Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Scribe!" Grand Sage Azar barks, turning sharply away from the panting matra who'd burst out of the elevator.

"Grand Sage." The Scribe looks up from his desk at the side of the office and prepares a fresh sheet of paper in anticipation of taking down a message.

"Prepare this missive: The convoy from Aaru Village was waylaid by bandits and the package has been lost. All forces not critical to the defence of Sumeru City are to be diverted to the search effort immediately. Retrieval of the package is the highest priority." Azar's voice is tight with anger and his face is as dark as a thundercloud as he dictates the message. "See that this reaches all officers in the city, and make another copy for the Citadel of Regzar. I want you to make the deliveries personally, and ensure that the missive is read right away."

"And the General Mahamatra?" the Scribe asks as he begins the second copy. Surely something that warrants such a response is also worthy of the General Mahamatra's attention.

Azar's face darkens further. "The General Mahamatra has taken a leave of absence from the Akademiya. There will be no need to inform him."

The Scribe gives no outward indication of surprise, but this is the first he's heard of the General Mahamatra's absence from the Akademiya. He files the information away for later. Azar signs each copy of the missive, and the Scribe sets out into the city.

The next few days pass in a flurry of activity usually reserved for Jnagarbha Days. Matra and Eremites and messengers from all corners of Sumeru come in and out of the Akademiya with leads of varying usefulness on the whereabouts of the missing package. Through his observations in the Grand Sage's office, the Scribe comes to learn that the package is in fact a knowledge capsule said to contain divine knowledge.

This is not the first such capsule that the Scribe has heard of. Several of them have been obtained using Akademiya funds in the last year, their purchases hidden from the expense reports by the Scribe himself on the Grand Sage's order. The Scribe does not know where these knowledge capsules are going or what they're being used for. It is not his place to know. But it is an anomaly, and he hoards anomalies, stashes them away to later be laid out and analysed for patterns and secrets to be revealed.

"Scribe!" Azar is calling for him again.

The divine knowledge capsule has surfaced in Port Ormos, and Azar wants the Scribe to assist the matra.

"There's a prominent Eremite group based out of Port Ormos called Ayn Al-Ahmar that we suspect have their eye on the capsule. Things may get violent. You can handle that, can't you?"

It has been several years since he was last in a combat situation, but his skills will not have diminished in the slightest.

"Yes, Grand Sage."

"I want that divine knowledge capsule retrieved at all costs."

"Understood."

There is no outstanding work so urgent that it can't be completed on his return, so the Scribe leaves for Port Ormos immediately. As the doors of the Akademiya close behind him, a familiar presence touches his mind.

Al-Haitham, a voice calls inside his head. Only one person ever calls him that, or contacts him in this manner.

Call me Nahida, she'd said when he'd first looked into the eyes of the god the sages are keeping locked in the Sanctuary of Surasthana and their minds had touched.

And so he does. Nahida, he answers, so she knows she has his attention.

What's this about a divine knowledge capsule? she asks.

The Akademiya has lost one, he tells her. It has resurfaced in Port Ormos and the Grand Sage has sent me to retrieve it.

You and the matra and the Corps of Thirty, she observes. What makes this one so important?

The Scribe does the mental equivalent of a shrug. The sages have been collecting them for some time now. I have not been privy to their intentions.

The sages have been collecting them? Nahida seems…alarmed. Do you know what happened the last time they were collecting divine knowledge capsules?

There is nothing in the Scribe's memories that suggests the sages have been particularly interested in divine knowledge capsules before now, beyond destroying unauthorised knowledge capsules as per Akademiya protocol. He conveys as much to Nahida.

You happened.

He almost stops walking in the middle of the street, but manages to suppress his physical reaction to a slight stutter in his step.

What are you saying? he asks.

I don't have enough information yet, but I do know that a large number of divine knowledge capsules were used in the creation of…what you failed to be.

I don't remember that. Whatever divine knowledge the sages of the past might have tried to infuse him with in their god creation attempt must have been removed afterwards.

It's not worth remembering. Trust me. Nahida's presence flits about his mind restlessly. I need to find out more. Can you…don't let the sages get this one. If you can. Please? I have to go. Be careful, Al-Haitham.

She's gone before he can reply.

I want that divine knowledge capsule retrieved at all costs, Azar says.

Don't let the sages get this one, Nahida says.

The Scribe files both these directives away for later.

He walks through the night and arrives in Port Ormos early the next morning. Despite the hour, activity in the port is already beginning to pick up as merchants set up their stalls and dock workers receive the first ships of the day while the other early risers pack the cafes for breakfast and coffee. The Scribe has neither the time nor the need for such luxuries. He makes a beeline for Wikala Funduq to receive an update on the situation from the matra stationed there.

The matra, as they usually do, regard him with a certain level of wariness even as they share what they have learned. A misconception seems to have spread amongst the matra that the Scribe watches them and reports their actions back to the sages, and most of them are stiff and overly formal in his presence. None of them have ever voiced this concern to him though, so he has not seen the need to address it. As long as they don't withhold information that he needs to do his job, he doesn't care how they treat him.

"The divine knowledge capsule is definitely here in the port," the matra apprising the Scribe says. "We're expecting it to be put up for auction sometime in the next few days. Rumour has it that the divine knowledge capsule contains the Scarlet King's power, which has attracted the attention of several Eremite brigades. Tension has been mounting between them in the last few days, and it's only thanks to the increased matra and Corps of Thirty presence here that we've been able to maintain law and order. It would be in everyone's best interests to resolve this as quickly as possible."

"Who's selling it and where will the auction be held?" the Scribe asks.

"We don't have that information."

"Then how, pray tell, were you hoping to 'resolve this as quickly as possible'?

The matra scowls. "You might be here on the Grand Sage's order, but so are we. And I don't appreciate you waltzing in here and criticising the work we're doing when you've done none of it yourself, Scribe."

"I am here to help," the Scribe says instead of responding to the jibe. "Time is of the essence. Tell me how I can be of assistance."

"Why don't you find out the auction details?" Under his breath, the matra adds, "Then you'll see it's not so easy."

"Very well."

The Scribe leaves Wikala Funduq for somewhere quieter, and calls up information on Port Ormos from the Akasha. An auction of this calibre will surely warrant the infamous Lord Sangemah Bay showing up in person, which gives him a possible avenue of information. The only problem is Lord Sangemah Bay knows exactly who he is, and he is unable to get past her informant for a face-to-face meeting. So be it. There are other sources of information in Port Ormos who are far less guarded against the Akademiya.

The Scribe receives dispensation to make use of Akademiya funds to bribe his way into the good graces of the port's information brokers. It takes him longer to acquire the information he needs than if he'd been able to ask Dori herself in the first place, but he eventually learns that the auction has come and gone and that Mizri, the leader of Ayn Al-Ahmar, had placed the winning bid. The Scribe is about to return to Wikala Funduq to relay his findings to the matra when he hears a commotion coming from the direction of the lighthouse. The lighthouse is not too far away, and it doesn't sound like any matra are on the scene yet. The Scribe changes course.

He pushes against the flow of the crowd until he reaches the pier where people are giving a wide berth to a man who fits Mizri's description. Several people are already unconscious on the ground around Mizri including members of his own faction, one of whom he is currently beating into a pulp with his fists while the others still standing watch on apprehensively, unwilling to approach him and risk falling victim themselves. When Mizri finally tires of his current target and looks around for more prey, the Scribe catches sight of the madness in his eyes and the foreboding red glow of his Akasha terminal. A memory surfaces.

"It's a puppet," one of the sages says dismissively. "It doesn't feel pain. It's just mimicking what it's seen before in humans."

The puppet wants to object, but every time it opens its mouth, only a strangled scream comes out.

"This isn't working," another sage says. "It's not absorbing the divine knowledge any better than the mad scholars had."

"Perhaps it needs more time," another sage says. "Let's leave it be and come back in a few days."

"Alright. Tie it down so it doesn't damage itself."

The puppet's flesh feels so tender that the ropes that wind around it might as well be knives. The world burns red in its retinas and scorches its esophagus and lungs as it fills it up from the inside, desperate to get out but unable to escape the cage formed by the puppet's body.

The puppet screams in impotent rage and frustration, screams and struggles and tears the flesh from its bones, but nothing gives and nothing makes sense save for the agony that permeates not only its body but also its mind, carving ragged chunks from whatever it touches and leaving behind nothing but the crumbling fragments of a hollow shell.

"Huh, still no change. Should we wait longer?"

"Useless puppet." Something impacts with its side and a fresh jolt of pain flares up, but the puppet is too drained to react. "A week is more than long enough.  Strip everything out. We'll start again."

Nahida was right; it's not worth remembering.

Nahida is also right in that he can't let the sages get their hands on this divine knowledge capsule. One capsule may be nothing in the grand scheme of their plans, but he won't make himself complicit in whatever perverse creation they are putting together now.

As Mizri turns on his remaining subordinates, the Scribe makes his move. He throws himself into a forward flip to avoid the leg sweep that Mizri attempts, then dodges the clumsy punches until he sees an opening to strike the man's Akasha terminal. That seems to be enough to disrupt whatever madness has overtaken Mizri, and he goes down bonelessly.

The Scribe approaches him under the pretext of checking his current condition, but what had drawn the Scribe's attention is the red glow coming from Mizri's belt. Sure enough, the divine knowledge capsule is lying on the pier, half obscured by Mizri's body.

The matra have not yet arrived on the scene, and the Scribe's cape will hide his actions from the other members of Ayn Al-Ahmar at his back. He pulls the divine knowledge capsule free and tucks it into the pouch around his waist.

The matra thunder onto the pier as he steps away from Mizri and lets them take control of the scene.

"He used the divine knowledge capsule," the Scribe tells them. "I had to subdue him. I did not find the capsule on his person."

They have no reason to doubt him.

"We'll search their hideout." The matra points his polearm at the nearest Ayn Al-Ahmar member. "You. Take us to your base."

The matra reluctantly allow the Scribe to join their search, but predictably, it turns up nothing more than a few crates of smuggled goods. They expand their search to the surrounding area and the path between the hideout and the port, and the Scribe keeps up the pretence of assisting until night falls and the search is called off.

"Maybe he handed it off to one of the other members to hide before he went to the port," the matra in charge of the investigation suggests. "Or he dropped it into the water and the tide has long since carried it away. Either way, I don't think we'll be finding it tonight."

"I will return to Sumeru City and inform the Grand Sage we have done all we can," the Scribe says.

"Better you than me," the matra mutters.

-

"The leader of Ayn Al-Ahmar is in custody, but he'd already used the divine knowledge capsule by the time we captured him. We were unable to locate the whereabouts of the capsule and it's unlikely he'll recover enough to tell us where he hid it. The matra will keep an ear to the ground in case it surfaces elsewhere."

Azar has no reason to doubt him.

"Hmph. That is most unfortunate. But at least you managed to show everyone what happens to those who seek out knowledge above their station. That ought to make others think twice before doing the same."

That night, in the small, sparse room that has been designated the Scribe's quarters, he waits for Nahida.

You got the divine knowledge capsule! she exclaims, a burst of vibrant delight in his mind. How did you hide it from the sages?

They have no reason to doubt me, he says.

Her elation fades a little. I suppose not. Still, I will modify the recordings from your Akasha terminal to hide it from them. What made you decide to do it?

I want to know what the sages are planning.

I haven't been able to find out. All key figures in the Akademiya are careful to take off their Akasha terminals when they're not actively using them, so I've only been able to observe them conducting official Akademiya business. Those of lower ranks are not involved with what the sages are planning, at least not willingly. I'm afraid I have to ask you to be my eyes and ears.

I can do that. But first I need your help to hide this knowledge capsule.

Nahida conceals his movements from his Akasha terminal as he steals through the Akademiya and climbs the branches of the Divine Tree outside until he finds the little tree hollow she'd shown him.

The usual inhabitants won't be back for another season, she'd assured him. I would be surprised if we had to wait that long for the sages' plan to rear its head.

Azar has a closed-door meeting the next morning with the sages from Spantamad, Haravatat, and Kshahrewar. Closed-door means no guards in his office and usually no scribe either, but on this occasion, the Scribe has found a reason to stay.

"I require use of the reference books here to complete the new regulations regarding the use of foreign technology in Akademiya projects. I can come back later, but you wanted it ready for review—"

"Fine, whatever," Azar says. "but you're not to repeat anything you hear, understand?"

"Yes, Grand Sage."

"You're letting it stay?" Sage Kajeh asks sceptically.

"It's a puppet," Azar scoffs. "What are you afraid of?"

That seems to be enough to placate Kajeh.

The four sages gather around Azar's desk to discuss the papers spread out over it. They keep their voices low enough that even the Scribe has trouble hearing everything, but he dares not get closer lest it rouse their suspicion.

"—dreams—Jnana energy—"

"—ensure the framework is stable—"

"—how many cycles—"

"As many as it takes to achieve our goal."

…Dreams? Nahida says when the Scribe relays what he's learned. He can hear the furrow in her brow. What could the sages want with dreams? They couldn't have found me out, could they?

There was no mention of you.

No, I suppose I'm barely the whisper of a thought in their minds these days. Still, I must investigate this. Good work, Al-Haitham.

The Scribe thinks no further on the subject of dreams until two nights later when Nahida barges into his mind without her usual regard.

Something is very wrong, she says, her voice as close to the edge of fear as he has ever heard it. What do you know of dreams?

He doesn't dream, of course. Sometimes when Nahida comes into his mind to speak to him, she conjures up images of places neither of them have been to, or places them in fantastical situations that have no care for real-world limitations. This, he has been led to believe, is what dreams are made of. But most people in Sumeru don't dream either, at least not once they reach a certain age. He is hardly an outlier in this area.

The people of Sumeru don't dream because the Akasha takes their dreams from them. This usually does not pose any risk to them, but the sages have decided to start harvesting dreams on an even larger scale in a short amount of time. The only way they can do this is by putting everyone in a perpetual dream state that the human body was not designed to withstand. I don't know how long the sages intend to keep this up, but soon there will be casualties as physical bodies give way under the mental strain.

What can I do? the Scribe asks.

I…I don't know. I guess I just needed someone to talk to. It's my birthday, you know? Nahida laughs, but it's a sad, bitter sound. That's what they're dreaming. The people of Sumeru are trapped in an endless samsara of Sabzeruz Festivals.

The Scribe knows of the Sabzeruz Festival. He has walked through the city and the Grand Bazaar and seen the stalls and decorations. He has felt Nahida's joy and giddiness at being recognised by her people for just one day of the year. Tomorrow, he will draft an ordinance banning public performances as per the Grand Sage's order.

I have been keeping watch over my people's dreams ever since you told me about the sages' interest in them, but I still didn't realise what was happening until everywhere I turned, there were only Sabzeruz Festivals.

Where are these dreams going? The sages mentioned some kind of framework; can you destroy it? Can I?

They must be going somewhere within the Akasha system. I will search it out.

It is not uncommon for the Scribe to be found in the House of Daena after hours as he requires less sleep than a normal human, so he tucks a book under one arm and holds some papers in his other hand and endeavours to look deep in concentration as he leaves his quarters.

The Grand Sage's office is locked outside of his office hours, and not even the Scribe has the ability to override this. He doubts that the project is being undertaken in the office, though; there aren't many hiding places up there, and the only means of ingress and egress is via the elevator which is in plain view of the entire library. Perhaps the Sanctuary of Surasthana? But Nahida's physical body is there and the Scribe doubts the sages would be so daring, even trapped as she is.

So he turns his attention outwards, leaving the House of Daena through one of the upper doors and following the path until Sumeru City comes into view beneath his feet, dark and quiet save for the few spots of light from people working through the night. All those people completely unaware of the peril the sleepers just mere feet away from them are in.

He doesn't know what he's looking for and if he attempts to leave the Akademiya the matra will certainly stop him, so all he can do is keep his eyes and ears open for any unusual movements or sounds.

He listens to the leaves of the Divine Tree rustling in the light breeze, watches the patterns of moonlight on the tile change as it filters through the branches. Down below, he can hear the footsteps of the patrolling Eremites and their quiet voices as the watch is handed over.

"All quiet," they say. If only they knew.

Focused as he is on his surroundings, the Scribe almost misses Nahida's presence in the corner of his mind, small and curled up on itself as if she'd been trying to avoid his notice.

People are dying, Al-Haitham, she whispers without moving from her corner when his consciousness brushes over hers. I see them fading from the dream, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Did you find where the sages are siphoning the power to?

No, I've been searching, but I'm beginning to think I'm just as trapped in here as everyone else is. There's… there's a girl here. Dunyarzad. When she was young, she asked me to be her friend. And she has never stopped believing in me. But now, I feel her body grow weak and her mind slip away, and I know it won't be long before the dream takes her too. What kind of archon can't even save their most faithful follower? And at the Sabzeruz Festival, no less?

The Scribe has no words of comfort to give. More still will die if this experiment is permitted to run its course.

You're right. Nahida's presence in the Scribe's mind strengthens and steels itself, taking the form the Scribe is more accustomed to.

You said the people of Sumeru are being placed into a collective dream while their own dreams are being harvested? If you can't find where these harvested dreams are going, then what about the source of the collective dream? It has to be someone's dream, doesn't it? What happens if they wake up?

That's it! Nahida brightens. If the dreamer knows they're dreaming, they can change everything. The brightness fades. No one here can see me. Even in their dreams, I am barely an afterthought to my own people.

Even to the person dreaming of the Sabzeruz Festival? The very festival that was held to celebrate your birthday?

Nahida is quiet for a while, but when she next speaks, she does so with authority and determination. I will find them. I will help them change the dream, and we will save everyone. Including Dunyarzad.

There is nothing more for the Scribe to do, so he returns to his quarters and allows himself to fall into a light sleep. When Nahida next reaches out to him, her touch is faint but carries emotions of relief and contentment.

I did it, she murmurs, her words soft and slurred as the strength of her presence waxes and wanes in the Scribe's mind. I saved Dunyarzad and helped Nilou break free of the samsara, and now everyone in Sumeru City will be safe. But…I couldn't save everyone…

Rest, the Scribe interrupts. Not even the god of wisdom can help the dead. You've earned it.

Morning comes with reports of people dying mysteriously in their sleep from no apparent cause. Others report to Bimarstan in droves with a range of neurological symptoms from a sudden onset of fatigue to splitting headaches, and Sumeru City is left in a general state of confusion as everyone tries to make sense of the sudden malaise that has swept through the city overnight.

"The situation is under investigation," Azar dictates as the Scribe prepares the announcement to be distributed throughout the Akasha system. "Those experiencing severe symptoms are advised to present themselves to Bimarstan for treatment. At this time, there is no reason to think that the cause involves any kind of contagion, and travel in and out of Sumeru City may continue as usual."

The Scribe finishes the announcement and waits for a subsequent order to distribute to the matra so they can commence their investigation, but none is forthcoming.

Over the next few days, the hysteria gradually fades away with the aftereffects of the sages' experiment until that night is little more than a bad dream that a scant few did not wake up from. The investigation—little more than a note on a page—is quietly closed with no real findings, and the sages move on to the next item on their list. Which apparently involves the return of an exiled scholar, now better known as one of the Fatui harbingers.

The Scribe watches warily out of the corner of his eye as the Doctor prowls around the Grand Sage's office like a Rishboland tiger on the hunt. Azar is trying to give off the air of someone unconcerned, but the Scribe can see that the Doctor's presence unsettles him, which in turn puts the Scribe on guard.

The Scribe is shelving a book when he hears footsteps behind him, and turns to find the Doctor much closer to him than expected.

"So this was your pitiful attempt to create a god." The Doctor grasps the Scribe's chin and tilts the Scribe's head this way and that. The Scribe forces himself to not react, and to keep a carefully blank look in his eyes as the Doctor peers into them. "It's rather ordinary, isn't it?"

"We removed all its divine knowledge when it became clear the experiment wasn't working. It's just a puppet now," Azar says.

"How dull." The Doctor releases the Scribe. "I suppose it could never measure up to a puppet created by an archon."

"Is your puppet ready?"

"Of course. I've held up my end of the bargain; further progress on the project now rests on your shoulders. I heard there was a little hiccup with your experiment last night that caused it to abort early?"

"We still managed to collect enough Jnana energy. We can proceed."

Azar and the Doctor move on, their attention no longer on the Scribe. This brief exchange combined with what the Scribe already knows tells him that the sages are almost certainly carrying out a new god creation plan, and that the sages have acquired another puppet—created by an archon? The Tsaritsa?—to take on the mantle of godhood. If the Doctor is here, then the puppet must be close by.

The Scribe is left alone in the Grand Sage's office sometimes. The books and documents in the office are confidential but nothing that the Scribe doesn't normally have access to for his day-to-day work, so Azar thinks nothing of leaving the Scribe there unsupervised when his Grand Sage duties take him elsewhere.

After being present for the conversations Azar had had with the other sages and with the Doctor, the Scribe has been able to observe that Azar locks papers relating to the god creation project in his desk drawer after the meetings. Once the Scribe is alone in the office, he takes out the set of lockpicks he had crafted and learned to use after several nights spent with books on the subject, and gets to work on the desk drawers. At the back of the second drawer on the right, he finds what he is looking for.

There are several pages of blueprints annotated in code. The drawings on the first few pages look like a device that could be used for harvesting Jnana energy, which he puts aside in favour of examining a set of floorplans. They don't depict any structure that the Scribe is familiar with, and given that the floors drawn on each page seem to be interconnected, the end result would have to be something quite large and noticeable. Unless, of course, it's been built underground.

The Scribe pores over each page for clues as to the structure's whereabouts until on the last page of floorplans he sees something that could be interpreted as tree roots. He hasn't the time to decode the text, but the illustrations suggest the presence of a hidden entrance, possibly at the base of the Divine Tree. That location would certainly put the project within the sages' reach at all times.

The remaining pages mostly comprise coded lists and tables which are likely a record of materials and expenses which will not be of any current use. The Scribe returns the papers to the drawer and locks it, then formulates a plan for unearthing this hidden entrance.

First, he acquires the uniform of a forest ranger. The forest rangers don't usually patrol this close to Sumeru City, but it is the disguise least likely to draw suspicion if anyone sees him milling about the roots of the Divine Tree. There aren't any reasons he can fabricate to enable him to leave the city during the day, so he has to wait until night falls to leave the Akademiya in his disguise, the hood pulled up to hide his recognisably pale hair. To avoid the patrols outside the Akademiya's main entrance, he simply climbs the railing of one of the unguarded balconies and drops straight into the ravine below. It's a long way down, but his body is capable of surviving the impact and self-repairing any damage sustained.

He circles the base of the Divine Tree until he finds a trail of flattened grass far from any path or points of interest. A bootprint in the mud—of Snezhnayan design—confirms that the trail was not made by animals. He follows it until he comes across an opening in the tree roots blocked off by some kind of barrier made of elemental energy. There's no way he'll be able to get past it himself, but the area looks like it's trafficked frequently, so he hides himself above the entrance and waits.

Just over an hour later, he hears the rattling of a cart being pulled across rough terrain. Soon, four Fatui soldiers come into view, two of them pulling handcarts while one leads at the front and another takes up the rear. The barrier dissolves before them, and before it can reform, the Scribe drops down through the opening, the rattling carts hiding the sound of his landing.

The inside is rather well-lit, and much more built up than he'd imagined it to be. The tunnel that leads deeper into the roots of the Divine Tree is paved with stone and the walls are brick rather than the packed earth the Scribe had been expecting. The sconces on the walls are decorative enough to have been put there as permanent fixtures rather than for temporary lighting. Just how long have the sages been working on this project, and how has it escaped the Scribe's notice all this time?

The tunnel opens up into a larger room with several exits. The Fatui go left, towards the sounds of machinery, and the Scribe goes right; there is little cover for him to use if he continues following the Fatui, and he's sure he'll still be able to find something of interest even if he makes his own way.

The deeper into the facility he goes, the greater the sense of unease within him grows. An undertaking of this scale should not have gone unnoticed by the Scribe, not when almost every piece of paper that passes the sages' desks also lands on his own at some point. Even if they'd carefully hidden away the expenses, labour, and resources, there should have been something. Just how many people in the Akademiya are involved in this project?

The churning and grinding of machines grows louder and louder until the Scribe finds himself overlooking a cavernous room that dwarfs even the House of Daena, the largest room in the Akademiya. Suspended from wires thicker than the Scribe's arm is the largest mechanical puppet he has ever seen, well over ten times the height of an average human. The workers down by the puppet's feet are mere specks from the Scribe's vantage point.

Electricity pulses from the centre of the puppet's chest like a beating heart pumping blood, and static hangs thick in the air around it, sending involuntary shivers across the surface of the Scribe's body. The Scribe feels…awe. Even motionless as it is, hanging limply from the wires, the sheer size of the puppet and the power emanating from it is enough to make the Scribe feel as insignificant as a grain of sand in the desert. Is this what the sages had envisioned when they'd sought a god in Nahida? In the Scribe? No wonder they'd been disappointed.

Perhaps…perhaps the Scribe should let them have this. Who is he, to stand in the way of a god?

Nahida… he tries to reach out for her in his mind but she has always been the one to initiate their conversations, and he doesn't know to find her. All he can do is flee, a heavy weight on his back the whole way like someone's eyes are on him.

Even when he is back in his quarters, he doesn't allow himself to relax. There are too many questions left unanswered: just how close is this new god to completion? How exactly does the Fatui benefit from getting involved in this? What will the completion of this new god mean for Sumeru? For Nahida? For the Scribe?

Al-Haitham! Nahida's voice in his head is sharp with alarm. What have you done? The sages are searching for you through the Akasha. I'm hiding you from them for now, but I can't keep it up without revealing myself, and they'll find you sooner or later. You need to get out of Sumeru City!

Damn. So someone had seen him after all. That presence he'd felt at his back as he'd left…could it have been the budding consciousness of the new god?

Instead of explaining anything to Nahida, the Scribe opens his memories to her and lets her see everything he had down in the workshop under the Divine Tree. While his mind shares the information, his body moves towards the exit.

The divine knowledge capsule! Nahida exclaims as he takes down a guard trying to waylay him. You must take it with you. We might not get the chance to study it otherwise.

The Scribe changes course and climbs up the branches to the divine knowledge capsule's hiding place. He hides it in his belt pouch and takes a moment to survey his surroundings from the vantage point. He would in all likelihood survive a fall to the ground even from this height, but the amount of time it would take for his body to recover could allow the guards or the Fatui to capture him. He needs to get further down the tree.

He barrels through two guards too startled to properly hinder him, jumps a railing to bypass two more, and leaves the next two unconscious after a brief fight. Their weapons leave gouges on his hands and arms where he'd blocked their attacks, but the damage isn't great enough to stop him. He does take the sword off one of the guards though to make himself better equipped to defend himself.

He's expecting heavier resistance outside the Akademiya's main entrance, but not the crowd of matra, Eremites, and scholars that awaits him. What's stranger still is that none of them are armed—even those with weapons aren't wielding them—and their eyes are glazed over and their faces slack.

"Well, well, well," says a familiar voice. "The Scribe, wasn't it? Seems you're not as obedient as your masters think you are, hm?"

The crowd silently parts before the Doctor.

"You." The Scribe grips the sword in his hand more firmly as his eyes dart around the crowd. None of them acknowledge his or the Doctor's presence, remaining still and expressionless. Like puppets. "What have you done to these people?"

The Doctor waves a dismissive hand. "A simple matter of some minor adjustments to their Akasha terminals allowing me to deposit information directly into their subconscious. Tell me, Scribe, have you ever wondered what it's like to be beloved by the people? Wonder no further, because these people now believe you to be the saviour of the world." The Doctor raises his hands. "Come, give our dear Scribe a hero's welcome!"

The crowd comes to life all at once, surging forward with a cheer. The Scribe falters; there's no way around them so he'll have to go through, but should he use lethal force and kill what are most likely innocent bystanders, or hold back and risk being overwhelmed?

While scanning the crowd to determine the best strategy, a lone figure at the bottom of the ramp catches his attention; it's the Katheryne puppet from the Adventurer's Guild.

"Go, Al-Haitham!" Katheryne shouts. "I'll hold them off!"

The name spurs him into action. Who else could it be but—

Dendro energy sweeps through the air, and the crowd jerks to a halt like marionettes with their strings cut.

"Go now!" Nahida orders.

The Scribe runs down the path that Nahida has cleared for him and jumps off the platform at the end. The impact jars his legs, but they remain intact enough to continue fleeing on, weaving through the back alleys and jumping fences to keep his pursuers off his trail. As he climbs the wall that marks the boundary of Sumeru City, the image of rolling dunes and wind-carved canyons blinks into his mind. It's gone so quickly he thinks for a moment that he'd imagined it, but he's not prone to daydreaming, and the thought had not felt like one of his own. A message from Nahida? But then why hadn't she said anything?

The Scribe pauses at the top of the wall and cranes his neck, but he can't see the entrance of the Akademiya from here. There's no way to tell if Nahida has been successful in fending off the Doctor or if…but Nahida is a god, isn't she?

What god would permit a human to imprison them for five hundred years? a voice in the back of the Scribe's mind disparages. Surely one that is unworthy of being a god.

The Scribe shakes the thoughts out of his head and drops down from the wall before someone sees him. Whether it be a message from Nahida or a trap from the sages or the Fatui, going into the desert would take him out of the Akademiya's reach and grant him at least a moment's reprieve. It's as good a destination as any other.

Chapter Text

The Scribe has accompanied several research groups into the desert before to study runes in the ancient ruins. There is also an older memory, buried somewhere deep, about being brought before the Mausoleum of King Deshret, an energy he couldn't control coursing through his body. That memory holds nothing but pain and despair, and he is more than content to leave it buried. The others he uses to map a path to Caravan Ribat that will allow him to avoid notice from the matra and Corps of Thirty. From there, it's a clear run to Aaru Village. Or so he'd thought.

The only warning he gets is a dark shadow on the road in front of him before a figure is hurtling through the sky towards him. He throws himself to the side and has his sword unsheathed by the time he's on his feet once more. His opponent launches themselves forward for another strike that he blocks with his sword. The force of the impact throws them away from each other and raises a wall of sand between them. When the air clears, before the Scribe stands none other than the absent General Mahamatra.

"General Mahamatra," the Scribe says, keeping his guard up. Had the sages recalled Cyno from his leave upon realising they no longer had full control over their scribe?

"Scribe," Cyno growls. "What business do you have here?"

His words give the Scribe pause; has he not heard the news?

"Hey!" an unfamiliar voice calls just as Cyno makes to lunge forward once more. "What do you two think you're doing?"

A woman dressed in mercenary gear comes up the hill brandishing a claymore at them, glaring first at Cyno then the Scribe.

"The two of you are clearly not from around here so I'll tell you this just once: don't you dare bring your petty disputes into the safe haven of Aaru Village," she warns them.

The Scribe looks at Cyno, who had been the one to make the first move. Cyno glares back at the Scribe and says nothing. The mercenary opens her mouth, but whatever she had been about to say is drowned out by the howl of a sudden gust of wind strong enough to obscure their vision.

The wind dies down for the barest moment before picking back up with the same force. This is no mere gust of wind then, but the prelude to a fierce sandstorm. The sensible thing to do would be to make haste to shelter, but no one seems willing to be the first to turn their back on the others.

"Hey!" a fourth voice yells over the din. "All of you, over here, quickly!"

Through the sand is a barely-visible silhouette waving to them.

"Is that…Candace!" the mercenary calls back. "C'mon, you two," she says to Cyno and the Scribe, already heading into the village.

The Scribe takes no issue with this, but he's still wary of having to pass Cyno, who looks ready to skewer him if he so much as twitches.

"Are all you Akademiya folks such hard work?" the mercenary asks over her shoulder when she notices neither of them are following. "Move it!"

"Hmph," Cyno grunts, but he finally gestures for the Scribe to go first. As a gesture of good faith, the Scribe sheathes his sword, and in return Cyno points the tip of his spear away from the Scribe as the two of them follow the mercenary into one of the houses.

Candace, the name the mercenary had called out earlier, is one of the guardians of Aaru Village. She and the mercenary, Dehya, are acquainted with each other, and neither are happy with Cyno and the Scribe coming to blows just outside the village.

"I think as the one who struck first, you should also be the first to speak," the Scribe says to Cyno, who has opted not to sit at the table with the rest of them but instead is glaring at the Scribe from as far away as he can get in the small room.

"Do you know what this is?" Cyno says to Candace and Dehya. "This is the Scribe, a puppet of the Akademiya. I would not trust anything that comes out of its mouth."

"And why should you be any more trusted, General Mahamatra?" the Scribe challenges.

Cyno glares at the Scribe for a moment longer before pushing off the pillar he is leaning against. "Very well. I will explain how I came to be here."

He paces about the room as he explains how he came to exile himself from the Akademiya. His story of Azar trying to hide a project lines up unnervingly well with what the Scribe has discovered himself.

"This project," the Scribe says once Cyno is finished, "was it for the construction of some sort of facility?"

"...Yes." Cyno's suspicion returns in full force. "Why?"

"Because I discovered something similar myself." The Scribe looks at the expectant faces around the table: Candace is a desert dweller, Dehya an Eremite, and Cyno and the sages seem to no longer see eye to eye with each other. Perhaps the Scribe can entrust them with a fraction of what he knows, and see what they do with this knowledge.

He slowly reaches into his belt pouch and withdraws the divine knowledge capsule. "I take it you all know what this is?" he asks as he places it on the table.

"A knowledge capsule," Dehya says, not looking particularly impressed.

"A divine knowledge capsule." Cyno finally joins the rest of them at the table. "Not the one that went missing in Port Ormos?" he asks with the tone of someone who already knows the answer.

"The very same," the Scribe confirms.

"Huh." Dehya looks more interested now. "I heard about that. How is it that you have it? I thought the Akademiya wrote it off after that Ayn Al-Ahmar leader used it?"

"I took it from him. Then I told the matra he didn't have it on his person."

"And they believed you?" Cyno asks.

"They had no reason to doubt me."

"Who are your new masters then, if not the sages?"

The Scribe finds himself unexpectedly offended by the question given that he has kept up the pretence of being little more than a mere pawn of the sages for decades. Thousands if not tens of thousands of people have looked at him and seen only something to be ordered around and given work and not spoken to otherwise. Now he answers to no one, save Nahida, perhaps, but she is not here at the moment.

"The sages once wanted to make me a god," the Scribe says rather than answering Cyno's question. "That was the purpose for my creation." He stares into the impenetrable depths of the divine knowledge capsule instead of looking at everyone's reactions. "Their efforts did not come to fruition and they gave up eventually, but apparently not forever."

"The sages want to create a new god?" Cyno's face remains impassive, but there is a slight tremor in his voice.

"So the evidence says."

"Don't they already have Lesser Lord Kusanali?" Dehya asks.

The Scribe suppresses his deep disdain for the sages as he says in a level voice, "The sages care nothing for her. They see her as little more than a child, useful only for her gnosis which they use to power the Akasha."

"But how would they even do such a thing? What more aren't you telling us?"

"Two weeks ago in Sumeru City, there was a spate of sudden deaths. People went to sleep and simply never woke up in the morning. The official story was that some epidemic had descended on the city in the night, but the true story is this: the sages were harvesting Jnana energy from the people's dreams, and they kept the people in the city in an extended dream state in order to maximise the energy output. Some people weren't able to withstand the stress it placed on their minds."

"I remember that," Dehya says, the only one of the other three to have been in Sumeru City at the time. "It was the night Dunyarzad almost died. And I wasn't feeling too good myself either, but I still managed to get her to Bimarstan in time for treatment. You're saying all that was because the sages were harvesting dreams?"

"Did you just say Dunyarzad?" the Scribe asks.

"I did." Dehya's eyes narrow. "What of it?"

"The name is familiar to me." He knows exactly from where: it's the name of Nahida's faithful follower that she'd plunged into the sea of fading dreams to rescue. "What is your relation to Dunyarzad?"

"Her parents employ me to be her bodyguard. What's it matter to you?"

If Dehya's feelings about Nahida run the same way as Dunyarzad's do, the Scribe would have no problem telling her the truth. But trying to ascertain that now would raise even more questions, so he shakes his head. "It is of no consequence. I come across many names during the course of my duties as scribe, and the name was unusual enough to catch my attention, is all."

"Dreams," Cyno says flatly, returning to their previous topic of conversation. "The sages were harvesting dreams."

"For Jnana energy, yes," the Scribe says, wondering if Cyno has forgotten already.

Cyno's eyes drift down to the divine knowledge capsule. "The facility, the divine knowledge capsules, the Jnana energy…" he murmurs. "I have to admit to still not being fully convinced, but it does add up with what I already knew."

"I saw the new god with my own eyes," the Scribe says. "Or at least the puppet that would serve as its vessel. The Fatui were building it in the secret facility you discovered."

"So seeking out this facility, finding this puppet, stealing a divine knowledge capsule, then running away from the Akademiya; all this was done of your own will?"

Cyno does not have the order of events correct, but he is close enough that the Scribe nods.

"Why?"

Because Nahida had asked him to. That's all there is to it, isn't there? Hiding the divine knowledge capsule, investigating the sages, and even fleeing from Sumeru City had all been done at Nahida's behest. She hadn't outright ordered him and his innate curiosity had played a part in deciding to listen to her, but perhaps he has traded one master for another. What other life does he know?

He says what he thinks Nahida would want him to say.

"I may just be a puppet, but I am not a mindless one. And for the sages to so blatantly transgress the rules of not only the Akademiya but of nature itself, all for the sake of creating a god for them to control, then they do not have the interests of the people of Sumeru at heart. They cannot be permitted to continue."

Cyno relaxes minutely. "I see. It appears we are on the same side."

"So it does."

As the wind continues to howl outside, the conversation meanders towards the subject of the worsening sandstorms and earthquakes in the desert, as well as the recent rash of village keeper disappearances.

"Village keepers…is that what you call the mad scholars exiled by the Akademiya?" the Scribe asks.

Candace nods and tells him the story of how the moniker came to be. The Scribe sees Nahida's intervention in the mad scholar who had protected the village and wonders at her still looking out for her people even all the way out here, but of more interest to him is the missing scholars.

"These scholars have been driven mad after making contact with Irminsul, yes?" the Scribe asks. He, like many others in the Akademiya, do not spare much of a thought for the mad scholars. But the more he thinks about them, the more a theory begins to form in his head. "The Akademiya has not been able to uncover the source of the scholars' madness even after centuries of research. Perhaps whatever the scholars found was never meant to be understood by human minds."

"The source of divine knowledge…" Cyno murmurs, seemingly to himself.

"And if regular knowledge capsules are made by extracting canned knowledge from a subject, then divine canned knowledge…" The Scribe trails off and looks down at the divine knowledge capsule to let everyone arrive at the conclusion on their own. "This is all conjecture, of course."

"You think that's the reason behind the village keepers' disappearance?" Dehya asks.

"I don't profess to have any more knowledge of the situation than you do," the Scribe says. "I am merely putting forward a possible motive given how the timing of this coincides with everything else that's been going on."

"I agree with the Scribe," Cyno says, looking deeply unhappy about it. "At the very least, this warrants further investigation."

"I'm afraid we haven't been able to find out much on our own, and the matra don't seem to be interested in helping," Candace says. "If you intend to stay in Aaru Village a while, your help would be greatly appreciated."

"Of course," Cyno says. "Though I've exiled myself from the Akademiya, I am still doing much the same as what I used to. I will assist with the investigation. The Scribe, however—"

"My name is Al-Haitham," he interjects, the simmering irritation he has been feeling all afternoon finally boiling over. At the Akademiya where titles are the main form of address, being called the Scribe does not differentiate him in any way, but here, it makes him feel like a tool. A puppet. And he is so much more than that. He is...Al-Haitham.

Everyone turns to look at him.

"I was not aware you had a name," Cyno says.

"My name is Al-Haitham," he repeats. It is only the second time he has said it out loud, but the name already feels familiar in his mouth. Like it was always meant to be his.

"Alright," Cyno says. "Al-Haitham stays here. It"—Cyno pauses for a brief moment of consideration—"he's far too recognisable and too closely associated with the sages. If both of us start asking questions around the village, people will start thinking we're acting on behalf of the Akademiya."

"That sounds reasonable," Dehya says. "I'll get in touch with some of my own contacts while you speak to the villagers."

"You would have me sit idle, then?" Al-Haitham asks, seeing no room for himself in any part of this plan.

"For now," Cyno says. "There are no tasks at present that require your particular skillset. Stay here and don't cause any trouble."

Once the sandstorm dies down, Cyno and Dehya head out to conduct their investigations while Candace makes her rounds to check in on the villagers and assess structural damage, leaving Al-Haitham alone in the house. Idleness is not something he is used to; even when the sages have no work for him, the mahamata are more than happy to foist their menial tasks onto him. After perusing the few books on the shelves and not finding anything new, he stands by one of the windows—making sure to keep out of sight of anyone who might be looking this way—and observes as Aaru Village slowly comes back to life.

Storm shutters are opened and sand swept away from the paths, and awnings and shade sails are strung up once more as merchants reopen their stalls. Dazed scholars are escorted back to their dwellings, and children dart out from around adults' legs as they return to their play. Despite the hardships heaped on the people here both by the desert itself and the people on the other side of the Wall of Samiel, they have managed to make a life for themselves. They are…free.

Al-Haitham wonders what has become of Nahida. Despite the sages' arrogance, they wouldn't dare do her harm. Would they? If the price of a new god is the death of the old one, would they pay it? He's not actually sure of the answer, and the uncertainty chills him.

He is struck by the sudden urge to break down the doors of the Sanctuary of Surasthana and reach into the cage suspended in the middle of the room to grasp Nahida's hand in his. They would start running, and between his endurance and her power, they might be able to reach the ends of Teyvat before the sages caught up to them. Maybe then they too could be free.

When they'd first met, he'd had no name, not even 'Scribe'. His head had been swimming with knowledge he couldn't make sense of when the sages had hauled his limp form up to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, bound in chains lest they awaken something they couldn't control. They'd brought him before their imprisoned god and forced his eyes to meet hers.

"What do you see?" they'd asked. "Who do you see?"

Nahida had stared at him with curious eyes—he would later learn he'd been the first visitor she'd had in years—and ventured a cautious brush over the surface of his consciousness, only to recoil sharply. Her small hands had pressed against the walls of her cage and the curiosity in her eyes had faded to something between disbelief and horror as she'd whispered, "What have you done?"

The sages had ignored her like she was an inanimate object beneath their notice, had only continued asking him questions that he couldn't understand, let alone answer. When Nahida had tired of ineffectually trying to make herself be heard, she had locked eyes with him and tentatively reached out for his consciousness once more.

You can call me Nahida, she'd said, a soothing balm on his tortured mind. What's your name?

He'd stared back, uncomprehending, and her expression had softened, bordering on something he would later recognise as pity. To be pitied by an imprisoned, ignored god; no wonder the sages hadn't thought much of him either.

I'll always be there for you, she had promised, and he has not returned the favour.

A door opens, abruptly returning Al-Haitham to the present day. His guard is up in an instant, but it's only Candace, who greets him with a warm smile.

"They'll be fine," she says reassuringly, picking up on his internal turmoil but incorrectly identifying its cause. "Dehya's a skilled tracker and capable fighter, and I've heard much the same of Cyno."

"It's not that," Al-Haitham says. He looks back out the window, realises he's been far too brusque to someone who had only tried to comfort him, and explains a little more. "I…left someone behind in Sumeru City. At the time, I thought it was the right thing to do. The only thing I could do. Now I'm not so sure."

"Oh? Who was it? Maybe Cyno or Dehya could help you get them to safety."

Al-Haitham shakes his head. "No, they're beyond our help at the moment."

But not forever. If nothing else, he will find a way to free Nahida.

-

The village chief—whose house this is—returns soon after. Though Candace introduces Al-Haitham as a passing traveller and Al-Haitham does not volunteer any further information about himself, he suspects the village chief is still aware of his true identity—or his affiliation, at least—but the chief still graciously welcomes him to stay the night.

Dehya stops by in the early evening and reports that she has arranged meetings with the leaders of several prominent mercenary groups in the area for the next day, then she and Candace take their leave for the night. Cyno doesn't return until just before nightfall, whereupon he extends an unexpected offer to Al-Haitham.

"I'm going to investigate the old Eleazar hospital outside the village," he says. "Would you like to come?"

Al-Haitham looks up from the borrowed book he's resorted to reading. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"It is less of a concern for you to be seen outside the village. I have also brought you a change of clothes. And…I thought that you might be bored."

Cyno is his usual deadly serious self as he says this, but Al-Haitham recognises the peace offering for what it is and accepts the offered robes.

"What do you expect to find at our destination?" Al-Haitham asks as they set out on the eastern path out of Aaru Village.

"To be honest, I'm not sure," Cyno replies, "but there have been multiple reports of strange noises coming from this direction at night, and I thought it worth investigating."

They walk in companionable silence for a while before Cyno broaches the subject that is clearly on his mind.

"I wanted to apologise for earlier," he says, not looking at Al-Haitham. "I should not have treated you like a mindless tool of the sages."

"It is a perception I have sought to maintain," Al-Haitham admits. "I find people tend to have far looser lips around those they think incapable of individual thought."

"I am ashamed to have counted myself among them." Cyno sighs. "I'd thought myself to be better than the sages, but it appears I still have some way to go. I will strive to do better in the future."

Al-Haitham thinks this might be the first time he has ever received an apology. He hadn't been expecting one from Cyno and wouldn't have harboured any ill will towards him had he not said anything, but it feels…nice, to know that Cyno sees him worthy of the same consideration afforded to others.

"It is no matter. I am not offended, if that was your concern."

"I see. Then I would be glad to put it behind us and to start anew."

"As would I."

They speak no more as the crumbling foundations of the hospital come into view; it feels wrong in the eerie quiet of the canyon. It does for all intents and purposes appear to be abandoned, with the only recent tracks in the sand outside the hospital being those from the local wildlife. However, there is a curious undertone to the persistent whistle of the wind that doesn't seem to fit in. It also seems to be coming from one particular direction only.

"Do you hear that?" Al-Haitham asks, perhaps unnecessarily, for Cyno's ear is already turned towards the sound.

"Sounds like it's coming from somewhere underground." Cyno heads for the main building of the hospital.

They find a whole series of rooms and corridors hidden under a trapdoor. The state of the furnishings and the scattered notes and utensils suggests that whoever had been occupying the space left in a hurry. And in their haste, they've left behind one of their test subjects.

"Razak," Al-Haitham says, recognising the scholar as an Akademiya graduate from several years ago.

"You know this man?" Cyno asks.

"Only in passing." The nature of Al-Haitham's work as the scribe puts him in contact with almost every scholar that passes through the Akademiya at least once. "But enough to know that his studies were not related to Irminsul, so there is no reason—" Al-Haitham cuts himself off as he realises Razak's behaviour bears more resemblance to Mizri's than the mad scholars in Aaru Village. Have the sages been using this place to experiment with implanting divine knowledge into a person's consciousness? Why bother with humans, if their end goal is to use a puppet?

"What is it?" Cyno prompts.

"He's displaying the same symptoms I saw in an Ayn Al-Ahmar mercenary who had used a divine knowledge capsule."

"But I thought you said the sages wanted the village keepers to extract canned knowledge from them?"

"Yes, and Razak may very well have been someone who had been helping the sages, and got too curious as to the contents of one of the knowledge capsules. Or he could have been another victim, brought here for a different reason. Either way, he won't last long if we leave him here."

"Let's take him back to the village, then," Cyno says. "There's nothing left to find here."

It's late by the time they return to the village, but Candace is still there to greet them and to find Razak a place to stay.

"I'm sure you two have quite the story to tell, but you should get some rest first, and we can exchange information once Dehya gets back from her meetings in the morning," Candace says.

"Thank you, Candace," Cyno replies. "You should get some rest too. See you in the morning."

It's been almost two days since Al-Haitham last slept, but he stays awake for as long as he can, on high alert for the slightest hint of Nahida trying to reach out to him. In one moment, he's lying on the borrowed bedroll listening to the other occupants of the house breathing in their sleep, and in the next, he's blinking his eyes open as sunlight streams in through the window.

"Good, you're awake," Cyno says from the doorway of the study Al-Haitham had been sleeping in. "Dehya's back from meeting with the Eremites."

Al-Haitham feels somewhat frustrated with himself for falling asleep when he hadn't meant to, but Nahida's never had problems making contact with him while he'd slept. Maybe she's still resting after her face-off with the Doctor, he tries to convince himself.

Dehya confirms the other side of the story to what Al-Haitham and Cyno had seen at the Eleazar hospital, but something still doesn't add up: how had the hospital been cleared out so quickly? Even if one of the radicals had seen Cyno and Al-Haitham enter Aaru Village, they wouldn't have been able to get word out to the hospital until the sandstorm had subsided. It would then have taken time to pack up anything of importance and mobilise the operation, all while running the risk that Cyno's or Dehya's investigation would bring them to the hospital before it could be vacated.

Something occurs to Al-Haitham. "Cyno. Where were you before you came to Aaru Village?"

"Caravan Ribat, where most people stop before entering the desert proper. But I made sure to stay out of sight. And after that, I travelled via the top of the canyons rather than using the road."

"And did you wear your Akasha terminal at any point between leaving the Akademiya and coming here?"

"Several times, to retrieve some information. But I never used it for long and always took it off straight after getting what I needed."

"An admirable effort to avoid surveillance, but I'm afraid it would not have been enough," Al-Haitham says grimly. "You see, the Akasha is capable of computation. Given the information it already has about you—which would be a considerable amount—it would have been able to predict your next move with increasing accuracy every time you put the terminal back on. The sages were almost certainly aware that your next stop was Aaru Village."

Cyno inhales sharply, his expression troubled. "So they escaped because of me."

"Cyno, please don't take it to heart," Candace says. "There's no way you could have known."

"Indeed," Al-Haitham agrees. The Akasha system's full capabilities are not something the sages like to make public knowledge, and it is only thanks to his conversations with Nahida that even he is aware of this fact. "The most important thing now is to plan accordingly for our next moves."

"If they've predicted my movements, then it might be possible to guess where they went," Cyno says. "They would have wanted to proceed in the opposite direction of where they thought I was going."

Cyno's hunch leads them to a trail of abandoned headsets in the sand—all but confirming Al-Haitham's theory about extracting canned knowledge from the mad scholars—and at the end of the trail, a group of Eremites.

"Rahman!" Dehya exclaims.

"Dehya?" The one who looks like the Eremites' leader steps forward. "Dehya the Flame-Mane? Is that really you?" He looks like he's about to smile, but his expression instantly darkens when he catches sight of Cyno. "And the General Mahamatra? Is this the kind of company you keep these days?"

"We're investigating the missing village keepers from Aaru Village," Dehya says. "Don't tell me you're involved with that?"

"You've been away for a long time, Dehya. But you've picked the right time to come back. King Deshret—"

"Enough about King Deshret!" Dehya snaps. "I've heard all about his supposed resurrection and I can't believe that even you of all people have fallen for it! Have all your years as a merc taught you nothing about placing your hopes in a ruler? And how are a bunch of village keepers supposed to bring King Deshret back to life anyway?"

"Pursuing our faith is our purpose in life!" Rahman insists. "Even if the chance of success is one in a million, we must be willing to give everything we have. With these scholars in our custody, we'll be able to take on the Akademiya and fight our way beyond the Wall of Samiel."

"Don't be ridiculous; the Akademiya controls the entirety of Sumeru. Any forces you could bring to muster would be negligible in comparison."

"We've waited too long for this day to come! Our lord of old will return to this land and grant us a new beginning."

"What kind of leverage do you think the scholars will give you?" Al-Haitham speaks up for the first time. "Do you think to use them to negotiate with the Akademiya? They were exiled for a reason."

"Huh?" Rahman, on the verge of coming to blows with Dehya, stops short. "Who are you?"

Al-Haitham pulls off his borrowed robe to reveal the scribe's garb he is still wearing underneath. "I am the Scribe of the Akademiya, and worth far more than any number of the mad scholars you currently have in your custody." The design and the quality of the fabric he is wearing should be enough to substantiate his claim even if the Eremites don't recognise him.

"The Scribe?" Rahman barks a laugh. "That puppet the sages parade around the Akademiya? Slipped your leash, have you?"

"What are you doing, Al-Haitham?" Cyno asks in a low voice.

"Call it a scholar's curiosity, if you will. I'm sure there's much I can learn from being a guest of the Eremites'." Al-Haitham sweeps an appraisive gaze over the group in front of him; he is well-versed in many subject areas, but the Eremites, especially those who have remained in the desert, is not one of them.

"You Akademiya scum!" Rahman rages. "You think you can come here to the desert and…what, spy on us? Treat us like rats in a cage, running around for your own entertainment?" He raises his sword. "I've heard enough from you Dendro Archon dogs."

"Not so fast," Dehya interjects, throwing out her arm. "Al-Haitham, do you stand by everything you just said?"

"Of course."

"Then hear me out, Rahman: the Scribe for the scholars. I'm willing to vouch for his honesty with my right arm."

Rahman and Dehya go through a routine reminiscent of the practices Al-Haitham has seen at the Akademiya wherein an author of a paper would threaten to withhold their approval for publishing as a tactic to get the changes they wanted implemented without actually having the intention to follow through on their threat. He keeps this observation to himself as Rahman and Dehya reach an accord and agree to the exchange at noon the following day.

"Both of you are far too reckless," is the first thing Cyno says when they're out of earshot. "What were you going to do if they'd actually cut off your arm?

"Then I suppose I'd have to learn how to use my claymore with my left arm," Dehya says nonchalantly. "It worked, didn't it?"

Cyno huffs in disapproval. "And you?" He turns to Al-Haitham. "Do you truly intend on turning yourself over to the Eremites?"

"You think I would renege on my word after the Flame-Mane has put her arm on the line?" Al-Haitham raises an eyebrow. "At any rate, I was being serious about taking the chance to observe the Eremites. I am, after all, an avid collector of data."

"And if Rahman decides to use you as a bargaining chip with the Akademiya?"

"Oh, I fully expect him to. I also expect to be able to win him over to our side, even if only temporarily, once I share the sages' plans with him."

"That was your goal all along?" Dehya asks. "Why not just say that in the first place instead of making us go through a hostage exchange?"

"The atmosphere was hardly conducive to having a level-headed discussion. This course of action benefits everyone, including the mad scholars who will certainly be better off out of mercenary hands."

"Village keepers," Dehya corrects him with a frown. "Alright. We'll trust you to bring Rahman around on the plan."

Cyno finds an ally in Candace when they return to the village and update her on the investigation.

"I expect the both of you to be much less reckless tomorrow, or I'll be very upset with you, understood?" she admonishes Dehya and Al-Haitham. "Not just for your sakes, but that of the village keepers as well. I'd like everyone to come back in one piece."

"Fine," Dehya says with a put-upon sigh.

Candace gives her a smile then turns expectantly to Al-Haitham.

"I do as I am ordered," he says.

Cyno scowls at him. "If that were true, you would not be here."

Al-Haitham inclines his head. He thinks he would smile if it didn't feel so unnatural to him, and instead says, "I will do my best not to inflame the situation."

Of course, their good intentions mean little when Rahman shows up at the agreed-upon place with merely a single village keeper. Al-Haitham feels irritation well up inside him, but Dehya is quicker to take action, drawing her claymore and charging the Eremites with a yell. Cyno groans in exasperation but prepares to back her up all the same, and Al-Haitham is also drawing his sword when the ground begins to shake.

"Earthquake!" the Eremites shout, all negotiations forgotten as they scramble to get to more solid ground.

It's too late; the sand beneath their feet is sinking, swirling inwards towards a single point like a basin of water being drained. Al-Haitham does not relish discovering what awaits them at the bottom of the sinkhole, but it's bound to be an unpleasant experience and the least he can do is attempt to cushion the impact for the first person he grabs hold of. Cyno, in this case.

"Wha—" is all Cyno gets out before sand pours over the top of them.

There's sand in Al-Haitham's eyes and ears and mouth and nose, and though it's mildly unpleasant for him he's highly aware that Cyno and the others will be having a hard time breathing. He can't see or hear anything though, can't do anything except keep a firm grip on Cyno and hope that they won't end up being crushed under the weight of an entire sand dune.

Then the sand is falling away from their bodies and though they haven't stopped descending, it feels like their speed has slowed. Green light surrounds them, shielding them from the torrent of sand that continues to cascade down from the surface. Al-Haitham shakes the sand from his eyes and looks for the others; they've fallen into the sinkhole as well, but with they're too far away for Al-Haitham to do anything.

The ground rushes up to meet them, still much too quickly despite their reduced speed. Al-Haitham lands heavily on his back while Cyno gets a slightly softer landing on top of him. Around them, the Eremites drop ungracefully to the ground in a cacophony of groans and clattering weapons. Al-Haitham spots Dehya near Rahman, both of them already picking themselves up off the ground.

"Are you alright?" Cyno asks, reaching out a hand.

Al-Haitham accepts the help and stretches out the muscles in his back. Something feels out of place back there, but his body is already repairing itself. "No permanent damage," he replies. "Yourself?"

"I'm fine. Thanks to you, and that energy field." Cyno cranes his neck to look up at the gaping hole above them. "Where did it come from?"

"It came from the village keeper," Dehya says, coming over to join them. "It was just like the stories from Aaru Village."

Nahida? It had to have been her. Who else would have the power to raise a shield both large and strong enough to protect all of them? Surely not the village keeper, who is slumped on the ground near the Eremites.  He doesn't even have a Vision.

"You know something," Cyno says. "What is it?"

Either Cyno is particularly good at reading Al-Haitham, or Al-Haitham has become careless about concealing his inner thoughts since leaving the Akademiya. In any case, since Cyno and Dehya have come with him this far, he doesn't see any reason to continue keeping them in the dark.

"I think it was the power of Lesser Lord Kusanali."

"The Dendro Archon?" Dehya asks with a confused frown.

"The current one?" Cyno asks. "Is she really active in Sumeru?"

"Yes. She has continued to look out for her people even after they all but abandoned her. In fact, without her intervention, many more people would have died during the dream-harvesting experiment in Sumeru City." Al-Haitham turns to Dehya. "I know she personally brought Dunyarzad back from the brink of death herself."

"So that's how you knew her name…" Dehya breathes. "Lesser Lord Kusanali…looks like Dunyarzad was right this whole time."

"How do you know all this?" Cyno asks.

"We talk," Al-Haitham says.

Cyno looks around as if expecting Nahida to immediately appear before them. "Now?"

"No, not since the night I left the Akademiya." Al-Haitham frowns as he realises he still hasn't heard from Nahida, hasn't even felt her touch his mind. He doesn't doubt that it was still her who had saved them, but he has to wonder why she chose to act through the village keeper rather than himself.

"She couldn't have taken us up instead of down?" Dehya grumbles without any heat. "Hey, look over there." She points down the far end of the cavern they've landed in. "It looks like...some kind of temple?"

"It must have been exposed when the sand dune collapsed." Al-Haitham approaches the gate, paying no mind to the Eremites who shoot him hostile glares as he passes them. "These symbols belong to King Deshret's civilisation," he says when he gets close enough to make them out. "This structure must be ancient."

"King Deshret!" Rahman breathes with reverence from somewhere behind Al-Haitham. "Our exalted lord has shown us the way to his sacred palace."

"It wasn't King Deshret who saved us from falling to our deaths," Cyno points out.

"No, but don't you think it's curious?" Al-Haitham murmurs as he runs his fingers over the runes inscribed into the stone. "One moment, Lesser Lord Kusanali's power protects us from harm, and in the next, remnants of King Deshret's civilisation appears before us. Almost as if the two deities are vying for our attention." Or could it be a message from Nahida? Al-Haitham thinks that Dehya could be partially right; if Nahida had the power to intervene, there were other courses of action she could have taken rather than allowing them to fall all the way down here.

"So?" Dehya asks. "Are we going in?"

Rahman comes too, but his Eremites stay behind to tend to their wounded. Cyno extracts a promise out of them to look after the village keeper as well before he leaves with the group.

Though the architecture of the ruins is most assuredly of King Deshret's time, dendro energy flows through the entire place in a continuous wave of vines and shrubs that is at odds with the desolation they'd left behind them on the other side of the doors. The plants have been here for some time, weaving their way through the stonework but seemingly holding it together rather than pushing it apart. What does it mean, to see the remnants of two gods entwined like this?

The final chamber of the ruins is more akin to a garden, the ground overgrown with lush grasses and shrubs and a majestic tree rising up from the centre. Nestled amongst the flowering bushes around the base of the tree is a statue of a jackal perched atop what looks like a tomb. The tomb and statue have not been disturbed for a long time, but they show signs of having once been lovingly cared for.

"Look there." Rahman points at the base of the tomb. "Scarlet King runes."

Al-Haitham approaches the tomb. "It's an elegy: 'Here lies our faithful priest, Kasala. His wisdom is a miracle among the people, deserving of high praise and admiration.'"

"You can read ancient King Deshret script?" Rahman asks.

"I am fluent in over twenty languages."

"Can anyone else feel the elemental energy in here?" Cyno asks, looking somewhere off into the middle distance. "Something doesn't feel right."

"Hm…" Now that Cyno has mentioned it, Al-Haitham can also feel the increased concentration of elemental energy in the room, seemingly emanating from the statue. He reaches out a hand towards it, and the Akasha terminal he still wears comes to life, presenting him with a series of images and sounds.

"Ah," he says when realises the subject matter of the message preserved in the tomb. "This information pertains to King Deshret's civilisation. I think it would be best if I projected it for everyone to see."

Everyone in attendance watches enraptured as the late priest tells the story of King Deshret and Greater Lord Rukkhadevata, but not as has been passed down through centuries of history. Instead, he tells a story of friendship and sacrifice and the undying love for one's people. Astonishing as this revelation is, however, what captures Al-Haitham's attention is the final image of Greater Lord Rukkhadevata. At the end, the form she'd taken had looked like…no. He refuses to believe it. Because the only other option is to accept that the god the sages have been looking for this whole time is the very one they'd locked away and ignored for five hundred years.

Dehya is the first to recover. "What was that?"

"Memories of the priest buried here," Al-Haitham answers. "Memories he wished preserved so that those who came after would know the truth of what he'd stood for."

"So the former Dendro Archon and King Deshret were never enemies at all," Cyno murmurs.

"This doesn't make any sense!" Rahman argues. "The Dendro Archon's followers…they're clearly…"

"This is King Deshret's technology," Al-Haitham points out. "Do you doubt its veracity?"

While Rahman tries to reconcile his knowledge of history with what he's just seen, Al-Haitham examines the storage device that contains the priest's memories. Though it can project its contents to any nearby Akasha terminals, there doesn't seem to be any way to make a transfer or copy. If he wishes to show Nahida, he will either have to commit the story to memory or bring her here somehow. It seems a great shame for her to be unaware of her own history.

Dehya comes over to Al-Haitham and Cyno—who looks to also be deep in thought—shortly afterwards and informs them that Rahman has seen reason and agreed to help them oppose the sages. What's more, he's still in contact with the scholars who had urged him to take the village keepers in the first place, and a meeting is arranged at the Eremites' camp for the following day.

The scholars, easily cowed by the presence of the Scribe, the General Mahamatra, and the dozens of angry Eremites who have turned on them, quickly give up what information they have on the sages' plans. They erase any lingering doubts that the sages are building a new god to replace Lesser Lord Kusanali, and also confirm that the sages have allied themselves with the Fatui, who have brought not just a puppet but also a gnosis.

The sages' plan is even nearer to completion than Al-Haitham had originally thought. How much of this could he have prevented if he'd been a little more suspicious of the sages, paid a little more attention to the things they'd sought to hide from even him? And what good is he, hiding out here in the desert? For all he knows, they could be unveiling their new god to the world right this very moment and he would be helpless to do anything about it. But perhaps it is not yet too late to save Nahida.

"Al-Haitham," Cyno says. "What's on your mind?"

They're back in the village chief's house, bringing Candace up to speed and formulating the next steps of their plan.

"I think it's time I returned to Sumeru City," Al-Haitham replies.

Everyone in the room turns to look at him.

"I'm going to rescue Lesser Lord Kusanali," he continues.

"By yourself?" Cyno raises an eyebrow.

"The rest of you should leave Sumeru while you have the chance."

"What are you talking about?" Dehya says, leaping to her feet. "This is perfect; we've already seen evidence of her power, and that was all the way across the forest and half the desert. Imagine what she could do if she wasn't locked up in the Sanctuary of Surasthana. If anyone can help us defeat this false god, it would be Sumeru's true archon."

Cyno nods. "We must show the sages that they are not infallible. We will crush them and rescue our god."

Cyno and Dehya stand before Al-Haitham as two unshakeable pillars of strength and determination. They have not seen what Al-Haitham has seen, have not felt the raw power exuded by the god-puppet even in its unfinished state, and it makes them fearless. It makes them something he can take advantage of.

"Together, then."

Chapter Text

It takes a week for them to get all their pieces into place. Al-Haitham chafes at the delay, but since he's agreed to work with the others and they are risking their lives for his plan, it would be dishonourable of him to deviate from said plan now. He still has not heard from Nahida, and he tries not to think too much about what it could mean.

Donning the forest ranger uniform once more gets him right up to the gates of Sumeru City without notice. It is only when the guards at the gate stop him that he pulls off his cloak.

"It's the Scribe!" one of the guards shouts, bringing all nearby Eremites and matra running to assist.

"The sages have issued a warrant for your arrest," the second guard says, his spear pointed at Al-Haitham. "I would suggest you come quietly."

Al-Haitham lets the Akasha terminal on his ear flare red, lets the light play across his face and reflect out of his eyes. The guards are taken aback, but they stand their ground.

Al-Haitham deepens his voice and projects it in front of him as he says, "Take me to the one you call your god."

"Stand down, Scribe!" the first guard orders.

"I seek an audience with the Dendro Archon," Al-Haitham informs the guards again. "If this is not something you can grant me, then move out of my way."

There are almost a dozen weapons pointed at him now. The civilians around the gate have scattered but are still watching from a distance, and several matra in the back have their fingers to their Akasha terminals, no doubt reporting all this back to the sages. Good; the more of an audience he has for this, the better.

Dehya had suggested they enlist the help of a dancer named Nilou and her troupe at the Zubayr Theatre; Nilou is another name Al-Haitham remembers Nahida mentioning from the night after the Sabzeruz Festival, so he had agreed to allow Dehya to let her in on the plan.

The other theatre members have been given fewer details and tasked with sustaining a certain level of hysteria within the crowd once events have been set into motion, and reporting Al-Haitham's whereabouts and actions to the others using a series of signals so the plan can be adjusted as necessary. Al-Haitham doesn't know who these people are, but there is at least one in the immediate vicinity to signal Dehya, as he sees pillars of flame erupt from behind a nearby building the moment he finishes speaking.

The alarmed shouts draw the guards' attention for just a fraction of a second, but some of them are holding their weapons a little unsteadier than before when they turn back to Al-Haitham.

"Step aside." Al-Haitham makes a cutting motion with his arm, and the lamps that line the street spark with electro energy that jumps from one lamp to another in flashy arcs that look menacing to an unknowing audience while being carefully controlled not to hit any members of the crowd below. The theatre members that are amongst the crowd whip them into an even greater frenzy, screaming and taking off in different directions to sow chaos and confusion.

Al-Haitham takes a step forward, and some of the guards take a step back.

"Step aside," Al-Haitham repeats as a wall of fire springs up across the main road, conveniently diverting the civilians away from the Grand Bazaar. "I won't ask again."

Keep it vague, Cyno had advised him when they'd formulated the plan. Their imaginations will fill in what you don't say, and it will be more terrifying than anything you could devise.

Al-Haitham feels like he has gained a greater understanding of what makes Cyno so proficient at his job.

The matra shift uncomfortably on their feet as they exchange uncertain glances. From somewhere within the city comes a series of explosions followed by a burst of elemental energy that they can feel even here from the gate.

"Let's take him to the Grand Sage," one of the matra blurts out.

"You want to let him into the city?" another asks.

"He's already in the city!" a third points out, gesturing behind them at the unfolding chaos.

To hasten their decision making, Al-Haitham lets the red glow of his eyes increase in intensity as he takes another step. A perfectly-timed rumble from beneath their feet reinforces the implied threat.

"Alright, alright!" the first matra exclaims. "We'll take you to see the Grand Sage. He's the only one that has access to Lesser Lord Kusanali."

"That will be acceptable," Al-Haitham replies.

At least half a dozen guards accompany him as they move against the flow of the crowd towards the Akademiya. Several of the panicking civilians they pass are still clear-headed enough to recognise Al-Haitham and identify him as a possible source of the disturbance in the city, but he lets their whispers and terrified faces wash over him; this will all be of little consequence soon enough.

A small crowd has gathered on the landing just before the final ramp up to the Akademiya entrance, mostly composed of scholars who are watching the proceedings below with detached curiosity as if being up here puts them above the chaos. The few matra and Eremites who remain on guard here regard Al-Haitham with wary apprehension, but they don't make any moves towards him, trusting their colleagues to have him in hand.

The plan is going remarkably well so far. It's the opposite of the stealthy approach Al-Haitham would have taken were he doing this on his own, but here he is on the doorstep of the Akademiya with very little effort on his part. Accepting Cyno and Dehya's help has turned out in his favour, and Al-Haitham doesn't feel as guilty as he probably should about leading them to believe he intends to see their plan through to the end. They would have come to Sumeru City of their own volition anyway, and the plan hinges as much on him playing his part as it does on them, after all.

Azar meets the procession just inside the Akademiya doors, flanked by matra of his own.

"So, our errant scribe returns at last," he says, making a good show of appearing unimpressed even though he must have heard about what had transpired at the city gates.

"The one you call the Scribe is no longer present." Al-Haitham doesn't bother to lower his voice, and the way it rebounds off the tiles of the entrance hall makes some of the onlookers flinch, but not Azar. "It now serves as a mere vessel for the fragment of my soul that dwells within."

"A fragment of whose soul, exactly?"

Al-Haitham narrows his eyes. "Has this civilisation descended so far into ignorance during my absence that true divinity is no longer recognised?" He crosses his arms and fixes Azar with a glare. "My patience wears thin, and this vessel is ill-suited to containing my power. That is why I have come here in search of the one you call the Dendro Archon."

Azar is watching Al-Haitham with greedy eyes, whatever narrative he's conjured up in his head neatly filling in the blanks in Al-Haitham's words.

"Of course. I will take you to the Sanctuary of Surasthana for an audience with Lesser Lord Kusanali." Without taking his eyes off Al-Haitham, Azar says to the waiting matra, "Ensure we are not disturbed."

"Grand Sage, what about the city—"

"That can be dealt with later." Azar waves a dismissive hand and starts off up the ramp.

The matra mutter confusedly amongst themselves for a moment before quickly organising four of their number to follow Azar and Al-Haitham while the rest return to the efforts to maintain order in the city. The precaution is for naught though, as Azar forbids the matra from entering the Sanctuary of Surasthana. As the doors close behind them, Al-Haitham has to wonder at the magnitude of Azar's arrogance that permits him to lock himself in a room with what he believes to be two deities with such complete confidence in his safety. Al-Haitham will soon see to it that this confidence is shattered.

The inside of the Sanctuary looks much the same as it does in Al-Haitham's fractured memories: intricately carved columns curve up from the ground like the twisting branches of a tree, supporting a large platform in the middle of the cavernous room. Suspended over the platform is an orb of dendro energy that can only be described as a cage.

Nahida appears to be asleep, curled up into a little ball in the middle of her cage, but she begins to stir when Azar and Al-Haitham draw closer. She looks just like a child, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, and Al-Haitham's hand clenches into a fist of its own accord.

Nahida looks at Azar first, a wrinkle of distaste between her brows, then her eyes drift further back and widen as she recognises Al-Haitham. He meets her eyes and shakes his head, willing her not to say anything that might give up his ruse, and she schools her expression and touches his mind instead.

Azar thinks I have been possessed by the consciousness within the divine knowledge capsule that I stole, Al-Haitham quickly explains. Play along.

"What is this, Azar?" Nahida says out loud. "What have you done now?"

Azar barks out a laugh. "This is not my doing. The Scribe has been acting under your influence for some time now, has it not? You thought you could turn it against us by getting it to abscond with a divine knowledge capsule, but now it's turned against you instead. Were you under the delusion that it would be able to use a divine knowledge capsule and keep its mind intact? Have you already forgotten that we once tried and failed many times ourselves to use this puppet as a vessel for divine knowledge?"

"No," Al-Haitham answers in his normal voice.

Azar whirls around in shock and Al-Haitham presses his advantage, grabbing Azar by the throat and slamming him against the console in front of Nahida's cage. Al-Haitham hears Nahida gasp, but he blocks her from his mind; Azar is finally looking at him rather than through him, finally seeing him rather than the hollow shell of a failed experiment, and Al-Haitham isn't going to let him look away so soon.

"Scribe," Azar chokes, his fingers scratching ineffectually at Al-Haitham's hand. "Unhand me this instant."

Al-Haitham presses down even harder. "You're pathetic, Azar. You rely on the Akasha to tell you what to do instead of thinking for yourself, and you're so dependent on its operation that you would rather create a false god to make up for your own shortcomings than acknowledge what is already in front of you. How dare you call yourself the God of Wisdom's Grand Sage."

"Al-Haitham!" Nahida screams, both out loud and in his head. "Stop! Please!"

Nahida's voice finally pierces through the pent-up rage and frustration that clouds Al-Haitham's mind, and when he realises what he is doing, he releases Azar immediately. How had he so quickly lost sight of his true goal?

"Release Lesser Lord Kusanali," he orders once he's regained his composure.

Azar folds like the coward he is, scrabbling for the controls and lowering the barrier around Nahida. The moment Nahida is free, Al-Haitham forgets all about Azar.

She's so much smaller up close, barely coming up to Al-Haitham's waist when her feet land on the floor. He stares at her and she stares back at him, her large eyes gleaming with fathomless depth as she drinks in the sight of him as he is doing with her.

"Azar." Cyno's scathing voice echoes throughout the chamber and electro energy crackles in the air, accompanied by the steady tapping of his polearm against the floor. Azar stops short in his flight, caught between Cyno and Al-Haitham. "If you're looking for an avenue of escape, you won't find it. No one will come to save you." Cyno makes brief eye contact with Al-Haitham as he gestures towards the door with his polearm. "He's mine. Take Lesser Lord Kusanali and go."

Al-Haitham needs no further encouragement to scoop Nahida into his arms and leave the Sanctuary with her. Surprisingly, she's as small and light as her child's form suggests; somehow, Al-Haitham had expected the God of Wisdom to be weighed down by the burden of their knowledge, sturdy as the roots that hold up the Divine Tree, but Nahida feels so fragile in his arms that he fears she might disappear in a flurry of leaves and flower petals if he squeezes too tightly.

"Al-Haitham!" Nahida gasps once they're on the balcony outside. "What's going on?"

He would put her down since it doesn't look like they're in immediate danger, but she's got one hand clutching the front of his cape and he's loath to be the first to let go when they've waited so long to properly meet each other, so he hugs her even closer when he says, "I came to rescue you. Now we can leave."

"Leave? The Akademiya?"

"Sumeru City. Sumeru entirely. We'll go as far as we need to."

"But what about—" Nahida looks out at the mayhem spreading across the city, a worried frown settling on her face as she takes in the shouting and the plumes of smoke rising from below.

"It's all a ruse to draw the attention of the guards away from here. No one will be seriously injured."

"But the sages? And the Fatui? And the new god…" Nahida curls further into Al-Haitham.

"None of our concern. We're going to get far away from here. We'll find somewhere safe to—"

"Al-Haitham."

When had Cyno emerged from the Sanctuary? How much had he heard?

"You lied to us."

Al-Haitham sets his jaw and does not turn around. "I did no such thing."

"You said you would help us save Sumeru!" Cyno slams the blunt end of his polearm into the ground. "But now you're running away?"

"All I said was that I wanted to rescue Lesser Lord Kusanali. Anything beyond that was an assumption made on your part only."

"You would abandon Sumeru to the whims of a false god puppeted by the Fatui?"

"Yours is a fool's errand."

Nahida releases her grip on Al-Haitham's cape and floats herself down to the ground. She comes to a stop between Al-Haitham and Cyno, forcing Al-Haitham to turn around to keep her in his sights.

"General Mahamatra Cyno," Nahida greets him formally. Despite her small stature, she holds herself regally with every bit the dignity one would expect from the God of Wisdom.

"Lesser Lord Kusanali." Cyno is momentarily startled, but recovers quickly and bows slightly in deference.

"It is good to finally meet you. Long have I watched you and admired your commitment to the pursuit of truth and justice. I and the people of Sumeru are fortunate to have a General Mahamatra as dedicated as you are."

A slight crease in Cyno's brow belies his confusion, but the rest of his expression remains stoic as he says, "It is my honour to serve."

Nahida turns back to Al-Haitham. "Scribe Al-Haitham."

The term of address throws Al-Haitham off for a second. Ultimately, it feels right to mimic Cyno and say, "Lesser Lord Kusanali."

"Long have you and I known each other. Perhaps not all that long in the grand scheme of things, but you have been my constant companion and dear friend for many years, and our relationship is one I treasure. That is why I would ask you to give consideration to the plight of Sumeru and her people."

"I didn't come here for them. I came here for you."

"And I appreciate all that you've done for me, but despite the best efforts of the sages and the Fatui, I am still the Dendro Archon and the God of Wisdom, and I will not abandon my people."

"Le—Nahida." He does away with the veneer of formality; this is an appeal from one friend to another. "The power the false god commands is immense. The Fatui and the sages have poured everything they have into making this god, and not only have they amassed more resources than ever before, but they have also procured a gnosis. That these two factions were able to put aside their differences and work together means the lengths to which they are willing to go cannot be underestimated."

"All good points, but are you so easily discounting the fact that I too am a god? Have you so little faith in your archon?" Even as her words rebuke him, Nahida is smiling, more amused by his inadvertent insult than anything. "There's also one other thing you've overlooked, Al-Haitham: we are no longer alone."

This is true; has Al-Haitham not seen it for himself when Cyno and Dehya had insisted on accompanying him to Sumeru City? And has their assistance not resulted in Nahida being before him now, free from the cage in which the sages had kept her imprisoned for nearly five hundred years?

But can this motley handful of people—most of them humans with just the power of a Vision to bring to bear, and one a puppet with even less to offer—really do anything to halt the ascension of a new god besides throwing their bodies in its path as a momentary distraction?

"I won't ask you to stay," Nahida says. "I and many others have asked enough of you. You may consider yourself free from all obligations."

Al-Haitham frowns. "I'm not going to leave you. Not again." This much he knows for certain, even as other outcomes swirl around his mind in a tangled mess of branching choices and possible futures.

"And I won't leave Sumeru to a fate written by those who care only for obtaining power." Nahida tilts her head as she patiently awaits his decision. "So where does that leave us?"

It leaves them in a place where the odds no longer matter, only Al-Haitham's promise to Nahida. Whether they win or lose, he will be by her side. Is this how the others have also convinced themselves to run this fool's errand?

"I will stay," Al-Haitham says with no further reluctance.

Nahida beams at him. "I'm glad to hear it. We will see this through to the end together."

Cyno seems unconvinced by Al-Haitham's change of heart, but he defers to Nahida and doesn't interrogate Al-Haitham further.

"There is one other matter," he says instead. "We were unable to ascertain the exact whereabouts of the Fatui harbinger known as the Doctor. It would be prudent to confirm his current location before formulating any plans."

Cyno had offered to ask his friend Tighnari to gather intelligence on the Doctor, but Al-Haitham had declined in order to keep their timeline short and their circle of trust small. What they had been able to find out suggested that the Doctor had already left Sumeru City several days ago, but he's keenly aware of how much trouble they would have been in had the Doctor suddenly returned.

"I agree, the Doctor poses a significant threat to Sumeru's restoration." Nahida's expression grows serious as she turns to Al-Haitham. "When I helped you leave Sumeru City, I revealed not only myself but also the extent of my powers to the Doctor and the sages. I was afraid they would be able to track you through the Akasha even if I blocked their access, so I kept my distance. When I intervened during the earthquake, I made sure to do so without making direct contact with you for the same reason."

"Does the Doctor still have access to the Akasha now?" Al-Haitham asks.

"If he does, I can change that." Nahida puts a finger to her chin and her eyes glow green and become unfocused for a moment. "I can confirm that the Doctor has not been seen in Sumeru City for several days now. Once I remove the restrictions he put on me in the Akasha, I will be able to track all comings and goings from the city, and we will be forewarned if he returns. I will also revoke the sages' permissions so that the Akasha will return to how it originally was: only operable by the archon." The glow fades from her eyes as she looks between Cyno and Al-Haitham. "This will take some time. In the meantime, you should make your own preparations. I leave Sumeru City in your hands for now."

Nahida gives each of them a nod before retreating back into the Sanctuary and leaving Cyno and Al-Haitham outside, a lingering tension in the air between them.

Cyno is the first to speak. "If you're staying after all, then we should help restore order to the city."

Right, the others in the city wouldn't know yet what had transpired in the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

"Let's go find Rahman and Dehya," Al-Haitham proposes. Dehya had wanted to try bringing one of the senior leaders of the Corps of Thirty over to their side, and if she has succeeded, seeing familiar faces out in the streets will help ease the public's fears.

They find Rahman and his Eremites at the Grand Bazaar, holding a large group of city guards at bay. Some performers—friends of Nilou's, perhaps—and even other civilians form part of the barrier preventing the guards from leaving.

"It's over," Cyno tells everyone gathered in the Grand Bazaar. He doesn't speak much louder than usual, but the gravitas in his voice draws everyone's attention in an instant.

"General Mahamatra," sweeps through the crowd in a wave of murmurs.

"Grand Sage Azar has been arrested," Cyno continues. "He has pleaded guilty to his many crimes including insurgency against the archon before Lesser Lord Kusanali herself. Any who aided his treasonous plans will be dealt with accordingly. Myself and Scribe Al-Haitham will assist the matra and mahamata with administrative affairs until a suitable replacement for the position of Grand Sage can be found."

"You heard the General Mahamatra." The newcomer is Asfand, one of the senior consultants of the Corps of Thirty. His is an influential voice, and Al-Haitham is relieved to see Dehya has been able to sway him to their side. She and a troop of guards are close behind Asfand, and she gives Cyno and Al-Haitham a nod when she sees them.

"If your loyalty lies with the Dendro Archon, then you should heed his words," Asfand continues. "The true enemy here is the sages."

The combined words of Asfand and Cyno do a good job of convincing many of the captured guards of where their loyalties should lie. Those who cling stubbornly to old ideals are few enough in number that they're easily escorted away to the cells where they can be kept out of the way until the situation with the Fatui and the false god has been resolved.

The crowd in the Grand Bazaar disperses and quickly spreads the word throughout the city, bolstered by the city guards and the matra. It doesn't escape Al-Haitham's notice that Nahida has not released an announcement through the Akasha, which would have been the fastest way to disseminate the news of the change in power. The Akasha will return to how it originally was, she'd said, only operable by the archon. Al-Haitham might have denigrated Azar earlier for being too reliant on the Akasha, but the truth is that the nature of research within the Akademiya has been heading that way for decades. Whoever the next Grand Sage is will have their work cut out for them.

The two sages that had not been involved in Azar's plot are too weak from imprisonment to return to their duties immediately, so it falls to Al-Haitham to coordinate the bulk of the sages' administrative responsibilities.  It is a task he is intimately familiar with, and he easily falls back into old routines.

Not everything is the same though: 'Scribe Al-Haitham' people have started calling him, and Al-Haitham finds he doesn't mind it so much. It's no different from 'General Mahamatra Cyno' or 'Lesser Lord Kusanali', and it only takes a few pointed glares from Cyno when the matra or mahamata try to order Al-Haitham around before they get used to treating him like one of their peers instead.

It's four days later when Al-Haitham receives a summons from Nahida to come up to the Sanctuary of Surasthana. He's made a habit of stopping by to check on her before he retires for the night, and each time she has been hard at work on some device he hadn't gotten close enough to see.

When he arrives, Nilou is already there. She seems flustered to have Nahida's attention on her, and throws Al-Haitham a look of relief when she sees him.

"Thank you for coming, Al-Haitham," Nahida says. A small mechanical device floats in the air behind her. "I will explain the plan once Cyno and Dehya arrive. How have you been?"

"Busy," is the first word that comes to mind. He hadn't been idle as the scribe, but in his new as-yet-unnamed position he is constantly barraged by applications, inquiries, and requests that everyone seems to be under the impression he is responsible for. And if that isn't enough, some of his coworkers have gotten the idea that he cares to be engaged in small talk. These inane interactions have somehow proved to be even more exhausting than the actual workload.

He lets out a heavy exhale instead of airing these grievances; Nahida has far more important things to worry about right now. "And yourself?"

"Busy also," Nahida says, giving him a small smile like it's a secret the two of them share. "But despite our current circumstances, it feels good to be working together towards a shared goal."

To be needed, goes unsaid, but Al-Haitham hears it anyway and gives her a nod.

He is saved from having to make small talk with Nahida or Nilou by Cyno and Dehya's arrival.

"Hello, what's this?" Dehya asks, immediately noticing the floating device.

"It's something I put together to help us in the fight," Nahida replies. "I call it the Neo Akasha Terminal. Not very original, I know," she adds with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Ah, Lesser Lord Kusanali!" Dehya starts like she's only just realised who Nahida is, which could very well be the case as Al-Haitham doesn't think they've ever met face to face before. "I—I didn't mean to—"

Nahida is now flustered too as she picks up on her presence being the cause of Dehya's nervousness. "No, no, you—"

The two of them compete to apologise over the top of each other; from the sheepish look on Nilou's face, Al-Haitham guesses her own introduction to Nahida had gone much the same way.

"You've come up with a plan, then?" he interrupts before their gathering falls apart from social embarrassment without ever seeing the enemy.

"I have," Nahida confirms, quickly latching onto the change of topic. The relief in the room is palpable. "I have also found a way to get into the facility the sages called the Deus Foundry which is where they were carrying out their god creation plan. The entrance you found"—she glances at Al-Haitham—"has been sealed off, but there is another." Nahida points at a set of doors on the far side of the room. "There is a path behind those doors that will take us into the heart of the foundry. However, the Fatui have set guards throughout the place to prevent us from reaching their prized creation. That is where the four of you come in."

Nilou tentatively raises her hand. "I'm uh…not really good at fighting like the others are. Are you sure you want me to come along, and not, say, one of the matra or the Eremites?"

"I detected high levels of elemental energy within the foundry, which would be harmful to those without a Vision," Nahida explains. "Of course, I won't insist on your participation if you don't wish to get involved. Any of you. It is rather unconventional for an archon to rely on their people, after all."

"If my archon needs my help, then it is my duty to give it," Nilou declares. "Lesser Lord Kusanali, it would be my honour to fight by your side."

"Same here," Dehya echoes.

"I will defend you and Sumeru to my last breath," Cyno vows.

Al-Haitham needs no words to convey his intentions, just a short nod.

"I couldn't ask for better allies to stand alongside." Nahida regards them all with a proud smile. "I don't know exactly what lies beyond those doors, but I know it will be fraught with danger. You should make preparations for battle and settle your affairs. Return here when you are ready."

"I have no affairs to settle," Al-Haitham says as the others begin to filter out. There is a stack of paperwork waiting on his desk, and no doubt a line of petitioners hoping to secure an audience with him, but these are all trivial matters in comparison to what awaits them. "I will wait here."

Nahida, as astute as ever, waits for the two of them to be alone before asking, "Something on your mind?"

"What if we fail?" Perhaps it would have been more prudent to ask this in front of the others so they could formulate a plan, but they'd been so confident in the idea of their victory that Al-Haitham can't help but wonder if he's the one who's missing something.

Nahida shakes her head. "That is simply not an outcome we can afford to come to pass."

"You would leave Sumeru in ruins without a backup plan, then?"

"As you would have, were we to abandon her like you'd intended?"

"But Sumeru would have still had you," Al-Haitham argues. "We could have bided our time, gathered more powerful allies, then returned to liberate Sumeru."

Nahida hums thoughtfully as she summons a swing made of dendro energy and sits on it. "It is not in an archon's will to abandon their people. I know in the very fibre of my being that what we are doing is the correct course of action. If I fall here today, there will be another Dendro Archon to take my place, as I took Greater Lord Rukkhadevata's. Sumeru will not be abandoned."

"But it will not have you," Al-Haitham says. After Nahida, the one most statistically likely to survive this offensive is himself, and he can't imagine having to go on without her.

"As a seedling sprouts from the ashes of a forest after a fire, so too will the people of Sumeru be able to weather any disaster, so long as we provide them the fertile ground to take root in."

Al-Haitham is not reassured her words, but he recognises that nothing will sway Nahida from the path she has set out on. And as he has vowed to be there by her side as she walks this path, through a choice that is wholly his own, so he must accept the consequences of this choice, come what may. Perhaps this is the true price of freedom.

"You should get some rest," Nahida says, remarkably unconcerned about the possibility of her own death. "You will need your strength for the trials we will surely face."

Chapter Text

Al-Haitham doesn't go to sleep, but rather slips into a light meditative trance that will restore some energy while allowing him to remain aware of his surroundings. Nahida has not taken her own advice, and he can hear her alternating between working at the Akasha console and tinkering with the Neo Akasha Terminal. Al-Haitham allows himself to be carried away by the quiet sounds of activity, and when the others return some hours later, he returns to full consciousness with renewed vigour.

Their party of five descends into the foundry. Cyno and Dehya take the lead, followed by Nahida safely in the middle giving directions, then Nilou and Al-Haitham bringing up the rear.

They don't encounter any resistance on the first floor until the final chamber, where the two Fatui agents on guard are quickly dispatched by Cyno and Dehya. This must trigger some kind of alert throughout the rest of the foundry, because on the lower floors they find themselves besieged by Fatui at every turn.

"How much further?" Nilou pants as they pause their advance for a brief respite. "I don't know how long I can keep this up."

There are several cuts on her arms that Al-Haitham is helping to bandage while Cyno and Dehya tend to their own wounds. Al-Haitham has been trying to take as many blows for them as he can—any damage he'd sustained in the fighting has already repaired itself—but it's difficult in the tight quarters and with three of them to cover.

"Not much further now," Nahida answers, soft green light illuminating her face as she interfaces with the Akasha. "We're almost to the deepest chamber where I'm certain we'll find the god-puppet."

"Then the four of you should go on without me," Nilou says. "I don't want to hold you back."

Nahida looks Nilou over before reaching out her hand. "Perhaps I can be of assistance."

Nilou obligingly leans down, and dendro energy begins to flow from Nahida to Nilou. Though there doesn't seem to be any outward change, when Nilou straightens up again, she seems less exhausted than before.

"Allow me to lend you my strength," Nahida says, turning to Cyno and Dehya. "The hardest fight is still before us."

Cyno and Dehya accept Nahida's offer, but Al-Haitham refuses. He can see that it is taking much more out of Nahida than she is letting on, and as she said, the hardest fight is yet to come, and they will need her power if they are to succeed. Besides, a few hours of fighting is hardly enough to tire him.

They continue on, carving a path through the neverending waves of Fatui agents that come at them from all sides. When Nahida finally stops them before an ornate door, they breathe a collective sigh of relief.

"Wait," Nilou says as Cyno reaches for the door. "Lesser Lord Kusanali, are there any other points of entry into this room?"

"Not anymore," Nahida replies. "They were sealed off once construction was complete, leaving only this door. That's why we had to fight through the entire foundry to get in."

"Then shouldn't someone stay here to guard the door and make sure the Fatui don't overrun us?"

Nahida cocks her head, giving Nilou her full attention. "Yes, I suppose that would be wise."

"I would like to volunteer to be that person."

"Nilou…" Dehya begins.

 Nilou shakes her head. "I'm not a fighter like the rest of you. I'm not good at responding quickly to unexpected attacks or coming up with combat tactics on the fly, and I don't want you worrying about me instead of focusing on the fight. This way, I'll still be able to help."

"Then I'll stay too," Dehya declares.

"Dehya!" Nilou exclaims. "Lesser Lord Kusanali and the others will need your help!"

"Dunyarzad would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you. So I'm sticking with you and that's final. It's like you said: someone needs to guard the door so the Fatui don't overrun those inside. The two of us stand a better chance of holding back the Fatui together than you do alone."

Nilou looks to Nahida for backup, but Nahida only says with a thoughtful hum, "Both your arguments have merit. If Dehya stays here, we run the risk of being shorthanded against the god-puppet. But if Dehya comes with us, we run the risk of being outflanked if the Fatui get past Nilou. Without stepping through this door, we cannot be sure which is the greater danger."

The impasse is settled for them when about half a dozen Fatui agents burst into view at the end of the hallway with loud footsteps promising even more to come. It's far too much for Nilou to handle herself, so their choices now become stay and risk getting caught in a drawn-out fight, or split up and leave Nilou and Dehya behind.

"Go!" Dehya yells over her shoulder as she charges forward. "We'll hold them back!"

Nilou gives them a resolute nod and brings up her sword before rushing to Dehya's side.

"Come," Nahida commands Al-Haitham and Cyno. "The rest is now up to us."

The door opens into a huge room, in the centre of which is visible the upper half of the mechanical puppet Al-Haitham had previously stumbled upon in the depths of the foundry. The puppet's faceplate is open, and an unresponsive human figure can be seen suspended inside. The source of the elemental energy that hangs thick in the air seems to be a glowing sigil on the puppet's chest.

"This power…" Cyno breathes. "Is it that of a true god?"

"I don't feel the same divinity coming from him that I am able to feel from Greater Lord Rukkhadevata, so the sages must not have gotten the chance to infuse the divine knowledge capsules into him," Nahida says. "But he is still a being of great power. We must be careful."

Even as she says this, Nahida steps forward and cranes her neck to look up at the figure inside the puppet, and rouses them with a wave of her hand.

"You must be the Balladeer," Nahida says, unfazed by the intensity of the eyes that bore into her.

Al-Haitham recognises the name as one of the Fatui harbingers. Is this what the Doctor had meant when he'd said the Fatui had a puppet of their own to serve as their vessel?

"I remember you, Buer, the God of Wisdom," the Balladeer replies mockingly. "'The Balladeer' is a long bygone title now. When my spirit ascended to divinity, I felt as if I had existed for the same number of epochs as heaven and earth. Looking back," he muses, seemingly to himself, "the existence of what once called itself 'Kunikuzushi' appears infinitely small and ugly."

The mechanical puppet's hands slam into the ground and pushes its body upright.

"This is where everything ends, Buer," the Balladeer sneers. The mechanical puppet clenches its fists as the Balladeer turns his piercing gaze on Al-Haitham. "You. The Scribe."

Al-Haitham narrows his eyes and tightens his grip on his sword, but doesn't say anything in response.

"You and I were both created to be vessels for divinity. We stand worlds apart from these mortals. It is time to free yourself from the shackles placed on you by those filthy mortals. To emancipate yourself from this weakling that dares call itself a god. Take up your rightful place here by the side of a real god, and I will see you elevated to the standing that you deserve."

"Al-Haitham," Nahida says. She opens her cupped hands and an eaglet flies out, growing with every wingbeat until an adult eagle is circling above their heads. It lets out a cry that reverberates in the very core of his being. "It's a name," Nahida explains when he looks askance at her. "For you. If you want it."

He looks up at the eagle then back down at Nahida. "Why?" he asks.

"All living beings should have a name," she says. "From the Akademiya's messenger pigeons to a child's pet dog…a swordsman might even bestow a name upon a favoured blade. Do you not deserve one too?"

Whether he deserves one or not is not for him to say. As for whether he needs one…'Scribe' is more than adequate, is it not? It is what everyone already knows him as, and is an apt descriptor of his role in the Akademiya. But looking into Nahida's wide, hopeful eyes, he can't find it in him to tell her no.

"Call me what you wish."

She breaks into a smile and hops from one foot to another. "Come with me, Al-Haitham! I'll teach you how to fly."

He is looking at the eagle then he is the eagle, and she a little finch that somehow manages to match him wingbeat for wingbeat. They catch the wind under their feathers and soar ever higher on the currents until the ground is but a distant speck beneath their feet. In the moments before the dreamer awakes, he has the thought that maybe this is what it feels like to be happy.

"My name is Al-Haitham." he says, evenly meeting the Balladeer's gaze. "And I'm afraid I already have a god."

"Pathetic," the Balladeer spits. "Your judgement is as the existence of your god's: unsubstantial." The faceplate of the mechanical puppet slides shut, hiding the Balladeer from view. "Come, then. Let us re-enact a scene of the Archon War. Come and inaugurate my birth as a god."

Nahida makes the first move, marking the puppet with dendro energy before Cyno rushes into battle in a flash of purple. Al-Haitham brings up his sword to block a sweeping attack from the puppet's hand, and the force behind the blow moves him backwards a short distance before he can brace himself and throw the hand off. The puppet's other hand slams into the ground, and the floor falls away.

Nahida effortlessly catches them like she had in the desert, and floats them down to the lower floor without any difficulty. The entirety of the puppet is revealed to them now, just as immense as Al-Haitham remembers, but now come to life where it had been dormant before. A halo of electro energy floats above its head, and a ring of electro sigils forms an imposing backdrop behind its four arms.

"So this is the power of the electro archon's gnosis," Nahida murmurs, sounding more curious than anything. "It is of little consequence; we must defeat him here, gnosis or not. I will lend a helping hand." Nahida bids them to continue their attack, and the Neo Akasha Terminal follows them, continuously firing bolts of dendro energy at the puppet.

The puppet takes a rumbling step forward then bends one knee so it can punch down with a fist wreathed in elemental energy. Al-Haitham darts out of the way while Cyno takes advantage of the attack to run up the puppet's arm. The puppet's other hand comes up to swat at him, but Cyno effortlessly dodges and leaps forward, plunging his polearm into a gap between the puppet's neck and shoulder. The Balladeer screams—out of rage or pain or both—and rears the puppet's upper body back, dislodging Cyno and flinging him into the air.

"Cyno!" Al-Haitham yells fruitlessly. He can't see if Cyno is able to break his fall, but he's too far away to do anything about it, and the Balladeer's attention is now on him.

Al-Haitham dodges the foot that comes crashing down where he'd stood fractions of a second ago, and stabs his sword into the back of the puppet's heel. He yanks his sword out just in time to roll out of the way of the kick that the Balladeer responds with. On the other side of the arena, Al-Haitham can make out a distant figure that must be Cyno slumped on the floor.

"Al-Haitham!" Nahida's voice breaks through Al-Haitham's momentary distraction.

The puppet's foot is coming back down to crush him, but Al-Haitham jumps to his feet and uses the momentum to propel himself up the puppet's leg. He keeps pushing himself to climb higher and higher until he sees the glowing sigil in the puppet's chest. He jumps, plunges his sword into the sigil, and lets the burst of electro energy it releases wash over him.

The Balladeer eventually manages to throw him off, and summons a gust of anemo energy that suspends Al-Haitham in the air until a huge fist knocks him to the ground. The floor beneath him cracks with the force of the impact, and his body stops responding to his commands.

The Balladeer charges up for a final blow that never lands, because Nahida is there, putting herself between Al-Haitham and the puppet. The puppet's hand closes around Nahida's tiny form, and Al-Haitham feels a scream building in his throat.

"This is supposed to be a battle between gods, yet you choose to hide behind your subjects," the Balladeer sneers as he dangles Nahida from the puppet's fingers in front of the open faceplate. "And now, you're acting like you'd sacrifice yourself for one of them...are you having fun proving a false sense of heroism to yourself, Buer?" The Balladeer plunges his hand through Nahida's chest.

Al-Haitham needs a weapon. He needs a way to get up to where Nahida is. He needs to be stronger. If he had a heart, it would be trying to beat out of his chest right now, but he doesn't, so why does his chest feel so tight?

"The data collection is almost complete," Nahida says with remarkable calm, her voice as clear as a mountain spring. "Do you even know how many times you've tried to take my gnosis from me?"

The scene before them fades away. Al-Haitham finds himself no longer sprawled on the ground but standing at the threshold of the arena, sword in his hand, Nahida and Cyno by his side.

"We just concluded the 168th loop," Nahida continues serenely. "Did you know that in the effort to create you, the people of Sumeru were forced to live through the exact same number of Sabzeruz Festivals and samsara cycles?"

"The power of dreams…" the Balladeer seethes. "When did you use it on me…"

It'd been...a dream? Then why hasn't the feeling in his chest gone away?

Al-Haitham raises a hand to his chest and presses down hard, hoping to quell the unusual sensation. He's vaguely aware of Nahida and the Balladeer continuing to exchange barbs, but a low humming has settled in his ears, and he finds it hard to concentrate on what is being said.

Al-Haitham's mind surges with an influx of information: tactics for defeating the Balladeer, analyses of his fighting style and weaknesses, and prayers and well wishes for the impending battle. Out of the corner of his eye, Al-Haitham sees Cyno launch into an attack, but though he knows he should lend Cyno his sword, his feet remain rooted to the ground.

An unnatural warmth seems to be emanating from the gem embedded in his chest. He can feel the hard edges of the gem digging into his palm, and he removes his hand only to find himself gripping a small object that pulses with dendro energy: a...Vision?

A small intake of breath prompts him to lift his head to meet Nahida's eyes. She gives the Vision in his hand a look of growing wonder and pride before making eye contact with him and nodding.

"I will entrust this to you," she says, raising a hand and imbuing him with even greater amounts of dendro energy, "the First Sage of Buer."

Empowered by the strength of Nahida's trust in him and his newfound abilities, Al-Haitham throws himself back into the fray. Cyno spares Al-Haitham the barest glance of surprise before seamlessly shifting his stance to invite Al-Haitham to stand by his side.

"We need to get his shields down before we can do any real damage," Cyno tells Al-Haitham. "We'll come at him from either side, force him to divide his attention. Are you up for it?"

The power of Al-Haitham's god, of the land he calls his home, courses through the very fibre of his being. He sees no way for them to lose. "Let's do it."

The Neo Akasha Terminal does the heavy lifting in depleting the puppet's shields while Cyno and Al-Haitham defend it from the Balladeer's attacks. Sharing in the data collected by the Akasha, Al-Haitham feels his body reacting to each attack with reflexes as ingrained as if he has fought this battle a hundred times. Though the ground trembles and the walls shudder with enough ferocity to have Al-Haitham half wondering if the ceiling is going to cave in on them, his feet remain steady and sure. When the puppet collapses to one knee, Cyno and Al-Haitham strike.

They target the electro sigil on the puppet's chest which seems to be a key source of power after the Balladeer himself, who is hidden behind the sturdier faceplate. Al-Haitham calls forth blades of dendro energy in perfect synergy with Cyno's electro slashes, and slowly but surely, they whittle away at the puppet's integrity. Eventually, their efforts prevail, and the sigil dims as purple light pours out from the puppet's seams. With an ear-splitting screech, it falls to its knees, motionless.

Nahida floats up to join Cyno and Al-Haitham, waving a hand over the electro sigil to break it and reveal a small, glowing object floating in the void behind it.

"No!" the Balladeer screams. "Wait! Please, anything but the gnosis!" He bursts out through the puppet's faceplate, held back by the strings that keep him tethered to the mechanical shell. "That's mine!"

Nahida looks up to meet his eyes, but doesn't falter as she continues to draw the electro gnosis towards her outstretched hand.

"I'll never go back!" the Balladeer screams, straining against the tubes that now only serve to restrain him.

The gnosis makes contact with Nahida's hand, and the fight evaporates from the Balladeer's body in an instant. He makes no move to catch himself as the strings snap and his body plummets to the ground.

The ensuing silence is so profound that it rings in their ears. The energy that had been coursing through Al-Haitham's body during the fight drains away, replaced by hazy disbelief. Is it really over? Have they really felled a nascent god?

While Cyno and Al-Haitham remain frozen in shock, Nahida gently floats all three of them back down to the arena floor, seemingly unaffected by the magnitude of the feat they've just accomplished.

"The most important mystery is still yet to be solved," she says, the electro gnosis hovering in front of her. "How do we reverse the effects of the Withering and restore Irminsul? With the power of another gnosis, we may finally be able to understand the last memory of Greater Lord Rukkhadevata."

"Greater Lord Rukkhadevata…?" Cyno asks as a knowledge capsule forms in the space between them.

Nahida nods. "Within Irminsul resides the residual consciousness of Greater Lord Rukkhadevata. Before she died, she left a message for the next Dendro Archon, but due to the contamination within Irminsul, I have never been able to fully decipher it." She looks between Cyno and Al-Haitham. "I would be honoured to share this memory with the two of you."

Before either of them can answer, a commotion from the other side of the wall reminds them that the fighting isn't over.

"We're not finished here yet," Cyno says. "I'll stay and assist Nilou and Dehya. We might even be able to get the Fatui to lay down their arms once they see what's become of their would-be god." He turns to Al-Haitham. "Al-Haitham. I leave Lesser Lord Kusanali in your hands."

"Very well." Nahida reaches out a hand towards Al-Haitham. "Al-Haitham?"

Al-Haitham gives Cyno a nod and takes Nahida's hand.

The backdrop of the arena dissolves, replaced by a forest trail heavily corrupted by the Withering. Dead leaves and dried twigs crunch underfoot when Al-Haitham takes a step back to observe their new surroundings.

"This is our destination, but I didn't expect the remaining consciousness of Greater Lord Rukkhadevata to be as polluted as this," Nahida remarks, looking troubled. "Still, we must press on. We will cross the polluted consciousness until we've found the right path to meet with Greater Lord Rukkhadevata's lucid consciousness."

"Are you certain there's still anything left to find?" Al-Haitham can't help but wonder.

"Al-Haitham," Nahida chides. "We've come this far. There is no room for despair now. Come, even with the gnosis' protection, we will need clear minds and sharp wits to see us to our goal."

They fight their way through the corruption, navigating the rough terrain, defeating enemies, and crossing a bottomless chasm in a flying boat until a great tree rises out of the fog and the darkness gives way to light. Al-Haitham and Nahida disembark from the boat onto what can only be the roots of Irminsul, teeming with grasses and shrubs in vibrant shades of pink and purple.

"This is the place," Nahida says, her steps growing longer as they climb the gentle incline of the roots. "This is where—"

Al-Haitham nearly steps on her when she stops abruptly in her tracks. He follows her gaze to the figure waiting for them at the base of the tree, then immediately looks down again to confirm that Nahida hasn't actually moved.

"We came to find Greater Lord Rukkhadevata," Al-Haitham ventures, "but that person over there…"

"Is that…me?" Nahida takes a few hesitant steps forward. "Are you…Greater Lord Rukkhadevata?" she calls out.

"Yes, that's me," Nahida's double confirms with a warm smile. "Are you surprised by my appearance? Irminsul and the surrounding lands have been reproduced here as they were years ago, but this is just a realm of consciousness. We are manifestations of the same nature, hence why we would appear exactly the same."

Greater Lord Rukkhadevata—or her remaining consciousness, at least—tells them of her last hope of purging the remnants of forbidden knowledge by creating Nahida from the purest branch of Irminsul and leaving her a trail of clues. And now that Nahida has finally found her way here, there is just one thing left to do.

Al-Haitham has never felt any great attachment to Greater Lord Rukkhadevata like the sages had, but he has to admit that even he feels unmoored by the thought of losing her and the millennia of knowledge and wisdom she has accumulated. There is a greater finality to this than when the sages had taken Nahida's birth as a sign of the previous Dendro Archon's death.

"I can't," Nahida says, her eyes welling with tears, "it's too cruel."

"No need to feel so sad, Buer," Greater Lord Rukkhadevata says with a beneficent smile. "As someone who delights in wisdom, you should feel joy at finally finding the answer. And though I cannot be there to guide you as you find your own fate, remember that you are not alone."

Greater Lord Rukkhadevata turns her smile on Al-Haitham as she says this, and he finds himself increasingly unable to tell the difference between the two archons before him: Nahida had spoken almost those exact words to him not long ago, and he frequently sees the same look of endless patience and kindness on her that her forebear wears now. He thinks it should reassure him that a vestige of Greater Lord Rukkhadevata will still live on, but instead, it feels like he's losing a part of Nahida.

Still, he understands. He locks eyes with Greater Lord Rukkhadevata and gives her a nod, his silent promise to remain by Nahida's side for as long as they both live, to ensure that she will never again have to experience the crushing loneliness of being forgotten.

Greater Lord Rukkhadevata accepts his promise with a dip of her head before approaching Nahida.

"I must ask you to do this for me," she beseeches with a hand over her heart, "so that the children of Sumeru have a future."

Nahida hesitantly reaches out before pulling back, indecision weighing down her movements. Greater Lord Rukkhadevata closes the remaining distance between them, pulling Nahida into her arms. The tears in Nahida's eyes finally fall as she hugs back tightly, and around them, a gust of wind begins to pick up.

It cuts a path through the long grass at their feet, bringing with it a trail of leaves that glow with soft green light. The leaves spiral around them as the light, now also emanating from Nahida and Greater Lord Rukkhadevata, grows stronger and stronger. Al-Haitham has to look away as everything blurs and turns white.

When his vision clears, it's to the image of the foundry. Nahida is crying and Al-Haitham feels an inexplicable sense of loss.

"We just saved the world, didn't we?" Nahida asks through her tears. "Then why...why do I feel so sad?"

"I…" Al-Haitham presses a hand to his chest hoping it will remedy the oddness he feels there like it had when he'd received his Vision, but the feeling does not subside. "I don't know."

Nahida continues to sob, and Al-Haitham thinks he might join her if he had the capacity, but his body remains unaffected save for the gaping chasm in his chest that threatens to tear him apart. He lowers himself to his knees instead so he can pull Nahida into a hug, tucking her head under his chin. She cries even harder but she's hugging him back, so he doesn't let go.

They stay there holding each other until Al-Haitham becomes aware of a growing pressure inside his head. Now that he notices it, he thinks he also hears a high-pitched sound permeating the air. It's strange enough that he considers asking Nahida if she's experiencing the same, but his mouth won't move and his body is heavy and difficult to control.

His arms fall away from Nahida as she frowns up at him, and the last thing he sees before he hits the ground is someone who looks a lot like the Doctor.

-

He comes to not on the foundry floor but to a green canopy stretching overhead. Someone has laid him out on his back and his body seems undamaged and reasonably comfortable, but the desire to find out what happened wins out over comfort, and he sits his body up, swinging his legs over the edge of the platform he is lying on.

Everything becomes slightly less green, and when he turns around he can see a bubble of dendro energy encapsulating the platform. The room he's in is reminiscent of the Sanctuary of Surasthana; perhaps one of the smaller side rooms? There is another occupant here too, lying motionless on a second platform in their own bubble. It's…the Balladeer?

The battle and its aftermath come rushing back to him. He needs to find Nahida.

He follows the walls of the room until he pushes on a part that opens, and finds himself back in the main chamber of the Sanctuary. Nahida is working on the console in the middle of the room, but she notices his arrival immediately.

"Al-Haitham!" Nahida stops what she is doing to give him a warm smile. "You're awake! How do you feel?"

"Fine," he says after taking a few seconds to remember how to speak. "What happened?" The last thing he remembers is "the Doctor…"

"He won't be a problem anymore." Nahida puts on a thoughtful face. "Not in the near future, at least. Later on…well, we'll just have to be prepared." She brightens again. "You woke up at just the right time! I was going to check on you soon if you hadn't woken yourself. Nilou and the others from Zubayr Theatre are holding a feast tonight, and you're invited!"

"A…feast?" Al-Haitham frowns. "Why would they invite me?" Feasts are often for celebrating joyous occasions—which he supposes is the reason for this one—but he has seen the overindulgence in food and drink and the raucousness that frequently accompanies such celebrations, and he can't imagine himself partaking in any of these actions. "Will you be there?" Not that he can imagine Nahida doing such a thing either.

Nahida's face falls a little. "I turned down the invitation. I've noticed people have a tendency to become stiff and quiet when they see me, and I don't want to scare anyone and ruin the feast. Besides, there's still much of the fallout from recent events left to deal with."

That sounds like it aligns far more with his skills and preferences. "Then let me help you with that."

"No, you should go enjoy yourself!" Nahida insists. "Feasts are a great way to socialise with other people, and attending such social gatherings are a large part of being a person."

Al-Haitham raises his eyebrows at Nahida's reasoning. "Do you not consider yourself a person?"

"Our circumstances are completely different," Nahida is quick to say.

"You would fault me for following the example set by my archon, then? After she'd asked me to show a little more faith in her?"

Nahida scrunches up her face in what is probably an attempted scowl but comes out more as an exaggerated pout. "It's not nice to make fun of your archon, Al-Haitham."

Despite himself, Al-Haitham feels the corners of his lips curve upwards. Nahida pouts at him a little longer before giving up the charade.

"Alright," she finally concedes. "We'll both go, just for a little while."

The feast is being hosted by the Zubayr Theatre on the stage in the Grand Bazaar. It seems to be a rather exclusive event, separate from the other celebrations being held throughout the rest of the bazaar. When Al-Haitham and Nahida arrive—to open stares and whispers, though no one dares approach them—the others who'd helped them thwart the sages' plans are already there. The only unfamiliar face is a women dressed in purple standing between Nilou and Dehya.

"Lesser Lord Kusanali and Scribe Al-Haitham!" Nilou waves them over. "I'm so glad you could make it!"

"Lesser Lord Kusanali!" the woman in purple echoes, her eyes only for Nahida. "I—I can't believe it's really you.  I don't know if you remember me, but—"

"Of course I remember you," Nahida says with a smile, "Dunyarzad. How could I ever forget my most faithful follower?"

Dunyarzad looks overjoyed and nervous and on the verge of crying all at once. Al-Haitham doesn't think he'll ever fully understand human behaviour.

"Lesser Lord Kusanali, I—"

"Just Nahida will do when we're like this," Nahida tells Dunyarzad.

Nahida is still smiling, but Al-Haitham can see her cheerful front wilting under the intensity of the attention on her.

"Are we waiting for anyone else?" he asks before anyone else can speak.

"No, you two were the last." Nilou gestures at the spread laid out before them. "Come, let's eat before the food gets cold! You…" she pauses and looks at Al-Haitham with mounting panic in her eyes, "...do eat?"

"I do," Al-Haitham confirms.

That gets Nilou and the others started on questions of what he likes to eat and whether he's tried this dish or that drink, and they pile his plate high with different foods and ask his opinion on each of them. Answering their questions is rather tiresome, but if it gets their attention off Nahida and onto him so she can enjoy the feast, he will answer as many questions as they want to ask.

Fortunately, they eventually tire of interrogating him, and he manages to escape to the side of the stage where Cyno has long taken refuge.

Cyno nods in greeting. "Al-Haitham."

"Cyno." Al-Haitham returns the nod.

Cyno looks as serious as ever, but his body language is much more relaxed than Al-Haitham has ever seen it.

"How are you feeling?" Cyno asks. "I heard you were unconscious for a number of days."

"I feel fine. There are no lingering side effects." Al-Haitham gives Cyno a quick once-over and is pleased to see that he too seems to be in good health. "What happened after we parted ways in the foundry?"

Cyno frowns. "I should be asking you that. Nilou, Dehya, and I were able to get the remaining Fatui to give themselves up once they saw their new god had been defeated. At that time, you and Lesser Lord Kusanali still hadn't returned from the realm of consciousness. It wasn't until later when we heard a commotion in one of the foundry's outer corridors that we found the two of you. You were unconscious and Lesser Lord Kusanali seemed troubled, but all she would tell us was that Irminsul had been cleansed and the Doctor would no longer be a threat to Sumeru."

"That's about as much as I remember too," Al-Haitham says, searching his memory for more details. "The knowledge capsule took us to a realm of consciousness that had been corrupted by the Withering. Nahida and I fought our way to the unpolluted remnants of the Irminsul consciousness, whereupon she was able to communicate with it and learn how to remove the remaining pollution from Irminsul. Once that was achieved, we were returned to the foundry where I assume you later found us."

Cyno hums thoughtfully. "And what do you know of the Doctor?"

Al-Haitham decides to leave out the still-unsolved mystery of what exactly had led to him and Nahida holding each other on the foundry floor. "We were still disoriented from returning from the realm of consciousness, and he was able to catch us unawares. He had some method of rendering me unconscious, but Nahida was unaffected. When I awoke, I was back in the Sanctuary of Surasthana."

"So you don't know what transpired either," Cyno muses. "I suppose an archon must be allowed her secrets."

"If she says the matter has been resolved, then I see no need to dwell on it further." Al-Haitham thinks he finally understands the difference between trust and blind obedience, and it's having faith that Nahida has the best interests of Sumeru at heart. He can let her have her secrets. "Of greater importance is the appointment of new sages to restore normalcy to the Akademiya as quickly as possible."

"Speaking of sages, Azar and his accomplices have been sent to the Avidya Forest to 'dedicate the rest of their lives to cultivating wisdom'." Cyno wrinkles his nose. "Far too lenient a punishment if you ask me, but Lesser Lord Kusanali is boundless in her mercy."

It's far too lenient a punishment for Al-Haitham's liking too, but he respects Nahida far too much to contravene the verdict she has handed down, even if it doesn't coincide with his idea of justice.

"Although," Cyno continues, a subtle change in his voice that Al-Haitham can't quite put a name to, "all things considered, I suppose it's a fitting enough punishment for committing tree-son. Maybe given plant-y of time, they'll be able to turn over a new leaf."

There are a few seconds of expectant silence, but before Al-Haitham can figure out what Cyno wants from him, Cyno says, "Let me explain: the first syllable of treason sounds like 'tree', which is fitting given that the sages have been exiled to the Avidya Forest. Continuing with the forest theme, 'plant-y' sounds like 'plenty', and to 'turn over a new leaf' is a common expression used to describe changing one's behaviour for the better."

"I see," Al-Haitham says, having deduced as much for himself about three words into Cyno's explanation but not wanting to interrupt. "Is this something people find amusing?"

"I find it amusing."

"I see," Al-Haitham says again.

Cyno mutters something under his breath about Tighnari.

"Cyno, Al-Haitham!" Dehya calls out to them. "I hope you two aren't talking about work over there! Get over here and help us finish the rest of this food."

"I wouldn't say no to some more food," Cyno says, giving a considering look to the empty plate in his hand. "We should rejoin the others before Dehya drags us back herself."

"I suppose we should," Al-Haitham replies. "Dehya rarely leaves mushroom for negotiation, does she?"

Perhaps there is some amusement to be derived from the startled look Cyno gives him.

-

Sumeru City is still full of vitality and merrymaking the next day, but Nahida, and therefore Al-Haitham, are back at work administering the bureaucracy. Nahida has drawn up a list of their priorities—she's even more productive than Al-Haitham is and he's not sure how she does it, but he appreciates working with someone who can keep up with him—and at the top of the list is selecting new sages to replace Azar and his co-conspirators.

"I have some names I'd like to put forward," Nahida says, perched on her conjured swing next to Al-Haitham, who is sitting behind the Grand Sage's desk. It's just the two of them this morning, with none of the usual guards or mahamata who are normally on duty in this area. "I would value your opinion on them as well as any other suggestions you would like to make."

"Of course," Al-Haitham replies. "Given the current political instability, we will want to ensure that in addition to the academic credentials required to be considered for the position, our candidates also have the support of if not the majority of their entire darshan, then at least its senior members, as they are the ones whose words will carry the most weight when influencing others' opinions." Al-Haitham frowns. "Interpersonal relationships can be…complex." He does not envy the person who will have to mediate when the inevitable disputes arise.

"So I've been made aware," Nahida says with a sigh. "The position of Grand Sage will be of utmost importance. We will need someone with a strong drive to do what is best for Sumeru, and unshakable morals and conviction, even when faced with the allure of great personal gain."

"If such a person even exists." If there is one thing Al-Haitham has learned of human behaviour, it is that no one is infallible in the face of great enough danger or desperation.

"Actually…" Nahida perks up, a growing smile on her face. "I think I have someone in mind."

"Oh?" Al-Haitham wracks his brain, but the only person he can think of who would even come close to fulfilling Nahida's requirements is Cyno. "If you're thinking of Cyno, I think he's quite happy being General Mahamatra. Administrative work would not suit him at all."

"It's not him," Nahida says, looking extremely pleased with herself. "I'll put the name on the list and you can review it later."

"Alright," Al-Haitham replies, perplexed by Nahida's behaviour and the sudden secrecy but not curious enough to inquire further. "I'll start on these research applications, then."

Al-Haitham takes the first sheaf of papers off the top of the towering stack on the desk and begins perusing its contents while Nahida gently swings back and forth next to him, using her powers to manipulate ink into neat printed letters on the piece of paper she is holding.

An amiable silence falls between them, the passage of time marked by the scratching of pen on paper and the changing shadows as the sunlight filters through the leaves of the Divine Tree. Distanced as the Grand Sage's office is from the rest of the Akademiya, Al-Haitham can still hear the growing murmur of activity outside as scholars return to their studies and mahamata to their duties. Within the office, the quiet routine Al-Haitham and Nahida have settled into is broken by a rustle as Nahida places her paper down at the edge of the desk.

"Here's the list, Al-Haitham, I'll leave you to look over it. I have an appointment with the General Mahamatra I need to keep."

"Hm?" That has Al-Haitham looking up; he had not been aware of Nahida having any sort of schedule today. "Let me—"

"I can see myself there." Nahida has dismissed her swing and is already halfway to the door.

Al-Haitham watches her go with a frown. Though she is moving quickly, she doesn't seem distressed, so maybe she really is just hurrying to keep an appointment with Cyno he doesn't know about.

Al-Haitham turns his attention to the list of candidates she'd left behind. There at the top, under the position of Grand Sage, is just one name: his own.

"Nahida!"