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Chapter Text

The morning air of the waterway was soft and luminous, scented with damp moss and the gentle steam rising from incense burning somewhere near the bank of the waterway. Above you, the light blue sky was a flawless canvas, allowing the sun to detail the intricate roof, which already glowed in the distance. Even from the boat, it promised a fresh start, seemingly set in stone for good fortune.

A sudden, warm weight snapped you out of your contemplation.

"You take care, alright, _____?"

His eyes were the kind that seemed to notice every shift in the currents literally or figuratively. They held a flicker of genuine warmth. This yearly exchange had become a really unexpected ritual. Living a long distance from the city meant every school year began with this boat journey back to the Akademiya’s stress, on top of another boat journey back. He sensed the quiet tension that somehow always coiled around you as the city's port came into view. His simple, repeated blessing was enough to make you feel briefly at ease. He came from Port Ormos, just like you, a husband and father who only visited Sumeru City for work. A true outsider, who only entered Sumeru City when necessary, much like yourself.

Have you missed his question? You forgot to reply to what he said out of getting too caught in your own thoughts.

Oops.

"I assure you, I will," you replied, trying to steady the nervousness in your voice as you gathered your things. "I just hope I won't be given another unheard-of topic. I'd have to spend ages in the House of Daena searching until I get white hair."

You knew you'd manage the challenges, as you always did, but the sheer anxiety was almost as if there was a weight on your chest.

“Hah! Who knows? Perhaps I'll see you again when you're old and crippled.” The man teased you lightheartedly, still noticing the unease and trying to get you to relax.

“Haha! I hope not.” You chuckled, still feeling a tad bit anxious, although it was less compared to earlier because of him. Starting to wonder how some people just radiate positivity.

As the gangplank thudded onto the ancient cobblestones, the brief calm of the coast faded. The air in Sumeru City was already thick with the scent of spices and, more oppressively, the presence of brilliant competitive minds. Not entirely those of scholars, Sumeru was the Nation of Knowledge after all. Another year. Another twelve months of pressure and the crushing expectation that came with being a Haravatat scholar whose roots lay in distant, foreign ground. First thing that came to mind was to counteract the tension, so you followed the pathway to Treasures Street, where you recalled Lambad’s Tavern was located. A place visited numerous times each school year for their absolutely delicious food, making a mental note to visit after classes.

You, a fourth-year scholar, adjusted the strap of your bag along with your satchel and stepped fully onto the wide, spiraling pathways. The familiar, overwhelming noise of chatter, bargaining, and gossip whether academic or not, overwhelmed you.

While making your way through Treasures Street, you heard a distant sound of a Kshahrewar scholar testing their newest mechanism, only for the sound of its instant breakdown to echo moments later. You couldn't stifle a giggle at the quick moment before continuing your ascent.

Before heading deeper into the spiral of pathways that led to the Mahamata's guarded building, a short stop a local stall close to Lambad's Tavern, purchasing a small clutch of Zaytun peaches, the soft fruit was famous for its calming effect on the mind, slipping one into the satchel for later, just in case.

You continued to make your way to the Mahamata's area, however you paused, watching the relentless flow of students. Some terrified and excited first-years, exhausted seniors, all of them driven by the same focused devotion to study. This was your temporary “home.” A place of endless research where history was revealed and the meaning of every word was debated with passion. It offered prestige, a hard contrast to the quiet life you had known…

The Mahamata's usual patrol building was passed with a quickened step before turning left toward the big ascending spiraling pathway filled with scholars, the main way to get to Akademiya, unless a scholar wanted to take the longer route.

Upon arriving at Akademiya's steps, the building offered a welcoming break from the scorching heat of the sun. Amidst the scholars, a relatively empty spot was found to retrieve and check the syllabus for the lecture today. Disappointed in yourself for not checking sooner before leaving. Digging a hand through the bag, the leather, emerald colored notebook was found with the details written down in it.

A quick glance at the watch strapped to your wrist confirmed the time.

“10:40 am. I’ve got five minutes until my first class of Haravatat starts.”

You walked toward the large, angled, circular door of the Haravatat classrooms. Its symbol on the top was of a black bull-like figure.

Haravatat was the Darshan scholars enrolled the least in, true enough. No sane person would willingly sign up to master at least twenty ancient and forgotten languages before graduation. Most other Darshans considered that a form of torture. Albeit insane isn't something you'd describe yourself as, mainly you were deeply committed; perhaps too much.

Although, this time the sight in front of you made your eyes widen in disbelief.

Only a total of ten students were inside the spacious high-ceilinged classroom.

“How absurd,” you thought, your mind considering a lot of possibilities. Was the schedule posted incorrectly? Were you in the wrong classroom/wing? You tried to rationalize, everyone else most likely dropped out.

You took your seat, settling your satchel and bag beside you. When the lecturer, a fragile-looking man whose passion for Haravatat was crystal clear, began his discourse exactly at 10:45 am, no one else arrived.

Ten students. That was an all-time low.

Even for Haravatat.

Pretty obvious why, of course. Haravatat focused on deciphering ancient mechanics and technological context, a field other Darshans were rapidly trying to claim or dismiss. Primary focus was on foundational blueprints of the past, not Kshahrewar's Architecture, or Spantamad's elementalism. With no friends in the Darshan, a familiar sting of isolation was fought down.

The five-hour lecture on the linguistic roots and functional analysis of ancient Ruin texts passed quickly. Focus offered a welcome distraction from the anxiety of arrival. Getting to know each of the ten students would be necessary for the rest of the year.
When the lecture finally concluded, notes were gathered and the essays passed to the lecturer. Contemplation began on where to spend free hours. Studying, as usual, seemed the simplest path. Your friends hadn't sent an invitation, which felt strange, though their social lives felt like an exhausting course requirement, you were already dealing with a lot today.

It didn't matter that much.

Heading out the Akademiya's main door, you watched as the afternoon sun began its slow descent, embedding the sky over Sumeru City with mesmerizing tones of orange and pink. The heated air of the morning had gone, a gentle breeze began to stir the leaves of the great tree. You remembered going to Lambad’s Tavern after classes.

Making your way down to the city, the comfort of Lambad's Tavern was sought. Unusual for research, perhaps, yet the warm light, smell of fresh food, and background hum of conversations often provided white noise, a relief from that Darshan's uneasy silence.

Quiet table secured, you spread out scrolls and pencils. That next few hours passed immersed in complicated work, cross-referencing ancient Sumeru dialects. Work was demanding, still, the task's stability is anchored. It’s predictable, unlike people who occupied the world outside texts. More hours passed. This tavern was prepared to close, lights turning off, your unspoken signal to leave. You packed your things, leaving respectfully.

By this time the moon was high and the city started to quiet down. You were planning on going back to your dormitory, until stopped to realize you needed a few specific volumes (along with King Deshret's script) which are only accessible in the main library. You headed back toward the Akademiya, where the House of Daena remained open to dedicated (or desperate) scholars. As much as possible, you avoided going to the library at this hour, mainly because you were truly drained.

The library was almost deserted. The silence here was different from the Haravatat building.. It was a deep, almost ancient quiet, heavy with the presence of nearly every book ever written in Teyvat. You settled into a small, shadowed reading nook. You found the section you needed, however…

The book was on the highest shelf, you’d have to climb up the ladder. Unfortunately for you, situations like this almost never ended well. Throughout your time here, the result was either a fall right on your behind or you missed a step and fell, gathering judgemental stares from scholars who were near enough to see the sight. Internally, you cringed at all those bad memories.

Before climbing up the ladder, you took and ate one Zaytun Peach from your satchel to steady yourself. In hopes that maybe, just maybe Celestia might be in your favor, for once in your life. Then, you gripped a nearby wooden ladder to your left, pulling it toward where you were as you took light, cautious steps.

“Come on! I’m so close to getting those volumes, better not mess up now…” You thought, extending your trembling hand to grab the volumes required. Subsequently, after taking the books, you held onto the sides of the ladder for dear life. Eventually, you successfully got the volumes you needed without being a laughingstock!

You dropped the first heavy volume on the table, alongside the rest of the volumes. Next, you sat on the antique oak chair padded with teal cushions ready to clock in for another late night research session out of the countless ones you’ve pulled. This was the price of being dedicated, after all, your family was counting on you to be successful. You couldn’t just crumble just because it was hard. You diligently researched King Deshret's script while hunched and took notes in the same emerald colored leather note book where your syllabus was. Quite fascinating stuff.

3:34 am. It’s been hours since you visited, and they’ve started to close some lights in the library due to students leaving. In fact, you should’ve left hours ago. However, you didn’t. Finishing your research was satisfying, despite all the energy it took. You took a deep breath, leaning back in your chair and crossing your legs onto the table, still filled with the books you took and handwritten notes. Additionally, the tranquility of the silent night brought you into a peaceful state of mind.

Sadly, that too, was taken from you.

A few meters away, at a large, prominent table near the center aisle, was a figure you instantly recognized. His posture was too stiff, his expression too absorbed, and an unnatural cold radiated from him, a chill that went beyond the air and settled deep in the mind. His stupid light teal hair stuck out amongst the sea of black, brown, and blond hair. Not to mention his pupils were a blood red crimson, looking like it's always planning to cause some sort of trouble, and that's what he always does! You eyed him, noticing the lack of a Darshan uniform, seeing a uniquely tailored one instead.

Zandik.

Right off the bat, his name alone was terrible. It meant “heretic.” which was who he was, undeniably. At the same time, you couldn’t believe that was his actual name, and how he basically lived it down.

“How unfortunate.” You thought.

Despite never having formally met him, you knew everything the Akademiya buzzed with. Rumors of his brilliance, arrogance, and the contempt he held for everyone around him. You knew his presence was not good. This wasn't just a rude scholar, this was a problem. He’s an embodiment of the dangerous, cruel logic you fundamentally despised. There wasn't a rumor you hadn't had the misfortune of knowing.

He was meticulously drawing a complex, precise schematic on a large piece of parchment. Your blood instantly ran cold, not from fear, instead from righteous hatred. How could someone so casually embody that level of arrogance and cruelty?

The blood that ran cold in your veins quickly faded. Your eyes narrowed, taking in the precise, almost obsessive focus of his work. The schematic he was drawing wasn't a standard mechanical blueprint. It looked like something utterly unethical.

You gripped the straps of your satchel to ground yourself, deciding to pack your books for reference and leave. As you reach for the ancient text on the table, your fingers brushing against the heavy spine, his voice, low and devoid of warmth, cuts through the silence.

“A rather desperate pursuit for a scholar of the present day.”

He hadn't even looked up, yet he had assessed and dismissed your entire academic focus in a single, perfectly formed sentence. Animosity was instant and mutual.

You angrily packed your books inside your bag, forgetting your notes. There was no point in leaving silently now. You pushed yourself off the table, the scrape of the chair on the marble floor startlingly loud. You walked the few steps necessary until you were directly across the aisle from him.

“And yours is a rather pathetic attempt at relevance for an individual who refuses to commit to a single field," you countered, your voice steady despite the adrenaline rush. "You criticize my focus on history, yet you seem to lack the historical context necessary to be anything more than an overly-ambitious dilettante.”

Zandik’s hand paused, the charcoal tip hovering over the parchment. He finally raised his head, and those devoid, crimson eyes, fixed on you. His expression was not angry, but mildly curious, as if studying an unusual specimen. He then noticed the black bull-like symbol on your Akademiya Darshan hat.

“Ah, the Haravatat Darshan,” he observed, his tone clinical and dry. “Still wasting your energy translating the dead language of failure.” He set the charcoal down, leaning back slightly. “Dilettante? That suggests I merely dabble. I assure you, my expertise is defined by my capability, not by the borders of a curriculum designed for mediocre people who confine themselves to a single Darshan.”

He gestured to the open books scattered on your table, including that script. "You spend your nights cataloging the ruins of King Deshret’s technology. I spend mine constructing things that will make those ruins look like children's toys. The difference, scholar, is application versus archaic appreciation. You seek to understand why the old mechanisms rusted instead of being used, I prefer to create something new that will never know outdated-ness."

At this rate you were blatantly furious. It was 3am for fuck's sake. With no remaining filter left in your words, you snapped bitterly at the man's words.

“So what if I ‘confine’ myself to a singular Darshan? You learn topics from every singular Darshan but the point is, you'll never master anything if you keep this up. You are a jack of all trades, master of none. And what ‘new’ would you create? A new failure perhaps? Or a new reason on why the Akademiya should outcast you even more?”

“That's the only thing you bring to the table either way, so my word of advice is you cannot be talking so ambitiously when quite frankly, you've proven nothing. Don't you dare insult Haravatat when its purpose is to decipher ancient language to know how machines and/or devices work. A topic a person like you would need.”

Zandik listened to the entire, impassioned defense without so much as a twitch. A small, amused smirk, a purely intellectual reaction appeared on the corner of his lips.

"A truly sentimental retort," he murmured, picking up his charcoal again. "The 'master of none' fallacy. How wonderfully predictable. You see my versatility as a weakness because your own value is tied to a single, narrow expertise." He tilted his head, his crimson eyes holding yours. "And you are quite correct, I bring chaos, I bring disruption, and I bring the results the Akademiya desperately needs but is too ethically focused to pursue."

He glanced at your research table, then back at you, and the amusement was gone, replaced by indifference.

“However,” he continued, his tone shifting to disinterest, “you have made a fundamental error. While the mechanisms you study are useful as historical references, I do not require a translator to understand them. Your Darshan's purpose may be to decipher ancient languages, but my purpose is to bypass them entirely through superior design. Therefore, I find no use for your particular skill set, nor for this inadequate pointless debate.”

He leaned over his parchment, his interest instantly transferred back to his schematic, finishing up some details. He spoke his final dismissal without looking up, his voice barely a breath.

“You may return to your useless texts now. Your input is emotionally charged, entirely empirically irrelevant. Farewell.” He then rolled up his parchment, finally leaving the library. His steps echoing against the marble floor.

You stood there for a beat longer, feeling his harsh, unemotional evaluation. He hadn't won the argument. He had simply judged your entire emotional investment as “irrelevant” data. You wanted to lash out again, but his utter lack of engagement was more infuriating than any direct insult.

“سیکتیر! (Fuck off.)” You frustratingly cursed under your breath, looking at the door where he had just left.

Turning back on his arrogance and the damning schematic, you gathered your notes previously forgotten, quickly shoving them into your bag. Air in the House of Daena now felt filled by his contempt.

You didn't look back hurrying out of the library and into the freezing dark night, yet the image of that immoral schematic and the sound of his dismissive voice burned into memory. An Academic year had only just begun, and you already made a powerful, dangerous enemy.

Making your way back to your dorms, which were thankfully some distance near the Akademiya, still in utter disbelief on how you'd managed to be an enemy of the Akademiya's infamous feared outcast, on the first day no less. Hopefully he wouldn't murder you for petty reasons such as an argument of Darshans. Would he murder someone for something as little as that? No clue. You'd heard multiple horrendous things so it could be possible. A familiar sense of fear engulfed you, though it was gone as soon as it started by a defiant thought, if you were to die, at least it would be from speaking your mind..

Afterward, you opened the door to the entrance of the building. The inviting, familiar scent of Sumerian tea wafted towards you. Someone was awaiting your presence. It was her again. Her voice was mature, gentle, and laced with fond exasperation.

“Late again, _____?”

“It's only the first day, and you've been too hard on yourself, don't you think?”

The person awaiting you was the kind, elderly lady who owned the dorms, Madam كَثُوم (Kalthoum.) She knew your habits, only returning in the dead of the night, and often waited to lecture you on the importance of coming home early and safeguarding your mental well-being. You appreciated the concern, of course, but your relentless drive for academic success remained supreme.

“My apologies Madam كلثوم (Kalthoum) I've been trying, believe me. Today was simply not the most pleasant. I came across a certain someone.” At the sharp, immediate memory of that infuriating outcast, a deep frown involuntarily pulled at your lips.

“Really now? Who was it?”

“My apologies, I humbly decline to delve into specifics tonight. Good night, miss. Or good morning.” Shortly after offering a respectful nod, you proceeded down the corridor.

Walking into the corridor where multiple dorms hailed, the only thing guiding you was the few dimly lit lamps stuck to each side of the walls. You found the door that was engraved with the words “Dorm Fourteen.” Bingo. Now hopefully, they would wake up to the sound of your knocking. Since you were still in an irritable mood from earlier combined with the tiredness, you accidentally banged on the door. It was surprisingly loud, and echoed through the empty corridors. You stood there for a minute already feeling the exhaustion taking a toll on you.

The door creaked open slightly. The moonlight streaming from a nearby window allowed you to glimpse your housemate, a welcome sight that brought a small measure of relief. Oh, thank Greater Lord Rukkhadevata they woke up even in this ungodly hour.

You were too weary to even muster a proper “Thank you” or an apology. Instead, you walked with the stumbling walk of someone running on the influence, flopping onto the comfy, soft bed and getting knocked out instantly, lost to the deepest sleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning was delightfully peaceful, in comparison to yesterday. Birds were chirping in harmony outside, wind lightly blew fresh air through the open window, and the sky was a pastel blue dotted with fluffy white clouds. One of the sun's rays shone in your direction, causing you to stir, then turn recklessly toward the other side of the comfortable, soft, wood bed. Before you knew it – something hit the floor loudly. Turns out, you were the noise.

You lifted your gaze sleepily, he was looming over you, already dressed in his Akademiya robes, accompanied by the Rtawahist Darshan hat. You made it out to be your room mate, جاوید (Javid.) 

“What you did last night was distracting. Disruptive and disrespectful, do you just lack respect?”

At his words, you immediately felt a tremendously big guilt settle in your stomach, freezing in pure unadulterated shock. The morning's serenity had abruptly ended. Still being half asleep, you were fumbling with for an immediate solution to his words.

“I... I am so sorry. It won’t happen again, I swear. Whatever damage, I take full responsibility. Please forgive me.” Your voice was laced with desperation to neutralize the conflict.

You'd mentally scrambled through the fuzzy memories of yesterday. Right, the door bang.

He hadn't replied to your frantic promises, waiting. It was the crushing pressure of his silent judgment that finally made you fold.

”Fine. You win.“ You spoke reluctantly.

”I admit something similar to last night will happen again. This will not be the last time I'll bother you, we both know that. Nonetheless, I want you to know each time I apologize, I mean it!”

Even at your admission, he still didn't utter a word. He sized you up judgmentally.

For a long moment, the room was covered with an awkward silence with you avoiding looking at him, feeling much more interested in looking at the smooth wooden floorboards.

“Kül başına.” He said flatly.

…?

“…Kül başına??” You silently tested the unfamiliar words on your tongue.

He'd heard you test those words. Judging from the annoyed expression on his face he was going to rant again on about everything he hated about you, all triggered by your cluelessness.

“Are you that wasted from last night? Seriously, what was that pathetic entrance? That stumbling walk and dead look in your eyes – anyone functional would think you were on some low-grade drugs. Even when sober, you look chronically sick. You’re hopeless, and you need to get your act together.”

“Offer your apologies as often as you want! They don’t actually fix the headache you gave me. And naturally, you just had to be a Haravatat scholar. The Darshan collectively considered academic dead weight. You guys are only good for feeding research to Kshahrewar! Atleast Kshahrewar is building things, while you’re stuck translating some dusty old tablet. Has it never occurred to you why everyone drops your classes and why your whole specialization is constantly obsolete? You cling to Haravatat like a sentimental fool.”

“All you ever achieve is getting me irritated! Your lack of discipline is why Madam Kalthoum felt compelled to pull me aside and interrupt my schedule with her totally inane inquiries about 'our friendship.' ”

“Do you grasp the sheer inconvenience? No, of course you don't! I wouldn't expect your focus to extend beyond deciphering dead languages. Look, just get it together, Haravatat. Natural selection is going to get you, and I don’t want to be nearby when it happens. Good luck.”

You listened to another one of his classic overly dramatic rants about you while being completely unfazed, a deadpan expression etched on your face – already used to his repetitive perpetual insults. After all, silence is the best reply to a fool. Haravatat this, study habits that.. Nothing you haven't heard before. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

You didn't know what language or dialect he was speaking in, so even if this was a bad time to ask you did so either way. It's a small price for a new possible language to learn.

“Javid, what language or dialect did you say 'Kül başına' in?” You questioned in a monotonous voice.

“... Also, seriously?” He facepalmed, rubbing his temples with profound annoyance. “You have been my roommate for three years. Three full years to ask me what dialect I was speaking, and you only bothered now? Real thoughtful of you.”

His words just made your predicament worse, and you habitually shyly rubbed the back of your neck. He had a huge point in his words. However...

This was unacceptable, and he is not overpowering you.

“Come on Javid. Just tell me. Or are you too scared to say it to my face?” You finally met his gaze, the question sharp and fierce.

“You know what? I'm leaving. If I stay here with you I'll be late to my classes, I won't do that. Eat breakfast. Bye bye _____.” He sounded entirely fed up… Before you could negotiate, he was gone when he gently closed the door.

Oh. 

A slight tremor shook in your hands accompanied with your heartbeat pounding against your chest, you already felt the deep guilt in your stomach clawing it's way back in, the fierceness from seconds ago was already gone. You simply sat there for a moment, the weight of the situation finally taking a toll on you.

How great. Now he's going to go on another rant to Madam Kalthoum about how he loathes my entire existence. I've lost track of how much we've been fighting due to it's frequency... It's all my fault. Why are we trapped in this cycle? Why haven't I broke it sooner??

Lost in your spiral, a cold sweat slid down on your neck..

He is entirely justified in his annoyance. I, the scholar who prioritizes order, was the one responsible for the loudest, most irrelevant noise in the entire residential corridor.

It was an act of carelessness that violated the fragile peace he desperately needs. I destroyed the one stable, quiet thing we need. I shattered our harmony, and that felt like a failure of my character.

Time soon passed, with you not knowing how long it took for you to snap out of it and rationalize.

I need to stop focusing on the pain of his words and look at the bigger picture. I'm letting this small conflict destroy my inner vision and make me reactive. If I let his negativity control me, I lose my ethical grounding. Now I'm the one overreacting, not him. We've argued countless times before, I'll get over this.

A minute after rationalization, you heard the slow, steadying sound of your heart settling down, alongside the guilt slowly disappearing from your stomach.

Then, you set your eyes over to the circular oak table – there lay some freshly cooked, steaming Aaru Mixed Rice composed of : rice, noodles, and beans combined. Secret of it's great taste lies in the sweet and sour flavor imparted by tomatoes. Sight of the food stung way more than it's supposed to, since even if he was absolutely done with your presence he still cared in equal amount.

With a sigh of simultaneous guilt and gratitude, you carefully stood up and went over to where the food was plated. Perhaps later you could do something to make his day? He was already doing so much by just tolerating you. Besides, the mouth-watering smell of his cooking made it totally unable to resist. It's a waste to not eat it, it's still warm.

Afterward, you finished every single piece of what he had cooked for you. Not a single speck of rice, noodles, or beans remained. Without a doubt his cooking skills were outstanding, one day he could have his own food stall or restaurant. It was an unrealistic thought, because people like him would rather die than choose a common life ; seeing a life as such being unremarkable. Most scholars yearn for validation, academic or not.

If only people would be tolerant or settle on simpler, non-academic lives.

Before you left for Haravatat classes, you went inside the rest room for a quick shower.

--------

Ready to start a new, hopefully positive day, you opened your closet, and slipped on those lightweight, comfortable cultural clothes inside. The fabric's color palette was pleasing to the eye, and a smile made its way to your lips as you stared down at yourself wearing the garment. Additionally, you'd slipped on your durable shoes, then beheld the sight of yourself reflecting in the narrow mirror. Last year, you'd remembered storing all your clothes for the next school year inside that closet so you wouldn't have to carry any extra baggage. Surprisingly, Madam Kalthoum had allowed you to do so.

“Quite humorous on how she'd permitted me to do something such as this yet not let me and Javid's arguments slide.” Thinking of it made you let out an involuntary chuckle of irony.

You locked Dorm fourteen with a firm click as you twisted the small metal key, shoving them inside a tiny compartment of your satchel after. Your footsteps echoed across the desolate, unlit hallways of the residential building. The hall's only light source is it's large circular window at its center that cast light from the beautiful lush scenery outside behind you. There was a faint, yellow tinted light coming from the lobby's dangling ceiling light. Time to see Madam Kalthoum again.

She hummed along to the traditional Sumerian music drifting from the clearly old, but somehow still functional radio on the registration counter as she swept the floor ; she noticed your quiet approach from the hallway, glancing up to catch you sneakily heading straight for the exit, not wanting to disturb her peaceful moment (also not wanting a lecture.) You were about to leave, although her gentle voice interrupted your steps. Quite inevitable anyway.

“Ah if it isn't _____. Pray tell, did you get a good nights rest?”

“I'm heading out for classes. My sleep was…average, if I do say so myself.”

“Average sleep?” She questioned, her curiosity piqued.

“If you say so..”

You strongly sensed a lecture brewing related to Javid. An idea crossed your mind that he might've usually complained to her again. Deciding a couple more minutes wouldn't hurt, you settled onto the maroon sofa, prepared to answer her questions. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and amusement, suggesting she was in for a chat.

“You have my best wishes for your classes.” She shortly stopped sweeping, leaning over the registration counter.

“However, _____ I need to talk to you for a little more, won't take up too much of your time.”

Knew it.

“It's about him again, isn't it?” You gently stated, sighing.

“No need to fret. I've got it covered.” You reassured her nicely.

“Are you sure?” she asked, concern etched on her face. “Before he left, he was seething, so when I asked what was wrong...” She hesitated, searching for the right words.

“It was like a dam burst. He launched into that little tirade about how insufferable you are, and how he'd love a new roommate – specifically someone not from Haravatat. Now he wants to avoid you as much as possible.” Her eyes looked into yours, expectant of a response.

“Besides, he didn't tell me what exactly set him off,” she added, her eyes narrowing slightly as she gazed toward Dorm fourteen. “But I'm guessing it has something to do with that door banging incident. Everyone in the dorms likely heard it. You could've woken someone up from deep slumber considering how loud it was.”

You nodded, admitting your guilt, having no idea what to reply with. What was a possible reply to that anyway?

She smiled softly and leaned forward. “Do me a favor, okay? Try to avoid getting on his case. If you know it'll set him off...Don't. Javid's good guy, he just needs some guidance. Maybe try bonding with him a bit more? I think he just needs someone to show him the ropes.” Her tone was warm and motherly, a trait she'd shown with all the scholars in the dorm. You hadn't meant to slam the door, but it was time to make amends.

“Rest assured, I have it covered, ma'am.” You reassured her once more with a confident smile. The feeling of intense assessment coming from her made a drop of sweat fall down your face. In due time she nodded, seeming to accept your words, waving away her hand. Phew.

“Alright, I trust you. Off you go then, take care.” She returned to her cleaning, dusting a colorful vase, music drifting softly in the background.

“Thanks a lot, really please do not fuss over us so much, wouldn't want you worrying so much.” You called out, hoisting your satchel over your shoulder as you stood up from the maroon sofa. With a nod, you headed toward the exit. You pushed through the oak, glass stained door and stepped out into the bright sunlight. Traditional Sumerian music from the radio faded into the background, replaced by the vibrant light of the day outside.

Straightaway you navigated the familiar streets to Sumeru Akademiya, long stone winding pathways unwound before you, leading you past vibrant market stalls and traditional buildings. You heard merchants promoting spices and intricate fabrics. Air was thick with the pleasant scent of cardamom mixed with smoke from food stalls.

You walked with purpose, your footsteps had been guided by familiarity, your posture rigid as you navigated the crowd. Tension had seemed to emanate from you from being in crowded areas, your usual ease low. Instead of letting your mind spiral again, you focused on the sights : the green leaves of the divine tree swayed then fell gently unto the ground, refreshing winds made your hair and clothes flow like silk. Averting your gaze to the side you saw a group of old men whom chatted about old memories. You wished, in fleeting moments, you could skip this draining phase of life and be old, with the weight of time behind you. 

I wish this school year would be kinder.

Eventually you reached the Akademiya, it seemed unusually quieter and emptier than usual. There were fewer scholars that conversed near the general vicinity.

Is..something wrong??

It's hardly ever this silent or empty.

Regardless of the strangeness, you relaxedly walked and pushed open the grand walnut doors expecting nothing.

You went inside the Akademiya, as you felt the weight of it's crushing silence. Something was definetely going on. Instead of inquiring from some stranger, you walked down the marble spiraling staircase toward Haravatat's classrooms ; softly pushing the doors open with a creak.

Everyone's eyes were on you. You felt the weight of every gaze, ten sharp, silent scrutinies as you stood still in the doorway.

Your teacher's voice was devoid of any emotion whatsoever. He didn't raise it, which only amplified the severity.

“Scholar _____. You are officially marked late to my lecture.”

Huh? Your mind, still affected from the chaos of the dorm and Madam Kalthoum's lecture, struggled to process the timeline.

“…Excuse me?” You said, sounding genuinely in disbelief, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Look at the time.”

You instinctively raised your wrist, only realizing too late that your watch was missing. All in your frantic attempt to regain control after that morning’s disaster, you hadn’t checked the time when you left – your atrocious sleep schedule had messed up your routine. Madam Kalthoum had made you much later than she thought, time spent listening to her lecture had gotten you in this horrible situation.

“Sir, my apologies, I will-”

“Be seated.” He cut in bluntly.

You walked quickly, the soft scrape of your shoes against the stone floor felt deafeningly loud – settling into your seat near the window. Moments later, the teacher opened his desk and began passing out seat works written down in parchment for the class to analyze.

When your paper was handed to you, you immediately saw the familiar, elegant curves of the Devanagari script. You recognized it instantly. Except this wasn't an ancient cipher or a niche dialect ; this script was considered a Haravatat fundamental, one of the very first scripts taught to any scholar in Haravatat or planning to get into Haravatat.

You gripped the edges of the parchment – triviality of the task hurt more than the late mark. This was salt added into an open wound.

“Sir,” you began, your voice firm despite the underlying humiliation. “It seems I've received a passage entirely in Devanagari script. This is a foundational script. Is there no more challenging texts to decipher? No ancient cipher or niche dialect for this lecture?”

The teacher sighed, a short, exhausted sound that spoke volumes about Haravatat's current state.

“Consider it a form of punishment ____,” he stated. "Sadly, it is also the truth. Haravatat is currently lacking funds together with support to implement new, complicated primary sources. The Akademiya is diverting resources to more 'profitable' Darshans. We have nothing better to give you.”

He cleared his throat, continuing to clarify. “This includes every Haravatat scholar, not just you _____.” He stopped, pointing directly at you. “I have a word of advice everyone. Study hard. If you want higher quality course work or more recognition as a Darshan, prove that Haravatat isn't useless as everyone says it is.”

He paused, leaning heavily on the desk as he spoke the instructions of the seat work to the class.

“Anyhow, your task isn't to simply read the words, which I'm sure you all can do flawlessly. Your task is to analyze the text's potential deeper meaning, not it's intended purpose. This is a common warning inscription for an outer ruin wall from ten years ago, written in Devanagari. Your seat work is to write a short essay on one question: Why did the scribe choose a high prestige script not known to most, to mark a potentially lethal boundary?”

He looked at the class, challenging them to find depth in the shallow task. “You must decode the intent and the ethics behind the words, not the words themselves. Now, begin.”

He walked, then slid the parchment onto your desk. The text is short, crisp and written in Devanagari script.

”सीमा प्रोटोकॉल: बाहरी दीवार को ७ परतों वाले पुराने बेसाल्ट से प्रबलित किया गया है। स्थिरता को न मानें। मोर्टार बंधन का पुनर्मूल्यांकन करें। सुरक्षा प्रोटोकॉल का पालन करें।”

↓

“Boundary Protocol: External wall reinforced with 7 layers aged basalt. Do not assume stability. Reassess mortar binding. Follow Security Protocol.”

You stared at the text. It takes you two seconds to read and translate it perfectly. Ease of the reading only fueled your frustration.

An child taught Devanagari could easily answer this. 

He expects me to utilize my Haravatat training, my mastery of ancient dialects and languages, to analyze a common structural warning written in a script I outgrew years ago. This is an insult to my intellect. It's forcing me to apply my most specialized skill set to a task suitable for a kid. This is an utter waste of time and energy for everyone.

My punishment isn't simplicity of the text, but triviality of its content. He's forcing me to elaborate ethics of simplicity itself.. 

You dipped your quill, your handwriting immediately becoming precise, determined to extract value from something seemingly without it.

“ठे चोआईस तो उसे डेभनगरि स्कृप्त फोर अ सिम्प्ले बोउन्दॠ वर्निङ वस अ मोरल विओलसन । इत वस्न्'त अबोउत कोम्मुनिकसन, बुत अबोउत उसिङ क्नोव्लेद्गे तो देलिबेरतेल्री क्रेअते अ स्पके ओफ फेअर एन्ड एक्स्क्लुसन । ठे स्कृबे चोसे दिस्त्रुस्त ओवेर शरेड अन्डर्स्टान्डइङ ।”

“इत्'स त्रुए इन्तेन्त वस नोत तो प्रोविदे कौसन, बुत तो प्स्य्चोलजिकअल्ल्री इन्तिमीडेट । ठे ल्यांगवेज, बेइङ अ हाई स्ततुस स्कृप्त्, मग्निफिएद थे दाङएर फोर अन्योने व्हो कोउल्द्न्'त रेअद इत्, एवेन थोउघ थे स्त्रुक्तुरल प्रोब्लेम वस मिनोर । सिन्के नोत एवेर्योने इन सुमेरु रेअद्स डेभनगरि, थिस टेक्स्ट वस अ क्ञिकल अक्त देसिग्नेद तो पुष अवेरए पिपल व्हो मिघ्त हवे नीदेद थत सिम्प्ले वर्निङ थे मोस्त ।”

“ठिस ओल्द इन्स्कृप्सन इस अ स्मल्ल्, क्लेअर सिग्न ओफ अ सिस्टम थत वेअपोनिजेस इन्तेल्लिगेन्के । इत प्रोमोतेद इसोलसन एन्ड एलितिस्म्, नोत थे त्रुए एन्लाईटएन्मेन्ट नेकेस्सॠ ।” 

 

↓

“The choice to use Devanagari script for a simple boundary warning was a moral violation. It wasn't about communication, but about using knowledge to deliberately create a space of fear and exclusion. The scribe chose distrust over shared understanding.”

 

“It's true intent was not to provide caution, but to psychologically intimidate. The language, being a high status script, magnified the danger for anyone who couldn't read it, even though the structural problem was minor. Since not everyone in Sumeru reads Devanagari, this text was a cynical act designed to push away people who might have needed that simple warning the most.”

“This old inscription is a small, clear sign of a system that weaponizes intelligence. It promoted isolation and elitism, not the true enlightenment necessary.”

You looked up from your essay, satisfied with your answer. You officially wasted your time on a task for children, yet you will not allow your integrity to suffer for it. He may have punished everyone with boresome plainness, but you punished the script with your excessiveness.

Provided that he gave everyone a ridiculously easy seat work, it had lowered your view on him despite the reason being a lack of resources. A true teacher would move worlds, not settle on scraps.

Once each one of your classmates were done with their answers, he continued his lecture – discussing King Deshret's script. Nevertheless you couldn't bring yourself to digest any of the words that left his mouth, as you'd already sacrificed your rest to research the topic beforehand ; so why bother listening now?

To still maintain some form of respect for your teacher, you pretended to diligently take notes – even going so far to nod your head to feign understanding. Thankfully he seemed to buy the act..In reality, your mind was entirely elsewhere. You contemplated about the whereabouts of your friends, your parents, along with some unrelated opinions from others that you used your morals and convictions to form an rebuttal about.

-------

Suddenly, time flew past quicker than you'd expected – your class was already finished. It felt like thirty or more minutes, but two hours had come and went. Maybe it only felt short since you arrived late.

You grabbed your bag and satchel, pushed open the classroom doors, and stepped out of the stress inducing Akademiya for lunch, not bothering to wait for your friends like you usually do. Besides, you'll join them as usual when you have yourself sorted out.

Meanwhile, as you walked towards Lambad's Tavern to eat your lunch – you were beginning to get lost in thought as your steps automatically knew where to pass and when to turn.

Haravatat shouldn't be given as much hate as it's got. I'll admit – it may not be one of the best choices of Darshan but it's a hidden gem for those who truly look. Haravatat does enjoying things too, not just sit around translating some dusty old tablet! Why do scholars overlook us, even push to erase our Darshan? Kshahrewar scholars should beg for our insights and research.

What will I have for lunch? Biryani...Too predictable, that won't do. Predictability is a trap. I need something that challenges the waiter's expectations today, a small shift to avoid falling into old patterns. A new school year should also introduce better things. Tandoori Roast Chicken will work. I must quickly record the Mora cost to maintain control over my spending so my mind is free to focus on what truly matters.

How much Mora do I have again? Will I go bankrupt? About going bankrupt... If I gain a habit of splurging I'll totally be bankrupt. Actually, I wonder why people spend so much..

At last, you snapped out of your thoughts as your eyes registered the sight of Lambad's Tavern right in front of you. Aroma of spiced meat and sweet dough wafted in the air, momentarily pushing away your thoughts.

You slipped inside. The mid-day crowd was energetic but orderly. You bypassed the central seating, choosing a small, discreet booth near the back wall, preferring to observe the room without being easily noticed.

A server, a young man who had worked here for years, approached you with a familiar smile.

“Welcome back. Your usual today?”

You felt a familiar twinge of comfortability, you knew this man for years.

“Good day,” you replied, your voice even and polite. “No, not today. I’ve decided to try something new for the new term. I'll choose Tandoori Roast Chicken today, with a side of Padisarah Pudding, but only after the main meal.”

The server raised a knowing eyebrow at the new order, but simply nodded. “Very well, I’ll have that put in for you.”

You settled in, pulling out a small, leather notebook to track your daily expenses, a habit practiced by your parents – which was passed down to you. Tandoori Roast was 1,200 Mora, and Padisarah Pudding was 800 Mora. They add up to 2000 Mora spent.

The Tandoori Roast Chicken was perfectly cooked, in addition, Padisarah pudding was eaten with enjoyment. You hoped that in the future years to come, Lambad's Tavern would remain as famous as it is currently. With your hunger satisfied and your expense log updated, you quickly paid your bill, and spent some time staying in Lambad's tavern to practice your mastery of a language you needed to learn. You were diligently writing a quiz to answer inside your expense log notebook. Most of the time you shortly ripped the pages when finished.

-------

An hour later you headed out with your belongings, energized for the task ahead. Buying ingredients so you could cook Javid his favorite dish, accompanied with the chore of buying groceries.

Subsequently your walk to the Grand Bazaar was short. Going down the large circular earthy entrance you immersed yourself in it's various noises and colors, a sensory contrast to the silence of the Akademiya's halls. There was a sound of a well known tune in Sumeru City being played on a wooden flute by a man sitting on a patterned carpet, it's melodious sound expressed the man playing it clearly was musically gifted.

You located your favorite stall that sold the highest quality ingredients.

A middle aged woman named Miss رقیہ (Ruqayya) was the vendor, she recognized you instantly, because you'd visited the Grand Bazaar every time you bought groceries. It was surprisingly cheap in here. You remembered being in true disbelief when you found out how old she was. Her attitude and demeanor were brighter than a person from her age group would be.

“Good afternoon! Great to see you, as always. Looking for anything special today?” She asked happily, bagging some fresh Ajilenakh Nut for another customer.

You leaned slightly over the sturdy wood counter, your voice shifting into a polite, casual tone. “Miss Ruqayya, I need three ounces of the fresh turmeric," You looked downward and inspected the spices. "However I observed the pigment is slightly lower than it's previous batch. Based on its current market value, moreover the minor decrease in hue, I propose a reduction of ten Mora per ounce. We can agree on that, yes?”

Miss Ruqayya laughed, a rich joyful sound. “You scholars are the only ones who can turn buying spices into an academic debate! Very well, ____. You are too precise to argue with. Ten Mora less it is. Such good manners, too.”

You paid, passing your Mora into her hands – she handed a plastic bag with the turmeric inside. It should've been the end of your conversation, but before you left she brought something up.

“You know, there's an upcoming dance performance here in a few months. I think you'd enjoy it.” She suggested, her tone light. “Plus, it helps us folk who work in the bazaar. If you don't want to, it's perfectly fine!”

“A dance performance? Might be worth looking into.” You thought, already looking forward for when it'll show.

“Really? Sounds interesting. If spare time occurs, I'll check it out when it'll show.” You expressed, genuinely interested in the show. 

“Seems I have to get going. Farewell Miss Ruqayya!” You waved, proceeding onto the rest of the stalls.

You purchased the remaining groceries that were unrelated to Javid's favorite food, those plastic bags were so heavy.. You thanked each vendor and started your journey back toward the dormitories, abandoning the livelyhood of the bazaar.

Accordingly, you were nearing the area where your dormitories were at, your guard down – primarily focused on getting up the lush, elevated pathway made of white stone tiles, built into the enormous, ancient tree covered in thick green moss and vines. Above you the sun set, colored with vibrant hues of orange and yellow.

You finally hiked up the pathway, the open area was completely empty – you adjusted the plastic straps of your grocery bags when your gut instinct screamed to stop everything you were doing.

You froze.

Emerging from the upward pathway towards the Akademiya was Zandik. He wasn't rushing ; he was walking with a slow, deliberate pace, dressed in the standard Akademiya uniform with his bag hanging from his shoulders. He held a singular rolled parchment, looking wholly engrossed in whatever he was thinking of.

Driven by morals, you locked your disdainful gaze onto him. You didn't flinch, didn't turn away.

He is wrong.

He is the flaw.

He is corruption In the flesh.

I have every single right to hate him.

Zandik sensed the scrutiny. His head didn't move, but his unsettling, clinical eyes flicked up, both your eyes locking across the distance. He absorbed your hatred. A thin, unsettling smirk curled his lip. He did not break his stride. He did not acknowledge you beyond that.

He acknowledged my disdain.

Hate slammed into you, gripping your plastic bags straps so intensely your knuckles turned white. You continued to watch him with pure fury – even so your eyes were shortly drawn to that rolled parchment he was holding. You forced yourself to regain eye contact and walk assertively, maintaining that silent, hateful eye contact.

You suddenly stood still and watched as he went over to the small, white-trimmed wooden message board with a pitched roof. The board, supported by two wooden legs, featured two round panels which displayed messages pinned unto the board by scholars, Matra, businesses, and more. The board was surrounded by flowering bushes and medium sized palm-like plants.

He took a small white pin from a pocket of his robes, unrolled his parchment and pinned it scarily precise under the discussions of scholars. You were a bit unnerved by how fast and accurate his pinning was.

Without delay, he swiftly disappeared as he walked down the lower twisting stone pathway, his silhouette disappearing into the distance. Silence he left behind felt heavy, a void where normal behavior should've been. You were immediately overthrown by curiosity at his message.

What did he just pin unto that message board?

As soon as you were sure he was gone, you slowly cautiously walked over to the message board to check what message he'd just sent. A gentle wind caused his message to sway freely – you set down your groceries then gently held it, looking at it's contents written in the Common Sumeru Language.

“Rtawahist scholars fundamentally confuse cosmic observation with true causality. To gaze skyward for guidance is merely glorified superstition. Their focus is anti-intellectual, seeking answers in personal beliefs rather than observed verifiable evidence.”

Glorified superstition? Anti-intellectual?

That arrogant heretic. Who does he think he is?

Rtawahist is a Darshan founded on illuminationism, and astrology, only sometimes did it have misguided interpretation – just because it didn't cater to his materialistic, unethical research, didn't mean it was foolish/worthless. Your own roommate Javid, spent his life dedicated to Rtawahist, constantly fighting for its relevance among the six Darshans. Even if Javid drove you to brink of insanity with his rants and judgment, his commitment was real – something you begrudgingly respected in him.

This is poison.. Zandik is attacking the fundamentals of Rtawahist, not its facts. Scholars like Javid will read this and start to question why they are giving their lives to a study he dismisses as delusion. He's trying to destroy their passion and purpose. I have to remove this garbage before it damages their beliefs.

Granted that you were sure the coast was clear, you snatched the paper, crumpled it up and aggressively tossed it out the open balcony. You proceeded to pick up your groceries and continue to walk angrily to your dorm.

Insufferable outcast... How does one get their ego that inflated? And how is he casually disregarding other people's feelings? 

When you arrived, Madam Kalthoum wasn't at the counter, meaning she likely took her leave to eat dinner someplace else. Good. You weren't going to explain why you looked as if you were going to kill a man A narcissistic one, at that.

You began walking toward the wide, lit hallways to the direction of where your dorm was. Since it was naturally quiet in the building, you could faintly hear muffled conversations of scholars in the dorms echoing unto the hallways. Alas, sight of Dorm fourteen was your form of light at the end of the tunnel. You reached inside your satchel, digging into the small compartment you left your small metal keys in and firmly unlocked the door. Javid wasn't home, so you had time to cook his favorite meal as a final apology. Sabz Meat Stew! 

You changed into your casual house clothing, walking over to the kitchen and reading notes taped unto the wall, each for various Sumerian dishes until you finally found his favorite dish. You vigorously followed the instructions of the note, savory smells eventually filled the air, even you would want to favor a bite...

At that moment the door opened minutes after finishing plating the dish. Javid threw his Rtawahist hat onto his empty desk with a sigh of relief.

“I smelled that from the hallway. Don’t tell me you cooked. What’s the catch? You almost never cook.”

“No catch,” You said, forcing the anxiety out of your voice for what you were about to request.

“It’s my apology. For the lack of respect I showed last night. Also, thanks for the rice. Now, come here,” You held out your arms. “Give me a hug." This is the required step to properly resolve the conflict, isn't it?

Javid blinked. He was clearly confused by how random your request was, his expression shifted into awkwardness, although he cared for you enough to oblige the sudden act. He walked over, letting you pull him into a brief, slightly stiff hug.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. Thanks, ____,” He said grumpily, releasing you and instantly moving toward the plate. He took a large bite. “This is good. You’re forgiven, I guess.. You know, you’re wayyy too intense, but I must admit you’re a good friend.”

You felt a small, fragile sense of peace. You had performed an act of goodness – you had salvaged balance.

Javid took another bite savoring the taste of your cooking, then casually walked and reached for his desk, pointing to a professional, neat letter tucked beneath his hat. 

“Oh, almost forgot. This was waiting for you. It’s an official letter from the Matra. It’s marked 'Immediate, Mandatory Consultation.' Don’t tell anyone, looks serious,” He paused. “They told me it was more convenient to have me deliver it to you, sounds urgent too.”

He then threw his hat over to your dining table.

Your breath caught in your throat, your sense of peace shattering violently.

Most meetings with the Matra are known to go poorly. Very poorly.

You went still, unshakably still.

You then frantically pulled it free of his hat. It had the heavy, imposing seal of the Akademiya on the upper right corner. Your hands trembled as you read.

DATE SENT : September 3.

 

TO: Scholar “_____”

 

FROM: Officer جانان Matra Operative.

 

SUBJECT: “Immediate, Mandatory Consultation.”

What could that even possibly mean?? Consultation of what???