Archive of Our Own

"Oh, good, you're home," Kaveh says as soon as he hears Alhaitham open the door. His voice rings loudly through the walls and floorboards, easily penetrating Alhaitham's headphones, and Alhaitham hopes his sigh of annoyance is just as audible. "Come join us."

"Us? Have you fallen into royal fashion?" Alhaitham hangs his coat by the door and comes through to the living room. Kaveh is slung on one of the couches, eating a ripe peach. New jewelry hangs from his ear, a clumsy twist of wire caging in a chip of seaglass. Cheap and easily made, though Kaveh doubtlessly paid a fortune - and listened to the seller's woes ad nauseam to boot.

"We have guests," Kaveh says, chasing a stray pearl of peach juice down his arm and groaning when it slips into his shirt sleeve. "So you'd best behave."

On the other couch is a young man of Valuka Shuna descent, his long, pointed ears turned towards Alhaitham to listen to him. His face is polite and plain aside from the strands of vivid green framing it.

Alhaitham has seen him on campus: Tighnari, a recent meister. From the looks of it, he has no weapon, so he must have come to the Akademiya for a match. In that regard, he is unexceptional. The Akademiya has a reputation for excellent weapons, with several old weapon bloodlines - including Alhaitham's own - hailing from its halls. Of course, being of a weapon bloodline does not necessarily give you the capacity to turn into a weapon, but with the Akademiya's training, most of the direct descendants find themselves able to shift.

Alhaitham first knew he was a weapon when he was seven. It was not a particularly pleasant realisation.

"I believe I'll be best behaved in my room," Alhaitham says, and nods to Tighnari. "Bye."

"Wait!" Kaveh sits up, running his non-sticky hand through his hair. "Come sit down. Tighnari and I are discussing his - situation, shall we say... and your viewpoint would be valuable."

"How rare of you to acknowledge my contribution to a conversation," Alhaitham says. He takes a seat and addresses Tighnari. "What's your situation, then?"

"I was recently partnered with someone," Tighnari says, "but he is exceedingly unwilling to use his human form."

Alhaitham's eyebrows raise. "He is a weapon?"

Tighnari nods. "From what I understand, staying in that state can be uncomfortable, even painful. I don't want him to hurt himself."

Alhaitham frowns. "Are you sure nothing is keeping him from transforming?"

Tighnari nods again. "Positive."

Alhaitham regards him. While Tighnari seems well-meaning enough, appearances can be deceiving - and the simplest explanation for this weapon's behaviour is one of abuse, presumably at his meister's hand.

Kaveh nudges Alhaitham's leg with the tip of his loafer. "Whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it and focus," he tells him, scowling. Kaveh knows what he's thinking, of course, but does not wish to name it in front of Tighnari.

Alhaitham has no such qualms. "How is your relationship to him?" he asks. Kaveh immediately yelps, flustered, and tries to reach over to cover Alhaitham's mouth with his hand, as if to silence any other incriminating questions.

"Apologise! I mean, I must apologise!" Kaveh says quickly, blushing an unattractive red that clashes with his new earrings. Alhaitham watches him, surprised, and then his gaze flicks knowingly between Kaveh and Tighnari. Ah. "Sorry about him, he was homeschooled--"

"No," Tighnari says. "It's alright." He straightens, his face gripped by a quiet determination. "You can ask me anything you think might help, and I'll answer truthfully. My pride is certainly not worth more than Cyno's comfort."

Alhaitham hums, impressed. So the weapon has a name - good. He still retains some personhood. "Good. Tell me about your relationship, then."

"We fight well together," Tighnari says. "I know there's more to a meister-weapon relationship than that, but that's when we interact the most."

"What form does he take?" Alhaitham asks.

"A throwing spear," Tighnari says, "but with a few more souls, he believes he'll be able to turn into a bow. He thinks it'll suit me better."

Some consideration for Tighnari, then - or a fear of becoming obsolete, perhaps, which indicates a lack of trust. Not many meisters like bows. An unruly weapon can easily shift an arrow's trajectory with only the slightest of adjustments, so meisters have less control than with many others.

"Is he your first weapon?"

Tighnari shakes his head. "I've had a partner before. He realised he was more compatible with another meister, though." He says this without any hurt or anger. "Cyno and I started working together four months ago, I believe. He was trained here. That's why I am at this campus for the semester. We have work here, but I also thought it might help."

Alhaitham tries to remember if he's read about anyone called Cyno, but none of it rings a bell - and he believes he would remember a throwing spear, a fairly unique form to take.

"Which campus are you from?"

"Pardis Dhyai," says Tighnari. "Can I ask you something? As someone who can shift."

Alhaitham raises his eyebrows and nods. Kaveh looks between them, sitting up in alarm.

"Can you think of a reason why you would want to stay in your weapon form?"

Tighnari's face is open, brows furrowed slightly in concern. He cares for his partner, even though it's only been four months - no wonder he and Kaveh get along. "No," Alhaitham says, and Tighnari's expression falls. "But my perspective is limited to my own experiences. I don't find my weapon form particularly pleasant or satisfactory in itself - I fight because it helps us achieve our ideal outcomes. Others may feel differently."

"You think it could be about satisfaction?" Tighnari rubs his chin, ears twitching in thought. "Perhaps..."

Alhaitham stands up, fishing his book out of his pocket. "Apologies for not being more helpful," he says, walking towards his room. "Good night."

"G'night," Kaveh calls. "Don't forget, early start tomorrow!"

Alhaitham gestures over his head, a wordless acknowledgement, and closes the door to his bedroom for the night. But even as he finishes a compelling treatise on the origins of language, the question remains in his head: why would one want to stay in their weapon form?

“So,” Alhaitham asks casually some weeks later, “how is it going with that new friend of yours? Tighnari, was it?”

Kaveh looks at him with suspicion, stray flecks of pastry sticking to his chin. “Why do you ask?” he says once he’s swallowed. “It’s not like you to inquire after others’ well-being.”

“Clearly it is like me, or I would not be doing it,” Alhaitham says. “Or do you doubt my identity?”

Kaveh sighs and shakes his head, shovelling another spoonful of stew into his mouth. “No,” he says finally, finishing his meal. “Tighnari is still working with Cyno. They’ve been busy on missions, so I haven’t seen him much. You know, we could probably learn a thing or two about pacing—”

“I refuse to drive myself to burnout early in life and ruin my retirement,” Alhaitham says. He hands his own empty plate to Kaveh, who takes their dishes and cutlery to the sink. “I don’t particularly want that for you either, though I know you would rather work us both into an early grave.”

“Think of how many more people we could save if we didn’t stick to your ridiculous schedule!” Kaveh cries, beginning to run the sink. Soap froths up over the dishes, and Kaveh angrily pulls on dishwashing gloves, glaring at Alhaitham over his shoulder.

Alhaitham raises an eyebrow. “Think of how many people we’ll save by working steadily for decades, instead of burning out and quitting – or dying – after only a few years.”

“You’re so—” Kaveh starts, gesturing wildly with soapy hands, but he stops as he remembers Alhaitham’s initial question. “You didn’t explain why you’re wondering about Tighnari.”

“I’m indefatigably curious by nature,” Alhaitham says blandly. “It’s one of my most charming qualities.”

Kaveh stares at him, startling only when the water in the sink begins to run over.

“Is his weapon behaving as expected yet?” Alhaitham asks. Cyno – he remembers the weapon’s name clearly, and Kaveh just used it as well, but for some reason, using it himself feels too intimate. Cyno. Alhaitham rolls it around on his tongue.

“He’s still sticking to his weapon form, if that’s what you’re asking,” Kaveh says, washing the dishes. “But he’s a bow now. It’s pretty cool.”

“I want to see,” Alhaitham says before he quite registers it. “Are they out of town?”

Kaveh nods, surprise killing any retorts before they can leave his throat. He dries his hands on a kitchen towel, the cleaned plates and cutlery gleaming in the dish rack.  “Yes, they are. But they should be back by Saturday. I can ask… uh, what do you want me to ask, exactly?”

“Ask them,” Alhaitham replies, chest filling with sudden anticipation like he’s just got his hands on a book he’s never heard of before, “to spar.”

A few weeks later, Alhaitham and Kaveh meet Tighnari on the training grounds. The sun is mild today, fighting through thin clouds on its way down. Tighnari still shades his eyes with a hand, which Alhaitham notes with interest. He has heard that descendants of the Valuka Shuna are sensitive to sun and heat – it must be quite debilitating, if even a cloudy day in the city bothers him.

As they approach, Alhaitham sees the bow resting along Tighnari’s leg, tip on the ground, and he immediately loses all interest in the Valuka Shuna and their habits.

“Alhaitham – hey, stop walking so fast!” Kaveh complains as Alhaitham moves closer. The bow is beautiful – the dark wood of the recurve shines like gold in places, and the grip is marked by a ribbon in deep indigo. The string is perfect white, almost invisible to the untrained eye.

So this is Cyno. Alhaitham looks for a reflection, anything to hint at the person this bow is, but he sees nothing.

“Cool bow,” Kaveh says to Tighnari. “Is that, uh…?”

“Yes,” Tighnari says.

“Hello,” Kaveh tells the bow.

Tighnari smiles for a moment before he holds the bow out in front of him, face settling into that same earnest determination Alhaitham saw from him once before. “Thank you for the offer to spar. It’s time to show you what Cyno and I are made of!”

Alhaitham transforms almost before Kaveh has time to react. In a fraction of a second, Alhaitham’s being hardens and fractures into green mirrors – he shatters before immediately reassembling himself in Kaveh’s hand as a sword.

An arrow speeds across the grounds. Kaveh deflects it against the broad of the sword, but the force of it takes both of them by surprise. Kaveh grunts, falling back several paces, and brandishes the sword that is Alhaitham. Tighnari raises his arm to fire off another arrow, bow gleaming and gilded as the clouds begin to part.

Kaveh senses the trajectory of the arrow and dodges to the side, dashing across the grounds to Tighnari. A flurry of arrows halts his approach, but Alhaitham has had enough time to analyse Tighnari’s technique by now.

“From below,” he tells Kaveh, “that’s where the momentum will be weakest.” Kaveh nods and tightens his grip on the handle, running towards Tighnari.

He unleashes a cloud of arrows again, but this time Kaveh crouches and swings at them from below, knocking them away with another grunt of effort. He closes the gap between himself and Tighnari while Tighnari is still reloading and raises his sword high, bringing it down.

Tighnari raises his bow, blocking the sword with the body of it while protecting the vulnerable string. The sword that is Alhaitham meets the bow that is Cyno.

Just for a flash – and then it’s over, Alhaitham left reeling with sulphur hot and acrid on his tongue. In that split second, he met a furious carmine gaze, and he feels the challenge rise up in him in response.

Tighnari gains distance between them again, jumping backwards and reaching for another arrow.

“Again,” Alhaitham tells Kaveh. “Go again, hurry!”

“Alright, alright, I heard you the first time!” Kaveh dodges the arrow, panting. “It’s rare to see you this eager!”

“Win,” Alhaitham says sharply, and then he focuses back on the fight.

Tighnari is quick and agile, strafing to the side and back to keep distance between him and Kaveh. An arrow – dull-tipped for practice – digs into Kaveh’s thigh and he groans, faltering in his run. The arrow falls to the ground, harmless, but Kaveh will wake up bruised and sore tomorrow. Alhaitham shines brighter in his hand, instinctively protective of his meister.

“Are you okay?” Tighnari calls, reloading.

“I’m fine,” Kaveh calls back. He tightens his grip and breaks into a sprint, crossing the distance between them in a flash. As he approaches Tighnari again, he thrusts out, the sword that is Alhaitham glowing green, but Tighnari parries with the bow that is Cyno – and then he is no longer a bow, shifting in a storm of ribbons into a spear. Tighnari hefts it back, takes aim and throws it.

The spear snags Kaveh by his cloak, pulling him to the ground and pinning him there. The sword that is Alhaitham clatters across the training grounds, and he shifts back to his human form, drawing himself up tall. He walks over to Kaveh, stretching his hand out to grab the spear that is pinning him, the spear that is Cyno—

But Tighnari beats him to it, gloved hand swiftly pulling the spear up and out of Kaveh’s cloak. In Tighnari’s hands, Cyno becomes a bow once more, and Tighnari straps it onto his back.

“Alhaitham, help me up,” Kaveh says grumpily from where he’s lying. “Or are you that mad we lost?”

Alhaitham ignores him, looking at Tighnari. “Rematch?”

Tighnari laughs, offering a hand to Kaveh and pulling him up. “Maybe some other time. Thank you for the match, though. It was good.”

“Thank you,” Kaveh says primly, dusting off his clothes. “Your aim is… terrifying.”

Tighnari grins. “Thanks.” The bow on his back glints with satisfaction.

Kaveh and Tighnari keep talking, but Alhaitham tunes them out, gaze fixed on the bow. Cyno.

At some point, he simply has to change back. Alhaitham thinks of the flashes of person he saw when they struck each other – the dark eyes, skin shining like midnight, a white mass of hair – and he wonders how each flash relates to the other. They must fit together, somehow, and Alhaitham intends to find out how.

The conversation next to him fades out, and he watches Tighnari walk away, bow on his back.

“Did you hear him ask to see my thigh?” Kaveh asks. “Do you think that was just because of the bruise? I mean, was it fully platonic, or do you think he meant something more?”

“He injured you,” Alhaitham answers. “It’s polite to inquire about the injury.”

Kaveh deflates. “You’re right… I don’t want to make things weird. Come on, let’s go home.”

Alhaitham nods and walks with him for a respectable amount of time before he pauses. “I reserved a book at the library. It should be ready for collection now.”

Kaveh stops on the street, looking at him, and then shrugs. “Fine, suit yourself. I am going to drink some wine and have a delicious dinner by myself.”

“Not too much wine,” Alhaitham tells him, mostly out of habit, and then he heads in the direction of the library.

Once he’s crossed a junction and dipped into an alleyway, he changes direction. Given the way Tighnari headed off in, and accounting for his gait and aversion to crowds, his trajectory from the training grounds should leave him walking through the gardens.

Alhaitham pulls a book out of his pocket to read while he walks, watching for Tighnari in the periphery. After only a couple of minutes, he spots him – sitting on a bench overlooking the gardens’ artificial pond. The bow that is Cyno rests upright on the bench next to him.

Keeping his eyes on his book, Alhaitham approaches from behind, steps slowing to listen in.

“I was satisfied, yes,” Tighnari is saying. “Were you?”

A voice responds, deeper than Alhaitham expected, monotone yet warm. “It went well. Even though you didn’t use our codenames.”

“I’m not going to use them ever, so you may as well prepare yourself for that disappointment now,” Tighnari says. “They’re stupid.”

“They’re funny,” Cyno argues. “You should really let loose, Tighnari.”

Tighnari doesn’t answer.

“No? You see, you can let loose an arrow, so it’s archery-based wordplay -”

“Cyno! I got it, I got it, thank you,” Tighnari says, fond exasperation in his voice. “No more, or I’ll throw you into this pond.”

They’re both silent for a moment, and Alhaitham slows down further, making his footsteps as light as possible.

“You know, it would be easier to see Kaveh and Alhaitham again if you were in your human form. We could even make some friends.”

Cyno is quiet. Alhaitham is almost out of earshot, even though he’s been walking as slow as he can - he pretends to drop something from his pouch, bending. “It’s okay,” Cyno says finally. “You should see them more, though, if you’d like. I’ll stay behind.”

Alhaitham picks up some air from the tiled path and then he begins to walk again, unable to hear Tighnari’s reply.

The Cyno he met on the training grounds was an entirely different person to the one he just overheard.

Alhaitham walks home, so deep in his thoughts that Kaveh’s drunken greeting barely registers when he steps inside.

He must know more.

Cyno and Tighnari stay in accommodation provided by the Akademiya, on the opposite side of the Divine Tree from where Alhaitham and Kaveh live. 

Alhaitham lingers outside the dorms whenever he finds a reason to be in that side of town. But it’s not until their next mission that he gets a chance to see Cyno in the flesh.

Tighnari and Cyno are a higher grade of meister and weapon than Alhaitham and Kaveh, which means it is near impossible for Alhaitham to create situations where they work together. He has given up hope of making it happen, satisfying himself with getting Kaveh to ask Tighnari if he will spar with them again - but then the opportunity falls right into his lap, the kind of eerie coincidence that some would falsely consider divine.

Kaveh and Alhaitham stand together in front of the mission board. Usually, Alhaitham is only looking out for what he needs to veto, but then he sees it - a mission with a modified grade. He slaps their mark on it immediately. “This one. We’re doing it.”

“Don’t mark us down for something when I don’t even know what it is,” Kaveh grumbles, leaning closer to read it. “Assistance required for mission to Gurabad’s Tomb, supporting a grade three meister…” He frowns. “Why this one?”

“How many grade three meisters here would require help for a mission in the desert? It’s your heat-sensitive Valuka Shuna.”

“He’s not mine,” Kaveh protests. “You’re sure it’s them? You hate cooperative missions.”

Alhaitham shrugs. “I’m willing to take that risk,” he says. “I’ve never been to the Gurabad ruins either. They’re bound to be worth my time, even if nothing else is.”

“Thank you so much for helping us,” Tighnari says. He is dwarfed by a backpack almost as tall as himself, and in his hand is an ebony spear - the one that once pinned Kaveh to the ground. “Usually we’d be fine by ourselves, but with the heat…”

“Are you sure it’s safe for you?” Kaveh asks, concerned. “Maybe it would be better for someone else to take this on…”

“No one else wanted it,” Tighnari says. “Someone spooked all the grade threes by starting a rumour that a grade two died in Gurabad’s Tomb.”

“What!” Kaveh cries.

“Don’t worry, it’s not true,” Tighnari reassures him. “Cyno looked into it.” Alhaitham looks at the spear again. “And besides,” Tighnari continues - he shifts his backpack higher on his back, and it finally reaches the tops of his ears, “we’ll protect you.”

Kaveh blushes at this schoolboy display of favour. Alhaitham sighs.

They set out in the morning. They will get to Caravan Ribat by nightfall, buy the last of their supplies there, and set out the following evening. According to Alhaitham’s calculations, if they walk all night and rest during the hottest hours of the day, they will reach Gurabad’s Tomb in five days.

Alhaitham hopes he’s brought enough reading material.

Arriving in Caravan Ribat, the only room left is a communal one with six beds. Tighnari, relieved by the drop in temperature once evening falls, suggests finding somewhere else to eat along the busy main street.

“Excellent idea,” says Kaveh, who would compliment Tighnari for simply breathing if he could.

“Grab something for me,” Alhaitham says, reclining on a bed and pulling out his book. “I’ll stay in.”

“Enjoy,” Tighnari replies pleasantly while Kaveh makes a terrified face behind his back. “Cyno, I’ll pick up your usual, unless you’d like something else?” He waits a beat before nodding. “Alright. Let’s head, Kaveh.”

“Yes,” Kaveh stammers, rushing to open the door for him.

Alhaitham listens to the door close behind them. He reads a few pages of his book, half-listening to the sounds of Caravan Ribat that parse through his headphones.

After a moment, he gets up and strides across the room to where Cyno the spear is leaning.

“Why are you doing this?” Alhaitham asks. He gets no response, which he expected. He folds his arms, studying Cyno. “You intrigue me. Why stay in this form? It doesn’t benefit anyone.”

Silence. Alhaitham regards the gilded engravings along the spear.

“Tighnari came to us for advice, you know. He’s concerned about you.”

“There’s nothing to be concerned about,” Cyno replies. His voice lacks the warmth that Alhaitham heard in the park, but listening to it now still makes him tingle with satisfaction. Cyno spoke, and it was Alhaitham that made it so.

“Do you need help turning back?” Alhaitham asks. “Weapons though we are, we still have needs.”

Cyno huffs. “I’m fine.”

Alhaitham imagines he can see sunrise eyes in  the reflection of the spear’s point, in the sliver of death along its blade. “Then why persist in this form?” Alhaitham asks.

“It’s not for you to know,” Cyno says. “You’re annoying. Leave me alone.”

Alhaitham watches him for a while longer, eyebrow quirked, before he turns to lie back on the bed again, opening his book where he left off.

Cyno does not speak again that evening, even after Tighnari and Kaveh return, both red-cheeked and smiling.

The first night of walking passes quickly. Alhaitham has travelled to the desert a handful of times, and whether it is a hot day or moonlit night, time always passes faster when the Wall of Samiel is still on the horizon. Once the Wall is out of sight, once there is nothing but sand in every direction, time begins to slow down. Progress becomes purely theoretical.

Kaveh and Tighnari talk about the stars as they walk, Alhaitham following a half-step behind. He watches Kaveh gesticulate wildly, face warm and animated, and Tighnari’s look of fondness as he listens. Yet another coincidence that some would deem fortuitous enough to be divine - as if any god would care about their simple little lives.

The desert night is cold, but Alhaitham feels some residual warmth from the display in front of him. Romance is not his usual fare, but it does not have to be. This story is not for him.

After the sun has risen, the heat begins to set in, and Alhaitham navigates their way to an oasis. Tighnari and Cyno go hunting while Kaveh pitches the tents, and Alhaitham prepares a campfire.

He is busy washing soot off his gloves when Tighnari and Cyno return, so he sees it only in the reflection of the water - a figure slightly shorter than even Tighnari, hair loose and dancing in the wind.

Alhaitham turns immediately, standing up so fast that a rush of dizziness clouds his vision. Once it clears, he sees Tighnari as a lone figure, leaning on the spear that is Cyno and raising a desert fox, bundled together with harra fruits wet with ripeness. “Dinner!” he calls, and Alhaitham nods mutely. Even under the warming sun, he runs cold with disappointment.

As they continue their trek through the desert, walking through bitter cold and sleeping through oppressive heat, something changes.

Like the flowing nature of a sand dune, the conversations shift, wind carving new spaces that are quickly filled. It is no longer always Kaveh and Tighnari chatting away while the other two are silent. Occasionally Alhaitham joins them for a discussion, or he walks next to Tighnari, talking to Cyno.

Cyno maintains his weapon form, but he grows looser with his speech. He has a lot of experience of the desert, and knows ruins Alhaitham has barely even heard of.

When he asks why Cyno knows these things, if he and Tighnari are based in Pardis Dhyai, he gets no response.

He does not mind. He is patient.

Alhaitham wakes from the heat in the tent. He shares it with Kaveh, who is snoring blissfully on his mat a few feet away. It can’t be much later than noon. His limbs feel heavy, indicative of only a few hours’ rest.

He sits up and feels the bottom of the tent give a light flutter, promising a breeze outside. He gets up and goes out without disturbing Kaveh, stretching under the sun. The heat is blazing, but the wind cools the sweat that has gathered at the small of his back and under his arms.

Cyno and Tighnari’s tent is closed. Alhaitham splashes his face with some water from his waterskin and eyes it.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But surely Cyno sleeps, and Alhaitham has never heard of anyone retaining their weapon form while asleep unless forced to do so.

He stands there for a moment, deliberating, and then he reasons with himself. There is a high likelihood that, even after hours of consideration, he would still violate Cyno’s privacy to sate his own curiosity. The only thing that the extra hours of deliberation would achieve is rob him of more sleep, thus making him less useful for their mission.

Cyno always talks about being useful. He wouldn’t want Alhaitham to render himself useless due to a mere moral quandary. And if their tent is as hot as Alhaitham and Kaveh’s, the brief breeze would be appreciated even in sleep.

Alhaitham inches closer and begins to loosen the fastenings on the tent.

He holds it open carefully without stepping inside. Cyno is like a guard dog - doubtlessly he will be near the tent’s exit, ready to spring into action.

Alhaitham peers into the tent and sees immediately that he was correct. Further away from the opening, out of the reach of occasional shafts of sunlight streaming through the tent seams, lies Tighnari clutching his tail. Near Alhaitham’s feet, so close he almost steps on him, lies Cyno.

Alhaitham recognises him immediately, despite never having seen him in the flesh. Cyno lies on his back, one hand splayed over his bare stomach, while the other rests over his head. His frame is small yet strong, a man fully-grown and healthy. It seems statistically unlikely for the people at Pardis Dhyai to be smaller than the rest of Sumeru, but with only Tighnari and Cyno as his sample size, Alhaitham can’t help but run a few probability equations in his head to distract himself from his next observation, which is this: objectively speaking, Cyno is very handsome. His face is pleasing. He does not wear very many clothes, and his body is lean and muscular. From an objective point of view, Alhaitham could probably encircle his waist with his hands, though further research would be required.

Cyno’s hair is pale and curly, brushed away from his face and neck to relieve the heat. Round cheeks and a full mouth belie a stern expression, with firm eyebrows that are initially gathered in a frown before they ease. Alhaitham’s gaze moves down, and then he meets the eyes he has dreamed of.

Cyno looks at him expressionlessly.

Alhaitham looks back at him, waiting. He may have invaded Cyno’s privacy by taking it this far, but he will take it no further. Cyno can react - and punish him - as he likes.

But instead of piercing him with an arrow or impaling him with a spear, Cyno slowly and deliberately closes his eyes again. His face smoothes out as if in sleep.

Alhaitham wants to touch him, but he is unsure what exactly he’s been given permission to do. He stands over him for several minutes more, studying the curves and angles that come together to make his human shape, and then he steps outside and lets the tent flap flutter closed. He fastens it slowly and wonders.

It is not often that Alhaitham is left wondering what something means. It makes the curiosity and excitement grow hotter in his stomach, like Cyno’s gaze poured oil on the fire.

Alhaitham goes back to his tent for a few more hours of restless sleep. When they begin to walk again that night, neither he nor Cyno mention it to the other two.

The stars continue to move above them. “I’ve read the book,” Alhaitham is saying,” I simply have no opinion on it.”

“Interesting,” says Tighnari. Alhaitham peers at him, surprised he has no further comment on a book he brought up, but then Cyno speaks.

“It is a surprisingly complex novel,” Cyno says, still a spear in Tighnari’s hand. “But it breaks some of the rules of the game, from what I understand, which has some philosophical implications.”

“So you’ve read it?” Alhaitham asks.

“Seven times,” Cyno says. “I found it compelling.”

“Have you played the game?” Alhaitham remembers the sight of Cyno’s hand splayed out on his stomach, his slim, elegant fingers. It is not hard to imagine him holding cards.

“Only a few times,” Cyno says. “These things are secondary.”

“You know we can take it slower,” Tighnari says, “It’s okay to–”

“We have a duty,” Cyno says firmly. “I swore an oath. That is more important than any leisurely pastime.”

Tighnari sighs. “You’re always going on about how sin comes from greed, and there should be moderation in all things - don’t you think you should take your own advice? Isn’t this pursuit of duty greed?”

Cyno falls quiet, and Tighnari grimaces. This is a familiar argument, Alhaitham can tell - like the dance of old friends.

“I heard that a sequel is being published,” he says, once it becomes clear neither of them are willing to break the silence. “Perhaps that will suffice as motivation for a break.”

“A sequel to King of Invokation? Tighnari, you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t know!” Tighnari defends himself.

“Let me know as soon as it is available.”

Tighnari sighs again. “Of course–”

“No, not you. Alhaitham.”

“Oh?” Alhaitham looks at the spear. “Alright. Explain to me these epistemological questions, then. Perhaps I will find the sequel more compelling.”

“You see,” Cyno begins, “the protagonist is fighting a doomed match…”

Alhaitham listens to him talk as they walk across the sands. He realises with some consternation that even a topic he has very little interest in becomes worthwhile, so long as it’s Cyno telling him about it.

“I had a meister before Tighnari,” Cyno tells him quietly, one sun-soaked dawn while they wait for the speared critters to cook on the fire. Cyno is a bow, resting on a rock. Tighnari and Kaveh are chatting further away, Ajilenakh nuts abandoned as they sit too close in the heat. Alhaitham watches them, because every glance at Cyno is a disappointing one when carmine eyes don’t meet his.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I was too slow.”

Death is an inevitable part of what they do. Alhaitham has made his peace with it, as much as one can, but the weight in Cyno’s voice makes him feel fortunate. He looks over at Kaveh, again - his meister, brimming with life. And Tighnari beside him, quieter but no less blindingly alive.

“And yet here you are,” Alhaitham observes. “Doing it again.”

“I will never let anything happen to Tighnari.”

“You can’t guarantee that unless you are omnipotent, which you’re not. Setting unrealistic expectations is a recipe for failure.”

“It’s not unrealistic,” Cyno argues. “I’ll simply make sure of it.”

“We’re just people,” Alhaitham says. “You’re a brilliant fighter, but we are not heroes or gods. Just humans with an alternate genotype.”

“What I am is irrelevant,” Cyno says, voice low and firm. “All that matters is my purpose. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

The bow loses luster as Cyno retreats into himself. Alhaitham knows that he responded incorrectly. Perhaps he should have cooed and apologised, like Kaveh would have, or stayed silent entirely, but those are not his nature. He may daydream, but he is under no illusion that he and Cyno fit together seamlessly. They are of opposing natures, one relentless where the other is lethargic. Alhaitham has sharp edges, and Cyno has been a weapon for so long that he’s forgotten how to be anything else. They are bound to fight, to cut each other at first as they find each other’s fault lines.

There is something thrilling in that too, knowing he will go blade against blade with Cyno. If the body heals around a shard, does it not become a part of the self?

The entrance to Girabad's Tomb is marked only by a single wall. Kaveh is the one to recognise the structure, and he circles it with fascination. "Only one wall to keep the sand out," he says, walking around the wall. It protects a descending set of stairs, though sand has begun to eat away at both sides of the staircase. "Whoever built this must have been immensely familiar with the desert wind, to predict how it would blow for decades - centuries - to come." He stops, looking down the stairs.

Alhaitham digs out two torches from his bag, lighting them both and handing one to Tighnari. The other one he passes to Kaveh, who immediately uses the light to closer inspect the make of the wall.

"These flecks of red in the brick… It must be trishiraite. There were trading routes already…?"

"Much as I appreciate your verbal note-taking," Alhaitham says blandly, "I expect they would be better served after we have dealt with the commission."

"Right! Right, right." Kaveh rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed, and begins to lead the way down the stairs into the crypt.

The staircase narrows as they walk, the flames flickering against the walls. "I thought most mausoleums were overground," Tighnari notes.

Kaveh frowns. "They are. It's much harder to build underground out here."

"It didn't mention that this was underground," Tighnari says. "I hope neither of you are claustrophobic."

Alhaitham shakes his head. "No."

"Something doesn't feel right," says Cyno, a quiet warning. "Be on your guard."

The light from Kaveh's torch suddenly spreads outward as they reach the bottom of the stairs, which widens into a room with a high ceiling. The air is still and dead, and Alhaitham walks over to the wall to inspect it for any light fixtures or torches.

"Any luck?" Kaveh asks him.

"None," Alhaitham says. "We'll have to find our way back using the torches."

"I'm sure there won't be a maze," Kaveh says cheerfully. "Who would get buried in a maze?"

Tighnari groans. "Kaveh, sweetheart, you've just cursed us–" He stops, ears flickering. "What was that?"

"I didn't hear anything," says Kaveh and looks over at Alhaitham.

Alhaitham gestures to his ear pieces. "No."

"It sounded like a child." Tighnari frowns and raises his torch, casting light further into the room. There is a hallway opposite where they came in, though the light doesn't reach more than a metre into it. "Like they were crying."

"A crying child? Alhaitham," Kaveh calls. Alhaitham obliges, shattering into green mirrors that reassemble as a sword in Kaveh's hand. "Let's go, Tighnari. They might need our help."

"Be careful," Tighnari says, following behind him as Kaveh strides towards the hallway. "We don't know what lies here."

Kaveh walks further into the tomb. The hallway is straight and narrow, and after a few minutes of walking, he says, "I can hear it!"

"Yes, it's getting louder," Tighnari says, "be careful—"

The sound of sobbing reaches even Alhaitham and Kaveh starts to run down the corridor. "They can't be far," he's shouting over his shoulder, "it's getting louder - seven above, can you imagine being trapped in here as a child? That must be terrifying!"

Tighnari runs after him, boots thumping across old stone as they hurry further into the tomb. The walls abruptly fall away as they enter another room, and Tighnari stops by the entrance, raising his torch to see farther ahead.

The sobbing is coming from a corner of the room, and Kaveh moves in that direction immediately, putting Alhaitham away on his belt to keep a hand free. "Whoever's there," he says, "we're here to help. My name is Kaveh, I'm a meister…"

A young boy comes into view, crying into his hands. He is wearing tattered rags, filthy and worn-out, and his dark hair is just as dirty. Kaveh kneels down, holding out his empty hand towards the boy.

"It's okay, we're here now," he says, soft and soothing. "We can get out of here together, alright?"

The boy sobs louder and turns away from his hand.

"Kaveh," Tighnari says warningly, "something's moving."

"Don't scare him," Kaveh replies, carefully shifting closer so as not to spook him. "Will you look at me?"

The boy's sobs turn louder, impossibly loud for such a small frame, and then he begins to laugh, a hysterical cackle.

"Oh, shit," says Kaveh. He scrabbles backwards inelegantly, pulling out the sword that is Alhaitham. The boy straightens, hands dropping to his sides and revealing an empty featureless face with three holes to mimic eyes and mouth. He slumps, head lolling like a puppet with its strings cut as he begins to lift up off the ground, and then the thing behind him skitters into view of Kaveh's torch.

It is a shadowy mass, spiderlike with legs that disappear into the darkness of the room. The boy is attached to its head, a decoy and bait for gullible fools like Kaveh, and the boy flops horrifically as the thing rears its head and opens its mouth, making the shrieking laugh again. 

One of its legs darts out and Kaveh just manages to block it in time with the broad of his sword - Tighnari pulls him to his feet by the back of his shirt, a bow in his hand. They have no time to speak as the spider-creature charges forward, its legs scratching loudly against stone.

"What the fuck is that!" Kaveh shouts, dashing backwards. With such little light, it's hard to move around the room with confidence, but he tries to keep his back to the wall, occasionally stumbling over objects he can't make out.

"I think it's a corrupted spider - ah, fuck - don't get hit by its legs!" Tighnari slips and falls to the ground, the torch rolling away on the stone. The flame flickers and catches on something, unclear at first until it starts to spread.

It is a nest of old belongings, clothes and tents and travellers' knapsacks, which quickly turns into a pyre as the fire takes hold of it. 

The creature screeches, scrabbling to get away from the fire. Each of its legs ends in barbed points, like the tail of a scorpion, and its head is grotesquely misshapen, mouth twisting under the corpse-like decoy.

"It doesn't like fire!" Kaveh shouts. He rips off a scrap of his shirt, tying it hastily around his head to protect himself from the smoke beginning to rise up.

"Great!" Tighnari shouts back, ears pinned to his head. "None of us have an affinity for fire! Let's just leave!"

"The commission -" Kaveh starts, but the creature rushes towards him, cutting him off. A leg shoots forward like a dart again, and he dodges and swings at it. The sword in his hand slices cleanly through it, and the detached section of the leg falls to the floor and dissolves. The spider-scorpion screeches, crawling towards the doorway where they first came in. The leg Kaveh just cut off manifests again, and the creature picks up speed.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," swears Tighnari. "I guess it's giving us no choice but to fight. Run after it, and avoid my arrows!"

“Easier said than done!” Kaveh shouts back. He hacks and slashes at the creature, dancing around arrows flying from behind him - one flies so close to his cheek that he can feel the air parting in its wake. The smoke is building even through the corridor, and Tighnari coughs behind them.

The sword that is Alhaitham shifts and reconfigures in his hand, gaining size and weight as he becomes a broadsword, and Kaveh swings him with more force, grunting. The creature has realised they won’t let it go and turns on him, screeching - the puppet decoy hits Kaveh in the head and he gets knocked to the ground. The creature raises a leg to pierce him with the barbs, but Alhaitham shifts again, encapsulating the leg in green light and shattering it. The spider hisses, an ugly sound, waving the stump in the air while it regenerates.

“Thanks,” Kaveh pants, clambering to his feet. “Let’s do this.” He picks up Alhaitham the sword, raising it, but the knock dulled his reflexes, and when the creature opens its mouth, he is too slow. He watches the creature in slow-motion as it moves forward, ready to engulf him.

“Kaveh!” Tighnari yells. “No, Cyno–!”

An ebony spear shoots through the corridor and into the open mouth of the creature, impaling it. The creature lets out a hideous wail of pain, rearing up on its hind legs and biting down around the spear.

“Kaveh!” Alhaitham calls, and Kaveh is shocked back into motion, bringing the claymore high in the air and bringing it swiftly down on the creature, a savage chop that tears through its decoy and shadowy skull, severing its body in two. It collapses on the ground, the spear that is Cyno clattering onto the stone, and then it slowly begins to disintegrate. The only thing that remains is a glowing grey soul, their hard-won prize.

Alhaitham transforms into himself, limping over to the spear and ignoring Kaveh’s calls as he picks up Cyno - human, now, and much too light in his arms. Blood runs along his abdomen, the creature’s bite carrying over into this form. “We still have to get out of here,” he tells the other two, “the smoke is building.”

“You’re injured,” says Tighnari, worried - streaks of smoke have marred his cheeks and the fire caught on his robes before he managed to extinguish it, but he is otherwise unwounded. “Should you be carrying him?”

Alhaitham ignores him, turning around and beginning to walk out of the tomb as fast as he can manage. In his arms, Cyno shifts weakly, but he doesn’t have the strength to protest.

The hallways and staircase pass in a blur of sand and stone, and when they finally reach the surface again, dawn is breaking. Alhaitham lays Cyno down on the ground, sheltered by the wall of the entrance, and cups his cheeks. Cyno’s eyes are open, hazy but alive. Tighnari sits down next to him, pulling out water and bandages from his pack. Kaveh hovers nervously over his shoulder.

“You’re not dying, right?” Alhaitham asks Cyno, gazing at him.

“No,” Cyno says slowly, and coughs - Alhaitham pulls his hands back as Cyno curls in on himself, grimacing in pain. “No… Seems like I’ve been speared from death.”

“Cyno, now is not the time,” Tighnari says, sounding upset as he holds a waterskin to his lips.

“Does anybody want to eat this soul?” Kaveh asks. “I picked it up, I think Cyno should have it - no offense, Alhaitham…”

Alhaitham ignores him. “It doesn’t even work, because to be speared also means to be run through with a spear.”

“Thank you for your feedback,” Cyno says weakly after a few mouthfuls of water, some of it dribbling down his chin. Alhaitham reaches out again, brushing the droplets away, and Cyno lets him, murmuring into his fingers. 

“Don’t mind me,” Tighnari says, beginning to bandage Cyno’s middle. “I’ll talk to you later. You can have your moment first.”

“Shut up,” Cyno tells him and coughs again.“Eat the soul, Alhaitham.”

Alhaitham nods and sits back, taking the soul from Kaveh - it’s an orb of dull grey light, and it goes down smoothly. As soon as it settles, he feels power rise through him. It is a stronger spirit than any he has eaten before, and his skin shimmers with green before returning to its brown.

“How do you feel?” Kaveh asks him, resting a hand on his shoulder. 

“Stronger. Don’t tell people at the Akademiya about the progress we’ve made. If they catch wind of this, they'll stop at nothing to make my life even more of a hassle.”

“You’re so lazy!” Kaveh glowers at him and Cyno laughs, pulling Alhaitham’s attention to him again immediately. Alhaitham shifts closer, cupping his cheeks again, and Kaveh steps back to give them some privacy.

“Why did you hide?” he asks quietly. “And why take that hit? We would’ve been fine.”

“Couldn’t take that chance,” Cyno rasps. He leans into him, forehead resting against Alhaitham’s. Alhaitham can see his pale eyelashes against his cheek, taking on the soft pink tinge of the dawn. “It’s a weapon’s job to be useful. I’m most useful like that, and I knew… You and Kaveh are going to do great things.” He lets out a low sound of pain as Tighnari presses bandages against his fresh wounds, but doesn’t pull away. “I’ve already killed one meister by not reacting fast enough. By not being useful enough. I wasn’t going to kill another.”

“That’s not your fault,” Alhaitham argues. “Your logic is flawed. You say a weapon’s job is to be useful, and that you’re most useful in your weapon form, but there’s so many things you can’t do–”

“Alhaitham,” says Cyno. He doesn’t raise his voice, but it’s firm enough to cut through Alhaitham’s tirade. “You’re right.”

“I’m right?” Alhaitham repeats, dumbfounded.

“Oh, now you’ve gone and done it,” Kaveh complains from a few metres away. “Great, now he’s going to be insufferable the whole way back!”

“I used to think that I was a weapon and nothing more,” Cyno says. “Anything else didn’t matter. But… lately I feel like more than a weapon, and I want to do things weapons can’t–”

Alhaitham kisses him, pressing their lips together and splaying his fingers out on Cyno’s cheeks. The morning sun hits his back, warming muscles that have begun to ache from the fight. Cyno tastes like smoke and blood, and Alhaitham licks into his mouth until he can taste himself too, pulling back only to breathe against his lips.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Cyno says, eyes bright and warm as he meets Alhaitham’s.

“I knew where you were going with it,” Alhaitham replies. “Were you not going to kiss me?”

“I was,” Cyno says.

“Then you may,” Alhaitham says, and he tastes Cyno’s rusty laughter for the first time as he kisses him again, Kaveh groaning in the background while Tighnari shushes him.