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Chapter Text

“Alhaitham, please, sit.”

Alhaitham took a seat. He was in Sage Khajeh’s office, a place he had spent only a few long hours in over the course of his life. Littered around the small room were various stacks of papers, all in different languages and scripts. Most he could read, but some he only caught bits and pieces of. The shutters were all closed, leaving some unnerving ambiguity to whether it was day or night outside. The only source of light came from the wall sconces, bright and artificial. The room itself was terrifyingly unorganized: stray letters on the floor, three half empty cups of coffee on the desk, and books on every spare surface. There was a picture frame on the desk, but it was face down, hiding the photo.

Kajeh picked one of the cups of stale coffee up and downed it.

“I’m too old for this work,” he said, despite being barely forty. Alhaitham nodded politely regardless. Khajeh sighed, leaning back in his expensive-looking leather chair, his hands folded in his lap. “How are classes?”

“Fine sir.”

“Good, good. You’re taking a full course load?”

“Twenty-two credits, sir.” The walls of this office were a terrible shade of mauve, like the inside of a desert tomb. He had the distinct feeling that he was in trouble, though he couldn’t imagine why. All of his grades were in order and he was top of every class, in his own Darshan and otherwise.

“That’s a lot of work for one person alone, isn’t it?” Khajeh smiled, and it seemed unnatural on his face, as though his muscles were so used to frowning that going the other direction confused them. Khajeh was not an unkind person, Alhaitham knew. Just a self-involved and chronically stressed one.

“Not particularly,” Alhaitham said. It was relatively true. He had nothing better to do than study, and if he weren’t taking extracurricular classes already, he would still be reading about the subjects he was interested in.

“Ah, well,” Khajeh started, and his pained expression settled back into place. “I’m rather displeased to have to enforce this rule then.” He sighed, leaving a blank space of silence for Alhaitham to fill.

“What rule, sir?” Alhaitham prompted, though he knew where this conversation was heading. Most students didn’t practice their research alone, instead choosing to enlist their peers in larger projects, to research as a team. Alhaitham was not fundamentally against the idea of teamwork, but he had found it rather difficult to work with others when it would be easier and faster for him to simply control an entire project himself. He could count on one hand the amount of times he’d even participated in group work in class, and he’d need extra digits for all of the times a professor gave him a free pass, due to the assignment already being finished weeks in advance.

“It seems that in all your time in the Academiya so far, you have never submitted a group research project, is that true?” Khajeh peered down his small spectacles as Alhaitham nodded. “Thus, the Sages have agreed that to continue taking all of your extracurriculars, you must prove that you are capable of completing research in a group setting. A student with your profound ability for learning should not exist in a vacuum.”

“Yes, sir.” Alhaitham nodded again. Though it might pain him to try, he would think of it as just another task, another assignment to complete. He stood. “Is that all?”

“Yes, yes. Glad that’s settled!” Khajeh hit his knee with a hand. “Have a lovely rest of your day, Alhaitham.”

Alhaitham closed the door quietly behind him, ignoring his own swimming thoughts. He silenced them. They could wait until he finished the next chapter of his book.

-

After starting at the Academia, Alhaitham had confirmed that his five year old self was indeed very wise for not wanting to go to school.

It had been many years since his last attempt at participating in school with others, and he still found people to be overwhelmingly insipid and difficult to understand. When he tried to help, he was told he was being overwhelming, and arrogant. When he kept to himself, the walls would whisper unkind words to him, that he was strange, cruel, a loner.

Being around his peers was the only riddle that he struggled to solve, the only puzzle that made him feel as though he was missing some of the pieces.

It was these times that he could close his eyes and be a child again, he could hear the soft voice of his grandmother, Huma, as she corrected his sword stance or read a book to him after dinner. He could smell her jasmine and mint perfume, he could hold onto the memory of her lecturing him as tears rolled down his cheeks, fat and wet.

“Birdy,” she would say if he began to mope, “the right people will come back over and over, like birds in the winter. You cannot worry if the birds will make it home every year. You have to trust that they will, you will be happier for it.” Her hair was always braided down her back in a long plait, and she was always right. “You always come back to me, don’t you?”

He held his memory of her like a beacon in his mind, his own personal mantras of her wisdom echoing on loop. He let his classmate’s words wash over him like spring rain, and he kept his head high.

Chapter Text

“So, you must be the Haravatat I’ve heard so much about.”

A boy was standing over him, his green hat holding the silver emblem of a Kshahrewar student. He had shockingly bright golden eyes, and they were smudged with sormeh, making them spark with striking contrast. His sun-blond hair was clipped haphazardly back, and his robes were elegantly pleated and pressed, as though he had put extra thought into the lines of his outfit when he woke up that morning- despite the fact that all students wore the same plain green robes.

He had an easy smile on his face, his hands were half-covered by good quality artists gloves. He looked a little younger than Alhaitham himself, a little more open to the world, with a little more kindness that stuck to the corner of his mouth and the shrug of his shoulder. His arms were wrapped around an extra large notepad, and he clutched it tighter to himself as the moment of silence stretched between them.

Alhaitham wasn’t entirely sure that he was, in fact, the one the boy had heard about, so he simply raised an eyebrow and remained quiet.

The boy laughed. “You’re the Haravatat prodigy, aren’t you? You’ve got the black emblem and…” He paused, as though he was suddenly struck by shyness. “You, you are Alhaitham, aren’t you?”

Alhaitham blinked. He hadn’t yet heard “Haravatat prodigy” as a moniker for himself. “My name is Alhaitham,” he replied. “Do you need something?”

The boy clapped once, satisfaction dripping off him. The movement was awkward around the notepad he held, but it didn’t seem to faze him. “Excellent! We’re in Urban Engineering and Design together. I’m Kaveh.”

Alhaitham hadn’t recognized this eccentric young man from his classes the past month, but that wasn’t saying much. If he attended class at all, he always sat directly in front, took careful notes, and then left without a word to anyone else.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, and then he raised his book, hoping that was enough to tell the vibrant stranger to go away, in not so many words.

Kaveh just lightly pushed the book down with a well-manicured, yet graphite-stained, hand. “Well, anyways,” he started, “I was hoping you-”

It seemed as though this person was attempting to get something from him. Sometimes, if they didn’t know better, people would do this. They would ask him for advice while he was working, and then look dejected when Alhaitham critiqued their work. Best to let them down sooner, rather than later, in his experience.

“I don’t work well with others.” Alhaitham raised his book again.

Kaveh laughed, though it sounded forced and rough. “Right, but-”

“Goodbye now,” Alhaitham interrupted, his eyes glued to his page. He read a few sentences, lost his place, then reread them.

“Just hear me out,” Kaveh said, sitting down beside him.

Alhaitham was confused. He’d gone through his usual checklist for getting others to leave him alone: silence, shortness, shutting down the conversation, and acting busy with some sort of work. In truth, he was getting to the best part of his novel, which was about a traveler who was searching through the Land of Lower Setekh for a lost tomb and had gotten trapped within one of the many puzzles there, with only-

“-and so I was hoping that we could work together on it, and then we won’t have to do as much individually, and we could both spend our time on other more creative endeavors for our respective disciplines,” Kaveh finished, his smile half-pleading.

Alhaitham’s mind clicked, having suddenly found the answer to the question he had been puzzling over the past few days. He needed to work in a group with someone. This someone wanted to work in a group with him. It was a perfect compromise- seeing as the final project for his Urban Engineering and Design class was due in only three months time. That wasn’t too long to commit to an academic partnership. He could manage his annoyance for three months.

“Fine.” Alhaitham watched as immediate relief flooded over Kaveh’s features.

“Really? That’s- okay, then! I’ll send you my information over the Akasha and we can meet up.” Kaveh said, his hands knotted together.

Alhaitham gestured to his Akasha, signaling that it would be a suitable mode of communication.

Kaveh nodded, his smile ever-blinding, and waltzed away, leaving Alhaitham blissfully alone.

-

Alhaitham realized very quickly that every conversation with Kaveh was like being shoved into a small lift with a large, bright, loudly squawking bird.

His initial reaction was to be polite, and curt, and try to avert his eyes as much as possible.

But then, he was only human, and no human can withstand so much noise all at once. At least, no human except-

“Oh! And then I was thinking, we can include separate Darshans in different ways, to help create unity and display our interdisciplinary trust! I know an amazing Amurta student who-”

“Kaveh.”

“-really quite talented, I think he’ll be graduating soon and I have a friend who-”

“Kaveh.”

“-and, well he didn’t say that directly you see, I more or less inferred-”

Alhaitham slammed his textbook onto the table with a thud, and Kaveh turned to face him, startled.

“That was rude,” Kaveh said, before pulling the book towards him. They were in a secluded alcove of the library, hidden away from prying eyes and ears. People rarely bothered anyone else this deep into the stacks, and therefore it was one of Alhaitham's more favored places to study.

The books here were less often handled, and they smelled like the ones he kept at home, the dusty tomes with sand in their pages, tiny grains of memories from far away places.

The light in the deep stacks was filtered through the tiny portholes in the ceiling, by panes which were treated so as to not let harmful rays affect the precious books. The glass gave the space a warm, sepia tone, and it always felt like a distant memory, sitting in solitude amongst Alhaitham’s most favorite things– words.

This day, though, was the first day Alhaitham was meeting with Kaveh, and it was going about as well as he could have imagined.

The boy was loud, and he took brainstorming more literally than most. His thoughts were like lightning and rain: fast, aggressive and capricious. When he’d arrived, he’d opened a massive briefcase with sketch after sketch of seemingly inconsequential things, from flowers and sprawling mountains, to brutalist, boxy houses, to grand cathedrals and flying buttresses. His ideas were vapid and unfeasible, and it grated Alhaitham’s orderly nerves to no end. It was nearing their fourth hour of discussion, and they hadn’t written a single idea down.

“I can’t think when you talk like that,” Alhaitham said, rubbing his forehead with a tired hand.

“Oh,” Kaveh said, and he sat back down at the table. He was silent, and it prompted Alhaitham to look up and check if he was still alive. Now that the noise had stopped, the silence was making his ears ring uncomfortably.

Kaveh looked as tired as Alhaitham felt, now that they were both sitting and no longer carried by the inherent energy of their conversation. His nervous hands were tinkering, pushing a pen back and forth. Alhaitham watched as Kaveh held back the urge to tap it on something and fill the void with a new pattern.

There was chatter a few rows down, and the familiar sound of parchment meeting pencil, muted through the stacks of books.

They sat in that silence for an eternity of three minutes while Alhaitham collected his scattered thoughts. Clearly, Kaveh needed to find an aesthetic that would set the foundation to create a cohesive image, and they couldn’t do that if they continued to bring new ideas to the table.

Alhaitham grabbed two sketches and held them up. “Pick one,” he said.

“One?” Kaveh looked horrified, and he chewed on the end of the pen he had been fidgeting with.

“One,” Alhaitham replied, his tone drenched in finality.

Kaveh tilted his head to the side, glancing between the two sketches with careful scrutiny. After a moment, he pointed to the one on the left. Alhaitham placed the two sketches in two distinct piles, and then picked up more sketches to repeat the process. Once they were done with the initial sorting, they did it again with the “keep” pile, slowly narrowing it down to two finalists.

One of the images was extreme; a chaotic garden of oddly-shaped houses with roots that curled together and formed winding streets. It was more artistic than it was feasible, but Kaveh favored it for its fantastical whimsy.

The other was much simpler, and it was an image of just one house’s floor plan and exterior. It was quaint, efficient, and serviceable to any small family. The facade of the house fit lovingly into the extant architecture of Sumeru city, but there was a certain freshness to it, the slanted roof creating interest for the eye, the ivy climbing the walls lending itself to an ancient and affluent air. The image felt as though it had been sketched from life, but Alhaitham knew nearly every house in the city, and there were none that looked like this. The sketch was Alhaitham’s favorite of the bunch, and he was pleased to see it had made it to the final cut.

“So, I propose our image will be familiar, experimental, natural and accessible,” Alhaitham said, summarizing the two final images. “And to connect with my work, we can find inspiration in the desert. I can look through records of architecture in the eras before the Fall of Deshret.”

Kaveh nodded sagely, his eyes gleaming. “That’s pretty good, Alhaitham.”

“Right. Then let’s get to work.”

-

Working together with Kaveh was not all entirely bad. In fact, Alhaitham was finding a sort of thrill in it.

Kaveh was whip-smart and more than capable. Alhaitham’s initial assumption was that his artist's aura would stifle his intellectualism, but he had been incorrect. There had been multiple occasions where Kaveh had pointed out something Alhaitham hadn’t quite seen, or where his designs were surprisingly thoughtful, referencing a sphere of existence Alhaitham himself had been relatively ignorant of– art. It was a fortuitous coincidence that this person seemed to be the only one that could match Alhaitham in academics.

He learned that Kaveh was not, in fact, younger than him– he was two years his senior. He learned that Kaveh’s mother had been in the same Darshan, and that she was living in Fontaine to practice her art. He learned that Kaveh had a scar on his right arm, and that bone underneath had broken in an accident. He learned that Kaveh disliked the cold, and that he preferred his tea with loads of sweetflower powder and even more cream.

Alhaitham, most people knew, was a learning enthusiast. And Kaveh was proving to be a fascinating new field of study.

-

Their first argument came only three weeks after they began.

It took place in Kaveh’s expertly decorated home. Alhaitham had pointedly not complemented anything, especially not the soft curtains that let in just enough light, or the throw pillows with a surprising amount of comfortable squish, or the way the whole room looked like a kaleidoscope, the colors spinning together in magnetic harmony. Everything had a perfect and particular place in each room, giving the home a strange sort of empty quality, like a house staged for potential buyers.

In every empty space there were paintings. Landscapes, portraits, and still lifes, all in beautiful color, with the same scrawling signature on the bottom. The walls were littered with them, making the rooms feel claustrophobic with color. Some of the paintings were oddly haunting, as though a ghost had painted them rather than a person. Some of them were heartbreakingly gorgeous. All of them were distracting.

Alhaitham found the home beautiful, yet slightly sad and uncomfortably unlived in. A gorgeous and inhospitable place for relaxation.

“What do you mean you ‘gave it away,’ Kaveh.” Alhaitham was standing, one hand still gripping the handle of the metal teapot he had been pouring boiling water from.

“I mean,” Kaveh said nervously, hiding his body behind the dark wood of the chair he had been sitting in only moments before, “Raed asked me what my designs looked like, and so I gave him a few of our latest sketches.”

“Are you-”

“I didn’t think he would copy them!” Kaveh interrupted, unknowingly driving the proverbial stake deeper.

“He copied them?” Alhaitham could barely comprehend his own anger then, he could only feel the familiar buzz of his own rushing blood.

Those designs had been their best so far, and it had taken two weeks for them to agree on all the intricacies of them. To imagine all that work would be for naught…

“I’m so sorry Alhaitham, I thought-” Kaveh started, finally edging around his chair-shaped barrier to approach his livid companion.

“You thought incorrectly, which is becoming less and less surprising,” Alhaitham sneered, his anger hardening. His eyes were locked on the teapot in his hand, the steam rising out of the finely shaped spout. It would be fitting if it boiled over onto his hands, if it burned his arms and turned his anger into something more real, something tangible. The amount of spiraling color in the space was suddenly overwhelming, the contrast too harsh on Alhaitham’s eyes.

“You know, some people would argue that kindness is a virtue,” Kaveh bit back, his pride obviously wounded. It smelled strongly of mint and sugar, the cups on the table steaming without care to their newly hostile environment.

“Kindness is a virtue, when you can see past your own nose and have even a little bit of intuition. People will take advantage of you, and they did, Kaveh.” Alhaitham thought of a millions things he could take his anger out on, from the teapot in his hand to the cloyingly embellished stuffed pillows. Even the colorful silk rug beneath his feet didn’t escape his potential aggression, and he considered how much the boiling water in his hand would ruin the perfect swirling indigo dye in the fragile silk fibers. He gently placed the teapot on the table and took a step back.

“What if he needed those designs, Alhaitham? What if I saved his educational career? We have endless time and resources for this project, and he-”

“He has all the resources he needs. He doesn’t come before us, Kaveh. His problems are his, not yours. If you did somehow save that one man’s chances in a class, then you have allowed one more cheat to win, you have allowed one more liar to keep lying,” Alhaitham said, his frustration mounting. “The system exists to separate the wheat from the chaff, and you have not only thrown a wrench into that system, but also betrayed my trust.” Alhaitham took a steady step towards the door.

“And what if I don’t think people can be chaff?” Kaveh said, his gaze locked downwards.

“Then you’re a fool,” Alhaitham said, barely turning his head to see a distraught Kaveh framed by his frilly, pointless decorations.

Kaveh shook his head with disbelief and Alhaitham left, slamming the door behind him.

-

That argument served as a catalyst for further disagreements, with every small distrust escalating into a debate of fundamental ideals. Alhaitham had never met anyone so obtuse, so willfully ignorant of the truth of existence– so carelessly optimistic. Every conversation with him threatened to shatter into the most exhausting verbal battle, with each fight sending cracks deeper into an already unstable union.

They met every afternoon, in empty classrooms, or in the back of the library, or in the many low traffic courtyards. Some days they met and sat in silence, wearing each other down until one of them inevitably gave up and went home for the night, a game of emotional chicken that neither of them could win.

Other days they fought like cats. Kaveh had thrown the first book, aimed directly at Alhaitham’s head. Alhaitham had caught it and flung it down onto the table, and Kaveh had immediately apologized. Alhaitham had only grabbed him by the front of his robe, leaving nothing between them but a hair of empty space and blazing eyes.

“Don’t do that again,” he’d threatened.

Kaveh’s own eyes had been glued to the floor, and he nodded. He released a breath when he was let go, as though he had been struggling with some internal fight while trapped by Alhaitham. Probably whether or not fighting back was worth the reprimand they would get.

From then on, it was mostly insults. Alhaitham thought the new designs were uninspired and annoying. Kaveh thought that Alhaitham was a scourge on the Academiya ideals. They both made sure to let everyone around them know their thoughts, loudly and often.

-

It was only a month of arguments and miscommunications later when Alhaitham and Kaveh were confronted by a Sage on behalf of their behavior.

“Destruction of property, disruption of the peace, activity past sleeping hours on Academiya grounds and repeated complaints of profanities in shared spaces,” Khajeh listed off, his arms crossed.

Kaveh was laughing under his breath, a mixture of panic and absurdity creating a cocktail of disbelief in his voice. “I didn’t even hit it that hard,” he said, his voice shaky.

He really hadn’t. Still, Alhaitham had seen the old solid table break right in two when Kaveh had slammed his fist down on it, his passion driving his hand like a metal cleaver down onto the already-cracked wood.

Alhaitham himself was already tired of the conversation. “We’re sorry, Sage Khajeh,” he started, but he was cut off.

“Sorry doesn’t account for the disgrace you have brought upon the Haravatat, Alhaitham. Regardless of your parentage, or of my fondness for your late grandmother, you have got to learn respect for this esteemed place. Not everyone can waltz through the Academiya with no consequences for their actions.” The man looked positively stiff, with the green gems on his outfit glittering like overly sweet hard candy.

“Please sir, we promise not to cause anymore issues on campus, but please don’t expel-” Kaveh was spoken over just as readily, barely earning a wayward glance from Khajeh.

“You two will work out your disagreements off campus, as you are no longer permitted to meet with each other on Academiya grounds, unless you are in class or you are given explicit permissions. Additionally, you will both be enrolled in a physical activity to manage any… angry outbursts. And you will have to cover the costs of the table you destroyed, totaling to three thousand mora.” Khajeh directed his attention on Alhaitham, his beady eyes peering through his spectacles. “I hope this project is… worthy of your energy, Alhaitham,” he said, before turning and taking his leave.

-

“What do you mean by that?” Kaveh said, his mouth full of candied nuts, his eyes narrowed.

“I mean that it’s too altruistic. You can’t expect goodness from every individual, that’s not the way the market works, and certainly not how laws are made.” They were arguing in class, prompted by a group exercise in city zoning. Kaveh had sauntered to his table without question, unaware– purposely or no, of the many gazes that tracked his progress across the room. He seemed positively smug when Alhaitham begrudgingly nodded, and the eyes watching them widened in shock.

Now they were locked in a stalemate, distracted by an argument that had almost no bearing on their actual assignment. There were two additional members of their group, a girl named Samiya, whose head was buried in her textbook, and Klara, a Mondstadter who seemed to be following their back and forth with shocked intrigue.

Klara was fascinating, with one sea-green glass eye and one brown eye, along with a smattering of dark freckles. She generally sat one seat over from Alhaitham, and she doodled in the margins of her notes. Despite her inattentive nature, she always asked good questions, and she had gotten full marks on their last exam, the same exam where Alhaitham had missed one point. At the moment, Klara had abandoned her doodles to conspiratorially chat with Samiya, who was nodding, still half hidden by her textbook.

Samiya was, in comparison to Klara, entirely average and less than noteworthy. She sat behind Alhaitham, with the rest of them. He couldn’t confidently say he’d ever seen her in this class before, or even heard her voice in a crowd. The rim of her glasses was gold, and it glinted when she moved her head.

“Well you could do with a bit less audacity and a bit more-” Kaveh started, and Klara clapped to interrupt him.

“Kaveh! I love this sketch, were you inspired by the article we read last week on early use of texture for differentiation?” She said, tracing a finger over an arched ceiling.

“The Kalamut reading?” Yes I…” Kaveh was distracted by her engaging question, and he left his insult hanging in the space between reality and non-existence, an implication rather than a weapon.

Samiya sighed. “Fine then, I’ll concede the costs for a central plaza, if you can guarantee my constituents will have walking access or public transportation systems to affordable grocers.”

Alhaitham checked his notes. They had all been assigned different positions on a city planning committee, an exercise that would help them see how their end of the term project could be used practically, and how urban engineering would progress past the initial research. Samiya’s role was community liaison, and she seemed to be struggling with it, relying heavily on Klara’s pointers. Alhaitham was a ‘visionary’, something he felt similarly ill-suited for. Kaveh and Klara were handling the legal side of things. None of them were particularly happy.

“That’s fine, public transportation is out of my hands, that’s for the legal side to create an estimate for,” Alhaitham said, and Klara looked up.

“Uh huh…” She said, frantically flipping through her notes. “Kaveh, would you happen to know what the legislation on public transportation looks like?”

Kaveh dramatically dropped his head to the table. “Please don’t make me read any more political jargon, my brain feels like it’s melting.”

Samiya patted his arm fondly. “If we could trade jobs, I feel like all of my problems would disappear. How are the funds looking, Klara?”

“I think, and a heavy emphasis on ‘think,’ that they’re ok. I would be happy to never see a number again though.”

“I like numbers,” Kaveh said, his voice muffled by the desk. “Let me have a look,” he dragged her notes over and lifted his head wearily. “Alhaitham, will you look over my papers and check the transportation situation? I think there’s something in there about an incentive for inner-city public transport but the words are starting to…” he waved a hand, “swim.”

“Fine.” Alhaitham grabbed the notes. He found the clause instantly. “There’s an incentive of around five million mora for inner-city transit. Add that to your calculations.”

“Great, so, we’ve got a spare two million now, and we’re still in the green.” Kaveh handed the calculations back to Klara, who took them with awe. “That was fast,” he said, looking over at the Alhaitham.

“Perhaps you could try learning how to read,” Alhaitham attempted a joke, which landed poorly.

“Learn to-” Kaveh started, and then his eyes glinted with anger. “Why don’t you learn how to have any type of creativity? Honestly, your design is so thoroughly lacking any type of inspiration, I’m surprised you don’t die of boredom most days.”

Samiya sighed. “Do you two even like each other?”

They both stopped and considered each other for a long moment. Undeniably, Alhaitham would rather work with Kaveh than anyone else. Their disagreements lately felt more like thought exercises than fights, and Kaveh had a spark of inspiration that Alhaitham could admit he didn’t have– at least not in the same way. He had been annoyed for the last few weeks, but not enough to give up on their project, or on Kaveh. Alhaitham broke the silence.

“I think Kaveh can hold his own in any Darshan, given enough time. I’ve never met someone more… impactful.” He knew it was true as soon as it was out in the air, and he panicked. It wouldn’t do to have people thinking that just anyone could come up to him and make friends like Kaveh had. “I think he’s tolerable, when his mouth is closed.”

Kaveh waved him off. “Oh spare me,” he said, a hand to his forehead in mock-swoon. He dropped the act and rolled his eyes. “A fungus could give better complements.”

Perhaps that was true. Regardless, Kaveh had a thirst for information that rivaled Alhaitham’s own. He was, once in a while, occasionally, fun to be around.

Like a few weeks before, when they hadn’t been quite so upset with each other. They had gone on a walk through the city together, mapping out the things they liked or did not like about the extant architecture, ruminating on how someone would see the city if they were looking with fresh eyes.

“Have you ever had the rose custard from Puspa Cafe?” Kaveh had asked, walking backwards up the street, his hands clasped behind his back. “We can stop by if you’re hungry.”

The sky had been a clear blue mirror behind him, endless and empty.

Alhaitham hadn’t, and he was, and they’d found themselves squirreled into a corner of the lively cafe with fresh, rich coffee and two servings of creamy, floral custard.

Kaveh had talked about color theory for hours, set on a rant that was prompted by a wayward critique of his work in another class. Alhaitham didn’t feel like he usually did when other people spoke, then. He wasn’t overwhelmed by any of the noise, not the distant band playing in the corner, the chatter of people, the sound of the hot sand bringing the coffee to temperature on the many stoves lining the cafe walls. Instead, he felt uniquely tuned into a frequency that only he and Kaveh shared. It was as if he had asked the Akasha to read to him while he did other things, like gardening or cooking or restlessly trying to sleep, but it was better than that- it was Kaveh.

“But that’s the interesting thing,” Kaveh said, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. “It shouldn’t exist in the first place! That’s the whole reason I painted the flowers that color, the piece was about loss. What better to portray loss than with colors that don’t exist, right?”

“Was the assignment supposed to be true to life?” Alhaitham countered, and Kaveh threw him a disgusted look.

“Prove to me that you see the world the same way as everyone else,” Kaveh argued back, a hand under his chin. “Prove to me I don’t see colors that don’t exist. Then I’ll consider accepting it.”

“I think I could,” Alhaitham said.

Kaveh laughed. “I think even if you did, in twenty years you’ll have scores of critics who disagree with you. They’ll all say my eyes are unique, gifted. They’ll say the epitome of art and creation is hidden inside them.” Kaveh finished his drink, the third one since they had sat so long ago. The hours had flown by.

Alhaitham had only nodded and smiled. They had gone to their respective homes in the dusk, the sky above them a blaze of magenta, and a feeling of being uniquely comfortable had settled in Alhaitham’s chest.

Now, post-betrayal of their fledgling project, Alhaitham felt bitterness permeate all of their communication. He still wanted to work with Kaveh, he knew that much. In fact, he practically had to make it work, if Sage Kajeh had anything to say about it. He’d make it work.

Kaveh startled him out of the memory with his laughter. Samiya had said something to Alhaitham, and he’d missed it entirely.

“What was that?” He asked, forcefully dragging his eyes away from the corner of Kaveh’s smiling mouth.

“Never mind,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Forget I said anything.”

-

According to Alhaitham’s grandmother, his father was an excellent wordsmith. He, like his son, could live with his nose stuck in the spine of a good book. He had studied words, made pictures with them, and searched for their secrets through the desert, until the sands took his life.

Alhaitham’s mother, in contrast, was a fighter. Huma would laugh about it, about her fire and her bravery, about how she would nag and needle his father to eat, and sleep, and smile. She wielded a sword the same way Alhaitham’s father wielded a pen, artfully, precisely, and mercilessly. She too had confronted her end at the hands of the search for knowledge, still in arm’s reach of her lover.

Alhaitham had grown up on these second-hand stories of them, his grandmother twisting tales while rocking back and forth on her old wooden chair, smiling with fondness as she shared their legacy with her grandson. He can still smell the tea she liked to drink, strong black tea with cinnamon scenting the whole kitchen. He can still see it when he stands in a certain spot in the room. When the light hits right, he’s twelve again, reading his books in the corner and listening to his grandmother hum as she baked. Back then the rugs weren’t so faded. Back then the countertop was less cracked, the back door didn’t squeak so badly.

These snippets of his history became a modern myth to Alhaitham, and he craved to make both his parents and his grandmother proud with his every move.

So he read. He read anything he could get his hands on, stories from far away, old books, new books, stories about gods and lovers and evil twisted beings. He read all day, and often deep into the night. He escaped into novels and textbooks and words.

When he was old enough, he also began to train. First with blunt sticks, copying diagrams in every book he could find about sword fighting. Then he used dull practice blades his Grandmother rented for him, his small arms quickly tiring from their weight. When he was old enough, he moved on to real blades, heavy and metal and cold.

He spent his afternoons walking through steps until they perfectly matched his books, tracing them over and over in his mind.

Unfortunately, his swordsmanship took a hit when he went into the Academiya, with his practice time being allocated to his advanced class schedule. Thus, he chose to take up fencing as his mandatory physical activity. It was the perfect compromise for his new requirement.

Kaveh raised an eyebrow when he saw the two Shamshir blades near the door in Alhaitham’s home, which had become their designated research space due to their ban from being on campus together.

“Who’s swords?” Kaveh asked, running a thumb along the edge of a decorated handle, the embedded glass and ceramic nearly smoothed from use. He had just come in, and Alhaitham still couldn’t really fathom this individual in his personal space. Compared to the worn green weave of the seats and yellow light from the old lamps, Kaveh was a riot of color and life.

“Mine,” Alhaitham responded, flipping through a few documents he had checked out of the library to review.

“Since when?” Kaveh looked back at him incredulously, his eyes bright as gemstones. He breached the threshold, setting his bag down on one of the many half-height bookcases that lined the main shared space of the small house. The first time he’d been there, he’d spent hours touching the spines of the faded novels. He’d read out the names, asking every time, “did you read this one?” to which the answer was always the same exasperated “yes.”

“Since always, and then recently,” Alhaitham responded, still scanning his papers.

“That doesn’t make any… Whatever,” Kaveh said, rolling his eyes and settling into work. He pulled a large sketchpad out of his bag, and flipped it open. “I reworked the designs I gave… the designs we can’t use anymore. I think they're better this time,” he said, and Alhaitham listened as Kaveh explained the alterations he made to their work.

It all seemed to check out, and Alhaitham could admit the new designs were indeed marginally better. He offered his own research in return.

“I’ve been scouring archives on the history of city planning and architecture from the desert, and I think I’ve found an array of information to dig through. It’s enough work for at least ten people, if you’re still interested in looking for interns and keeping this project going past the end date for our class. Maybe we can shift focus,” Alhaitham said, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. He hadn’t struggled, per say, but learning a new language by reading content in an advanced discipline wasn’t always the easiest thing to do.

“You can read this?” Kaveh asked, flipping through pages of ancient script.

“I’ve been trying to,” Alhaitham replied. “And if you hire interns to do some of the busywork of finding relevant information, then I can try and translate it for you to read, too.”

Kaveh’s expression was that of stunned confusion. He looked between the swords still resting against the wall, to the pages of indecipherable information Alhaitham had combed through, and finally back at Alhaitham’s face. “Why?”

Why? That was a question Alhaitham had been puzzling over too. Kaveh was blatantly annoying, with scatterbrained ideas and lofty ideals for humankind. He was loud and materialistic and untrustworthy and too bright to look at. They were diametrically opposed individuals, and Kaveh’s chaos and color sent hurricanes through Alhaitham’s orderly thoughts.

But there was something brilliant in the arch of Kaveh’s fingers when he held a pen. There was something addicting about an argument where the other person had something to stand on, who could take a blow and give one in return. Alhaitham wasn’t used to being matched step for step, he wasn’t used to having the assumption that one disagreement didn’t mean the end of a friendship, or even the end of a conversation. He hadn’t quite figured out what it was, but he found it hard to call this project done, to let it be finished.

So Alhaitham had rationalized that he liked the work. It would serve them best to start and complete a worthy research project before they graduated, and they had already put in a large amount of time and energy into this proposal. Call it investment fallacy, or even just a head-start on a professional portfolio. Either way, Alhaitham was well aware of the compatibility of their team, regardless of their personal incompatibility.

“Despite the fact that you’re a foolish overly-romantic doormat, I can admit you do good work,” Alhaitham replied, pointedly ignoring the narrowing of Kaveh’s butterscotch eyes.

“A means to an end then,” Kaveh said, flipping his sketchbook to a new page. He laughed a little, a forced laugh, as though he had been expecting this answer. “Of course. If it suits you, then fine.”

Chapter Text

“You alright?” Someone was standing over him, his arms casually slung over Alhaitham’s side yard fence. Alhaitham looked up to see Kaveh backlit by the sun, his face upside down and slightly concerned.

Alhaitham was lying in the dirt. Spring had gently faded, leaving the sticky warmth of summer in its wake. His forehead was covered with sweat, and his loose shirt was clinging uncomfortably to his back. The wild lawn tickled him where it touched his skin, on the back of his neck, his bare ankles, and his inner right wrist. His sword, which lay abandoned an arm’s length away, shined brightly in the afternoon glare. It smelled like sun warmed jasmine and trampled grass, which was rather refreshing after a week of sooty lamps and dusty books.

“Mm,” Alhaitham responded. He sat up, and the dirt that had caught in his hair fell down the back of his shirt, leaving him itchy and dusty. The sun was a blinding pinprick behind Kaveh’s head, and Alhaitham squinted against it.

Kaveh put a leg over the low fence and began to heave himself over, tripping a little when his pant leg caught on the dry wood.

“There’s a gate over there,” Alhaitham pointed towards the house, where the gate with its peeling paint was softly swinging in the breeze. He knew that Kaveh knew about the gate. Kaveh knew almost every inch of this house by now, as he had spent nearly any spare moment there for the last month. He practically lived there by now, having nearly taken over the empty bedroom with his devices and spare clothes. He’d claimed it was more convenient to be nearby, in case they were working on something for their project. Alhaitham hadn’t argued.

Kaveh only shrugged and sat down. “My way’s faster,” he said, as if saying something stupid with enough conviction could somehow make it true. “Want to talk?”

Alhaitham just shook his head. The heat was already getting to him, compiled with all of the stress from the last few weeks.

After their class had finished, they had submitted a research proposal to the Sages for review. They had agreed to shift their research material, such that it encompassed more of the lost languages of Deshret, in combination with the lost technologies of the era. Alhaitham could cover the translation, and Kaveh was settled with pitching in his architectural and mechanical expertise. For the most part, it was going swimmingly.

When they had submitted it to the Sages, it had come back with astounding amounts of support. Kajeh himself had lifted the boys ban on being together on campus, witnessing first-hand their astounding cooperation during the final stretch of the quarter. He’d called their teamwork a “miraculous transformation.” Alhaitham saw it for what it was– he and Kaveh had agreed that research meant more to them than petty arguments. Their heated debates had cooled significantly in the last month, though they still disagreed more often than not.

“Hmm, right, I see,” Kaveh said, as though Alhaitham had decided to confide in him rather than lay silent on the ground like an overheated shroomboar. “Have you tried shaking it? Sometimes that works for electronics.”

“I’m not stuck,” Alhaitham said. It was a lie. He had been pouring over the same document for six days straight, which was far longer than anything the amount of time he’d spent on any of the previous documents they had gathered. Something about it was wrong. It was obviously encoded, but he couldn’t crack it like usual. After eighty-some hours, all the words had started to blur together, as if water had smeared the centuries-old ink.

He’d taken his pent-up frustration out on the heat soaked afternoon air, slicing through his anxious energy and sweating out the stress. He’d thought that the fresh air, the breeze and the strain of exercise might help alleviate his problems. It hadn’t worked as well as he’d wanted it to.

Beside him, Kaveh poked at one of his disposed blades.

Kaveh stood suddenly. He was wearing his own clothing today, rather than his Akademiya robes. His shirt was soft-looking and rust colored, with billowing sleeves that cinched at the elbow. His pants were fashionable and tight, ankle-length and dark brown. There was dirt on his hands, as though he’d been digging around in the mud all morning. His hair was thrown up haphazardly, probably as an afterthought. He lifted the sword with his right hand, twisted it in his grip, then switched it to his left.

Alhaitham sat up, raising his eyebrows. Kaveh had never seemed that interested in his swords, other than the first day he’d seen them. He held the blade now with a practiced air, despite it being in his non-dominant hand. His other arm was politely behind his back, a picture of perfect stance.

“Heavier than it looks,” Kaveh said, and he pierced the air. Alhaitham recognized the precise style instantly.

“Fontaine trained?” Alhaitham stood, circling Kaveh like a hawk. His lines were excellent.

“My father used to say I was only my mother’s son,” Kaveh said, dropping his stance self-consciously. “He was joking, but I can see what he meant sometimes.” Kaveh smiled, but it didn’t hide the bitter seed that hid in his eyes. He changed the subject before Alhaitham could wheedle more information out of him. “Tell me what’s wrong with the documents and I’ll tell you more about it,” he said, capitalizing off of Alhaitham’s thirst for secrets.

Alhaitham thought for a moment. The more he and Kaveh interacted, the more he had solidified his initial read on Kaveh’s personality. Kaveh was ostentatious and gaudy, but Alhaitham now knew that it was practiced. For every smile, there was an internal frown. Kaveh’s initially extroverted mindset was a cover up for the depth of him, for the hours he agonized over what everyone else was thinking and feeling.

With every day, their relationship left less and less room for these falsities and pretenses. In fact, if Alhaitham were pressed, he’d claim that the person hiding underneath Kaveh’s colorful exterior was far more bearable to him. The bribe to know more about him was, to say the least, compelling. Besides, a distraction from research would help reset his tired mind, and it couldn’t hurt to let Kaveh take a stab at it.

“The writing is obviously some type of code,” Alhaitham said, and he took the sword from Kaveh’s offered hand, ignoring how their fingers brushed casually.

It was strange, but lately he hadn’t been as frustrated with Kaveh. When it was just them, his focused presence was almost bearable. He was getting used to Kaveh’s constant nearness, the way he hummed under his breath or left his things on every surface of Alhaitham’s quiet home. An average morning would be unusual without Kaveh knocking on his door, coffee in hand. The nudge of his shoulder or his hand on Alhaitham’s arm was becoming less jarring and more… comfortable.

“Can I see?” Kaveh asked, dusting his hands off on his pants absentmindedly.

Alhaitham shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” he said, but he couldn’t imagine that Kaveh would be able to help. The translation was Alhaitham’s job for a reason.

Kaveh led him back inside, opening the side door as if it were his own home. It was much cooler indoors, and Alhaitham crossed his arms against the chill. He walked to the desk and handed the documents to Kaveh, then left in search of water.

When he came back into the study, Kaveh was seated at his desk, a piece of parchment and a fresh reed pen in hand. He was frantically scratching out notes, his eyes whipping between the document and his own chicken-scratch.

“You found something?” Alhaitham’s tone was incredulous as he leaned against the door, taking a sip from his cup.
Kaveh jumped and looked up, his eyes glazed over with focus. “It’s code,” he said.

“Obviously,” Alhaitham replied, frowning.

“No, no, it’s not a code. It is code. A mechanical language,” Kaveh smiled, then pointed. “See, it’s a system of two symbols repeated in different ways. I don’t know what the symbols mean specifically, but we could try to reverse engineer it and see what happens.”

As soon as it was pointed out, Alhaitham could see it. He mentally kicked himself for not noticing it before, but he was also admittedly impressed. Kaveh’s mind worked in numericals, that he knew, but it was still enlightening to see it in practice.

“How late are you willing to stay tonight?” Alhaitham asked, his eyes skimming Kaveh’s notes with feverish intent.

“For you? I can stay all night.” Kaveh smiled salaciously, to which Alhaitham shook his head in annoyance. Kaveh dropped the joke with a laugh and squared his shoulders. “Let’s get this done.”

-

They worked until the early hours of the morning, their papers strewn over every couch and table. They’d had four pots of tea between them, and their dishes were piled in the kitchen, ignored until they could spare a moment to put them away. Alhaitham watched as Kaveh scrawled out a line and erased it, three times over.

“It’s late,” Alhaitham said, and Kaveh yawned in response.

“It’s early-,” Kaveh said. “I’m on a roll.”

He was seated on the floor, hunched over the low table where he was comparing lines of code and the ancient script, trying to decipher the purpose of it. He had changed into the comfortable clothes he kept at Alhaitham’s house, and he looked two blinks away from sleep.

“If only we had a working mechanical core to run this through, and then we could see what the function is without all this…” Kaveh rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. “Work.”

“We won’t finish tonight.” Alhaitham closed his own notes. Their last few hours of decoding had completed more than he’d gotten done in a week, and he felt simultaneously refreshed and exhausted. Kaveh ignored him and started another line. “Besides, I completed my end of the deal from,” Alhaitham checked the time on his akasha, “yesterday.”

Kaveh’s pen stopped. “What deal?” He looked up bleary-eyed, like a kitten seeing the world for the first time.

“You know how to fence and yet you neglected to mention it,” Alhaitham said, leaning back against the couch. He could have used another cup of coffee. “Despite the fact I’m taking classes and often practice in my spare time, which you’re well aware of.”

“Since when has it been pertinent to get to know each other?” Kaveh put his pen down and crossed his arms. “You’ve never been interested in me before.” His defensive stance was like a flare, signaling to Alhaitham that there was something hiding behind the obfuscation.

“I’ve had a change of heart,” Alhaitham argued, and Kaveh scoffed.

“No, you’re nosy. And conceited. Did you just now notice that I have a life beyond you, Alhaitham?” Kaveh glared at him.

Alhaitham hadn’t just noticed. He had been noticing, consistently, for a few weeks at least.

“Being disagreeable won’t dissuade me from asking. Do you know how to fight?” Alhaitham cocked his head, his mental fog clearing from their verbal chess game.

“I fight with you all the time,” Kaveh joked back, then he sniffed. “And I know many things.” A careful non-answer.

“Clearly. Why are you in my house, Kaveh?” Alhaitham hadn’t asked when he’d arrived, as he’d been too preoccupied with their research. Knowing Kaveh, he could probably shock him out of his vague answers with a taunt.

“Ugh,” Kaveh started. “I’ve recruited some partners for the project.”

That wasn’t the reply Alhaitham had been expecting, but it was certainly a servicebly explosive topic. He could work with that. His annoyance was barely feigned. “Partners? We agreed-”

Kaveh put up a hand. “On interns. I know. But I would feel awful if-”

“This is our research Kaveh, our work. You want to let-”

“Interns or partners, they would be just as integral to the project-”

“This is so typical of you. Put a tourniquet on your heart and get some sense.” Alhaitham leaned forward, wide awake now.

Kaveh looked blankly at him, letting the silence punctuate his raised eyebrow. “I bet you’re pleased with how clever you just sounded. What book did you steal that line from, hm?”

Alhaitham had been a little pleased, and it stung to hear it pointed out. He changed the subject.

“You talked about your father in the past tense.” Alhaitham shot back, and his comment had the intended effect.

Kaveh’s eyes darkened. “Firstly, that isn’t what we are talking about. Secondly, that’s because he’s dead, and that information is readily available on the Akasha with a simple search.” Kaveh cleared his throat. “Why do you insist on being so cruel when you’re angry?”

Alhaitham shook his head. “How am I cruel?”

“How is asking about my dead father when we are arguing ‘cruel’?” Kaveh asked rhetorically, laughing in the sad bitter way he sometimes did. “You must lack a single empathetic bone Alhaitham, or else you would know death isn’t something one can-”

“My parents are dead,” Alhaitham interjected.

Kaveh recoiled, as if his hand had been smacked. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, with no trace of sarcasm in his voice.

“I only meant to connect on the topic.” Alhaitham said casually, and he stretched his arms above his head. He had thought that finding common ground would dissolve their argument, or at least derail it. He didn’t want to talk about adding people to their project with less than enough sleep and a week's worth of frustration still hanging over him. Plus, now Kaveh was disarmed.

“Like it’s simply smalltalk…?” Kaveh said to himself, shaking his head. “If you weren’t a genius I’d truly wonder how you made it this far, Alhaitham. Are you doing this on purpose?” Kaveh’s eyes were narrowed again.

Alhaitham ignored the barb, and the accusation. “So you fence.” There was blood in the water, and Alhaitham could taste it.

“Fine. Interrogation time, then.” Kaveh let go of his carefully curated mask, and his posture changed slightly. The curve of his shoulders was slightly more tired, and his head seemed heavier. “I fenced. For twelve years, before I broke a few bones.” He shook out his right arm, as if to blame it.

“And after?”

Kaveh frowned, his eyes flashing. “It was three compound fractures in my right arm and a break in my left femur.”

Alhaitham cringed. “Ah. No, then. What happened?” Alhaitham had only known about the event vaguely. He'd seen how Kaveh favored his right arm, and he’d noticed the pale mess of a scar there. They’d talked about it briefly, but Kaveh had worn his usual noncommittal smile and brushed it off. Alhiaitham hadn’t realized it had been so extreme. Now that Kaveh’s tells were more obvious– the way his eyes dimmed and how he held his feelings on it so close to his chest– Alhaitham couldn’t miss the way it clearly ate at him.

“An accident, obviously. I got caught in a landslide during a research project, when I was fifteen. I was trapped with a team of students for who knows how long. It was right after my mother moved back to Fontaine, actually.” Kaveh shifted, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“So your mother is originally from Fontaine.”

Kaveh nodded. “Born and raised. Though most say that’s obvious,” Kaveh gestured to himself. “Everyone says we're very alike.”

“You don’t seem pleased by that.” Alhaitham was cataloging information, storing away every minute change in Kaveh’s expression. It was rare he was so candid, and Alhaitham wanted to keep him like this- cagey and hurt and real. It was so much better than any facade.

“It’s complicated,” Kaveh shrugged. “And it’s four in the morning. Nothing is real this early.”

Alhaitham nodded. This line of questioning was far more intimate than they had been thus far. Usually, they would stick to casual conversation, or even just research topics. A little more than a month of practically living together had garnered them some comfortability, but that wasn’t the same as true knowledge. That wasn’t the same as secrets shared in the early morning, as confiding and trusting. Alhaitham was high on it.

“What do you think of your father?” Alhaitham asked.

Kaveh leaned his head back against the settee behind him. “He was so kind,” he said. “I miss him.”

“You must be at least a bit like him, then.” Alhaitham said, leaning back. His eyes traced down Kaveh’s neck, to where his loose shirt revealed his collar bone. He watched as Kaveh’s breath hitched.

“What?” Kaveh raised his head to send a questioning glance towards Alhaitham. “You think I’m kind?”

“To your own detriment,” Alhaitham conceded.

Kaveh laughed. “Hai, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but sometimes I don’t know if I like you.” His statement was laced with truth, but Alhaitham was struggling to unify the assertion with Kaveh’s bright smile, with the fondness lingering in his eyes.

“You don’t have to like me,” Alhaitham said, but the claim rattled in his chest with accusatory dishonesty. Foolishly, he needed Kaveh to like him, but he choked down that knowledge.

Alhaitham stood, suddenly overwhelmingly warm and more tired than he’d been only moments before. “We can discuss the internship opportunities after we get some sleep.”

Kaveh nodded, shaking his blase guise back into place. “I hope your inquisition was fruitful. Next time you’ll get the hot seat.”

Alhaitham rolled his eyes. “Go to bed,” he said, before he closed the door to his room and separated them with a sturdy wall and a few hours of much-needed sleep.

-

Samiya stood over the desk, one hand on her hip and the other a fist on the tabletop. She was lording over Alhaitham, her eyes a bright flare despite their deep brown color. Her hair was militaristically braided down the side of her head, making her look sharper than usual.

“I’ve already told you I’m the best for the job,” she said, and Alhaitham could see Kaveh in his peripheral vision, putting his head in his hands.

Despite much contention, they’d finally come to an agreement on adding additional people to their team. It took a few days of bickering, but Alhaitham was confident he had gotten the upper hand in the end. Interns would be hired with the assumption that if they contributed more than their relative weight in the research, they would be listed as coauthors. That meant that an intern would have to pull more than their load, and in the case someone dropped the project, that work would be shifted to the remaining interns, increasing their co-authorship requirement. Kaveh wasn’t entirely pleased with the outcome, but the positions were paid, and it would be a good resume buffer at the very least.

“You are certainly hirable. As I’ve mentioned before, your application will be looked over and-” Alhaitham was cut off by her aggressive snarl.

“Not hiring me is a mistake you won’t recover from,” she said, and she stood with more confidence than Alhaitham had ever seen on a reasonable person. He was beginning to get frustrated with her attitude.

“Your temper, for one, is a liability-” he began, but she stopped him again.

“Don’t give me that. Your team consists of kiss-asses. You’ll need someone to ground you,” she insisted. “I’m fourth in my Darshan and I’ll be more honest with you than any of the other fools you’re considering.”

Alhaitham smirked a little about her being fourth in the class. He had personally bumped her down a spot in her own Darshan the quarter before, and he hadn’t even realized.

“Samiya.” Kaveh put his hands on the table and stood to match her height, in a valiant attempt to extinguish the sparks of strife in the room. “You’ve made yourself clear. As one of my valued peers, you will be given the same opportunity as anyone else.”

Her gaze finally snapped to Kaveh, and she relaxed a fraction. “I trust you, Kaveh, but-” she gestured to Alhaitham, who was still sitting, his arms crossed.

Kaveh simply shrugged. “I’ll be the one to make the final call. You’re dismissed.”

In a rare show of intelligence, Samiya held her tongue. She took a final glance between them, then walked herself out and shut the door behind her.

Kaveh slumped back into his chair the moment she was gone. “What is wrong with you both,” Kaveh asked, his hand gesturing towards the door. “Even if life was a competition, which it is not, you’re both falling behind with how elementary this rivalry is.”

“I didn’t do anything to her,” Alhaitham argued. To his knowledge, he truly hadn’t. He tended to ignore everyone who might cross paths with him, she was not especially different in that respect. But her behavior reeked of a smite of the highest degree. He had chalked it up to her own irrational jealousy.

“Regardless, I think we should bring her on.” Kaveh shook himself, like a diver preparing to make a jump.

“After that display?” Alhaitham scoffed. “She’ll only cause trouble.”

“Then she’ll be competing with you for the years that you’ll both take off my life.” Kaveh’s mind was ticking in the mechanical way it did, and Alhaitham could see it in the way he chewed his bottom lip.

Ultimately, Alhaitham didn’t care. He’d approach her with the same indifference as always. As the senior on the project, Kaveh wasn’t incorrect when he said he would make the final call, and thus it wouldn’t serve them to argue about it more.

Alhaitham collected his things and left the hall, leaving Kaveh behind.

-

Kaveh sat down beside him, two parfaits in his hands. He shoved one towards Alhaitham, who put down his book to take the peace offering.

They hadn’t spoken since Kaveh had given him the list of their hired interns, but Alhaitham had been coming to their table at the Puspa cafe at the same time every day, just in case Kaveh deigned to break the glass of their silence.

Apparently the olive branch was shaped like sweet layered cream. Alhaitham ate a bite.

“I’m calling in my round of questions,” Kaveh said, licking the back of his spoon.

Alhaitham turned towards him and raised an eyebrow. “Fine,” he said.

“Why are you so stubborn?” Kaveh asked.

“Because I am often right, and people underestimate me. Difference is seen as weakness.” Alhaitham’s answers were more or less borrowed from his grandmother, whose words were the only ones that ever felt comforting when he was lonely and small.

“Whose house do you live in?” Kaveh asked next. His eyes were searching Alhaitham’s face, as if he was trying to find the answers written there.

“Mine,” Alhaitham said. “Why is it important?”

They were in a secluded enough corner that he was confident nobody would hear them, but the question still tugged uncomfortably in his chest.

“Because it’s something I don’t know. Who built it?” Kaveh traced the rim of his parfait with a finger.

“My grandfather.” Alhaitham rolled his eyes, “Is this really-”

“Ah, it’s my turn for questions, Hai,” Kaveh interrupted. “Why are you upset?”

Alhaitham contemplated the question for a long moment. Around them, the cheerful music of the cafe swelled. He chose his words carefully. “You say that we’re partners, but you ignored my wishes on who to hire, and you continue to undermine me regardless of how important I am to this project.”

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention,” Kaveh said, his hands twisted. “I-” Kaveh lost his words, and he seemed dangerously close to saying something that would break their gentle conversation. Alhaitham decided to save him from that fate.

“This is a relatively good parfait.” Alhaitham ate another bite. “But my grandmother made a better one. I’ll make it next week, so you can try it.”

“Your grandmother?” Kaveh asked, his head tilted.

“Mm, she raised-” Alhaitham started, then stopped dead. He’d given up more than he wanted to share, and Kaveh knew it.

Kaveh smiled, his eyes sparkling. “I can’t wait to try it then.”

-

In June, Alhaitham and Kaveh had agreed that doing some hands-on investigation in the desert would benefit their project.

They packed up all the necessary materials and left two weeks into the month, intending on finding some ancient ruins to map, some records not yet found, or in the best case scenario, an intact mechanical core that would be able to decipher the function of their lines of code.

They brought along two of their new interns.

Callahan was a few years older than them both, a charming man who always had snacks on-hand and a tune in his mouth. He swore often and loudly, but he was studious and quite knowledgeable on desert flora and fauna.

Dounia was quick to laugh and driven, a powerhouse of integrity and charisma. She wore her hair in a long brown plait down her back, and she had immaculate skill with puzzles.

Alhaitham had insisted that they would be fine on their own, but Kaveh had been equally insistent on bringing someone along, in case of an emergency. So far, they had been nothing but noisy.

“No, no, it was so funny! She wrote it all out on the board, all ten lines, in an entirely different language- oh!” Dounia held her sides as she walked, her laughter echoing off the high stone walls of the Valley of Dahri.

“What did you all do?” Kaveh incredulously asked, wearing a smile that Alhaitham had rarely seen.

“What do you think? We looked it up and started copying it in the Watatsumi dialect!” Dounia howled, and both Kaveh and Callahan chuckled along, their spirits high. It was refreshingly cool in the Valley, but they wouldn’t be staying there for long.

“We’ll camp by the Sobek Oasis tonight, we’re only three hours south of it,” Alhaitham said, to Kaveh and nobody else.

Callahan didn’t seem to understand the concept of a private conversation. “What was that?” he asked, as he looked up from his small leather-bound notebook and adjusted his spectacles.

“Sobek Oasis,” Kaveh said louder, so that everyone could hear. “From what I understand, it’s the last time we’ll be seeing water for a while.”

It was true. They rested that night at the Oasis, and then began the long trek through the western-most sands, starting from the Dune of Magma and working their way northward.

With every passing day, the boredom crept deeper into everyone’s minds.

“I think we’re due for an excursion,” Kaveh said, lacing the ties of his heavy duty boots. It had been two and a half weeks of sand, ruins, and more sand.

“We have work to do here,” Alhaitham replied, and Dounia groaned. It was still early morning, but the desert heat was creeping up on them with every minute.

“All who vote for an adventure, say ‘aye.’” She raised a slim hand.

“Aye,” Callahan said, emptying his own boot, which had become filled with sand. After two weeks of living, breathing, bathing and eating in the desert, it was hard to find a place the sand hadn’t infiltrated.

“Three against one,” Kaveh said, and Alhaitham scoffed, but he shouldered his pack and canteen regardless.

In two quick hours, they had found themselves in the remains of an ancient village. The foundations of some of the buildings were intact, but most of them had been ripped from their original plots by the ever-moving nature of the sands. Beneath them, the gaping maw of a cave-in could be seen. Two of the buildings were nearly intact, but they rested tens of feet below them.

“Sand Grease Pupa,” Callahan said, rubbing at a dark spot in the sand beside the hole. With a few gentle strokes, he revealed the seemingly inanimate bug. “We should watch for-”

Before he could finish, the ground began to shake.

“Nobody move,” Alhaitham commanded, holding his hands out as if to steady the ground himself. The group froze.

“Wenut,” Callahan finished, his voice unsteady. “If we stand on one of the foundations, it’s not likely to try and attack us from below.”

Alhaitham nodded, and they all edged towards one of the dilapidated buildings. Dounia crouched on a wall, Kaveh beside her. Alhaitham and Callahan shared a few bricks of what seemed to have been a raised dais.

Along the edge of the dais was an unfamiliar script, and Alhaitham itched to take an etching of it. He didn’t risk moving.

“Alhaitham…” Kaveh’s eyes were bright and fiery. Alhaitham could read exactly what he was trying to convey. They needed to go down to see what was in those intact buildings. It was a suicide mission, but if there was anything to be found, it would be down there.

“Do you have rope?” He asked, and Kaveh nodded. “Enough rope?” He asked, and Kaveh shrugged.

“What? No! You’re both insane!” Callahan started pacing, then stopped abruptly. He brought his voice down a few notches. “There’s a full Wenut down there, it’s too-”

“Desert dwellers slay Wenut-” Alhaitham started, but Callahan stopped him, his hand nervously messing with his glasses.

“With enough lethal poison to kill twenty people and with skill from centuries of coexisting. I’m not going down there,” Callahan argued, crossing his arms. Above them, a solitary caw from a red vulture seemed to punctuate Callahan's words.

“Then you can watch the rope,” Alhaitham said.

“Dounia?” Kaveh asked, turning towards the girl, and she hesitated.

“I’m not sure…” Her eyes were tracking back and forth between Alhaitham, who was getting ready to jump off the dias, and Callahan, who had sat himself down with unmovable resolution.

“We might need your help if there are any puzzles,” Kaveh bribed, his hand outstretched.

Alhaitham disagreed, but that seemed to light some competitive spark in Dounia’s eyes.

“Fine, then,” she agreed, and she squared her shoulders. Beneath their readied feet, the sand crushed against stone- a grating, ominous noise.

Within an instant, they had tied a rope off onto one of the bricks near Callahan, and they began to rappel down. Alhaitham took the lead, landing with his feet solidly on the dusty floor of the cavern. Fifteen meters above him, Dounia began to descend, and he watched until she was only a few inches from the ground.

To their right, directly beneath the hole they had entered from, where the two buildings. To their left, the cavern stretched wide, the innermost parts of it darker than any human could see into. Somewhere down there, a beast was lurking.

Once Dounia was down, and only Kaveh was left sliding down the rope, Alhaitham turned towards the two buildings. Both of them were made of the same dusty sandstone, but their styles were uniquely different.

The first was larger, with a grand entrance that was, when he tested it, tightly locked. The edges of the building were beveled and smoothed, the stone fit together as though completed by a supernatural hand. There were four torches near the entrance, and a scrawl above the door. This time, the language was eligible.

“First the stone, then the thunder, first the wind, then the sands,” he read, and Dounia nodded, her hand to her chin.

“I’ll figure it out, you go to the other one,” she said, pointing to the smaller building.

The other building was much smaller, more like a hallway than a home. Along the high walls were open gaps where windows may have been, hundreds of years in the past. The door was wide open, and inside were benches lining the space, like pews in a Mondstat church. In the center of the building, the roof opened up, and below the gap was a large fountain.

It looked like a hilichurl had camped there recently, leaving hair, bones and the memory of a campfire in the center aisle. On either side of the building, large troughs of sand were filled, unmoving. It was modest, and dusty, and dark.

When he turned to leave, he noticed another inscription over the door, which he quickly copied. The first part was illegible, but the second was clear.

“May it be constant,” it said, “like the rivers of time.”

When he met back up with Kaveh and Dounia, they were lighting the torches with a small piece of flint.

“Then that one, on the middle right,” Dounia said, her voice low, and Kaveh moved towards the torch and struck his flint, lighting it. His pants were coated in dust and soot.

“Then the final one.” Dounia pointed, and Kaveh repeated his action, and the solid stone doors creaked open, shaking dust down from the pit they entered in. In the distance, the Wenut groaned. “That can’t be good,” Dounia said, but she looked pleased with herself. “Let’s hurry.”

Alhaitham took the lead again, poking his head into rooms and cataloging everything he saw. It was mostly dust, but there were some bowls on tables, and some metal tools that seemed broken and discarded. He found a bookcase in one room, but the paper inside them was all eaten away, leaving the leather spines empty and faded. He nearly left empty-handed, but there was a small notebook by the door.

It was in the same language as was on the buildings, except for a few pages- which were written in the same script as his mystery code. He pocketed the journal.

In the hall, he found Kaveh sketching, his eyes focussed. He was biting his lip in absent-minded concentration.

“What are you doing?” He asked, and Kaveh startled.

“I was just,” he said, waving his pen around at the ceiling, then he shrugged, his inspired gleam fading. “It’s nothing.”

There was dust caught in Kaveh’s hair, and more was floating down through the sparse rays of light from the gash in the earth above them, barely visible through a sand-caked window-it’s glass somehow still intact. A quick glance at the sketch in Kaveh’s hand showed Alhaitham a perfect kamera quality image, as if Kaveh himself were a machine that could replicate any visual with an instant. Kaveh turned his hand to hide his work.

“I-” Kaveh spoke, but he was cut off by a scream.

Their breath caught at the same time, and they both turned down the corridor, bolting towards the noise.

In a dark room close to the entrance of the building, they found Daunia cornered by a large machine.

It was somehow floating slightly above the ground, its triangular shape bordered in more strange icons. Parts of it glowed mysteriously, but not with any elemental energy Alhaitham was familiar with. It moved as if invisible strings were holding it together, every part interconnected but with no clear reason to be.

It had trapped Dounia against the wall, leaving little room to escape. Dounia was terrified, her face streaked with dirt, and she was holding her notebook to her chest like a lifeline, frozen in fear. The ground was shaking again, as if the Wenut had felt Dounia’s scream through the rock.

The machine whirred, as if to charge some mechanism within it, and both Alhaitham and Kaveh jumped into action.

Kaveh whistled, which caused the machine to turn slightly toward him, and Alhaitham grabbed for Dounia’s arm, feeling the rough cotton of her sleeve beneath his dry hand. As soon as Alhaitham made contact, they were running out of the building, their feet kicking up clouds of dust as they went. They passed two more empty, unchecked rooms before they cleared the main entrance, and then they were out, Kaveh’s feet pounding behind them.

The rope was in sight when the machine fired its first shot.

It missed, the beam of heat firing directly into the cavern beyond, to where the Wenut lay in wait.

“Hai-” Kaveh grabbed at him, panting, and Alhaitham could read through his eyes again, like a book made just for him. There was a core in that machine– one that might be able to-

Another shot was fired, this time hitting a mark. Dounia cried out, a slash on the outside of her calf swelling with dark blood, painting her tan pants black in the low light. Her leg gave out, and Alhaitham caught her on his arm.

She covered her mouth with a dirty hand, her eyes wide and watery. “Sorry,” she whispered, but the damage was done.

In the distance, the Wenut roared. Dust shook down from the entrance above.

“There’s no time,” he said, tying the injured Dounia to his side. His hands were already burning from the coarse rope.

“I’ll stay, I’ll hide and wait-” Kaveh started, but Alhaitham just pushed him towards the rope.

“Climb,” he ordered, and Kaveh hesitated only for a moment, looking between Dounia and the machine behind them, which was getting ready to fire again. He took the rope and started up.

Callahan was peering over the edge above him, a dark blur that was backlit by the midday sun. His hands were on the rope, as if to drag them all back to safety.

Alhaitham ignored the strain in his arms, the way the rope rubbed his hands raw, the blisters that formed and broke as he continued to put one hand over the other. It felt like ages that he was climbing, his hands slipping with sweat and his heart racing with adrenaline. Dounia clung to him, but she was blessedly still and silent. Inch by inch, he progressed up the rope.

When they reached the top of the pit, Alhaitham’s hands were bloody and torn. Above them, Callahan stood biting his fingernails, his eyes wild. He dragged each of them up and onto the stone dais with a concerned fervor.

Once everyone's feet were on solid ground, they all stood frozen, waiting to see if the Wenut would come. The ground rumbled, then stopped.

When it started again, it was much worse than before. Dounia fell to her knees, Kaveh grabbed his arm for stability, and all of them peered over the edge of the pit, watching the perfect untouched buildings. After a moment of intense quakes, they saw it.

Below, a spear-like, armored head came barreling towards the buildings, faster than anything they had yet seen in the desert. Instantly, the worm creature carved through the stone and brick, its body releasing traces of anemo energy into the sand, destroying everything in its path. The group watched, holding their breath, as another relic of a by-gone age was turned to dust.

The worm carved its way into another dark cavern of the earth, and the tremors slowly faded away.

Compared to the twilight-esque darkness from below, the sun reflecting off the sand was harsh against his eyes, and Alhaitham squinted against it.

“Are you alright?” Kaveh asked, and he watched as Kaveh tore a strip of fabric from his light cotton shirt and tied around Dounia’s bleeding leg.

She shrugged, her cheeks streaked with tears. “Could be worse,” she said, but her voice was still trembling.

“Is it too tight?”

She shook her head.

“Did you find anything?” Kaveh added, and she repeated her action.

“Foolish, childish, reckless,” Callahan murmured. His hair was in disarray, as if he had been pulling at the sides of it while they were gone. “More trouble than you’re worth.” He kicked up sand as he paced.

Alhaitham used a sparse amount of water to rinse the blood off of his hands. If Dounia hadn't been there, maybe they could have found something useful. Maybe they could have-

“Thank you,” Kaveh surprised him, his hand on Alhaitham’s arm bringing him back from his rushing thoughts. They were both shaking. “For carrying Dounia,” he said, but Alhaitham caught that look again, the one he could read like his mother tongue. They both would have chosen to stay down there, for the sake of their research. They both could have chosen that end.

-

After limping back to their camp, bruised and empty-handed, they settled down for another meager dinner of dried meats and hard cheese.

Until then, their little team had been jovial at supper, all but Alhaitham sitting close together by the fire, airy and optimistic. Kaveh had brought along an oud, and he would often play light tunes from memory, illuminated by only flame and starlight. Sometimes Dounia would make puzzles for them to solve, and Kaveh would occasionally draw in the sand. Callahan often told frightening stories of dragons and far-away lands. Alhaitham always sat with his back to them, his book in hand.

That night, there were no stories. No music. No puzzles. There was only a silent unease, and the subtle crush of sand against sand in the distance.

-

A few days later, the morning after Kaveh’s birthday, they woke to find Calahan and Dounia had gone.

They’d left a simple note, stating that the pace of the project was too advanced for them both. Dounia’s soft script had voiced she needed medicine for her leg. Callahan had mentioned that the situation was unlivable, as though Alhaitham and Kaveh hadn’t also been sleeping on the floor and eating emergency food packs for nearly a month right alongside them. Alhaitham had been indifferent to the matter, but Kaveh was remiss.

“Fuck it all,” Kaveh said, and he kicked a rock. Around them was nothing but golden sand and charmingly blue skies.

They had been in the true desert for three weeks, deep into the heart of summer, and it was overwhelmingly hot. Sweat beaded and rolled down Kaveh’s temple, and Alhaitham watched its gentle journey.

“Why can’t you be normal?” Kaveh shook his head, and golden dust fell out of his hair with the motion. It was unclear if he was speaking to Alhaitham, or himself.

“Mm,” Alhaitham replied, ignoring his tantrum. This was bound to happen at some point. They had been at their limit emotionally for a few days at least, and Alhaitham could feel his nerves fraying more and more by the day, weathered by the unfaltering sands.

“We should have turned back, they should have told me…” Kaveh was spiraling, kicking up more dust as he paced back and forth.

“Perhaps they didn’t like how jaded you’ve become with age,” Alhaitham forced himself to swallow his stale bread, despite the fact that it was covered in crunchy sand. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard as he chewed.

“Ha.” Kaveh said, finally sitting. He’d spent his birthday, the day before, studying maps and runes rather than celebrating, and he looked more tired than Alhaitham had ever seen him. Dark freckles were standing out on his nose and the apples of his cheeks, matching the dark circles underneath his eyes from their forced nocturnal lifestyle. Kaveh fell backwards dramatically, his arms splayed out beside him. “I’m a bad leader,” he said, his face to the sky.

“Survival of the fittest,” Alhaitham replied, and Kaveh choked on his broken laughter.

“Shut up.” Kaveh wiped at his face with the back of his hand, and when he sat up again his eyes were red-rimmed. “I’m tired of this heat.”

Alhaitham looked at him for a long moment. They’d made it farther than he thought they would, when they’d left three weeks before. Kaveh had been able to map out two ruins on their way, and they’d found four new runes that had been previously undocumented. The close shave from a few days before notwithstanding, they’d been doing spectacularly.

“Me too,” Alhaitham said. If he thought about it, he could definitely imagine how nice his own bed might feel, and he missed fresh running water more than he was willing to admit.

Kaveh looked at him sharply. “You’re never tired,” he said.
“I never say I am,” Alhaitham countered. “What does saying it help with? You can’t fix my exhaustion. When I’m tired, I either push through or I sleep.” Alhaitham fiddled with his pack, still uncomfortable with the shift in its weight. He had reorganized it, putting a new book at the top and shoving his finished one to the bottom, and it still felt strange.

Kaveh shook his head. “It’s for camaraderie, or for socializing. For connection.”

“It’s unnecessary,” Alhaitham said. He hadn’t been upset about the defection this morning, but Kaveh’s reaction made his chest feel uncomfortably heavy. Another glance at the map told him they were fifteen miles south of a freshwater spring, and he circled it in graphite.

“I think the entirety of Vahumana would disagree with you,” Kaveh said, but he was smiling gently, as though Alhaitham’s predictable answer had cheered him.

They packed up once the heat of the day had passed and headed onwards, their numbers reduced by half. Kaveh hadn’t even asked where they were going, his head still hanging low with the weight of his own failures.

They arrived at the spring at dawn, and Kaveh’s eyes glistened when he saw the crystal clear stream. Around the border of it, there were little red flowers- the first nonlethal living thing they had seen in a few days. A quick Akasha search told Alhaitham the flowers were a type of desert poppy, and he mentioned as much to Kaveh.

“What are we doing here?” Kaveh asked, setting down his massive pack and stepping into the water with a look of awe on his sunburnt face.

“Refilling canteens.” Alhaitham didn’t know why he was lying. They had enough water for another three days at least. But he’d known they needed to see something hopeful, something different than neverending sand and the destitute remains of a long-gone civilization.

Kaveh stood in the cool spring, the base of his palms shoved into his eyes. He hadn’t taken off his clothes before walking into the water, and his pants were soaked up to his mid-calf. On the horizon, the sun was peeking over the dunes, painting the sky pink and orange. It reflected softly onto the water, and Alhaitham sat down on the bank to watch the colors shift.

They spent the day by the spring, cleaning their clothes and resting in the company of water- a rare and precious resource. At midday, Kaveh took a nap in one of the patches of flowers, making himself a blur of gold in the sea of red. Alhaitham sat beside him and read his book.

When evening began to settle over them, they harvested ajilenakh nuts and roasted them over the fire. Their flesh was soft and earthy, and the fresh warm food was a welcome change compared to salted meats and stale grain. A cool breeze, the setting sun, and warm food had calmed their spirits.

Kaveh strummed lazily on the oud when he was finished eating. He wasn’t half bad, in Alhaitham’s opinion. He remembered how Kaveh laughed and teased their interns, before they left. How their easy camaraderie was shared with their dinner and music, their honest questions and games. It seemed an impossible task, to try and replicate the joy that Kaveh had shared with the others now, alone in the shade of dusk.

He tried anyway.

“Where did you learn to play?” Alhaitham asked, and Kaveh looked at him with disbelief.

“What?” He responded, then he shook his head. “My mother taught me.”

“Faranak,” Alhaitham clarified, though he knew the answer already. Just because he hadn’t participated in the chatter of ‘getting to know each other,’ didn’t mean that he wasn’t listening.

“Yes, that’s-” Kaveh started, confused, then he glared. “I can never tell when you’re paying attention with those headphones on.”

Above them, the moon was a scythe in the sky, and it cut a glare across the water.

Alhaitham shrugged. “Best assume I’m always aware, then.” He offered a hand, and Kaveh passed him the instrument. He plucked absently at the strings, only knowing what to do by virtue of watching Kaveh. He scrunched his nose when a note fell flat.

“Did you hear all the shit we talked about you?” Kaveh tilted his chin. It was stubbly, a fact which he’d voiced multiple times on the trip was not a choice of his own. Pocket knives were not proven to be entirely effective razors.

Alhaitham rubbed his knuckles along his own jaw, feeling the scratch on his skin. He tapped his ear, feigning seriousness. “What was that? You were muted,” he joked, and Kaveh laughed.

It was a brilliant sound, and it brought heat to Alhaitham’s face. What he’d heard from the whispers of the interns behind his back was nothing worse than what he’d heard his whole life. They’d thought him strange, and quiet, and occasionally abrasive. His pride wasn’t so bruised.

“We could always turn back,” Alhaitham said, once Kaveh’s laughter had died down, leaving silence in its wake.

“No,” Kaveh said, his voice resolute despite being sadness-soaked and rough. “We’re having too good a time.”

Alhaitham knew he wouldn’t want to leave. They still had work to do, and opportunities to find. Two more weeks with only each other wouldn’t be the most unbearable thing.

Already, it felt less strange than it seemed. They ate at the same time, breaking bread and sharing their vision for each day. Their team worked as smoothly as it had when they were in class together, always moving at the same pace and picking up the slack of the other. When Kaveh worked through the night, Alhaitham brought him food and water. When Alhaitham’s thoughts became cyclical and jaded, Kaveh dragged him back out of his mind. They were two halves of a determined, knowledge-thirsty machine.

Now, with only each other, it was clear why it had seemed as though they were running miles ahead of anyone else. It was clear that they spoke in tones nobody else could hear.

That night, they slept side by side, only an arms length away. The stars cascaded down around them, and Alhaitham felt the seed of something terrifying root beneath his breastbone.

Before the first light had struck the sky they woke and packed, ready to start again towards their pursuit of truth. As they left the small oasis, Alhaitham’s feet stopped, driven by something instinctual. He turned back, took one of the sweet red flowers from beside the water, and pressed it into the back of the book he had been reading. Then, they hurried on.

Chapter Text

Two weeks into August, they arrived back home. The last half of the month was a flash of rushed paperwork, condensed findings, and late nights, all of which Kaveh and Alhaitham handled in tandem. It was an odd night if Kaveh wasn’t in Alhaitham’s house, whistling, ranting, or banging around in his unofficial room. He would often speak as though nobody was listening, moreso to himself than anyone around him, telling silly stories or discussing his own morals, saying he–

“-can’t stand working in the vicinity of someone who would choose their own life over someone else's.” Kaveh was chopping herbs with only a little less bravado than he was using to tell his story. “In any case, I have a feeling Samiya told Farhad about what I said, since neither of them have- Are you listening?”

“I’m listening,” Alhaitham replied, poking the meat he was searing with the end of his wooden spatula. It sizzled.

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” Kaveh asked, his face tilted up to glare at him through long blond lashes. They caught the light from the lantern above, shining brightly.

“You are making noise, and I can hear it,” Alhaitham replied. He had, truly, been listening. Given the current state of their project, he was intent on soaking up any and all information on their interns.

After being gone all summer, they had come back to find their numbers greatly reduced, now sitting at the low number of three, excluding Kaveh and Alhaitham themselves. Samiya had somehow stuck around, along with a quiet girl of the Vahumana Darshan named Michiko, and an overly-cautious Spantamad researcher named Farhad. Their time working together while Alhaitham and Kaveh were in the field had made a miniature family of them, and the Alhaitham and Kaveh had found themselves rather isolated upon their return.

Kaveh carried on, nonplussed. “I wouldn’t talk to you so much, except I’m sure you’d appreciate my silence so much more,” Kaveh said, gesturing with the knife. “You’re a real asshole.”

“Go home then,” Alhaitham replied, with more boredom in his tone than heat. They’d had this argument on a weekly basis. Since their work in the desert, something had shifted in their relationship. It was as if the sand had smoothed out their rough edges. They still argued, and disagreed, but it was the kind of arguing that came from knowing everything about someone else.

“No,” Kaveh said, using his clean hands to scoop up the herbs he had cut. “I can’t leave this food after working so hard on it.”

Alhaitham nodded sagely, trying his best not to laugh. Kaveh had a sharp kind of wit when he was annoyed, and it was often surprising, like a fish jumping out of still water. Refreshing.

Before they ate, Kaveh brought out a half-empty bottle of Arak. He delicately poured the liquor into two glasses filled with ice, and he topped them off with water, smiling as the liquid turned a milky white.

“A toast,” he said, handing one of the glasses to Alhaitham, who took it gently. “To the last six months, to being home, and to a new term.”

Alhaitham wasn’t one to drink, save for a spare sip of his grandmother’s wine as a child. He sniffed the liquor, and anise, herbs, and the sharpness of ethanol hit his nose. It smelled more like medicine than anything intoxicating. He watched as Kaveh tipped his head back, swallowing the milky liquor in a single gulp.

Alhaitham raised his own glass and sipped. The alcohol hit the back of his throat much harsher than he expected, and he choked. It didn’t taste like medicine at all, it tasted like liquid fire. He tried to stifle his coughing, but Kaveh had already seen it, his eyes glinting with mirth.

“Do you not drink?” He asked, his teeth white and shiny, his hand already pouring more of the alcohol into his own cup. “How could I have missed that?”

Kaveh looked so smug, his chin resting on his hand. He looked so leisurely, sitting at Alhaitham’s table and swirling his glass.

Alhaitham shook his head through his coughing.

“Aww, little Hai can’t handle his alcohol?” Kaveh cackled, and miraculously Alhaitham’s coughing ceased.

“Shut up,” Alhaitham said, his voice still rough. He took another sip, preparing more for it, and swallowed down a less measly mouthful, this time managing to not cough up a lung.

They sat down for dinner, Kaveh pouring the alcohol indiscriminately while they ate. By his second glass, Alhaitham was starting to feel a warmth in his jaw and forehead, as if he hadn’t slept enough.

“The meat is delicious,” Kaveh said, his smile wider than the moon. Alhaitham nodded, his eyes locked on Kaveh, who was filling the whole room with noise and life. He felt like he was looking through a camera lens, his whole world blurred and rosy in the low light.

For six years, his house had been silent. It had been his sole domain, his escape when the rest of the world was too loud, too stimulating, too difficult to understand. His days had been filled with the small music player in the corner, the sounds of wild birds, the scratch of his pen in his notebook or the brush of a turning page.

Now it was Kaveh’s laughter, the light streaming in through the windows, the colors splashed on all the surfaces. All his items strewn about that gave the place a new sense of self, a harmony it had been lacking. It was so different than only a half a year before, but Kaveh’s presence had grown like ivy through the home, making it feel like he had always been there.

Alhaitham was finding it hard to look away. He was finding it hard to want his peace back.

Kaveh’s hair was coming out of the hastily tied ribbon that held it back. Alhaitham’s hands burned with the want to touch it. He shook his head and began to eat, forcing his eyes to look anywhere but at Kaveh, which was hard when he continued to glint like gold in the lamplight. So eye-catching and easy.

“We should look over the notes from July first through the sixth again,” Alhaitham said, glancing at the journals he’d left on the table.

“Let’s not work tonight,” Kaveh replied, leaning back in his chair. “We can save it for tomorrow.”

Alhaitham wrote a note to himself and closed his book, nodding. After their summer, they deserved a break. They had gone into the desert to try and find any remnants of a device that ran on their code, but they had come back with maps, sketches, runes and multiple records that needed translating. It was a good haul, but it hadn’t pointed them in any specific direction, and it significantly increased their workload upon returning.

There was silence, and Kaveh nudged his food with his fork. He looked like he was gearing up to speak, and Alhaitham watched as his thoughts played over his face, like a movie in a language only Alhaitham could decode.

“What do you worry about?” Kaveh asked, tilting his head. He looked exactly like a dusk bird, all bright colors and inquisitive eyes.

“You asked last time,” Alhaitham said, remembering the apology in the cafe from months before, and Kaveh shrugged.

“Humor me.” Kaveh took another sip of his drink.

Alhaitham smiled softly. “I don’t believe in worries,” he said, giving the same canned excuse his grandmother would give him when he would tell her about his anxieties.

“Bullshit, pick something,” Kaveh replied, licking his bottom lip. His mouth was wet.

Alhaitham tore his eyes away. “I suppose I worry about what book I’m going to read next,” he said, sipping his drink. It didn’t taste like alcohol anymore. It was just like cold oversteeped tea, bitter and herbal.

Kaveh laughed. “And here I thought you were going to say something truthful,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. “Are you drunk?”

Alhaitham thought for a moment. He felt different, like his mind was numb, but not like he would say or do anything he would regret. “I don’t think so.” His fingers felt strange.

“Me neither,” Kaveh said. “Can I ask more questions?”

Alhaitham nodded, foolishly wanting to keep Kaveh’s eyes on him. His focus was like a scalpel, like a knife that dragged down Alhaitham’s chest.

“What’s your favorite book?”

His favorite book… It was probably something he read when he was young, one of the ones he went back to over and over.

“Have you read Shahnameh?” Alhaitham asked, and Kaveh laughed.

“The epic poem? With fairytales?” Kaveh asked. “As a kid and then for a class years ago. Is that your answer?”

“There’s this story about a prince who was raised by a chimera-like bird who knew everything,” Alhaitham said. “And she gifted him with three of her golden feathers, when he left to join the human world again.”

“The Simurgh?” Kaveh nodded. “I remember a little of it,” he said, proud of himself.

“Right. Well, my grandmother’s name was Huma. They’re different magical beings, but when I was young I thought she knew everything. She was like Simurgh, keeping me… keeping me. So that’s my favorite book.” Alhaitham swallowed. He poured himself more liquor, just to have something to sip.

“That’s,” Kaveh searched for an accurate word, “sort of sad.”

“You asked,” Alhaitham replied. He didn’t mention that he would give anything to have those three golden feathers, to ask for his grandmother’s help whenever he needed it most. He didn’t mention what he would give to just see her again.

When he stood to clear his plate, the world tilted. “Do you have more questions?” He didn’t care how much the world fell beneath his feet. He felt good.

“Sure. Why don’t you have any friends?” Kaveh picked his plate up too, and followed Alhaitham back to the kitchen. He hopped onto the counter as soon as his plate was dealt with.

“I do have friends.” Alhaitham poured water over their dishes, watching as their meal was cleaned away, as if it had never happened at all.

“Who?” Kaveh asked, and Alhaitham looked at him. With every glance he seemed to glow more and more, like a candle burning brighter with time.

“My neighbor Meilin, who I’ve known since I was young. I participate in her book club every week. And- what?” Alhaitham stopped, annoyed by the look of shock on Kaveh’s face. Their relationship was supposed to be a business transaction, and he hadn’t shared anything that was overwhelmingly unnecessary with Kaveh. What he did in his free time was largely unimportant.

“Who are you?” Kaveh asked, his cat-like smile widening.

“Nobody,” Alhaitham said, disregarding the rhetorical nature of Kaveh’s question. “I don’t need to be anybody.”

“You don’t want fame? Friendship? A million adoring fans?” Kaveh questioned, swinging his bare feet.

“Is that what you want?” Alhaitham skirted the question. All he wanted was peace, good food, good books, and a rainy morning that split into sunshine by noon, warm enough to laze around in and do nothing.

“I want people to know I’m a genius, and not let them guess the worst of me before I even open my mouth.” Kaveh crossed his arms, obviously meaning his statement as a jab at Alhaitham.

“Do people think the worst of me?” Alhaitham asked back, crossing his arms and leaning against the opposite counter. The tile beneath his feet was pleasantly cold.

“They’re not always the nicest,” Kaveh responded, pulling a face. “I don’t think people like that you take classes outside of your Darshan.”

“If they make a judgment on me that quickly, it’s a clear indicator that they’re not worth knowing.” Alhaitham shrugged. “If I worried about everyone who might not like me instantly, I’d have many more worries than I do now.” A cool breeze whipped through the house. It was perfect in the wake of their dry, dusty summer.

The lamps in the kitchen were dimmer than the dining area, gracing them with the shroud of intimacy that thrives in low lighting. Somehow, Kaveh caught every spare ray, in his hair, on the tip of his nose, in his questioning eyes. Everything seemed to glow.

“Don’t you care at all what people think?” Kaveh tilted his head again, exposing the curve of his shoulder, his amber skin a sharp contrast to the shadows behind him.

Generally, he didn’t. Generally, he didn’t consider other people worth his time. Generally, other people didn’t sit on his countertops and shine like a star and laugh with their head tilted back when he had simply made a casual statement. Generally they didn’t commandeer his home and life, and take him on whirlwind research projects through dangerous places, and read his mind, and bring him coffee. So no, he didn’t generally care.

“What do you think?” Alhaitham asked. Kaveh’s hair was even looser now, the golden strands of it falling into his face. Tragically out of place.

“I think you must care a little-”

“No. What do you think of me,” Alhaitham asked, rolling his shoulders back.

“What?” Kaveh’s face was the picture of shock, his amber eyes wide and glowing.

Alhaitham stepped forward and reached out, finally brushing away the strand of hair that had broken free of its tie. Its disarray had been an annoyance. He kept his hand there, lingering long after the hair was back where it belonged.

Kaveh leaned into him. He was so much warmer than Alhaitham had expected. His thighs were pressed to Kaveh’s knees, his fingers pushing back Kaveh’s blond hair, Kaveh’s breath on his neck. Alhaitham couldn’t tear his eyes away from Kaveh’s mouth, no matter how hard he tried.

“I think,” Kaveh started, then swallowed, his hand raising to touch Alhaitham’s wrist. “I think you’re-”

His eyes were half closed, and his face was leaning into Alhaitham’s palm. Alhaitham saw every freckle on his skin, every hair and every eyelash, all bright and overwhelming and beautiful.

And then Kaveh opened his eyes.

It was like getting struck with lightning, the liquid gold accusatory and shocking to Alhaitham’s senses. They were suddenly far too close, and Alhaitham stepped back quickly, his hand still burning from the contact. Nausea that had felt like only a playful rocking before suddenly came crashing down on him, and the anxiety of doing something very irresponsible rose to meet it in his chest. His hip bumped the cold countertop as he stumbled backwards, and it sent a shocked shiver through him.

“I think I’m drunk,” Kaveh said, laughing, his hand rubbing at his eye, oblivious to the storm raging inside Alhaitham.

Alhaitham nodded, his breath catching in his lungs. “Stay the night,” he said. “That room’s practically yours anyways.”

With that, Alhaitham walked briskly to his own room, only breathing again once the door was firmly closed and locked behind him.

-

Alhaitham didn’t feel half as terrible as he expected to, when morning came.

He woke up early, read a few chapters of his book, dressed and prepared a simple meal of lavash, cheese and a few different fresh herbs and vegetables. The morning was drizzly, as though fall had decided to strike overnight, so he made a pot of chai to compliment the meal, and he waited for Kaveh to wake up.

He had barely thought about the night before, falling asleep within minutes of his head hitting his pillowcase. In the light of the morning, with a few hours separating him from the events of the evening, he felt much less panicked about it. Clearly he had been inebriated, and he had been caught up in the looseness of tongue that the alcohol had afforded him. Anyone would react similarly.

He had already decided to not think about it again, writing it off as a strange cocktail of space and time, with the stories he’d read about romance and connection creating false feelings in his addled mind.

Kaveh announced his return to the land of the living with a thud.

“Morning,” he said, his shirt untucked and his hair sticking out wildly. He looked even more like a startled bird with the rumpling of sleep clinging to him.

He sighed as he poured himself a cup of chai, adding sweetflower powder to his cup before taking a hearty swig. “Are these the radishes from your neighbor?”

Alhaitham nodded, then turned the page in his book. He had grabbed an encyclopedia on the wines of Teyvat before he sat down, and he was now deeply entrenched in learning about different types of sake from Inazuma.

Kaveh took some lavash, crumbled a meager amount of feta across it, and stacked it full of mint and radish. He groaned as he bit down. “Itso good,” he said through his full mouth.

Alhaitham took a moment to look carefully at Kaveh from the corner of his eye. The overcast morning helped point out the less golden parts about him, like circles underneath his eyes, the crack in his bottom lip, and the lines the pillow had left on his face as he slept. Despite the fact that Kaveh’s fingers were still objectively beautiful, and his voice was morning-soft, Alhaitham could find none of the overwhelming feelings from the night before. Satisfied that life was as it should be, he took a sip of his tea.

“Did you know that the alcohol industry makes up forty percent of international trade in Teyvat?” Alhaitham asked, and Kaveh nodded.

“That makes sense, considering Mondstadt’s wine industry,” Kaveh took another bite of his food. “Are you a sommelier, now?”

“Could be interesting.” Alhaitham shrugged, then put the book down. “It’s less purposeful to drink without company, though.”

Kaveh laughed. “I suppose that type of drinking serves a different purpose,” he said, rubbing his temples.

Alhaitham rolled his eyes, fully confident that his feelings from the night before had simply been a trick of the light.

-

“You’re not listening to me,” Samiya said, holding her parchment up to walk him through her notes again. “These documents don’t match at all. You cannot simply imply that they’re referring to the same place when you can barely read the text in the first place.” Samiya tucked her dark hair behind her ear, her chin tilted haughtily.

“I heard you perfectly fine the first time,” Alhaitham replied. “And as the teams specialist on linguistics, you have to trust that my opinion-”

“Opinion isn’t what research is built off of. Furthermore, you’re neglecting to realize that not having an additional voice to weigh in on this subject does a disservice to both you and the project at large. It’s these selfish whims that destroy the process of peer review, and denying your findings will leave you open to criticisms that could destroy this research where it stands.”

“Are you done?” Alhaitham crossed his arms. “If you would stop interrupting me, maybe you would eventually realize that my ‘selfish whims’ are what is making this project into anything substantial. I know that peer review is a valued resource, but you have to understand that I am the only one who has deciphered this language, ever. Even if I trained someone, it would still-”

“So you’re satisfied with leaving this unreviewed and weak. Good to know.”

They were in the more accessible area of the House of Daena, rather than the far less trafficked deep stacks. The midday light was glaring off the white tile, reflecting horrifically into Alhaitham’s already-tired eyes. The sound of shoes hitting the hard tile could be heard across the room, where students were rushing to and from their classes.

“I agree with Samiya,” Farhad started, but he was cut off quickly.

“Shut up,” both parties growled at him, and he threw up his hands in defense.

“What do you think, Michiko?” Samiya turned to the quiet Inazuman woman, who shook her head in reply.

“I would rather not be implicated in this,” she said, simply drawing a hand across the next line in her textbook. “Akasha, find me sources for religious and ceremonial event spaces in Sumeru that date from before the fall of Deshret.”

“Well, at least Michiko is doing something productive,” Samiya turned back to Alhaitham. “Unlike some people.”

Alhaitham was getting increasingly exhausted by human interaction. It was frustrating to sit in the midst of arguments, the hours that came before filled with class after class, two essay tests back to back, and a verbal presentation. They were deep into the finals of the fall quarter, and everyone was cracking under the stress of their first full term with both classes and the research project. Alhaitham wanted to go home.

“I find it interesting, to say the least, that you are the only one who seems to voice these opinions to my face, Samiya,” Alhaitham said, standing up and pushing his chair in. It was almost time for Kaveh to be out of his class, and Alhaitham didn’t want to hear him take Samiya’s side on this. “I also find it fascinating that you seem to only ever give your constructive criticism to me, and nobody else bears the brunt of your keen eye.”

“Nobody else fails to meet my standards,” she replied, her hand gripping the edge of the table as if to keep herself from springing up to meet him.

“Then perhaps it’s time to consider if you bring anything of worth to this team, if everyone else is so far above you in skill. I’ll see you all next week.” With that, Alhaitham took his leave.

-

Only a few hours later, the consequences of his words came swinging back at him, fist shaped and furious.

He had been training in his fenced side yard, his swords gleaming in hand. The last of the heartier flowers were just now dying in their beds which lined the small yard, and their grayed corpses swayed in the cold breeze. Alhaitham feinted, then parried his invisible dueling partner. He misstepped. He sighed, shook out his arm, and made the same movements again– this time slow enough to feel where his mistake had taken him out of the move. He corrected himself, and then brought the move back to full speed.

A gentle shift in the air and the pounding of feet alerted him to the arrival of Kaveh.

“What,” Kaveh said as he threw down his books, ripped off his robes and his hat, and threw a leg over the side fence with the intention of clawing his way to the other side, “the FUCK.” He looked especially angry, but Alhaitham couldn’t think of what had caused his sudden fervor.

“Excuse-” Alhaitham started, but Kaveh interrupted him with a fistfull of dirt, his aim surprisingly good. It hit Alhaitham’s chest with a thud.

“Who the fuck gave you the right, huh?” Kaveh said, finding his footing and storming towards Alhaitham with the fury of a man crazed.

“What the hell are you-” Alhaitham was interrupted by Kaveh’s fist, which came at him from the left. He dropped one sword to stop the blow with his palm. “Why won’t anyone let me finish speaking?” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“Fuck you.” Kaveh moved to throw his other fist, but Alhaitham stopped it with his forearm, angling his other sword away from them both, but keeping a grip on the hilt.

“You’re insane. I have a blade in my hand, are you trying to get killed?” Alhaitham couldn’t see past the murderous gleam in Kaveh’s eyes.

“What will you do? Stab me?” Kaveh responded, tearing his fist out of Alhaitham’s grip and shoving his elbow into his chest instead, knocking them apart.

Alhaitham dropped his other sword and put his fists up, raising an eyebrow.

Kaveh came at him stronger than he expected, with more precision than a normal person would typically have. He was quick, and clearly practiced, but not as quick as Alhaitham. He threw another punch, and Alhaitham caught it. He stepped down hard, intending on crushing Alhaitham’s foot, but he missed by a fraction. In the pause, Alhaitham recognized the opportunity to maneuver Kaveh to the ground.

They hit the dirt with a thud, falling hard with the combined weight of them, and Alhaitham pinned Kaveh with force as soon as he regained his grip on gravity. His legs straddled Kaveh’s chest, his forearm pressed hard across Kaveh’s collarbones. He held the pose hard, pressing down on Kaveh’s arm, keeping him still.
The subtle shift in Kaveh’s features was faster than light.

“Shit!” he yelped, “Shit my wrist Hai, my wrist my wrist-” Kaveh grimaced in pain, and Alhaitham dropped his arm, backing off in concern.

It was a mistake. As soon as he’d drawn back, Kaveh’s fist hit his face, making contact with a sickening thud. He recoiled, leaning back on his knees and breathing hard through the pain, his hand to his nose. The metallic tang of blood coated his throat.

“Are you done?” He said to Kaveh, who was lying limp on the ground, his arm covering his face and his breathing just as rough as Alhaitham’s own. His other hand was still gripping the hem of Alhaitham’s shirt, his thumb resting on the hot skin there. Alhaitham felt it like a brand on his abdomen.

“Could’ve been anyone else,” Kaveh said, and he started to laugh. “I wish you were anyone else.”

-

They made their way inside, both dirt-covered and bruised. Alhaitham got them both water, and Kaveh rifled through the first aid kit, eventually finding some mist flower ointment for their respective injuries.

Kaveh collapsed onto the bed in the guest room– his room, and Alhaitham followed him, sitting upright with his back against the headboard, his head still pounding. Around them, Kaveh’s things that he had brought over piece by piece were littered about. A half finished painting of the garden rested in the corner. A tapestry Alhaitham hadn’t seen before was on the wall. One of Kaveh’s shirts was in the way of his feet, and he absentmindedly pushed it away.

“Samiya didn’t deserve that,” Kaveh said, his eyes closed. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“Enlighten me,” Alhaitham replied, watching as Kaveh massaged his right wrist. It had been bothering him lately, aggravated by the cold. Alhaitham had noticed him wearing a brace more often, he’d seen him sketching and writing more with his left hand rather than his right.

“You’re obnoxious, you’re a know it all, you think every other person is disposable-”

“I meant,” Alhaitham stopped him, instinctually bringing a hand to the bridge of his nose and cringing when his fingers made contact, pain throbbing through his face. “Why didn’t Samiya deserve what I said?”

Kaveh was quiet for a moment. “She’s not like you, Alhaitham.”

Alhaitham sighed. “Can you please answer the question?” he asked, crossing his arms to keep from touching his nose.

“She’s not a genius. I mean, she’s very smart. But her skill wasn’t something inherent in her. She worked so hard to be where she is, and to have you throw it back in her face, in front of quite literally the whole school-'' Kaveh rolled onto his side, facing Alhaitham. “It was cruel.”

“Hard work doesn’t matter in the face of indiscriminate fate. If she wanted me to like her, then she should have put more effort into likable.” He knew Kaveh understood his perspective on this, and he hoped his tone reflected his disappointment.

“Despite what you think in your fucked up social darwinism daydreams, she deserves the chance to be successful if she wants to be,” Kaveh sighed. “You don’t know her like I do, you didn’t grow up watching her, or learning with her. You don’t have to agree with it, or even understand it, but I believe Samiya is doing a good job.”

“She’s obnoxious,” Alhaitham replied, frustrated. It was difficult to see how lifting up someone who was clearly deadweight could be defined as good in anyone’s eyes. “Is it fair that she treats me the way she does, without cause?”

“This is what I mean, you lack context. Do you know anything about her other than she’s passionate and strong-willed?” Kaveh raised his head to meet Alhaitham’s gaze. “It’s been almost nine months, and do you know a single thing about her, or any of them?”

“It doesn’t matter, as long as they get their work done,” Alhaitham said, shrugging.

“I think you’re wrong, Alhaitham. It does matter.” Kaveh was looking at him with a gaze that Alhaitham could feel, that razor’s edge that made him feel cut open and exposed. “Other people aren’t a curse.”

Alhaitham disagreed. Kaveh’s lip had broken in their fight, and it was starting to swell. Some nearly silenced voice in the back of his mind wondered if Kaveh’s mouth tasted like blood. He shook his head.

“She was the wrong one.” He felt like a petulant child, as if he had been the first one to throw a punch. He didn’t need to ask why Kaveh had gone to such extremes outside. That anger had been boiling since the day they’d first met, and it was only a matter of time before it exploded. He was honestly surprised they hadn’t come to blows sooner.

“She may have been, but that doesn’t mean you can eviscerate her in public, it was reckless,” Kaveh replied. “Speaking of recklessness,” he said, “I’m sorry for hitting your nose. Is it broken?”

“It will heal.”

“Will it?” Kaveh asked. He wasn’t talking about Alhaitham’s nose anymore.

Kaveh was dirty, and his hair was a matted mess, and Alhaitham couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that came from thinking that he still looked perfect.

Alhaitham cursed that he wasn’t drunk now, and he had nothing to blame his feelings on but himself.

He cleared his throat and looked away. “Maybe.” He said maybe, but what he meant was always, of course, forever, and it was horrible.

-

Within a week, they were finished with finals and their apologies had been passed and accepted through clenched teeth. Samiya had asked for a letter of recommendation as her compensation, and Alhaitham had obliged, painting her as a researcher of highest esteem. As soon as the document was in her hand, she gave him both Michiko and Farhad’s resignation from the team. Of their eight initial interns, she was the last one standing. He almost wanted to commend her.

After he broke the news Kaveh started acting slightly colder than usual, leaving him to his own devices and only staying over when absolutely necessary. Alhaitham was counting that as a positive. The less he had to face his own feelings, the better. Luckily, their research wasn’t suffering from it in the slightest.

“Here, you wrote the character as translating to water, but it’s the same as the one you wrote for…” Kaveh checked his notes. “For an egret.”

“Second one is two characters, look closely,” Alhaitham replied. Kaveh had been trying to learn the hieroglyphs and texts they were working with for a few months, and his knowledge was rapidly improving. It was fairly impressive, for an engineer.

“Bird, bird, bird, bird…” He traced the word with a finger, and Alhaitham swallowed. “Oh, water bird. That’s clever.”

“Mmm.”

They were in Kaveh’s home, a rarity afforded to them purely because this house was smaller, and it kept the heat better. It had been raining for nearly a week, and though it was by no means freezing, the dampness had brought the kind of chill that eats into the bone. The raindrops were pleasantly beating on the tiled roof, adding a comfortable white noise to the space.

Being there was still overwhelming, but not in the way it used to be. Kaveh had altered the decor a bit in the last few months, taking the riotous color down a notch and leaving more spaces that Alhaitham could breathe in. However, everything here was deeply ‘Kaveh’. It smelled like his soap, like his aftershave and incense and his clean laundry. His clothes were draped around here in the same way they were draped in Alhaitham’s home; as if they had been shrugged off casually, left as a person undressed their way across the room, leaving behind soft bare skin–

“Twelve water birds, herons, at dusk. Ten at dawn,” Kaveh said, reading slowly.

Alhaitham blinked. “That’s right.”

Kaveh smiled, wrapping the throw that was draped around his shoulders closer. “I am brilliant.”

Alhaitham couldn’t argue with that.

In the next month, Kaveh’s literacy improved to the point that he and Alhaitham could pass somewhat complicated notes back and forth.

“The 11th?” Kaveh wrote on the edge of his notebook in a soft scrawl as they studied quietly.

“Empty,” Alhaitham wrote back.

“Libations?” Kaveh drew a little smile next to the word.

Alhaitham rolled his eyes, then nodded. Their project would be nearly complete by then, and they were getting ready to submit it for review. Lately all they had been doing was going over their work, cross referencing and double checking each word. It was a horrible, unending grind, but there was a promise of light at the end of the tunnel.

By Alhaitham’s birthday, all they would have left to do would be signing it and sending it off. It was cause for celebration.

“Excellent,” Kaveh said, and he leaned back in his chair, picking up another page of their nearly ready paper, the result of their entire relationship concentrated into fifty-thousand-ish words of research.

-

Kaveh was half-drunk already by the time Alhaitham met him at the bar. The night before they had been up until the small hours for hopefully the last time, scratching in their last-minute fixes lamenting over the smallest of details.

Now, Kaveh was waist deep into a losing game of cards, two glasses already empty beside him. He looked happier than he had in a while. When he saw Alhaitham, he lit up like a human sparkler.

“Hai! Come help me win at cards,” he said, his cheeks flushed.

Someone passed Alhaitham a drink as he sat down, and he sipped it casually. It was nothing like the bitterness of the Arak from months ago. The liquid was red and honey-sweet, like a strong breeze that had been bottled and aged to perfection. Dandelion wine.

Before he’d left his quiet home, it had suddenly struck him that he wouldn’t have a reason to see Kaveh anymore. Last spring, he’d clung to their research in a futile attempt to keep their relationship relevant, to see what Kaveh could be, other than annoying and frustrating and downright idiotic. He’d closed his door, wanting desperately to claw his way back inside and stop time– to stop the clocks here, with Kaveh’s half finished painting in his spare room, his shoes in the side yard, his leftovers in the kitchen.

He’d walked slowly to the tavern, knowing with every step that he was walking towards some type of end. It was the end of another year of his life, the end of his life as a student, the end of…

Now, sitting close to him in the dim yellow light, Kaveh's eyes were so soft looking. The hazel of them turned to liquid caramel in the candlelight of the tavern. His robes were undone to the waist, their pretty green peeling back to reveal a soft flouncy white shirt. He looked downright debauched, and Alhaitham felt like he was seeing clearly for the first time in months.

Alhaitham took a large gulp of his wine. Blindness had been bliss. Kaveh roped him into a round of cards, and he turned the game around quickly, leaving the table with a free drink and a few annoyed patrons throwing him glares. Kaveh was absolutely taken with the night, his words bouncing around at a mile a minute.

“Hm?” Alhaitham hadn’t been listening. He was watching the curve of Kaveh’s neck as he arched it back in laughter, watching the way his lip glistened after he took a sip from his cup.

Kaveh rolled his eyes and shrugged one shoulder. “I thought I heard the sound of you buying me another drink.”

He was joking, but Alhaitham placed a few coins on the counter anyway.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked, absentmindedly wiping his hands off on the towel that rested on his shoulder.

“Two glasses of something bubbly, and two shots of Natlan liquor,” Kaveh said, his hand burning where it rested on Alhaitham’s arm.

They got their drinks, two shots accompanied by salt and lime, along with two delicate flutes of effervescent liquid. Kaveh dragged them to a quiet corner, a spring in his step.

“You’re a dull drunk,” Kaveh said, licking the back of his hand and sprinkling salt on the wet spot his tongue left behind. The noise in the bar was painfully loud, and Alhaitham was thankful that his two glasses of wine were already starting to dull his senses.

“You think that I’m dull sober,” Alhaitham replied, watching as Kaveh took a calming breath, licked the salt, knocked his shot back, and finished by biting down on the slice of lime.

“True,” he said. “You didn’t do it with me,” Kaveh gasped, pointing at the full shot in front of Alhaitham.

“I…” Alhaitham started, and Kaveh cut him off.

“Here,” he said, putting more salt on his own hand. He offered the back of it up to Alhaitham’s mouth.

Alhaitham hesitated. They’d seen each other sleep, and eat. They’d bathed in the same streams. They weren’t unfamiliar with touch, or sharing food, or being close to each other.

Alhaitham gripped Kaveh’s wrist and licked the salt. He couldn’t tell if his mouth was watering from the taste, or from something else.

Kaveh cleared his throat. “Now drink,” he said, shoving the shot glass into Alhaitham’s hand.

It burned all the way down, lighting a fire in his chest as it went. The lime barely helped to soothe it. When his eyes had stopped watering he saw that Kaveh was holding out one of the flutes to him.

“Happy birthday,” Kaveh said, clinking their glasses together. “And congratulations on a job well done.”

They sipped, and Kaveh’s toast echoed emptily in Alhaitham’s mind. It didn’t feel like a job well done, it felt like a mistake. As if every choice he had made in the past year had been the wrong one, as if every move had been a misstep. In the face of the gaping maw of the future, Alhaitham felt as if he’d failed himself.

‘Why can’t you be normal?’ Kaveh had asked seven months ago, sunsoaked and accompanied by only each other and the endless sand. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure how he’d fucked up so badly.

His champagne flute was miraculously empty when he glanced at it again, and the evening flew by in a stream of cards and laughter and mild agitation kept under staunch control. He wouldn’t ruin another thing, not when Kaveh was smiling so much, grabbing his arm, pouring him wine.

Somehow, in the early morning, they ended up back at Kaveh’s doorstep, both tripping over their own feet. Alhaitham was only catching snippets of reality, when his mind would suddenly focus and cut a sensation out of the vague stupor that coated everything. He remembered watching Kaveh’s bright smile. He remembered the stars waving above him, leaving streaks across his vision. He remembered laughing as Kaveh fumbled with his keys, the both of them too far gone to open the door. He remembered shivering in the cold, the chill of late winter and early morning combining to make his hands numb and stiff.

When they finally got through the door, Kaveh had clung to him like a lifeline, his freezing hands on Alhaithams abdomen, under his shirt. His wet mouth on Alhaitham’s neck.

It took a moment to register, and it took a longer moment for Alhaitham to do anything about it. Kaveh was stupidly drunk, they both were. They’d never acted like this before. Even when changing around each other, they’d been polite– never making a move towards each other or-

Kaveh bit down on Alhaitham’s collarbone, and Alhaitham knocked his head back against the wall behind him, rattling and clouding his thoughts like a shaken snow globe.

“I can’t,” he choked out. He couldn’t think. Kaveh needed to know, needed to stop before they ruined more than just this one night. “Kaveh, I-”

Kaveh’s mouth was off him, and Alhaitham could finally see his flashing eyes. “You-” he started, then he pulled back fast as lightning. He covered his mouth, his precious, gorgeous mouth, with a horrified hand. “Of course, I-”

“I just need a minute,” Alhaitham said, and he stormed into the washroom, locking the door behind him.

When he glanced in the mirror, he looked nothing like himself. His eyes were sunken and glossy with exhaustion. The corners of his mouth were stained crimson from the wine, as if he was a child eating blackberries in the midst of summer. His cheeks were flushed and warm to the touch. He splashed cool water over his face, hoping to bring some of himself back into his body. He cupped some of the water in his hand and swished it around in his mouth.

When he looked back into the mirror again, he felt a little more real. He moved to open the door, but a crash from the kitchen interrupted him.

He walked in to see Kaveh on his knees, a shattered glass between his legs. He was crying, hiding his face in his arms, shaking with his sobs.

“What happened?” Alhaitham asked, but Kaveh just shook his head and cried louder.

Alhaitham moved to start picking up the shards of glass, sweeping them up with his bare hands. His palms were bleeding as he tossed the debris in the trash.

Kaveh’s sobs faded into sniffles, and he sat back against the cabinets of his tiny kitchen, watching through blurry eyes.

“I hate you,” he said quietly.

Alhaitham turned towards him, unable to tell if Kaveh’s statement was a jest. “Okay,” he replied.

“We could have done this as a team,” Kaveh said, and his red eyes burned when they glared up at Alhaitham.

“We did,” Alhaitham said. He leaned against the countertop.

“No, Alhaitham. With other people. Not just you and me.”

Alhaitham’s own anger jumped up his throat like a snapping dog. “You want to talk about this now?”

“That’s why we’ll never work.” Kaveh said, ignoring him. “Do you know how hard I tried to keep people on this project? Samiya and I held study groups every weekend. I worked through multiple nights in a row, more than once a month. I begged Farhad and Michiko to stay, Alhaitham. I begged them. Now even Samiya…” His voice drifted off, and he wiped at his face again.

“Why didn’t you say-”

“You wouldn’t have cared, Hai. You would have told me-”

“That it was a waste of your time and energy? That we are perfectly capable of handling it ourselves? What would I have told you?” Alhaitham sneered. “The truth?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Kaveh said, dragging himself to his feet. “You’re a self centered, egotistical asshole who doesn’t care about anyone else, and I’m an idiot because I knew that and I still…”

Alhaitham crossed his arms. “Who asked you to do any of this?” He asked. He felt warm and cold at the same time, feverish and overwhelmed. “Who asked you to kill yourself for their sake?”

Kaveh looked down, his breath catching. His tears smacked wetly onto the floor between them, along with the shards of glass and the still bleeding corpse of their friendship.

“I think,” Alhaitham said, his head rushing, “that you did this to yourself. I think you did all of it as some sort of divine punishment, to prove to yourself that you’re easy to leave. And I think you’re selfish for roping me into your impossible, altruistic daydreams. It’s manipulative, and masochistic, and I-”

Kaveh stepped back as if Alhaitham’s words had physically shoved him.

“Leave,” Kaveh interrupted, gripping the counter to stay upright. “Just leave.”

Alhaitham took him in. Kaveh was a sad, broken figure, illuminated by only the moonlight through the window. They’d pushed each other too far and they’d fallen off the edge, a mess of carnage at their feet. He hadn’t known Kaveh was holding onto so much of his resentment, even though they’d been getting along. Even though Alhaitham could barely think of anyone else. It stung worse than the glass in his palms.

“Fine,” Alhaitham said. “But when you lament to yourself years down the line, I hope you remember this.” He wiped at his eyes, trying to clear his vision. His fingers came away wet. “I hope you remember that you told me to go.”

-

Alhaitham barely remembered getting back to his own home. He didn’t remember eating any of the food that must have resulted in the current state of his kitchen. He didn’t remember leaving himself a tonic and a tall glass of water to wake up to, though he was endlessly thankful for it.

He especially didn’t remember taking a pen and scratching his name off of their paper, but in the light of the morning, he agreed with the drunken decision.

That day, he submitted the project with only Kaveh’s name on the cover. He dropped a spare copy of it off at Kaveh’s house, not lingering to witness a reaction or risk a run-in.

His own copy– the one with his name crossed out, the one with Kaveh’s final notes still scrawled in the margins–he put into a box and safely packed it into storage, where it would, eventually, hopefully, be forgotten.

Chapter Text

Kaveh awoke to silence. He was caught up in layers of clinging sheets, his legs tangled uncomfortably in the fabric. The light through the window was high and bright, and it stung his eyes.

The quiet crept up on him as he sat up, throwing off his blankets and wiping at his face. His hair was hot on the back of his neck, and he held it out of the way with a loose fist.

He cleared his throat, and it echoed off his walls.

Despair crawled up his spine and settled deep in his chest. This quiet was not unfamiliar to him.

He remembered the night after his mother left clearly. He’d walked himself back from Port Ormos, choking down his self-deprecating tears, keeping his pace fast and steady. After a drizzly half-day of walking, he arrived in Sumeru city, bought himself some fresh food at one of the market stalls, and promptly locked himself inside his empty house.

The quiet was nearly painful then. When he was young, his mother and father would sing together, always lighting up the space with music and art. After his father had disappeared, his mother would play their favorite songs on the gramophone, humming along as she worked and cleaned. There was always something happening, always another person to talk to or watch. Even when she wasn’t in the same room with him, Kaveh could still hear the tell-tale clatter of creation from her side of their small home, the sounds of metal and wood and paper.

But that night, truly alone for the first time in his life, the silence had been deafening. There was no cheerful music. There was no new mechanical thing, there was nothing whirring to life. The house began to lack whatever magic his mother had given it by simply existing there. It was becoming, with every quiet moment, less and less of a home.

Soon after she left, Kaveh abandoned the house as much as he possibly could. He would invite himself to his friend’s houses, or he would create study groups and camp out in the House of Daena, or he would sit and sketch by the river, watching as the little boats from Port Ormos that smelled of incense and spices drifted into the docks. He took extra trips with anyone who asked- offered his help anytime it might be needed.

He would even stay late at the Akademiya and listen to lectures from other Darshans, sketching in the back rows of the huge lecture halls and taking in as much information as he could. As much noise as possible.

It was one of those nights, tucked into the back of a lecture hall and drifting in and out of sleep, that a tall lanky kid took the floor. His eyes were bright and confident, his robes neatly done. He had a hardness in the way he surveyed the crowd, as though he was personally remembering every face before him. The student must have presented in at least four different languages over the next two hours, switching from dialect to dialect with ease. He held himself with strong intention, as if he truly was on the level with the Sage who had excitedly introduced him.

The boy was not ostentatious, or overly self-righteous. He was earnest. And extremely knowledgeable. And the two girls in front of Kaveh were whispering that he was, to say the least, exceedingly handsome.

Kaveh had listened to the student’s entire lecture with rapt attention, even the lengthy, complicated parts that were in a language he could not understand.

He supposed, when confronted with the same boy sitting two rows in front of him in class the next week, that fate had woven her magic threads. It was Alhaitham’s house that became home. It was his cooking, his creaking back door, his faded cushions and dusty windowsills. It was the scratch of his pen against parchment that became the song Kaveh worked to. Kaveh allowed the pattern to repeat into obscurity. He allowed home to be research, and distracted answers, and green eyes that searched the world with ruinous calculation.

And so Kaveh had a place to go again– if he was where Alhaitham was, he was where he belonged.

Now, Alhaitham was silent too. And it was Kaveh’s fault all over again.

Quietly, Kaveh got out of bed. He dressed in silence, he ate in silence. He did not tell anyone good morning. He did not whistle, or joke, or listen to the birds outside harkening spring. Instead, he caved in like a dying star– alone and in the blinding silence of empty space.

Unlike when he was fifteen, he couldn’t escape loneliness as easily this time. He had no friends to run to, no classes to be bored in, no papers to write. He opened the window, and not even the breeze ventured in. He turned on music, but the static was grating. His guilt sat like a malevolent god over him, jeering and howling as he felt anxieties swallow him whole. He even tried to leave the house– slipping on shoes and opening the door to the outside world– only for a two inch tall box filled with papers to trip him as he attempted to cross the threshold.

He took the box inside and emptied the familiar contents onto his coffee table. On the cover paper, there was another absence, and an addition.

“Already submitted,” a note said, stuck to the place where Alhaitham’s name should have been. “Don’t concern yourself.”

He left the papers on the table for a moment, trying to quell his boiling anger with the familiar motions of brewing tea. Leaves, hot water, sweetener. Cream. More cream. With his beverage in hand, he circled back to the stack on the small table.

He placed the stack across from him as he sipped his tea, which had been made from leaves that were beyond stale. The tea was like hot nothing– more temperature than flavor.

Between each sip he internally interrogated the papers.

Why? He asked them, to which they didn’t reply. Does he hate me? Is he really gone? There was still no answer. Hot water burned his tongue. It’s my fault, isn’t it?

His own thoughts answered the last question in a constant echo of of course it is, of course it is, of course it is…

He lunged at the papers. Noise arrived suddenly, slammed back into the space with the sound of crushing, tearing, stomping. He ripped at the pages, tossed them about, scratched at the terrible words he had spent months writing and rewriting and arguing over and sleeping on and eating with and thinking about and thinking about and thinking about and–

There was a knock on the door, halting the cacophony of emotion and bringing the stillness back to the room. Around him, the shreds of the last year settled placidly on his furniture.

He stood and shook himself. The knock came again.

He stumbled on his way to the door, tripping over his feet as he rushed to see who was the culprit of the knock. Perhaps it was Alhaitham, arriving back to the scene of the crime with shame enough to surpass Kaveh’s own. Perhaps he’d come back to apologize, or just to talk, or even to bicker like usual. Perhaps his face would be sorrowful and his eyes full of tears. Kaveh would open the door and let him in, he would scold him, he would ask him if he was alright. He would make him food.

Kaveh opened the door, but he did none of the aforementioned things. It was not Alhaitham on his stoop– which he should not have been surprised about. He had asked him to leave, and Alhaitham was nothing if not stubborn, nothing if not perspicacious.

It was Samiya. Her dark hair was coiled back away from her face, and she wore a long wispy red dress, the kind of dress perfect for a slightly breezy and warm spring day. In her arms was a bouquet of Sumeru roses. She was gripping them tightly, her hands tense and her eyes wide, as though she hadn’t expected anyone to be answering the door and Kaveh’s presence had startled her.

“Good morning,” Kaveh said, and Samiya cocked her head and relaxed her shoulders. Her eyebrows furrowed for a brief moment, and then she looked up at the sky. The sun was already heading along its descent, as it was a hair past midday. She shook her head.

“Hello,” she replied. Her smile was soft and pleasant, but Kaveh could practically see her thoughts racing in her eyes. There was no doubt that he looked a mess. “Is he?” She started, glancing around Kaveh’s body and into the depths of his house. Kaveh mildly hoped that she could not see the wreckage amongst the gloom.

“Alhaitham isn’t here,” he said, and he stepped out onto the front stoop and closed the door behind him.

“Thank the all-knowing archons,” she said, thrusting her bouquet at him with gusto. “Now I won’t have to pretend to like him.”

“Because you’ve always pretended so well,” he smiled, and she laughed. Her presence, as per usual, had the distinct effect of pushing the quiet to the side to make room for her boisterous personality.

He and Samiya had been friends for many years, thrown together with identical class schedules and similar artistic flames. She was bullheaded, but also uniquely perceptive, and her sculptor’s eye easily picked out the easy to miss details.

“Did you celebrate too hard?” She asked as he took the bouquet from her hands.

The look that passed over his face must have clued her into the gory details of the night before.

“What did he do?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her eyes. He’d heard over and over from her that Alhaitham was an asshole, and she felt particularly targeted by his sharp tongue and abrasive personality. Kaveh had been the one to insist she keep an open mind. Kaveh had been the one to keep their sinking ship floating long after it should have been abandoned.

Admitting he was wrong felt like swallowing sand. He shrugged noncommittally, and Samiya surveyed him again.

“You know what?” She said, her hand reaching out. “Congratulations. You’re done with it, and now we never have to think about it again.” She gave him a light shove on his shoulder. “Now tell me,” she said, leaning her weight back on one foot and cocking her head, “what’s next?”

-

What was next was not at all as glorious as he had imagined it would be.

He was finished with being top of his class and thrust into an entry level grunt job before he could even imagine catching his breath, but it was exactly what he thought he wanted.

Every spare moment was filled with action. He spent four months in the desert, moving brick and sand by hand for the research and design of his older peers, people he remembered taking classes with in his first few years of school. Day after day he lifted, heaved, measured, repeated. The jobs paid terribly, but he was blissfully busy.

He spent half a year deep in the forest, planting and cutting trees in the name of holistic forestry. In the background he ran messages for construction groups, connecting artists to their materials and forming his own relationships in the process. He was walking nearly ten miles a day at that point, his shoes worn to threads on a monthly basis.

His longest standing employment, nearly eight months, was as a resources manager on a peer’s project. His days were grueling and mind numbing, counting sheets of metal and stacks of stone on a gigantic ledger and partitioning out the goods to teams who were doing the actual building. When he wasn’t working he was talking, or doing other odd jobs to round out his resume. It was exhausting. Every day he felt his creative muscles begging to be stretched, and he itched to create something beyond this dreary tedium. All day he would dream of sketching or writing, only for him to fall asleep as soon as he got back to his bed, his pen never lifted and his ideas melting away with sleep.

Haseen, his boss, was kind and empathetic, but that didn’t free Kaveh from the restrictions of being a recently graduated sardine in the face of an ocean of professionals. Months of grinding, and he felt he had very little to show for it, besides a few good graces and friends in some slightly higher places.

The upsides were that he was finally working with someone who shared his artistic vision, and at night he would sneak into Haseen’s tent and talk industry over warm glasses of mulled ale.

Haseen– a designer and well established young architect– was a fascinating person. He had bright hazel eyes, unruly dark hair, and a terrifying talent for understanding physical space. He held himself like a knight, always knowing where his feet were planted, his head always held high. Kaveh found his presence addicting and his intel invaluable, and he wasn’t far from being half in love with the man.

“And that’s why forming those connections early is so important,” Haseen said, his shoulder length hair twisted up into a bun, the loose curls hanging around his face in unruly tangles. “You never know when the one thing you’ll need to complete your vision will be sold by one certain vendor, and it’s always good to keep your foot in the door.”

“But then, creating a connection is easier said than done,” Kaveh replied, soaking up the peace of being in the presence of a kindred spirit. “And then how do you maintain those relationships? I feel like everything falls to the wayside when a new project begins. I haven’t talked to my friends from school in...” he paused, thinking, “too long, probably.”

Haseen laughed, and it was a gentle and warm sound. “I suppose it takes practice. And the confidence to assume that others won’t forget you, even if there is a gap in communication. Though, it never hurts to check in once in a while.”

Confidence was something that Haseen bled. He had unwavering assurance in himself, in his vision, and in the people he held close. It was an admirable trait, and it was one that Kaveh envied, a bit.

Haseen’s remark passively reminded Kaveh of the week before, when they were at a company function and he had been searching for Haseen in the crowd. To his quiet dismay, he found the man in the corner of the room, solemnly holding the hand of a beautiful woman. Her eyes had shone brightly in the twinkling party light, and Kaveh hadn’t interrupted.

“Is that why you were speaking so closely with Anya the other night?” Kaveh kindly barbed, and Haseen’s high cheekbones glowed red with a harsh blush. The merchant Anya had reportedly been in a tussle with a band of pirates recently, which was, from the perspective of an architect who knew little of the wide open oceans, quite shocking.

It was reasonable to ask after the woman and her crew, but Kaveh had an inkling that Haseen’s concern wasn’t purely founded in worry for his next shipment of materials.

“Of course,” he said, half shrugging and smiling with nonchalance despite his flush. “She’s a valued partner of mine.”

“What a blessing to be so valued by you, Haseen.” Kaveh smiled, and Haseen’s subtle movements stalled. He had been carving a small bird out of wood, his tough fingers creating a sculpture from obscurity. A brief explosion of anxiety swelled in Kaveh’s chest– he’d said too much.

“I do like you, Kaveh,” Haseen said, his eyes shining in the candlelight. “But I…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kaveh interrupted, choking on his pride again. Romance wasn’t something he actively sought, but he wasn’t immune to good looks, charm, and a decent conversation. If nothing else, a passing crush would add more blessed noise to his day, and would help the time move faster.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the small tent. A familiar silence. The ale hit Kaveh suddenly in that moment, magnifying his fear of rejection and his innate district of close relationships. He shook his head. “Ah, I’ve misspoken. I only meant–”

Haseen raised a pacifying hand, a half smile still plastered on his face and kindness shining in his eyes. “No, no,” he interrupted, “It’s already in the past.”

Kaveh breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Right, thank you.” Kaveh downed the rest of his drink and stood, not keen on sitting around in the awkwardness that haunted him. “I’ll see you–”

“Haseen?” A voice came from the front of the tent, and Kaveh froze. He didn’t entirely want someone else to witness how he had brutally murdered the atmosphere in the lavish tent. “Do you know where I can find–”

Saeed, an athletic person with choppy hair and a sparkling nose ring, whom Kaveh had worked with while running letters a few months back, poked their head into the tent. “Oh, there you are,” they said, looking at Kaveh.

“Sorry?” Kaveh asked.

Saeed smiled at him and held out an envelope. “I went to your tent but you weren’t there,” they said. “Apparently it was important that this got to you as soon as possible.”

Kaveh took the letter, and Saeed bowed out of the tent.

Kaveh opened it, ignoring the curious stare from Haseen as he did. His mother’s handwriting met him.

Bonjour Kaveh,

I know you’re busy with work, but I wanted to reach out and ask if you would be willing to come visit me sometime soon. I debated on if I should ask you to come, but Estelle convinced me it would be a good idea. You see, Rainier has proposed to me, and I accepted his proposal. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I left you out of this transformative moment– you belong beside me for it.

Let me know if you will come,

Fara

Kaveh reread the message, taking a minute to process the information. His mother hadn’t sent a letter in upwards of five months, though he couldn’t say if that was her fault or his own. How long had she been engaged? Her messages– or lack thereof– had been forgotten in the sea of endless tasks that Kaveh had shouldered.

Of course he would go. His work here ended in a week, and he would welcome the break from the dredge of odd jobs he was ill-suited for. Not to mention the newly uncomfortable situation he had gotten himself into with his employer…

“It’s good news,” Kaveh said with a measured tone, and he turned to face Haseen, who was standing with authority now, his small carving abandoned. It was good news. It was painful, horrible news, but it was good. “My mother is getting married.”

“Ah!” Haseen said, his broad smile showing off his classically white teeth. “Should I have you fill out a time off request?”

Kaveh considered for a moment. “You want to be rid of me that badly?” He joked, and Haseen shook his head. He rifled through a few papers that were stacked on the side of his desk.

“Of course not. In fact, I’ll let you in on this now, since I insist you leave as soon as possible,” Haseen started, and he handed Kaveh another paper.

It was a deal with the city of Port Ormos, requiring five architects to spearhead the restoration of the port and bridge. The planning was to start in nearly a year. Kaveh looked at Haseen with skepticism.

“I remember how hard it was to be working these jobs fresh out of school, and you’ve been running yourself into the ground at the pace you’re going. I had already intended on asking you to join this team-”

“Yes.” Kaveh’s smile hurt his face. He felt lightheaded. “A million times over, yes.”

Haseen leaned into Kaveh and gripped the back of his neck with good natured mirth. “I was worried you would say no, given–” he started, then he stopped and shrugged. “It will be a pleasure to have you as part of the team.”

“Thank you,” Kaveh said, rubbing his own hand against his neck, against the warmth Haseen had left there. “I won’t let you down.”

“You don’t have to work to impress me, Kaveh. I know there’s a brilliant mind in there,” Haseen said, placing himself with the sturdy desk between them. “Now hurry home.”

-

Hurry home. Home was an indistinct monster that Kaveh hadn’t known for years. Home was not where he was intending to go.

Faranak, his mother, was half Sumerian and half Fontainian. She spent her childhood in Fontaine and moved to Sumeru to continue her studies, rising in the ranks as a well-appreciated artist. She stayed in Sumeru to build her family. And when that family crumbled in her hands, she went back to her home– back to safety.

Kaveh had worked past being upset with her about it. He could understand the feeling of wanting to go home and be loved unconditionally, especially when the world seemed so uncaring. He had even urged her to go, only fourteen and more than capable of handling himself. He’d told her to leave, to heal.

She had raised him alone for six years. She had worked, and cooked, and taught him everything she could, every day. He knew she deserved the break from him. He’d seen her paintings, filled with vast lakes and rivers, tall buildings that looked nothing like the clay and straw thatched roofs he grew up around. He wasn’t a fool.

When she left, he had missed her. But he knew that her coming back wouldn’t bring back the safety and happiness that had died with his father when he was eight years old. That life was gone and buried.

The ride to Fontaine was wet. He had decided to take a horse, rather than cruise on the large boats that covered the nation via arching sky rivers. He figured that he would need the time to think. To come to an understanding with the irrational child in his mind, the one who couldn’t bear to see another relic of his past altered forever.

It took almost a full day of riding to get there, through the rolling hills that could be barely seen over the tallest Sumeru peaks, across the many lakes and rivers that fed through the nation and met the sea back in Port Ormos, past field after field of crop- flowers and vegetables and cattle that shook the rain off their hide. He’d seen these sights before, and they brought him the same strange sense of unearned nostalgia. His mother belonged here, in this ocean-green world with hills full of lavender and rivers deep and winding. He could have belonged here, maybe. In some different universe.

He arrived by evening, and he and his rented horse were both drenched by the time they crossed the long raised bridges into the city. He only vaguely recognized the facades of the houses, all intricate and squished together like tall strangers standing in a cramped room. The sky was overcast, and it set a gray hue over all of the buildings, making the colors bleed together in a muted and elegant haze. He felt overly saturated here, as though his darker sun-knowing skin and richly toned clothes made him stick out like a bejeweled spectacle amongst the crowd. He hoped his mother had extra clothes on hand for him.

He found her townhouse with little confusion, despite the layered and tightly-packed layout of the city. He’d visited on occasion, though not in many years, but it was hard to miss the dusty rose building with a terrace exploding in the textures and colors of exotic plants. It was the obvious artistic flare his mother brought along anywhere she went.

He walked up the tiny cobbled staircase, leaving his horse to paw at the road. Apprehension ate at him as he knocked on the intricately carved wood, not willing to risk struggling with the heavy looking claw shaped knocker. Above him, he heard the tick of the mechanical movement.

“Bonjour.” a stiff looking woman dressed in black opened the door for him, her hands covered by pristine white gloves. Her dark hair was tucked up into a black fascinator, a deep red plume sticking from the top of the small hat with self important gusto.

“Hello, is my mother– Is Faranak here?” He replied, tripping over the pronunciation of the upper class Fontainian as though he wasn’t raised with the language in his mouth.

“Kaveh?” The woman asked, her hand to her chest in shock. “But you’re so tall! Come in, come in,” she said, ushering him into the building and out of the rain. Riva, the household butler he had known as one of his mother’s closest friends, was greatly changed by age. Her mouth was drawn in a permanent, wrinkled purse, as though deeply contemplating every thought she had. Regardless of her stiffness, he found himself glad to see her. He glanced back at the horse, and she waved a hand. “I’ll call for it to be led to the carriage house.”

He was bustled into a narrow entryway, the stairs to the upper floors meeting him. To his right was a large room, its door only open a crack, and to his left was a small hallway that he knew wound around the stairs to the dining room, and the kitchen beyond it.

He didn’t have to wait very long to get a sense of where he was supposed to go, because as soon as his foot crossed the threshold, the door to his right flew open in a rush of noise and light.

“Kaveh!” His mother called, her arms outstretched and her smile broad. Her curly blond hair was delicately pleated and swept into a ridiculously intricate updo, and a salmon-colored feather bounced above her head as she moved. Its color matched the lining to the rusty toned, pinstriped gown she wore, the bodice tightly fitted and the skirt an explosion of large gathers that cascaded into a small train.

She hugged him despite the rain that clung to him, kissed both of his cheeks, then she surveyed him with a keen eye. “You’re wet!” She said, pinching the cloth of his sleeve. “I will get you some dry clothes. Riva?”

“Of course,” the severe looking woman said, and she bustled away.

“How was the ride? How is work? Did it rain the entire way? You must be exhausted, here, come sit,” she said, drawing him into the room she had come from and gesturing to a pristine white stool. “Wait-” she said, realizing that he was soaked through, and likely not fit to sit on something so unmarred by water or– god forbid– mud.

He stood awkwardly in the room, surveying the changes that had come to pass since he had been there last.

The space was not at all reminiscent of the place from his memories. Where there had once been hardwood, there were now delicate rugs on the floor, all in shades of pale blue and white. The couches, once being two weathered looking red chaise lounges, had been exchanged for two heavily upholstered loveseats, both in a creamy pale hue. On every surface there were white vases, and in those vases where flowers in gentle colors, soft pinks and dusty greens.

Along the far wall where white bookcases, and while some of the shelves held books, most were adorned with sculptures and knickknacks: shells collected from a beach somewhere, a marble statuette of a nude woman, a silvery globe that seemed far more decorative than functional, and a similarly silvery heavy-looking hourglass. Nestled underneath and between the bookcases was a fireplace, with a smoldering blue fire quietly dying in its mouth. Nothing had so much of a speck of dust on it.

The only similarities to the room it had been before its apparent makeover was the white upright piano, which sat towards the back of the room and was separated from the low table and loveseats by a decorative pony wall and romanesque pillars. The charming glass chandelier that hung above them was also a familiar face. It too glowed with blue light, rather than the familiar orange of a normal candle.

On the piano bench, tucked into the back of the room like another marble statue, sat a girl that Kaveh didn’t recognize.

Her hair, a deep black and of a nature that seemed more willing to frizz than lay flat, was swept into a tamed bunch of curls at the back of her head. Atop the pile of hair was a feathery headpiece, alight with tiny glowing stars that cascaded across a short white mesh veil, which did nothing to obscure her dainty yet slightly nervous-looking face.

Her dress was a very similar cut to Kaveh’s mother’s, but it was crafted out of light aquamarine silk, the overskirt and bustle giving way to the plain cream underskirt beneath. It was understated, but elegant, and entirely fashionable. It too was embellished with small glittering stars, culminating in a star-shaped brooch that clung to the collar of her high neck. Her hands, which were covered in pale netted gloves, lay knotted together in her lap.

Upon meeting her clear green eyes, Kaveh was struck with the sudden knowledge that she would look far brighter and more striking in a deep rose color– rather than the light blues that washed her out and made her blend seamlessly into the backdrop of the room.

“Hello,” he said, feeling the weight of his damp clothes against his back and shoulders.

“Kaveh, you remember Estelle, don’t you?” his mother said, stepping in between them as though to rescue the girl from his attention. “You met before, last time you were here. I’m sure you will have much to catch up about, once you’re all settled.”

With the matching of name to face, his mother’s words rang true. Though, the Estelle from his memory was not a pretty wallflower, but rather a spry young girl who could be found wearing wild mechanical contraptions or wading waist deep in a pond to hunt for frogs. Seeing her all grown up shocked him, waking him up to the reality that it had been a good long while since he had last been in Fontaine.

“Of course,” he said with warmth, but the girl did not meet his gaze again.

Riva entered then, a pile of clean and dry clothes in her arms. “Follow me, child,” she said, and then she promptly disappeared up the stairs.

Kaveh hurried quickly after her, nodding politely to his mother and Estelle before he hurried to change. When he made it up to his unofficial room, it was blessedly familiar. His childish and cheap spare architecture materials were sitting on a cluttered workspace, tidied but otherwise untouched. His bed, a sturdy wooden frame with piles of thickly knitted tapestry blankets, was made, and it still had the small canopy of rich red curtains around the headboard.

The singular large window on the far wall held a cushioned window seat, and it looked out onto the respectably sized lawn and rose garden that his mother kept. Beyond the boundary of the property, the wall of the Court of Fontaine rose, protecting the city from the waters that surrounded it.

His mother’s paintings were still hung on the deep green walls, the same ones he had asked her to paint him when he was young and unsure of spending the summer in an unfamiliar country. In them were images of Sumeru city and the surrounding grasslands and waterways, all in splendid color.

Riva placed the clothes on the bed, and he thanked her heartily.

“Put your wet clothes in that basket, I will have them clean and dry by the morning.” She closed the door behind her, leaving Kaveh to his own devices.

He took a deep, fortifying breath. It smelled so strange here, like vacations abroad and rain on stone. A little like mechanical grease. Sumeru was so close, maybe even visible from high enough, but it seemed like an entirely different world. There, the rain would smell rich— like plants and herbs and heat. Nothing at all like the damp stiffness of Fontaine.

He hadn’t even taken a breath before he’d left to come here, too busy and too used to the rush of constant movement. He’d quickly run back to his nearly abandoned house, packed only what he could carry, and rushed off with all the trappings of a young man craving a change of scenery.

Now that he was here, his thoughts were unburdened by work, and he could ruminate on what he would have to say to his mother, the conversations that were destined to happen, the questions she would surely have. Answers he couldn’t even tell himself.

Was he happy? How was he supposed to know? He was making money, he was carving his name into his field as a professional, he was saying yes to everyone. He was fit, he could afford to eat. He often drank. Was that bliss?

His work was boring. And crowded. And uninspired. He would work beyond his pay, beyond his hours, and the partners would always come back with a resounding “no.” They wanted everything to be streamlined, to be simple. To be cost-effective. It wasn’t as if he didn’t see the appeal, but… He wished there could be a project to satisfy him, something beyond the needs of the market and more suited to his own needs as an artist. He was learning much as a lackey and a member of the workforce, but that didn’t mean his heart was satisfied.

And now he was away from it all, away from the sound of hammering and the shouts of construction workers. Away from the candles that burned low as he worked late into the night. He was standing in a room tens of miles away, where love and beauty and justice was in the air. Where grace flowed in the water like a song.

Not to mention, he had no idea how to approach the conversation of the wedding. He knew better than to say anything hurtful, better than to make anything about him when his mother was so clearly happy. But it felt like being left behind again. It felt like being forgotten.

And he was still soaking wet.

He tore off his clothing and threw it into the wicker basket, lamenting the loss of the beautiful vibrant colors. He used a soft towel on his hair.. He put on the stockings, stepped into trousers, slid on a soft white shirt, tucked, buttoned. He put on a crimson and black waistcoat. He thought for a moment about leaving the dark overcoat on the bed, already feeling crushed by the tightly fitted and multi-layered nature of Fontainian clothing, but he caved as soon as he heard the rain prattle against the window. It was too cold here to go without it.

With all of his clothes in order, he walked himself back down the stairs, only taking a moment to pause and look down the hall on the upper landing. To his left was the restroom, and across the hall was Estelle’s room, if memory served. At the end there was a workroom, as well as his mother’s, and supposedly Rainier’s, bedroom. The stairs curved around once more in front of the door to his room, up to a storage area, Riva’s quarters, and a few other rooms he couldn’t recall the use for.

He heard a door open down the hall and he headed down the stairs and towards the dining room, from which the smell of fresh bread and rosemary was beginning to waft up to greet him.

He entered the room to find his mother at the head of an ornate oak table. Familiar yet distant scents hit his nose, rosemary and sage and butter. Dried spices and thyme.

To his mother’s left was a fresh looking man, close in age to her and nearly comparable in beauty. His short beard was cleanly trimmed, his clothes were all starched and crisp. He was just barely smiling, the upturned corner of his mouth tilting his manicured mustache in a jovial salute. His eyes, similarly to Estelle’s, were green, but they held none of the unsure anxiety that hers did. They were alight with joy and pleasure at having a beautiful meal with his family.

To his left sat Estelle, who’s gaze was downturned and thoughtful. She was swirling her wine noncommittally, and she neglected to look up when he entered the room.

“Kaveh! Good to see you! Come, come eat,” Rainier boomed. Everyone around the table stood, and Rainier moved to kiss Kaveh on one cheek, then the other. He trailed back to the table, gesturing to the seat across from himself for Kaveh.

Already, the first course sat on his plate– some sort of foamy mousse piled atop a delicate pastry shell. He sat and swirled the light wine that was in his glass. It smelled like apples– thankfully no hints of grassy dandelion. He couldn’t stomach Mondstat’s famous wine anymore.

“It looks fantastic,” he said, bringing his napkin to his lap. He watched as his mother brought a bite to her mouth before he picked up his own fork.

“Thank you,” she said, once she had swallowed. “The menu is one of our tried and tested favorites.”

He nodded. The creamy substance on top was surprisingly savory, with a fish-like flavor that was complemented by the buttery crust. It tasted nothing like home, but it was still a marvel of culinary art. He finished the first course easily.

“So, how is work?” His mother asked as Kaveh took a sip of the light wine.

His mind faltered for a moment.

“Good, good,” he said, rather than saying that he was slowly being drained by menial grunt work that gave him no space for personal time, friendships or even the respite of creativity. He’d asked for this, so what was the use of complaining? “I’ve got another job lined up for when I arrive home, with a boss I like. It’s a restoration project in Port Ormos.”

“That’s wonderful!” Another dish came out, this one a hot baked tart, eggy and steaming.

Kaveh nodded and took a tentative bite. He swallowed. “And you, what have you been up to?”

Dinner continued on, with pleasantries and half-truths sprinkled into the conversation like stale seasoning. Estelle said little of anything, seeming more interested in pushing the food around her plate than eating. Rainier nodded enthusiastically and smiled too much, like a businessman still at work. Kaveh’s mother, kind and familiar as she was, carefully walked the line between being uncaring and overbearing. Her sentences often broke off before offering her sage advice, as if constantly reminding herself that her son was no longer a child.

They had made it through four more courses which consisted of soup, two entrees, and a cheese tray with dried fruits and fresh bread, before a proverbial knife was unknowingly shoved into Kaveh’s chest.

“And how is your friend?” His mother asked, her delicate hand stirring her coffee with deliberate slowness.

Kaveh tilted his head. “Samiya? She’s well, though I haven’t seen her in what feels like ages,” he started. “Last I heard she was sculpting some–”

“No, no dear, the one you wouldn’t stop raving about back from school, oh, what was his name?” She sipped her coffee and closed her eyes, as if the memory was written somewhere in the darkness of her mind.

“Alhaitham!” Rainier threw out with exaltation at his spectacular recollection. Like a dog who had successfully completed a trick, and now eagerly awaited its treat.

Kaveh’s breath caught, and he prayed to any listening god that he wasn’t visibly wilting.

He had heard very little of Alhaitham in the past year or so, and he’d seen even less. Bi-monthly, his name would appear in the footnotes of a journal or within the constant murmuring of the Akasha that clung to Kaveh’s ear. The first time Kaveh had heard it, he’d wanted to nauseously tear the device off his head. Since then, it had become marginally more manageable to ignore, and he did so indulgently. Days in which Alhaitham’s voice echoed above the rest were some of Kaveh’s most productive.

Now though, Alhaitham was not a ghostly embodiment of Kaveh’s shitty decisions and overwhelming stupidity, but rather a topic of pleasant conversation with his mother. Fantastic.

“Well, I’d assume,” Kaveh bluffed. “I hardly see anyone from the Haravatat darshan in my line of work.”

“Oh what a shame,” his mother said. “You sounded so close in your letters, I had thought–”

“It was simply an academic partnership, which has since concluded.” Kaveh cut her off. He ate a slice of chocolate-covered orange. “This is fantastic,” he said, his emphasis on the last word dragging, his pasted smile shining through the syllables.

“It’s especially good with the brandy we brought back in winter, you must try it!” Rainier stood to pour said alcohol into Kaveh’s cup.

The conversation drifted away, and Kaveh settled into his chair with a sigh. He watched as his mother’s interest shifted into whatever Rainier was talking about, and he took a hearty swig of the brandy. It tasted like plum and almond.

Diagonally from him, calculating green eyes stared with blatant curiosity. Either by ignorance or through sheer force of will, Kaveh paid no mind.

-

Fontaine was not always as gloomy as it had been when Kaveh arrived. Some days were much brighter, filled with the satisfying click of heels upon cobbled streets, the squeak of bound wheels over the stone, and the pleasant ticking of the many mechanical things and beings that filled Fontaine.

He’d tried and failed on many occasions to talk with Estelle, who would consistently answer him with noncommittal hums or outright ignorance of his interest in her life.

So instead, Kaveh spent his weeks meandering across the city, attending tastings and fittings and workshops with his mother and Rainier in order to make their wedding as magical as possible. He woke late and went to bed later. He sat in his mother’s workshop as she worked, and he’d even helped on occasion. He visited the docks and took tours of Rainier’s many trade ships, feeling like a pirate as he sketched from the bow. He spent many hours in the various shops around the city, sketching and reading and, shockingly, relaxing.

It was through this relaxation and gentleness of living, specifically in an ornately decorated teahouse that his family frequented, where Kaveh realized that he had lost sight of himself.

“And so what if it was Descartes? It was horribly unromantic, and the quality of the prose was so poor I’ve been entirely put off by him.” One of Estelle’s friends, Marie, muttered from beside Kaveh, who was only a table over from the two girls and well within earshot.

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Estelle replied. This was the most Kaveh ever witnessed animation on his step sister’s face, when she was surrounded by her friends. He stirred his coffee slowly, so that he could hear over the din of the clanking silverware.

Raphael chimed in from the other side. “So my dearest, please forgive. In my heart of hearts I love, therefore I live.” They read from the sheet in front of them.

“Oh.” Estelle reached for the letter that her friends were passing back and forth. “That’s quite painful.”

“In any case, he’s not more or less handsome than any of the other engineers. I’ll tell him it’s a lost cause, and then maybe I’ll be able to get some work done.” Marie rested her head in her hands. Raphael patted her shoulder thoughtfully.

“You know, you could always quit and become a revolutionary. Or join the Spina di Rosula. That’s what all the attractive young men do, these days,” Raphael said, and they received a swift kick to their leg.

“Don’t joke. Even that could implicate you.” Estelle sipped her tea, her tone chastising and fearful.

“Good! I’ve always wanted to make a spectacle at the Opera,” Marie sighed. “Did you read about the piracy case? The defendant was absolutely gorgeous, I hear, and his defense was water-tight. If only an attractive and eloquent man like that would write poems to me, instead of this frightful lot.” She gestured to the letter.

“Not all of us are blessed to be so lucky in the face of justice.” Estelle sipped her tea with a trace of disdain in her eyes. The week before had held a frantic news cycle, filled with mystery and intrigue at the Opera. Kaveh’s family had been ignoring the papers and had neglected the trial, on account of Estelle snatching up the papers before they could be read and feeling too ill to go out the night of the event.

As such, Kaveh had barely even been to the Fountain of Lucine once during his trip.

“Sorry, what?” Kaveh interjected, his curiosity getting the best of him.

The group of friends closed as quickly as clams. “Just a… some silly politics.” Marie picked at the biscuit on her plate.

“A revo-”

“Haha! Are you a poet, Kaveh?” Raphael passed him the letter the friends had been giggling over moments before.

“Ah, no. Linguistic arts never suited me,” he replied, allowing the past topic to fall back into obscurity.

“That’s surprising, judging by how good your Fontainian is,” Marie said. “What’s your take on this groundbreaking love letter?”

Kaveh read over it. He hushed the bitter voice in his head that pointed out inconsistencies in the themes, the verbose nothingness, and the unimaginative half-thoughts. It was not a well written letter. The ghost of Alhaitham laughed in Kaveh’s mind, and so he chose the path of resistance against the spector’s jeering.

“It could be better,” Kaveh said, and the friends laughed lightheartedly. “I’d tweak a line, here or there. But you can tell he tried, right?”

“Tried to make me sick, maybe,” Marie jeered, and both Raph and Estelle shook their heads.

“Marie has a harsh set of standards,” Raphael replied, their eyes gleaming.

“I have an appreciation for the arts,” Marie said, her eyes turned towards the sky in a mock plea. “I just want to live in a beautiful world, is that too much to ask?”

This is the phrase that stuck in Kaveh’s head once the afternoon had closed and Estelle’s fashionable friends had gone away. He sat in bed, rolling it over in his mind. He wanted to create a beautiful world. He wanted other people to find joy in the buildings they were in. He wanted to make happiness bloom.

Making something beautiful took skill, effort, and practice. He had almost every tool available to him, except for a wealthy beneficiary who could fund such a project. But that was his torch to bear, and to burn. For the fight of beauty and kindness, he wanted to be a constant champion.

-

As the date of the wedding rushed ever-nearer and the weeks of his stay in Fontaine stretched longer, Kaveh began to feel as though he might be ready to go home. More than a few times he had drawn just for the sake of drawing, without any application to his work or his next job. He sat through performances of singing and theater on a weekly basis. He’d taken some classes in Fontainian cuisine, in wine pairings, and in fencing. He could feel his joy for creating things growing back like a nearly-dead plant, scarred over in places, but learning how to thrive beyond it.

Then, four days before the wedding, his Akasha buzzed.

Generally, when outside of Sumeru, the Akasha was voiceles. Being too far from the main hub of a city made connectivity difficult, even within Sumeru. Outside it, there was only the occasional beep and whirr to alert Kaveh of its existence.

He had been sitting on his bed, the setting sun only just starting to fade out over the horizon. He had been drawing, his right hand smudged with ink.

“Attention,” it said, in an authoritative and mechanical voice. “As of tomorrow, the position of Scribe of the Akademiya will be held by Alhaitham. All messages, proposals, grants, records and papers will go through the office of Scribe Alhaitham before being released to the Akasha. This has been an official announcement.”

Creeping dread filled Kaveh as the announcement looped.

“Attention. As of tomorrow, the position of Scribe of the Academia will be held by Alhaitham. All messages, proposals, grants, records and papers will go through the office of Scribe Alhaitham before being released to the Akasha. This has been an official announcement.”

He had successfully avoided the man for nearly a year and a half, and now it would be impossible. Kaveh would– oh god.

He would have to go to the Scribe’s office to do anything funded by the Akademiya. He would have to speak to Alhaitham regularly.

Already the guilt and shame were beginning to claw its way out of Kaveh’s chest. He had been foolish. He had trusted that friendship, fondness, or even just understanding would protect him from the rejection he desperately feared. He hated himself for it, and he hated Alhaitham–

No he didn’t.

He felt sick. The announcement looped again.

“Attention. As of tomorrow, the position of Scribe of the Academia will be held by Alhaitham. All messages, proposals, grants, records and papers will go through the office of Scribe Alhaitham before being released to the Akasha. This has been an official announcement. Thank you.”

He sprung up from the bed, his hands shaking and his drawing abandoned. He needed to do something, he needed to have a task, something menial and boring that would take up the space in his mind that the fear was living in. He opened the door and rushed down the stairs, his steps quick and quiet.

His hand barely glanced over the banister as he went. He rounded the corner, his fingertips tracing along the wall. Before he knew it, a glass tumbler was in his hand. He’d uncorked the brandy that lived in the liquor cabinet of the dinning room and poured himself a swift swig. He knocked it back, then poured another. It burned down his throat.

Somewhere in the house, the floorboards creaked. Kaveh stilled. His breathing was labored, and it hurt to slow it down enough to hear over the sound of his own inhales.

Another creak. Gently, Kaveh placed the bottle of liquor down and pressed the cork into place.

The creaking was getting louder. Surely, he had no reason to be ashamed– yet he felt it anyways, the biting disapproval of his mother if she found him rifling through her expensive alcohol like a partying teen.

He debated taking one last sip, as a balm for his wretched existence, if not his last meal. He gently, gently, placed the glass down.

In the entryway, there was a figure. Dimly lit by the last futile shreds of day, the figure was dressed in simple worn clothes. A black cape with the hood up, too short to be bespoke. Pants with tears and patches. They were holding a parcel in their hands, a rag tied up to hide its inner contents.

Kaveh, half drunk and half sick, nearly raised his voice to call out that there was an intruder— but the person put up a hand and pushed their hood back with fervor.

“Shh,” Estelle said, her green eyes wild and fierce. “It’s just me. Don’t, please don’t.”

-

Beneath the fountains, the cobbled streets, and the quaint boutiques with their clock-like facades and cheerful colors, was a place unlike any other.

Estelle had led him there, around the back of the house, down an alley, through a manhole. Their feet had touched down in nothing less than a ramshackle town of crates and tents, a haunting echo of the gilded city above.

Estelle wove through the sewers with practiced ease, stepping over the dirtied, trickling water and nodding to the few she passed.

Kaveh followed, his gaze constantly caught on every detail and face. Above them, yellow lights blinked in and out, letting them see the path beyond them in uneasy intervals. Estelle turned, and Kaveh traced her steps. Down the opposite direction, a child wailed. It bounced off of the walls of the tunnel. They both paused, and Estelle shook her head. She continued onward.

In front of them, a small city center appeared. It was lit with the same yellow light, emanating from down the sewer drains and from smoky yellow lamps. Around it were more people, their ranks far more lively and chatty than those Kaveh had seen in the dark passageways before.

“Stella,” a young girl said, her eyes alight with recognition. “Who’s that?” The child backed up, her arms outstretched as if to run or grab.

“This is Kaveh, my brother,” Estelle answered. “He’s helping me with carrying the food today.”

“I don’t like brothers.” The girl said with disdain, but her stance relaxed. “Want me to go check in on your Antione?” She held the vowel of the name in a long sing-song tone.

Estelle responded by tossing a small bag to the child. “As if. Tease me more and I’ll find another sneaky sewer rat to send my messages,” Estelle warned, but her tone held the warmth of familiarity.

“You wouldn’t dare,” the girl replied, her chest puffed up in pride. “I’m the sneakiest there is.”

“Prove it then. Where’s pa?” Estelle asked, hefting the bag of food they had brought out of Kaveh’s arms.

“He’s over by Jaque’s,” the girl said, her nose scrunched. “He’s reminizing.”

“Reminiscing?”

“Whatever,” the girl said, before leaping over a crate and rushing off into the darkness. “Be back soon!”

“Who–” Kaveh started, but Estelle cut him off.

“After. Questions come after.” She walked down the street with purpose, not at all uncomfortable with the debris-covered buildings that leaned over them as they walked.

“Stella!” A gaunt looking man said as they approached what seemed like a pub, with barrels and long waxed tables filling the inside of the tiny open-air space. Beside him, a short and thin man was shining cracked glassware with a stained rag.

“Hi Germ.” Estelle placed the heaping bag on the table. “There’s extra, I had help today. Germ, Kanto, this is my brother Kaveh.”

Germ offered a cool slim hand, and Kaveh took it and leaned in to receive a kiss on each cheek. “Welcome. Thank you for the supplies. We appreciate any help we can get down here.” He spoke with an odd accent, his vowells longer and more melodic than Kaveh was used to.

“Of course,” Kaveh said, schooling his expression into something he hoped resembled ease. He had seen similar towns along the edges of the Sumeru desert, where water and medicine were scarce. But he hadn’t imagined a place like this, stricken with poverty while the city above flourished with all of the beauty and money and food, where illness and fear was almost nonexistent. It was as if the city of Fontaine had been twisted on its axis, the underground a haunting reflection of the decadence from above.

“How is everything?” Estelle asked, glancing around at the empty square. Scaffolding rose on either side of them, making Kaveh feel closed-in and cold. In the distance, the echoing sound of water dripping on metal could be heard.

“As good as it could be, given the circumstances. Navia still hasn’t left Poisson since the trial,” Germ said, shaking his head. “Obviously she will need to take her time to process, but our situation–”

“She can’t help being a child,” Kanto, still cleaning the smoky glassware, pitched in. “We are tough, we have been through worse.”

“Not in this century, we haven’t,” Germ sighed. “But luckily we have good company, and plenty of help, like dear Stella.”

Feeling unable to contribute to a conversation that clearly didn’t include him, Kaveh stepped away while the three of them continued to catch up. He settled himself on a worn wooden stool, and traced the embedded words patrons had left in the table.

Camden and Laurent will rule the world! was written beside a heart, engraved with H and K. Kaveh reveled in the gentle beauty of the drunken carvings.

After a few minutes, the girl from before came skipping back, interrupting the quiet murmurs of nighttime gossip.

“Oh my dearest Stella, how often I think of you, your dark hair, your soft hands, I miss the-” she started, and Estelle gasped.

“Rascal! Don’t read what he’s–”

“You didn’t pay me to keep quiet!” The girl squealed, and Estelle smiled, chasing her around tables of the vacant pub. Above them a neighbor shouted a string of tired profanities, giving the girls pause to their commotion. In the moment of stillness, Estelle lunged for the note.

She grasped it tightly to her chest, then bent her head to read the few scrawled words there.

“What’s ‘inalienable’ mean?” Said the girl, who peered over Estelle’s shoulder.

“Take the parts out,” Estelle replied, her voice gentle. “In. Alien. Able.”

“Not like aliens?”

“Right. Now use the context. ‘Any law which violates the inalienable rights of a person is essentially unjust,’ or…”

“Any law which violates the… Is it like normal?”

Estelle nodded. “It means inherent,” she started, then stopped at the confused look in the girl’s eyes. “Um…”

Germ, who had been fondly watching along with Kanto, jumped in. “It means they cannot be taken away, Dani.”

“Ohh. In-alien-able. Got it.” Dani bounced on her heels. “Antione was fine today. He said he’s feeling much better.”

“That’s great news!” Said Germ, his hand on Dani’s small shoulder. “Excellent work Dandy Dan.”

Dani smiled proudly, her chin tilted upwards.

“We won’t take anymore of your time, then.” Estelle gathered herself, motioning to Kaveh that they were leaving. “We can talk more business next time, without visitors.”

Germ nodded, and with that Kaveh and Estelle bustled themselves out of the underground city and back into the sparkly Fontaine that Kaveh thought he knew.

-

“And nobody has done anything, they just let him die?”

Kaveh was seated on Estelle’s bed, in the only room of the house he had not been privy to since the beginning of his stay. Across from him, Estelle was wrapped in a fluffy robe, a bed sheet tucked around her like a soft sateen shield.

“I’m doing something, and Navia, too,” she said, her gaze downturned. “But it’s,” she lowered her voice, “not entirely legal.”

“The justice system here is…”

“Inane? Pointless? A cheerful spectacle for a–” she paused, a complicated look passing over her dark features. “If the Archon could weigh my heart personally at this moment, she would find I speak only what I believe is the path of justice.” She spoke into the night air as if the Hydro Archon could indeed hear her. “But it is wrong to act so carelessly just for the sake of entertainment, or to.. To save face.”

Kaveh stood and began to pace. “This might sound insane,” he started, “but I… I think you’re incredible. Regardless of what you can tell me about it, I’m just happy you don’t hate me.”

“Hate you?” Estelle said, her head tilted in confusion.

“I thought you were too young to remember me, or I had done something to upset you, or,” Kaveh faltered. “But you were just hiding your thought crimes from a god who seems like she might be dangerously out of her depth.”

“Alleged!” Estelle posited.

“Right, yes. Alleged thought crimes. And alleged uh, normal crimes.”

“Well, I don’t hate you, and I haven’t been convicted of anything. I just didn’t know what you would be like.” Estelle tightened the sheet around herself.

“Your secret is safe with me.” Kaveh said, sitting back down on the bed. “Do good. Take chances. My dad used to say that.”

“My mom always said to ‘be brave enough for everyone.’” Estelle smiled. “Thank you Kaveh.”

Kaveh smiled and stood. He opened the door just far enough to squish himself through, hoping the light didn’t bleed too much into the hallway. Then he paused and closed the door back to a crack.

“Why did you bring me with you?” He asked, his hand still on the handle. “Why not just explain later, or blow me off?”

Estelle looked at him, her eyes large and thoughtful. “I know what loneliness feels like.”

Her statement hardly provided any clarity for Kaveh, but he appreciated it regardless.

“Besides, I wanted you there. Some secrets are so heavy.” Estelle said, “And you’re my brother.”

-

“Does it look okay?”

Faranak stood at the mirror, turning this way and that, a long train of creamy white fabric stretching out behind her.

“It looks perfect,” Kaveh insisted, leaning against the wall with fistfulls of tule in his hands. In two hours, his mother would be married again.

She glanced up at him, her carefully applied makeup threatening to smear with the dampness of her eyes.

“You’re not angry, are you darling?”

“Why would I be?”

His mother stood on a stepping stool in front of her long mirror, lace framing her head like a silken halo. Fresh and golden morning light lit up every spare sparkle and gem on her body, catching on the glitter of her skirt and bodice, sending reflections echoing out into the space around them.

Kaveh could smell the lemon and honey on the bedside table next to him. He watched the steam rise from the calming tea.

Next to his mother Kaveh felt spectacularly plain, as if he was some sort of alien next to her radiance.

He wasn’t angry. But he didn’t feel happy either.

“No, no maman,” he said, taking her gloved hand. “Just feeling…”

Her other hand reached for his cheek, wiping away a sneaking tear with her fingers. Her glove was stained with it. “Feeling twenty-four?”

He laughed, but it was wet and tired. “Exactly that.”

She shrugged her slim shoulders. “So? What are you rushing around for?” She handed Kaveh her necklace, turning around to lift her hair so he could clasp it around her neck.

“What do you mean?” Kaveh asked, fidgeting with the fastening.

“You’re young, not at all poor, and working yourself to the bone. Even visiting Fontaine you’ve been running around so much I’ve barely seen you.” She touched the pearls as they draped across her collarbones, now firmly secured. “You can take a break.”

Kaveh felt as she kissed the crown of his head. “I’m not made for relaxation,” he joked, and she sighed.

Glitter fell from his mother’s hair as she moved.

“That’s not true, Kaveh.” She offered her hand and stepped down from the stool, now standing a head below Kaveh despite her heels. “Even if you don’t relax, you should still see the world. I’m sure Rainier would offer you passage to anywhere you might want to go. Make friends, explore. Maybe Sumeru isn’t your final destination.”

Kaveh nodded. He could make arrangements, he had the money. His mother’s words struck a chord full of pining, and her offer was enticing.

“I want you to live fully,” Faranak said, her eyes glossy again.

He held her, trying not to crush the manicured layers of fabric between them.

“I want that for you, too.” Kaveh said. He meant it. He couldn’t hold onto his anger anymore, not for her– or for anyone else.

He still had time. He would go and see the world.