t bother putting clothes back on after the shower, and reaches down. 

Kaveh lets out a short moan in response, throwing his head back. It ends their kiss. Alhaitham then latches on his boyfriend’s neck, sneaking his other arm under Kaveh’s shoulders to hold him closer.

His eager strokes quickly cause Kaveh to squeeze his thighs around Alhaitham’s arm, whining numerous small moans. Kaveh’s arms tighten around his shoulders, urging Alhaitham closer.

“Ah, please, quick, I—” Alhaitham obeys, his hand abandoning his current task to move further down. He searches for Kaveh’s eyes for a moment, drowning in the lust he sees in them, before kissing his lips.

 He slips a finger inside. 

Kaveh tenses as a high moan escapes into Alhaitham’s mouth, legs twitching around his arm, a shiver coursing through their bodies. 

“Just”, tries Alhaitham, throat constricted around a groan, “Breath. Relax.”

“I know”, huffs Kaveh, frustrated, “it’s been a while, let me—"

Alhaitham slips in a second finger, and Kaveh is cut off by a small trembling moan. Alright, by memory, it should be…

Kaveh gasps when he finds a certain spot, hands flying off Alhaitham’s shoulders in a frenzy to grab onto his arms.

… around here.

He brushes repeatedly against that spot, losing his mind over Kaveh’s sounds getting louder and louder, the heat in the pit of his stomach growing unbearable over the sounds coming out of the architect. Gods. How he longed for this.

Kaveh is quick to beg, and today, Alhaitham can’t even imagine refusing him anything. So, after retreating his fingers, he aligns himself, and as another shiver courses through his body from head to toe, enters slowly inside, listening to Kaveh’s gasps and moans to adjust the pace, trembling from the heat, the sensations, the intensity.

Once fully in, Alhaitham suddenly feels overwhelmed. He stares at Kaveh, trembling and moaning beneath him, at his blond hair scattered around in a halo, at his chest expanding under heavy breaths; and after days of waiting to wake up from a dream, only to find out Kaveh is still out of reach… 

He finally realizes that is all over.

“You—you can move now.”

Kaveh is here. In his arms. Responding to his caresses with eagerness. Arguing with him like always. Accepting what he gives.

Transfixed, Alhaitham obeys Kaveh’s winded voice, starting with a slow and deep thrust, gaze still glued to Kaveh’s naked figure, taking in the sight of him, feeling the heat of his skin each time their hips meet. He listens to Kaveh’s voice breaking around moans, drowning in pleasure. Alhaitham’s hand grasps a thigh, the other stroking the blond in rhythm with his thrusts. 

Looming over, Alhaitham observes the delicate face, twisted with lust and bliss, he smells the fragrance of soap—their soap—and watches the dimmed lights of the room reflect in blond hair.

Then, Kaveh reaches his peak, and it all becomes too much. 

A drop of water falls on Kaveh’s cheek, as the architect comes down from his high.

A second one falls on the other cheek, as Kaveh opens his ruby eyes, shining with bliss for a short moment before shifting into something like panic.

“Haitham…?”, his voice sounds as petrified as his gaze.

But why… is Kaveh looking at him like that?

“Gods, is it something I did!? Haitham you’re—you’re crying!”

He is? Alhaitham brings his hand to his face, and finds wet traces below his eyes. Oh. When was the last time he cried? He doesn’t think even Kaveh has ever seen him like this. Looking at his boyfriend’s horrified expression, that might be the truth. 

“I’m—I’m fine”, he tries to reassure Kaveh.

“No, you’re not!”, he shouts in response. “Did I do something!? Was it no good!? Did I force you into doing anything—” 

“I’m fine!” Alhaitham cuts the oncoming rambling. “Or I’ll be. Just… give me a minute.”

The Scribe retreats to give himself some space, and stares off into the void. Gods. It feels like he only realizes now how much Kaveh’s disappearance affected him.  

He knew he missed the architect. He knew he was worried about their relationship. But until now, the return of Kaveh hadn’t properly settled in his brain.

Alhaitham closes his eyes, pushing his fingers against his eyelids, comforted by their pressure. He focuses on his breathing, trying to reign in the last of the shivering. 

Alright. 

He admits it.

This whole incident hurt more than he thought. 

Once Alhaitham has calmed his breathing, Kaveh starts speaking again, softly. “You know… I haven’t heard what happened from you. I only got Cyno’s and Tighnari’s versions.” Carefully, Kaveh comes closer, laying a hand tenderly over Alhaitham’s shoulder. “Would you… mind telling me in your own words?”

“I…”, images flash before Alhaitham’s eyes. The cave. The maze. The chase in the forest. His throat refuses to cooperate any further.

“I’ll tell you”, he finally manages. “But… not now. I need to rest.” In more ways than one.

“Yes, please do.”

“Can we stay like this for a bit?” Suddenly, he feels very young as his voice falters into quietness. 

Kaveh seems surprised by the request too, used to Alhaitham quickly getting rid of the clean-up before indulging in any cuddling urges. “Of course”, he accepts nonetheless, pulling the Scribe in his arms. 

Alhaitham settles into a peaceful tranquility after a while, as Kaveh mindlessly caresses the hair of his bangs, cuddling close. The silence of the room only makes it cozier, lulled by their quiet respirations. 

“It’s good to have you back.” Suddenly says Alhaitham. 

It stops Kaveh’s hand for an instant. “It’s good to be back.” 

“I can’t imagine myself living alone in this house anymore. Not without you.”

The hand stops again, but Kaveh stays silent.

Alhaitham throws him a gaze to ask what’s going on, and finds the architect’s face growing red.

Oh. 

He likes this. Alhaitham can’t help a fond smile.

It must not look like one, because Kaveh grows defensive. “Y-You shut up.”

Cute.

“You asked for more compliments. Don’t want them anymore?” Alhaitham teases, “Or perhaps, they don’t feel enough? Should I be more expressive?”

Even if meant to poke at him, he is actually interested in Kaveh’s true answer to this. But Kaveh completely overlooks the genuine core of the question and takes only the apparent provocation. “I KNEW you were going to be unbearable about it, urgh! Forget it!”

Oh no, Alhaitham isn’t going to. Now that he knows how important reassurance is to Kaveh, he won’t stop until the architect learns to accept it.

But if it unnerves Kaveh this much every time, this isn’t going to be easy. It might trigger some significant KEBS ^{(Kaveh’s Emotional Burst Scale)} variations. 

Speaking of KEBS…

“Kaveh.”

“Yes?”

“We did say we should change our way of communicating, right?”

Kaveh’s gaze grows confused. “Yes? And… you’re ready to talk about this right now…?”

“For now, I will explain the KBM to you. It might be a useful tool.”

“The… what?”

“The Kaveh Behavioral Model.”

“WHAT!?”

Chapter Text

After four to five months in Fontaine, Aether and Paimon have decided to go back to Sumeru and witness the changes the nation has undergone since their departure. 

And Aether is worried. 

Usually, when he checks on the nations he has already crossed, he finds countries slowly rebuilding themselves, integrating new rules, and finding a new balance. He finds efforts, hardships, and regrets, but mostly hope.

This is not what he finds in Sumeru. What he finds is utter chaos.  

Currently seated at Lambad’s tavern, Paimon flying above his shoulder, as perplexed as he is, they jot down on paper all the facts they gathered during their trip from the small port at the edge of the desert, to Sumeru City. 

“So. Let’s summarize things”, starts Paimon, “We left Sumeru for a total of four and a half months. An even five, if we count our time with Klee in Veluriyam Mirage. And during these four to five months, lots of rumors, trends, and new organizations have popped up from nowhere. Hm…”

“And most of them seemed to appear around 3 or 4 months ago”, adds Aether, looking through their notes.

“That’s just after we left!” Completes Paimon. She fumbles around in her pockets for a bit, before getting out her new favorite accessory: a pair of fake glasses and a mustache. “Good thing Paimon brought this from Fontaine, it’s detective Paimon time!”

Aether nods. He also thanks internally all the detective work they did in the nation of Hydro. This will help them understand this mess.

They start with the minor problems, that seemingly hold no importance. But keeping an eye on them will give an edge to their reflection. If they have learned anything from the Opera Epiclese, it’s to look through every detail to find the truth.

First, Cyno took off vacation time again. It’s not the first time, but it’s very close to the last one. In addition, from what Aether understands, Cyno is more the type to take vacations once every three years, and only for a week. The General Mahamatra is a workaholic, who only stops when everything is in order, and takes reprieves only after very very (very) long and demanding missions. Last time, it took the saving of all Sumeru to convince Cyno to retire for a well-earned rest. (And only because he was on edge after Tighnari had been struck by lightning). 

So, this vacation from the general alone is sufficient proof that something huge happened while Aether was away. But he isn’t too worried about that. After all, Cyno only takes vacations when the aftermath of his missions have been taken care of. Aether also heard that Cyno was staying at Gandharva Ville, close to Tighnari. So, he isn’t too worried about the general’s mental health either. Tighnari knows how to soothe him. But maybe Aether will make a short trip to Gandharva Ville to check on them. Just in case. 

The date of his leave coincides with the apparition of all the other… rumors, trends, and shenanigans. Apart from that, nothing much on that front. Now that the Akademiya has learned to manage shifts and resources thanks to the short rule of a certain Acting Grand Sage, the Matra can function without its general for a while. So, the Akademiya’s operations haven’t been as affected as expected. 

On that note, Alhaitham has also been taking vacations. And exceptional days of leave. And home working days. In short, the Scribe escapes the wall of his office with renewed passion. Not that it hasn’t been the case before, but Aether thinks Alhaitham has been slacking off maybe a tad too much, as all the new sages seem to grow aggravated by the sole mention of his name. 

Alas, who could blame him? Even after his official retirement from the Grand Sage position 9 months ago, it still took around 5 to 6 months for him to be completely discharged from all duties, and go back to his regular position. 

Aether notes down ‘return of Alhaitham to his usual activities: 3 to 4 months ago. Coincidence?’ next to ‘Cyno’s second vacation in a year’. Who knows. It might be relevant. It might be useful to help make sense of… the rest of the hearsay about the Scribe. Because what the fuck. What did Alhaitham do to start all these insane rumors? But Aether will get to them later. 

(“Alhaitham, what are you doing here!? It’s 9 o’clock, you’re going to be late again!”

“And it’s quite early for you.”

“W-Well, I had a good sleep after… you know. Last night.”

“Hmph.”

“Hey! Erase that proud smirk now and go to work!”

“I’m working from home today.”

“Again!?”

“Yes.”

“Urgh, don’t complain about the noise then. I’ll be using my hammer all day.”

“Fine by me. If it’s really just ‘all day’, and not ‘until the middle of the night’.”

“Okay, okay, I heard you. But you should really go to the Akademiya more often. The sages have been looking for you everywhere, and poor Cyno is really tired of all your shenanigans. Tighnari told me he took some days off again!”

“The Scribe’s job has nothing to do with the Matra. This is unrelated. And I can do paperwork perfectly fine while spending time here with you.”

“…”

“Oh? Is that a blush?”

“URGH! I told you to stop smirking like that…!”)

———

“Okay, the rumors about the Akademiya’s new shift system…done!” cheers Paimon, “Now, let’s tackle the… Port Ormos situation.”

Aether sighs. 

Oh boy. Port Ormos. 

He isn’t sure how to feel about all this.

These are all good changes, for sure. Aether barely recognizes the disorganized port, decks crawling under unregistered merchandise, and dangerous Eremite factions. 

These days, the port is bustling with travelling ships, competent personnel, and even has its own protection brigade. It secured its place as Sumeru’s main node for international commerce, dynamizing the region with incredible growth. How did this place evolve so much in such a short period of time? 

The most suspicious part is the said Eremite brigade protecting the place: The Scribe’s Light. Aether nearly took it as a joke when he heard the name for the first time. But this is very serious.

Most people think the “light” part is just a symbolism for Alhaitham’s expert guidance during the three days he took command of the administration and laid down the new commercial rules of Port Ormos. But Aether knows better. First, it is already suspicious that Alhaitham took on more work, even if just for three days. Second, Alhaitham always talks efficiently, using only direct vocabulary that goes straight into the matter. He is not one for symbolism. Therefore, even if the Scribe put it in place, he isn’t the one that named the brigade. So, the Eremites must have chosen it themselves. 

But Aether seriously doubts that the Scribe’s infallible bureaucratic skills are what the Eremites chose to admire. Their core values stand around determination, devotion, and strength. Alhaitham is far from being the orthodox example of devotion. He does follow principles, but only those he can find sense in, and, at the end of the day, he does what he wants. 

There are only two major instances where Aether witnessed the depth of Alhaitham’s devotion. First, to preserve his cozy lifestyle, Alhaitham was ready to sacrifice his comfortable schedule, even his life, to save the whole country. Outside of these nationwide disruptions, the only other time where the lazy Scribe took supplementary shifts at work, or went past his job description to investigate, was during the Interdarshan Championship. Even if at first, it appeared to just be his usual case of scientific curiosity, Aether later learned by eavesdropping that all this extra-work had been for Kaveh.

So, now that Aether has eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. 

The Scribe’s Light is referencing Kaveh.

So then comes the second, then the third, then the fourth question: Why is the brigade protecting Port Ormos referencing the best architect of the nation? Why specify that this ‘light’ is the Scribe’s? How the hell did this mess start? Too many questions sprout from this simple observation. Aether lacks clues on that. On to the next point about Port Ormos.

Because Aether is not finished with Port Ormos. 

With this brand-new shiny gate to the world, international companies have been settling branches in the port. Yae Publishing House being one of them isn’t much of a surprise.

With the growing popularity of light novels in Sumeru, this is an clever placement on the market by Miko, and Aether expected nothing less from her: she settled a new editing team, started a new genre of stories, and tried publishing some Sumerian author alongside Liyue’s. 

No, really, it’s a good strategy. However, the title of their leading product is perplexing:

‘Snap! My Lover Ran Away and I Have to Adopt 100 Kids to Prove My Love!’

And… Aether can’t put his finger on it, but something is not quite right. It activates the well-trained detective instincts he forged in Fontaine, especially considering that this is the result of a partnership with the famous Lord Sangemah Bay. 

Yes. Because apparently, Dori came up with the story. Does she really hide a romantic soul deep down under her greed? Somehow, Aether doubts it.

(“Alhaitham! There is another package full of these books at our front door! Again! Are you sure you didn’t sell our debacles to Dori!? Because this is confusingly similar!”

“Of course not. And don’t worry. The story takes too many creative liberties for it to be linked back to us.”

“Oh god. She left a note… ‘pleasure doing business with you two’. What does she mean business!? How does she know about our 100 children!?”

“They are not our children Kaveh.

“And you’re in denial. You read books to them before bed. That is the daddiest move ever.”

“Stop inventing superlatives. Are their sweets ready? They’ll arrive soon.”

“I finished them a long time ago, who do you take me for!?”)

———

“Speaking of romantic stories”, says Paimon, “don’t you find the Akademiya’s new flirting trend… super weird? Like, it’s kind of creepy!”

Aether throws her a reprimanding gaze. “Let them do what they want Paimon.”

“Sure, sure, as long as they’re happy… Paimon will never understand those scholars though.”

And even if he just scolded her, the traveler must agree: what went through the scholars’ collective mind to come up with such an… interesting way of courtship? 

Aether has already seen it on multiple academic grounds: in their desert settlements, in Port Ormos and, of course, in Sumeru City. 

The first time he heard about this ritual, the exact sentence was: “My love for you spans over 30 pages”. He brushed it off as some sort of lame nerdy pick-up line, but the girl to whom it was addressed broke down in tears in the middle of the street and threw herself into the scholar’s arms. Some Akademiya students in the audience clapped. Then, a wedding proposal somehow happened, and Aether is fairly sure he saw the same girl with a wedding ring days later.

So, he was missing some information.

At first it went over his head. Maybe it was a private thing between the two. Maybe it was related to a personal event in their lives, and only they could truly understand the full meaning of it. Maybe the public cheered because they were surprised that such a weird confession worked. After all, if he stopped at every weird happenstance he encountered, Aether would still be stuck in Mondstadt. 

But then, he visited the Akademiya. Just to say hi to some friends (this is also where he learned about Cyno’s and Alhaitham’s vacations). There, he overheard things such as ‘Only ten pages!? This is just a light crush, ignore him’, or, ‘I’m only at five pages… I don’t know what else to write! I don’t understand him enough!’ or again, ‘damn those Vahumana scholars and their social models. They just need to copy, change a few words, and use the Barnum effect to get all the girls!’.

So, at some point, Aether grabbed a scholar to ask them what the hell was going on:

The scholar’s new ultimate proof of love is writing a whole scientific essay about their special someone. 

And the more precise, the deeper the love. 

This is why, in addition to their already interminable papers, research, and projects, a lot of the romantic souls in the Akademiya are spotted spying on their target with a notepad in hand, taking notes, and peer reviewing their results. Therefore, the Matra received a consequent number of stalking cases. That might also be another reason for Cyno's tiredness. 

In any case, the non-scholarly side of Sumeru pretty much agrees with Paimon’s point of view and sees this new trend as a “creepy behavior from a bunch of asocial nerds, who don’t know how to interact normally”. 

But frankly speaking, Aether believes the people thinking that way are just jealous and lonely. It only takes one look at the couples formed by this new trend to see their happiness. 

("Kaveh, where are you on the KEBS right now?"

"Are you serious with that scale? You know that you can just ask me how I feel."

"…"

"Alright, Alright. I'm at 3."

"Why 3? Is there something bothering you?"

"I am quite bothered by my boyfriend mathematically defining my behaviors."

"Oh. So, the APCF is playing a role in this."

"… What's the APCF, Alhaitham?"

"The Alhaitham's Presence Chaos Factor."

"WHAT!?"

"See?"

"… You know what? fair. But add the AADF to whatever that is."

"… and what's that?"

"The Alhaitham Abnormal Dumbassery Factor."

"Ok. And how do you measure it? What increases it?"

"… Are you seriously asking me how to measure your dumbassery?"

"Naturally."

"I think right now you're on a strong 10 Alhaitham. Go get some sleep."

"Oh? And how does that affect the KEBS?"

"…"

"Answer me Kaveh."

"2."

"So that decreases it. I guess you act foolishly because you like fools."

"Forget it, I’m at 6."

"… let's add it as a variance to the APCF then."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"…"

"Kaveh… the KEBS?"

"7."

"Ah… Listen, I understand how stupid it might sound, but I never want you to run away from me like that again. I… I didn't take it very well. So, talk to me. Please. Don't put me through that once more."

"Haitham…"

"KEBS?"

"… 3. But 9 on the SBFT."

"And what's that again?"

"Seconds Before we Fuck on the Table."

"How do I make it drop to 0?"

"Just ask dumbass."

"Can I fuck you on the table?"

"Please do.")

———

Ok, enough of the small rumors and weird trends, it’s now time to get right into the concerning changes.

First, apparently, ‘the flame mane’ has been seen chasing after the ‘Light of Kshahrewar’, asking him to ‘go into hiding’. Some are concerned about Kaveh, and to be fair, Aether is too. The architect tends to ignore warning signs when it comes to his own limits and safety. After all, Dehya wouldn’t be giving this piece of advice if it wasn’t warranted.

(“Alhaitham, Dehya asked me to go hide again… Why is she so determined to play hide and seek with me?”

“She’s just a sore loser, that’s all.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“After I commissioned her to find you, I heard she went through all of Sumeru, desert AND forest, only for me to reach you first. Her honor as a mercenary took a hit.”

“Oh… I feel bad for her now.”

“Don’t worry. It won’t affect her or her reputation in the long run.”

“Yes but… it is kind of my fault, no? Maybe I should—”

“No.”

“Come on! It could be fun—”

“No.”

“Hey, you don’t get to decide—ack!”

“I said no. Please?”

“Alright, alright! I won’t do it, fine! You can let me go!”)

Second, Alhaitham has been following Kaveh very closely lately. Aether knows that, despite their disagreements, they care deeply for each other. It also corroborates with Alhaitham’s vacation rhythm: maybe he is trying to stay home to look after Kaveh as much as possible. Even if lazy, the Scribe doesn’t do things without a reason. And, as stated for the whole ‘Scribe’s Light’ affair, Alhaitham shows his particular brand of devotion around Kaveh. 

(“Haitham… this is not that I don’t enjoy hugs but… haven’t you been a bit too clingy recently? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I just have been missing this. Missing you.”

“I-I mean… I’m flattered but… it is not easy to draw in this position.”

“…”

“Alright, five more minutes… But after that, I’ve got to work.”

“Ten?”

“When did you begin acting like a spoiled child? We’ll have all the time to hug tonight!”

“…”

“Ok, ok. Cut the puppy dog eyes. Ten minutes.”

“Fifteen?”