Work Text:
“Alhaitham.”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever thought… how the world might end?”
“No.”
“Not even a little bit?”
“Is there a reason for me to? If the world ends, then so be it. Nothing can last forever.”
“...I suppose so.”
“...I do not mean that in a negative way. It is merely a fact that everything in this world will meet their end, one way or another, so rather than focusing your energies on something you cannot control, it would be more productive to channel into something you can control, right here and now.”
“I—You’re right. As always. Hah.”
“...Still, history has shown that time and time again, the names and lives of people live on in the form of stories and records, passed down through the ages, be it via literature, song, or any other art form.”
“Is this supposed to be you finally admitting that art is actually something useful?”
“I never said that it was not.”
“‘Art as a resource is superfluous, opinionated and incredibly subjective, especially in a place like Cloudbank. You should consider switching careers while you have the chance.’ Are these not the words that you told me in the past?”
“Yes, and I reiterate: I have never devalued the importance of art in human culture and society. But in Cloudbank, where things such as the weather and the color of the sky are determined by the whims of the public, the value of art in their eyes is significantly lessened. When everything in the city is ever transient and momentary, the permanence of something like architecture holds little to no sway.”
“Kick a man down while he’s already on the ground, why don’t you?”
“—In spite of that, however, it is a fact that your latest work has been received very well by the general masses. If you can maintain that fervor, you might have an audience as sizable as that sky painter, Yon-Dale.”
“Heh. That would be nice. And I’d finally be able to rub it in your face.”
“That will take a while, considering how well-paid my current job is—”
“Hey!”
“—but I look forward to that day.”
“...”
Tranquil silence, if only for a moment, is eventually broken by his own hand as he flips to the next page of the book in his hands. A shuffle, followed by the warm press of a familiar body next to his as a head leans to rest upon his shoulder, the weight of it long since having become more comfort than nuisance.
“...Hey, Alhaitham?”
“What is it?”
“...Thanks. For always being here.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“—Alhaitham, Alhaitham, can you hear me? It’s okay, it’s okay. We got away, we’re out. We’re out.”
Logically, Alhaitham knows that he’s supposed to try and focus on Kaveh’s voice in order to steady himself, but it's impossible to accomplish that when everything else continues to overwhelm him—the pounding of his heart, the rush of blood in his ears, the strained wheeze of his throat, the static that fills his mind as the sound of Zandik’s panicked, dying gasps echo in his mind, still so fresh from the battle he’d just barely managed to scrape through. For all the experience he’d picked up through the night fighting against The Process, it had all basically amounted to nothing the moment he’d realized that the sole remaining member of the Fatui had a Transistor of their own. Truly, the only reason why he’d won had been due to a combination of luck, resilience and—
“Alhaitham, did you hear me? We got away. We’re free.”
—Kaveh.
He sucks in a breath as Kaveh calls for him again, his voice coming to him louder than all the noise in his head, loud and bright enough to break through the darkness and static in order to reach him. Alhaitham squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few more deep breaths before he tries to regulate his breathing, hands squeezed tight around the handle of the blade that’d been his sole company though this terrible, exhausting night.
It should be enough, a part of his mind tells him. He’s done everything that he can at this point now. Nobody would blame him—if there even is anybody left in this city at this point. Others, perhaps, might have laid their hopes on a timely evacuation, but Alhaitham has read what's been written in each and every terminal that he’d come across and knows The Process well enough to understand the futility of that hope. Even mutated, The Process is still efficient and thorough; the chances of anyone having made it out before it’d been finally stopped is zero.
“It’s all right,” Kaveh tells him, as if he’d been able to read his mind. Impossible, of course, even with how advanced Cloudbank is (was), but Kaveh has always been able to understand the unspoken when it comes down to it—and tonight, of all nights, is when he’d been forced to pick up that skill double-time. And for the most part, Alhaitham would say that he’s done well, especially considering he’d been under duress the whole way through, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise. Kaveh has always been smarter and sharper than he gives himself credit for. “You’re still here. And I—I’m still here. And that’s… that’s what matters the most, right?”
Alhaitham is here, that much is true, but can the same really be said of Kaveh? Kaveh, who has been with him every step of the way since this nightmare started; Kaveh, who refuses to give up in spite of what has happened. Kaveh, who still talks and speaks and shouts at him as if he’s still alive but only feels far too cold and clammy and still in his hands.
It is not enough.
It will never be enough.
“Alhaitham…”
He counts down from five and opens his eyes the moment he reaches zero. He is kneeling down on the grounds of Fairview (almost the same place as before) as the Transistor rests on his lap, its glass surface as pristine and perfect as ever even after all the beatings it’d taken, all the fights he’d put it through. He’d wondered at first, of course, but there’d been other more pressing concerns to deal with back then, but the answer had still come to him eventually in the form of Zandik, who’d told him everything—what the Fatui were attempting, what the Transistor had been for, and why everything had so suddenly fallen apart in the span of one night.
(“None of this would have even happened if that foolish architect of yours didn’t jump in and interfere with our plans.”)
Kaveh. Impulsive, brash, self-sacrificing Kaveh, who’d remained impossibly foolish, even to the bitter end.
There is nothing Alhaitham would ever want to change about him.
He loosens the grip of one of his hands so that he can slide it down the handle, bringing it to a rest right over the crystal orb that’d been embedded in the center of the blade. He feels the slight buzz of static at his fingertips as the circuitry woven into the blade lights up.
“We’re okay now,” Kaveh speaks to him again, and though Alhaitham understands that the words are meant to comfort him, he can only fixate on how the lights inside of the blade flicker in and out to the cadence and volume of Kaveh’s voice. “It’s all over, Alhaitham. We’re back in Cloudbank. We’re home.”
No, Alhaitham thinks viciously at those last two words, and the hand he still has on the handle tightens enough to the point where his knuckles turn white. I’m not. And I will never be, ever again.
Not like this.
The nightmare, for him, starts on a night that had been just like any other.
“Scribe Alhaitham.”
Alhaitham looks up from the file that he had been perusing and blinks once at the man who stands in front of him. “Administrator Pierro,” he greets, completely nonplussed, as if seeing Cloudbank’s most renowned and respected official is nothing but an everyday occurrence. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”
“It is I who should be asking you that question.” Pierro’s gaze is sharp as he scrutinizes Alhaitham, and where others might’ve fidgeted in nervousness, Alhaitham continues to remain impassive. He has nothing to hide, after all—then again, in a city like Cloudbank, there is very little that one can hide, for better or worse. There are those who would call it unfair, but Alhaitham simply accepts it as the way of the world. So long as it does not greatly interfere with his day-to-day life, he will make do. “Azar has informed me that you were making inquiries about the Fatui.”
“I discovered records that had been accessed under that identification.” Everything in Cloudbank is, after all, recorded and saved, no matter how hard one tries to hide it. The relevant info is always there to be found by those who know where to go looking, and Alhaitham is very good at his job. “As it is an organization that is not found in any of Cloudbank’s registries, the logical next step would be to ascertain what this Fatui truly is, and then inform the relevant authorities.” A pause. “I apologize if I may have accidentally overstepped any boundaries.”
“No, not at all.” A smile comes onto Pierro’s face as he replies, but it does not reach his eyes. “You were merely going by the book, as you should. Azar did mention that you are an exemplary employee.”
Had those words been said to somebody like Kaveh, Alhaitham has no doubt that the other would have been mollified by those words, that one part of him always eager to lap up any inch of well-meaning praise that he’d been given. But he is not Kaveh, and Kaveh is not here, for he has been invited to a party organized by some of the most well known names in Cloudbank.
(It’s my chance, Haitham, Kaveh had babbled to him excitedly as Alhaitham helped to snap on his hair clips. The biggest and brightest names all together, and they asked for me! Isn’t that amazing?
Alhaitham only hums in response as he gets the last of the hair clips in place. Perhaps they just want something different to distract them, he’d said after a pause, fingers moving to tidy up the loose strands of Kaveh’s hair. The public has been clamoring for something new to get their attention since Farrah Yon-Dale decided to up and vanish after the ban that the Administration imposed on her.
Kaveh huffed then, and from the mirror of their shared dresser Alhaitham can see the way he’d puffed his cheeks, evidently affonted by his words. Just let me take the compliment for once, will you? I doubt you want me to turn up to the party sulking.
Alhaitham hums again but elects to say nothing else, as nothing that he wants to say will adhere to Kaveh’s request. Though linguistics is one of his two Selections, navigating through a conversation with Kaveh never fails to challenge his abilities to find the right words—rather than it being a nuisance, however, it has become an exercise that he finds a fair amount of enjoyment in.
Still, Alhaitham understands that this isn’t the best time to let himself indulge, so he lets himself do so in other ways—namely, by shifting one of his hands down so that he can grasp Kaveh’s chin, tilting it up as he bends down and brushes their lips together, nipping ever so gently at one corner before pulling back.
Kaveh’s next breath comes out breathy and shuddering. Oaf, Alhaitham hears him mutter, the warmth in his voice turning the intended insult into a familiar endearment. Don’t think this means that I’ll let you off.
I’m counting on that, Senior, he returns with a murmur of his own, and kisses him one more time, just because he can.)
“Since I did not break any laws, am I to assume that you have information that I seek?”
Pierro does not even blink at the question. “You assume correctly,” he says after a beat, then takes a step back from his desk and gestures with a hand from underneath his cloak. “Given the nature of the conversation that we need to have, a more… private setting is necessary. If you’d be so inclined…?”
Alhaitham considers his options. He had promised to pick up Kaveh from the party, though he supposes they never did specify what time Kaveh wanted him to arrive. He does have a fair idea though, from past experiences, but Kaveh is not like him who values things like routine and order in his schedule.
Still. He does not want to leave Kaveh waiting for too long.
“How long will this take?”
Pierro smiles thinly at him. “Not long at all, Scribe. You’ll still be in time to pick up your husband after.”
That should have been his first clue then, that the Administrator of Cloudbank would somehow know something like that. While his relationship with Kaveh is hardly a secret, it is not as if it is something that either of them loudly proclaim about, and though Kaveh has been earning a name for himself in recent months, it's not to the point where people would have started to snoop.
Still, this is Cloudbank’s longest running Administrator, and Administrators do have access to every scrap of information that goes around the city, which is why Alhaitham does not question it.
“...very well,” he obliges with a nod. “Lead the way, then. I will follow.”
Alhaitham doesn’t let himself stay on his knees for long. The moment he feels steady enough, he forces himself back onto his feet, both hands tightly gripped around the handle of the Transistor once more. He casts his gaze at his surroundings and sees nothing but white, white, white as far as his eyes can see. For as long as he can remember, Cloudbank has been a bustling, thriving city, its shape and scenery ever changing, shifting along with the whims of the public, an endless kaleidoscope of colors and patterns and shapes that almost feel too much to take in, some days.
But even on those days, Alhaitham has never once wished for the city to become this, this stale, stagnant space where nothing else exists and all he can see are white cuboids of varying sizes, each of them put together in a pale imitation of what was once in their place. There is no life, no color, and it is so quiet that he could even hear a pin drop, but even that feels like a luxury that he can no longer have.
Then, suddenly—a soft beep, one that he has not heard in a while. Alhaitham blinks and tilts his head, letting go of the Transistor again with one hand so that he can tap his headset and let it run whatever his portable Akasha has gotten wind of.
[READ WRITE ACCESS GRANTED]
The notification blares across his vision for a long moment before it disappears, and after that a slew of windows begin to pop up, baring to him every secret of this city that the Fatui had been so desperate to obtain—had been willing to sacrifice countless people for—all in their pursuit to find the keys that will allow them to truly rebuild this city into the paradise they’d believed so desperately. Yet they are all gone now, and it is Alhaitham who has been shown the way.
Slowly, he turns his gaze over to the pile of white blocks closest to him and walks towards it. The interface of his new role seems to be incredibly intuitive, responding to his every thought and muscle twitch with virtually no delay at all. It is a feat of engineering far beyond anything that Cloudbank has, and in another time and place, Alhaitham thinks he would have liked to try and unearth all its secrets.
Now, the only thing he does is to close his eyes and imagine, humming low in his throat the tune from Kaveh’s favorite song. The Transistor responds to his call—for there is no one else—and when he opens his eyes, what had once been a collection of white blocks is now a beautiful statue, the design of which he had plucked out from his many memories of Kaveh’s sketchbook.
In his hands Alhaitham hears Kaveh exhale loudly. “Haitham…” he starts, sounding somewhere between awed and heartbroken. “This whole city… it’s yours now. A blank canvas for you to do as you wish. And I’m—” he stops then, letting out a hiccup and a quiet, tired laugh. “Well. Still, better it be you than the Fatui, that’s for sure.”
Do you really mean that, Alhaitham wants to shoot back, but he cannot do so. Even if he could, how could Kaveh even respond? There is nobody else, after all. Everyone’s already been long processed. There’s just him, and the Transistor, and the spaces where Cloudbank had occupied until last night. Until it’d vanished.
All that’s left is just him. Him and the Transistor.
Not Kaveh.
It all happened so quickly.
One second he had been following after Pierro to his so-called private place, and in the next he’d been knocked down to the ground on his back, his head ringing and his vision blurry, throat burning as if all of his nerves there had caught on fire, rendering him unable to let out nothing beyond a choked, wordless sound. Nausea overwhelms him to the point where his body refuses to move, but even through all that, Alhaitham can make out the sight of Pierro pointing some sort of large translucent like blade at him, and the smile that crosses his face this time is an unkind one.
“It is regrettable that you had to force our hand so,” Alhaitham hears him say—and despite the current circumstances, the words almost seem like they’re genuine. “If given the chance, I would’ve liked to try and persuade you, but we cannot afford any mistakes at this juncture.”
Pierro raises the blade and stares down at him with a cold gaze.
“Farewell, Alhaitham.”
“Haitham!”
The shout only comes a moment before a figure appears right between him and the blade. Alhaitham does not even have any time to process it all before a terrible, awful squelch resounds around him and echoes right in his ears.
Kaveh, he wants to shout, but his throat still feels too raw for him to do that. He fights against the nausea and tries to prop himself back up, only managing with one side before Kaveh crumples into him, his lithe body feeling far too warm and wet and a whole lot heavier than what Alhaitham remembers.
“Al… haitham…” Kaveh wheezes out, sounding far too faint and quiet in any situation, let alone this, and through blurry vision all he can see is redredred.
For the first time in his life, Alhaitham feels panic take root in him, fear overriding a lifetime of rationality and logic as he clutches Kaveh’s body and thinks, desperately, Get me out of here.
Form the corner of his vision something sparks to life, a flickering light that bursts forth without any warning, searing bright and engulfing everything in white—
—and then suddenly he’s all the way in Fairview, Kaveh’s weight and warmth against him gone as quickly as he’d had it. The white glare gradually fades away from his vision with every blink that he takes. Slowly but surely, the world comes back into focus, nausea easing away as he regains control of his limbs and motor functions. His throat, however, continues to burn, as if aching for something that is no longer there.
Carefully, he gets up onto his feet and starts to look around, trying to see if he can spot Kaveh in the vicinity. He couldn’t have gone far, he thinks, so where could he have—
“What… where… how…”
His voice. Kaveh’s voice, coming to him perfectly clear and audible, which must mean that he is nearby. Alhaitham looks around again as he takes a step forward, then two, worrying on his lower lip as he tries to quell away the rising panic in his chest. Everything is alright, he tells himself. Kaveh doesn’t sound like he’s hurting, which must mean he’s fine, so all he has to do is to just—
“Haitham, where are you? Where are you, I can’t—please, please, don’t be gone, I can’t, I’m—here, I’m over here. I’m. I’m still here.”
I’m here, he wants to say, to let Kaveh know so that he is reassured, but his throat still aches and burns and refuses to work right. Everything is a mess and Alhaitham still doesn’t understand what just happened, but all that matters right now is finding Kaveh. Everything else can come later.
“If he’s hurt—if he’s hurt, I’ll… I’ll… what can I do? I’m… I’m nothing.”
Nothing? Kaveh thinks he’s nothing? That’s ridiculous. Kaveh has never been nothing. He is everything else but nothing. Alhaitham resolves to drill those words into his head as soon as he finds him. With how close his voice is, he has to be close—
Alhaitham turns around the corner, and everything comes to a screeching halt.
Before his eyes, only a few meters away from him, is Kaveh.
Kaveh, who is currently seated on the ground with his back against a bush. Kaveh, whose face is covered with blonde hair now matted with streaks of red. Kaveh, who is lifelessly slouched over what can only be described as a giant blade that’s seemingly made of glass, and Alhaitham can only stare at the way it lights up in time to Kaveh’s panicked, harried words.
“Stuck, I’m—stuck. Am I—I’m inside? Inside this—thing, this thing, I’m… inside it. This is all, I’m… nothing. There’s—nothing.”
Alhaitham doesn’t know what to think, to say, to feel. It’s as if the world itself has broken apart at his feet, leaving him suspended in that heart stopping moment right before freefall. His mind blanks out, lost and missing and gone, unable to fully comprehend what is before his eyes.
He flexes his hands then, trying to feel something that can ground him back down, but his thumb brushes across something flaky and he finally looks down to his hands and sees them stained with—all completely stained with—
“But, still, I’m… okay? I’m okay. I’m here, I’m—still here. So it could be worse! It could be worse…”
Kaveh’s voice continues to wash over him, drawing his attention away from everything else that threatens to overwhelm. Alhaitham shakily lowers his blood-crusted hands and stares at the blade sticking out of Kaveh’s body (not a corpse, never a corpse, a corpse is only for somebody who’s gone and Kaveh is still here). He’s here, he says. Kaveh says he is still here, and Alhaitham is too, and after everything, that is all—that is all that matters, right now. That the both of them are still here. That they are still together and not apart. He can work with that. He can make do with that.
“Now I just need to—fuck, where is he? He’s, where—Haitham, where are you? You were right there, in my arms, we were together and then we just… come on, Haitham, don’t leave me hanging for once, just call for me if you can hear my voice…”
Kaveh, he tries to call out again, but just like before his throat continues to not work right. The most he manages to make is a raspy sort of whine as he stumbles forward, every muscle in his body aching terribly, but apparently it’s enough to draw Kaveh’s attention as Alhaitham hears him gasp.
“Haitham, it’s—it’s you,” he breathes out, his relief palpable. “Look at you, you’re—you’re alive. You’re okay. That’s—that’s good. I’m—I’m so glad you’re okay.” Kaveh pauses then, chuckling weakly. “Wish I could say the same for myself, but—we’ll just have to make do, yeah? Just like we always do.”
Alhaitham manages to walk all the way to where Kaveh is while the other had been speaking, legs and arms still shaky from adreadline. The nausea that had faded away earlier now returns in full force as he finally gets to take in the full picture of Kaveh’s body; from his unnaturally bent head, to the stillness of his chest, to the sword that’d been impaled through his entire midsection, blood staining the front of his favorite white shirt in shades of pink and red.
Kaveh, he wants to shout, to scream and wail and shake this stupid, foolish man because does he even know what has happened to him? Is he even aware of the state that he is in now? The wound is far too deep, there’s blood literally everywhere and that stupid sword in his gut is somehow talking like it is Kaveh and Alhaitham is—he is—
—he can’t—
“Haitham…” the blade speaks again, and the voice still sounds so much like Kaveh that Alhaitham finds himself startled by it. He jerks his head to stare at the blade as it continues to talk to him. “Say something, will you? Tell me that you’re okay. That we’re okay.”
The truth is that, of course, neither of them are okay and are in fact the furthest thing from it, but when has Alhaitham ever been able to turn down a direct request from the one person who he can never deny? So he takes a breath and opens his mouth to speak, to tell Kaveh what he wants to hear, but just like all the other times that he’s tried, nothing comes out. He works his throat, steadfastly ignoring the pain that builds up as he mindfully shapes the words with his mouth and tries to say them out loud, but still—nothing.
A dreadful feeling comes sinking into his gut then, awful and horribly cold, and Alhaitham knows that it must have shown on his face because the voice then very softly goes, “...oh. Oh no.”
A quiet, terrible pause.
“They got your voice.”
With the Transistor in his hands, it does not take very long for Alhaitham to rebuild the plaza that they are on. He remakes it in the image that Kaveh had dreamed of when the petition to renovate this area had been circulating around the city. He fashions out the statues that Kaveh had drawn in his sketchbook and emblazons the floor of the plaza with his signature crest—the mechanical lion and its pillar, in all of its glory. He remembers how badly Kaveh had wanted it to be featured somewhere when he’d finally make his big debut across all of Cloudbank, a trademark that would’ve lingered in the minds of countless long after his designs would’ve been inevitably replaced with another’s.
If Kaveh has any opinion on Alhaitham’s design choices, he does not make it known for once, so unlike all the other times he would’ve launched into a tirade on all of the ways Alhaitham has offended his aesthetic sensibilities. Not too long ago, Alhaitham would have found amusement in that silence, would have prodded and teased until Kaveh would huff and make that silly little pout that he’d kiss away each and every time.
But now there is only a silence that echoes far too loud in his ears, only broken in halting beats when Alhaitham hums another shaky tune from memory to craft out another one of Kaveh’s designs to the best of his abilities. Memory can only help him so much, in the end, and it is Kaveh who is the master craftsman, a champion of his trade, able to build and create masterpieces with such ease that it always takes his breath away when he lays his eyes on them. Even with the power of the Transistor in his hands, all of this will always pale in comparison to what Kaveh is able to accomplish with his own hands.
Given the present circumstances, though, all Alhaitham can do is to try his best, even if he has to pause after each one, too, in order to let his throat rest, for even though the worst of the pain has long passed it still aches every time he attempts to make any sort of noise. It’d taken a while for him to figure out how to be able to hum, but the effort had been worth it in the end.
(“Alhaitham, did you just…?”
A blink, followed by another small hum, the sound of it soft and strained because his throat still does not know how to make wordless noise without hurting, but he is trying. He has to try, because any other alternative would only cause Kaveh anguish, and both of them already have had their fill of it for this nightmare that has yet to end.
Kaveh makes a sound then, one that brings to mind his expression of wondrous amazement, eyes shining bright with a million possibilities to be discovered and explored. Alhaitham can see it all in his mind’s eye as the memory of Kaveh beams at him, so very proud and pleased.
“That’s amazing, Haitham! After what they did I didn’t think that you could—that you would—but I really shouldn’t be surprised, should I? If anyone could manage the impossible, it would be you.”
Alhaitham snorts lightly at the words, but manages out another hum after that, just so Kaveh can hear him one more time. The sword in his lap laughs in response, the sound of it brighter than the eternal sunrise Lohefalter’s sandbox wants to remain in.)
“You’re amazing, Haitham.”
Alhaitham blinks out from the memory in his mind, returning to the present now that Kaveh seems to be speaking again. He turns his gaze down to the Transistor in his hands, one hand letting go of the handle so that he can reach down and rest his palm over the crystal orb, fingers lightly tapping at the surface. The Transistor is not and will never be Kaveh, but with his voice and the orb that reminds him so much of Kaveh’s carmine eyes he is able to make do, for as long as he needs to get through the nightmare.
“You really are incredible, you know?” Kaveh tells him again with a strange sort of persistence, seemingly as if he’s attempting to convince him of something. “Taking down the Fatui, remaking this city… I always knew you could do some crazy stuff if you really tried, but this is definitely something else.” He laughs again after those words, and to the untrained ear it might sound fine, but Alhaitham knows Kaveh better than the back of his own hand, and so it is all too easy for him to hear how forced it truly is.
But unlike before where he had the choice to point it out or stay silent, now Alhaitham has no other choice but to stay silent. He can only watch and not speak, to be nothing more than a silent audience in this shambling facade that Kaveh is so desperately trying to maintain for the both of them. Now that there is no longer the Fatui or the Process breathing down their necks, they both have nothing left to distract them from the reality of what their lives have become. Of what their futures will take, now that Cloundbank is gone and there is only Alhaitham and the Transistor.
Still, Kaveh attempts to push them down this ruined road, to keep on walking the path that none other would take, because there is nobody else left to tread it except for him. “So, where do you want to start? We could begin from our house and work from there. Oh, imagine all the things we could do with Goldwalk! We could even give Lambad’s tavern a much bigger space now down at the Canals; I know how much you enjoy his food. Might be a bit late, but it's the thought that counts, right?”
Alhaitham says nothing in response. All he does is to keep walking, leaving the now rebuilt and refurbished plaza behind him as his legs take him to the one spot where he truly desires to be.
“Haitham,” Kaveh starts again after a moment, hesitant. “Hey. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Alhaitham continues to remain silent and doesn’t stop walking. The path before him might now be in the same washed out wave of countless white blocks as everything else that he hasn’t rebuilt with the Transistor, but there is no way that he cannot recognize the way, for he will always remember everything that includes Kaveh. Everything, no matter how terrible or awful the memory becomes for him.
Soon, he arrives at his destination. What had been the start of his nightmare is now nothing more than an oddly shaped pile of white blocks just like the rest, but it is nothing that the Transistor can’t fix.
Alhaitham pulls out the memory and swallows down the pain one last time as he closes his eyes and hums the final verse of Kaveh’s favorite song, finishing the ballad he’d been humming throughout the night in memory of the man who will always mean everything to him. The world may try to forget about him, but Alhaitham will always remember.
Just like before Alhaitham feels more than sees the back of his eyelids from the intense light that surges forth as the Transistor responds to his command, drawing upon his memories and thoughts to recreate that which he desires. The only thing that he has desired since the start of all of this, especially now that the Fatui has been dealt with.
“Haitham…” Kaveh whispers his name once the light has finally faded away, and Alhaitham opens his eyes to lay his gaze on what will be his one and only masterpiece. The arts have never been something that he had been particularly taken to, but if there is any one thing he wants to be able to make right with his hands, it will be to honor the one, singular person that means everything to him.
Kaveh’s body sits in front of him, pristine and whole and complete, with no more terrible wounds on his body. His (perfect, clean) blonde hair frames his face, and Alhaitham feels his chest swell with a million unspoken emotions as he trails his gaze up to stare at the peaceful expression that the other has. With his eyes closed like this, it all too easily looks to anyone else as if Kaveh has simply decided to sit down and take a nap right in the middle of Fairview instead of the cruel, horrible truth.
But it won’t be long now.
The nightmare will soon be over.
They stole your voice, Kaveh tells Alhaitham, horrified, yet that soon becomes the least of his worries as what was once an ordinary, normal night turns into a nightmare of apocalyptic proportions.
Kaveh babbles to him about the events that led to his sudden appearance where Pierro had brought him to take his life. Of how he’d accidentally overheard Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter talking about the plan to assassinate them both. Not at the same time, of course, because that would be far too obvious, but it would’ve been the end goal, eventually.
It would be you, tonight, followed by me a few days later, and after that they would spread the news of my heart-wrenching grief and cite that as the reason behind my disappearance, he continues to say, bitter disgust laced in every word. Do you think this is what happened to the others who have vanished? Like the sky painter, and your previous boss in the archives? Did this Fatui get them all?
Alhaitham cannot say. All he has are fragments of a broken puzzle but none of the pieces in his possession fit together in the ways that they should. He needs more information, more evidence, a better understanding of the situation.
Most importantly, however, is that he needs to stay alive. He cannot die until he has paid the Fatui back in blood for what they have done to Kaveh. To them.
Armed with the blade that he’d pulled out of Kaveh’s body (“Oh, we’re definitely not getting away with this, are we, Haitham?”) Alhaitham makes his way to Goldwalk where Kaveh had come from, fighting through swathes of twisted, warped inhuman creatures made of red glass and white steel, chittering in fragments of code that he barely grasps and understands even less despite all the knowledge he has.
Lohefalter must know something, Kaveh reasons as Alhaitham approaches his destination. There’s no way she isn’t party to any of this after what I’ve heard. An accomplice, at the very least, even though I doubt she would fall in line to anybody’s command, with a personality like hers.
Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter is the biggest name within the highest social circles in Cloudbank, which means that Alhaitham never had the chance nor desire to interact with her; everything he knows about Lohefalter is purely based on news reports and whatever stories that Kaveh has told him. As a personal principle, he does not make it a habit to judge any one person based on secondhand remarks and embellished stories—but after what has happened, Alhaitham does not want to give her the luxury of his neutrality. She is part of the reason Kaveh is in this state, and Alhaitham will get his answers and his revenge.
In the end, however, he gets neither of those. What they would soon know as The Process has already been through this place, reducing Lohefalter into a broken shell of her former self, a tattered mess of pain and regret.
youYouYOU she screamed at them moments before what had once been her body warped and twisted before his eyes, turning from something that had once been human into something that’s decidedly not. theTWOofYOUruined—RUINEDitALL—ruinedEVERYTHING—
She’s lost her damn mind, Kaveh would mutter later as they stare down at the shuddering, grasping remnants of what had once been Lohefalter, now nothing more than a mess of white goo and thin, mangled limbs that can barely hold itself together. It would be unkind to leave her like this.
The anger in his voice is long gone by now, replaced by something close to pity, and while that is a sentiment that Alhaitham cannot (will not) share, they will need her Trace if they are to get closer to the truth of what has happened to them, and what is happening to Cloudbank itself.
There is no doubt that Kaveh understands that fact better than he, especially after already having taken in the other Traces that they’d encountered along the way—namely the ones of their two mutual friends, Cyno and Tighnari. Alhaitham had found their half processed bodies while on the way to the Set, and Kaveh told him after absorbing their Traces that they’d been on their way to warn Kaveh of the danger that they are now in. They’d been on the trail of the Fatui for months, and Alhaitham’s accidental discovery of their files had been a double-edged sword; it’d drawn them out into the open, but had also placed both him and Kaveh right in their crosshairs. And tonight—
Well, Kaveh ended up cutting his recount short with a strained laugh. A bit too late for that now, unfortunately.
Alhaitham can’t say that he’s entirely surprised that Kaveh would stop himself before he can finish—the subject of death has always been something that Kaveh skirts around for as long as Alhaitham has known him. He understands why, and acknowledges that death is a concept that most people find uncomfortable to navigate, but that knowledge and understanding had done little for him in the past to change his mind over how strange and illogical such behavior is to him.
Now, however.
Now, he thinks he can comprehend the reasons behind such irrationality.
He tightens his hold on the sword—the Transistor—as Kaveh relays to him the information that he’s obtained from Lohefalter, a veritable depth of information that he knows Cyno would have killed for mere days ago with everything that they know now.
So, I guess we have our lead, Kaveh succinctly sums up after everything has been said and done. We know where Pierro has fled to.
Yes, they know. They know, and so Alhaitham will go there. He will go there, and he will have the revenge that he’d been deprived of with Lohefalter.
Yet that, too, does not come to pass by the time he makes it to the top of Bracket Towers, where all he can do is to stare down at the still, silent bodies of what had once been the head of the Fatui and his adopted protege, Ajax.
Somehow, I’m not even surprised, Kaveh remarks bitterly as Alhaitham raises the Transistor in order to obtain their Traces as well. Who’d want to stick around after knowing you’re responsible for destroying the very home you grew up in?
With Pierro’s information and Ajax's confession over the terminals, Alhaitham now more or less has the full picture of what has transpired prior to the events of tonight, yet for once, knowing the truth does not give him the fulfillment he would usually have. Does it even matter now, that he knows everything? It does not change what has happened. It does not give him back what he has lost. It does not lessen the painful, wrenching ache in his chest.
Without any other remaining outlet left for him to enact his vengeance toward, in the end Alhaitham can only settle for second best by tearing out Kunikuzushi from the heart of The Spine and crushing his heart with his bare hands. He may have been denied the opportunity to take their lives, but at least one among their number will be able to experience the same agony that he himself is forced to go through.
Kaveh, for better or worse, does not feel as strongly about that particular death as he had with the other three members of the Fatui, but that might also be because of how badly the presence of The Spine had messed him up.
(Alhaitham, he remembers Kaveh weeping out his name during one such episode. Please, Alhaitham, I’m sorry, whatever it is I did this time. Just don’t leave me again.
I’m here, he wants to tell Kaveh then so desperately, to reassure him that he will always be there for as long as Kaveh wants him around—but he can no longer speak, and the interference from The Spine has cut Kaveh off from everything else that could assure him otherwise.
So all that Kaveh does is to cry and mourn and beg for Alhaitham to talk to him again, eventually falling into painful, oppressive silence, and all Alhaitham can do is to grit his teeth and keep on moving, making sure to never let go, because there is nothing else that he can do.
As much as he has always been one to appreciate the quiet, even this has proven to be too much for him.
The Spine, he tells himself, will pay.)
Zandik—the last, and most elusive member of the Fatui—reaches out to them after, dangling before their eyes the promise of salvation, of a way to put a stop to the Process before it swallows up what little remains of Cloudbank, of which includes the three of them.
If the Process gets to finish, well, processing, then all of us will be done for, the doctor says without remorse. And I, for one, certainly would prefer to stay alive—and I’m certain you would too, dearest Scribe.
The trap is all too obvious to Alhaitham’s eyes and he’s certain that Kaveh must see the same too, yet the fact remains that there is little else they can do. All the other members of the Fatui are dead, and Zandik is the one who understands both the Process and the Transistor best. Even if it is a trap, it is the only choice they have left.
Both eyes open, then, Kaveh says, eventually, and Alhaitham nods and hums his agreement. They may be forced to walk into the lion’s den, but at least they’ll make sure to do so with both eyes open. Whatever it is that Zandik has up his sleeve, they face it head on just as they’ve done with everything else that has stood in their way tonight.
Alhaitham lets Zandik lead him through the fragmented paths of Fairview’s hidden sectors to where his lab has been tucked away, making sure to keep a firm hold of the Transistor in his hands at all times as he moves from place to place, not giving the doctor even a fraction of anything that he desires, no matter what is thrown at him.
But for all of his efforts to do so, Alhaitham is still forced to let go at the very end, when Zandik presents them the Cradle and tells him that the Transistor must return to it in order for the Process to finally end.
It’ll only be for a moment, he assures them from the podium where he stands, far enough that Alhaitham is unable to make out anything else besides his coat and pointed mask that hides whatever ugly expression that his face currently shows. You’ll be free to do whatever it is you wish with the Transistor, once it is all over.
...It's okay. Kaveh is the one who ends up deciding for them, at the end. It’s okay, Alhaitham. We’ll be all right. It’s just for a moment, right?
Alhaitham doesn’t know if he can sound as certain as Kaveh is trying to be, if he’s willing to even trust the doctor as far as he can throw at this point, but if this is what Kaveh wants to do, then he cannot deny him. He has never been able to deny him, in the end, for all the things that matter.
So he takes those last few steps to the Cradle and forces himself to let go of the Transistor, watching as it floats over to the gap where it’s meant to slide in and put a stop to the Process for good.
“Alhaitham,” Kaveh begins, and Alhaitham feels his eyes string as he stares at the bright red crystal set in the blade, unable to do anything else but see how it goes further and further away from him.
Kaveh, he wants so desperately to call his name back out, and unlike all the other times tonight the want burns through him so badly that it burns. Alhaitham tries to work his throat one last time, hoping beyond hope that his voice will finally come through after all that has happened—but there is still nothing and all he can manage out is a thin, faint wheeze.
Kaveh—emotional, irrational, wonderful Kaveh—simply laughs, quiet and soft and so very fond, and finally voices out the words that have never been spoken out loud between them right before the world turns to white.
“I love you.”
“Haitham, I know what you’re thinking, but—that’s not me. Not anymore.”
Alhaitham knows, of course. He has always known, all this time, from the very beginning when he wrapped his hands around the handle of the Transistor and pulled it out of Kaveh’s still, cold body and let this nightmare begin.
“That’s not me, but that doesn’t mean that I’m gone, you know? I’m still here. I’m still with you. I just can’t—can’t get out of this thing. Not anymore.”
He knows all of that, too, after hearing what Zandik has told them both. Of everything that the Transistor is, and what it has now become. It is the brush to repaint all of Cloudbank with, the seed that will bring new life to this now withered land. There are many things that he can do now, the entire city fully unraveled at his fingertips as its new creator and sole administrator. A new chapter, a new life, a new everything, if he so desires.
But none of those things will ever be able to fill the void that has been carved into him. He may be able to have anything and everything, but all the wonders that are granted to him now all pale in comparison to what he has lost at the start of this terrible, awful night. Nothing else matters, for his world has already long ended.
Slowly, Alhaitham lowers the Transistor and fixes it upright to the ground blade-first, using the handle as extra support in order to lower himself to the floor right next to Kaveh, making sure to be careful so that he doesn’t jostle the body from its current position.
“Alhaitham, what are you doing, you’re not thinking of—answer me, Alhaitham, hey!”
He pays no attention to the voice that demands for an explanation, instead choosing to turn his focus to more important matters; namely, to pull Kaveh all the way in so that the other’s head can rest on his shoulder, and for Alhaitham to be able to reach over and take his soft, gentle hands into his own rough, calloused ones, blood stained and nicked full of scars from all the fighting he had to do throughout the night.
Kaveh would’ve definitely complained, Alhaitham thinks, but he hopes this is one time in which he will be forgiven.
“Don’t you do this, Alhaitham, don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare—”
He finally turns back to the Transistor again, but only so he can raise his other hand and wordlessly commands it to rise from the ground and angle itself towards him. Under the pale sunrise the glass surface of the blade gleams warmly, shining with the terrible brilliance of the countless lives it had once held within.
“Haitham, if you do this… if you go through with it… I won’t be able to forgive you.”
He knows that too, of course, but still, to hear it being said out loud is enough to make him pause for a single, brief moment. He can admit that there is no way of knowing what will happen after, but if he has to choose between a life that will forever be devoid of Kaveh and the possibility of being able to see him again, the decision is obvious.
“Haitham, please, I’m begging you. Don’t do this.”
He drops his hand and lets the command fly.
“Haitham—”
The Transistor executes his order, flying straight and true to its set destination, and once more the blade cleaves through flesh and bone in order to claim what will be its very last life—the life it had been supposed to claim at the start of it all.
Distantly, Alhaitham hears somebody scream his name, but after everything he is now far too tired to respond.
He closes his eyes and rests his head on top of Kaveh’s, finally letting himself rest after this long, harrowing night.
At long last, he is free.
Alhaitham doesn’t know how long he has been at rest, but when he opens his eyes again he finds himself standing in a field of gold under a clear blue sky, the sight of it far more magnificent than any of the sky paintings he’d seen over Cloudbank.
But even more breathtaking than the sky is the sight of Kaveh, who is now right in front of him, cheeks and nose both tinged with a blotchy pink as he looks at Alhaitham with red-rimmed eyes.
“You idiot,” he says, sniffling audibly, but in spite of the words reaches out a hand to him anyway.
Alhaitham reaches back, smiling as he finally gets to feel the warmth of having Kaveh's hand in his again, and opens his mouth to finally say the words he’s longed to speak this whole time.
“Kaveh. I’m back.”
(somewhere else far, far away, a girl much older than she looks opens her eyes to the sound of knocking.
“come in,” she says, one hand coming up to hastily rub away the tracks that the tears have left on her face.
the door opens, and a man walks in. “lord kusanali, the papers you asked for.”
she should respond, she knows, but for a moment all she can do is to stare at the face of the man who is talking to her and see all the ways that he is exactly the same as the one she’d watched from her travels across irminsul.
“...lord kusanali,” the man addresses her again, mild impatience creeping into his tone, and she shakes herself out of the memory.
“thank you, alhaitham,” she says, and hopes that the smile on her face looks less forced than it feels as she stands up from her chair to take the documents that she had requested from what now feels like a lifetime ago.
alhaitham drops his hand as soon as the papers are passed, and despite the impassive look on his face nahida can feel the weight of his inquisitive gaze. “did something happen, nahida?” he asks, dropping the honorific to show that he is asking a personal question.
nahida thinks about how she should answer; to wonder if she should speak of how she’d seen a city so much more advanced than anything khaenri'ah had ever been, and the way it’d crumbled into nothing in the span of a single night by the hand of a single man who’d simply wanted to return to who he’d loved with his whole heart and soul, and would burn the whole world down for it.
“nothing at all,” she eventually decides, and after a moment makes a second decision. “alhaitham.”
“yes?”
“go home. he’s waiting for you.”)