Chapter Text
At the top of the Akademiya's tallest tower, a boy sits on the cold stone, notebook balanced on his knees. He is not quite twenty and his fingers are stained with ink.
An observation, he scrawls against the paper, at the Akademiya, there are no railings.
When he'd first arrived at the Akademiya, he had set off in search of a study spot free from the droning drivel of his classmates' work. Eventually, he found his way to this lonely tower, where the only sound is the soft scratching of his pen on paper. He has the tower's reputation to thank.
They say the blood never washes out from the ground below.
Since that day, he's served as the sole audience to a parade of human misery. A boy, his long brown hair blown loose by the wind. Rtawahist. He's looking up when he falls. A girl, footsteps so silent that he almost doesn't see her approach. Amurta. She peers over the edge, legs trembling, for over a minute before her muscles tense and she steps forward.
The first few times, he spoke with them. There is a page in his notebook dedicated to this little experiment in human sentimentality. He never succeeded in talking one down. Conclusion, he'd written, it is simply against my nature.
Tonight, there is a sandy-haired girl perched on the ledge, feet dangling over the drop into oblivion.
"I know you're there, Zandik."
Odd. Tucked away in the corner, most do not notice him if he does not speak first. He says nothing, but his pen flows across the page, finishing the introduction to his latest assignment. It is due by noon tomorrow, and if he maintains his current pace he may still have time to sleep.
From the ledge, the girl continues. "Are you going to stop me?"
"Should I?"
Moonlight glints off her crooked glasses as the girl turns around. The boy recognises her as the meek figure often found sitting in the back rows of their shared lecture. He never learned her name.
"Hmm," she has a soft voice, "you should. It would be the right thing to do."
"It would."
"So, will you?"
"I think you already know."
She smiles, pulling her knees to her chest before standing up.
"Thank you."
There's a pause.
"Zandik?"
"What?"
"Tell Isra that it's not her fault."
Her robes flap into the wind, greenwhitegreenwhitegreenwhiteblue-
Thirty seconds and a lifetime later, Zandik is alone in the tower again. He is well into his assignment on leyline anomalies when he hears footsteps, faster and faster until the staircase door bursts open and he has to roll out of the way.
A girl steps out of the stairwell. Her hair is tied back into a thick braid, loose strands sticking to her face with sweat. She catches her breath with her hands on her knees as her eyes dart frantically around the tower. When she sees him, bent down to pick up his dropped pen, she stops.
"Did- did you see?"
"Are you Isra?" Zandik replies. The girl's face contorts before she dashes back into the stairwell, the door slamming shut behind her.
He wonders whether he should have replied. The tower's reputation is well known, but he does not want to be involved in the formal inquiry into the girl's death. He waits, but Isra does not return. Before he starts his journey back to his dormitory, he spares a glance down. The body is already gone -- dragged into the Akademiya's morgue -- leaving only a patch of wet stone.
When he pushes open the stairwell door the next day, he is surprised to find Isra sitting cross-legged by the edge, umbrella folded on her lap. Rainwater drips through her hair. He waits one minute, two, three. She does not move.
They do not usually stay this long.
"Well," he says once he is tired of the distraction, "are you going to make up your mind?"
The girl jerks, shoulders stiffening as she glances around. She spots him eventually, still half-hidden by the shadows of the stairwell. "Zandik," she greets, before turning back around.
He shifts his weight onto his other leg. There's a reading that he should have finished yesterday but neglected, and if he does not start now he will not have time for his own research later. Perhaps it is worth enduring the Akademiya library for today -- there is a remote corner that Zandik finds minimally tolerable. He casts a final glance at Isra. She is still, her gaze fixed on the blank nothingness ahead. He scowls as he slinks back down the tower stairs. She will be gone tomorrow.
He is wrong. By the third day, his patience worn thin, he steps into the tower itself. Setting himself down in his usual spot, he pulls out his books and prepares his pen and ink.
She does not move.
"Why are you here?" He asks after an hour passes of him working through his textbook and her staring into empty sky. He doesn't hide the irritation in his voice.
"What do you mean?"
"Everyone knows this place," he says, "you're the only person I've seen here twice."
She turns to face him but does not answer. "They talk about you, Zandik. You study here?"
He shrugs. "It's quiet."
"It is. You can hear the birds," she hums and runs her hands through her hair, tangling the strands around her fingers. "Did you know her?"
"No."
Isra's expression shifts. "Can I tell you about her?"
He opens his mouth to decline, but Isra is faster.
"She was a lot of things. She was my best friend, she was the smartest person I'd ever met. She was sensitive. In this nation, if you're brilliant, there's only one place you go. So she came here, to the Akademiya, because that's what everyone said she was supposed to do. And it killed her." Isra pauses for breath.
"I wanted us to be something more, and I think she did too. But I always thought -- we're young, we have so much time, so why rush? We lived in this little in-between, and we were happy. Or I thought she was."
She pauses. Her shoulders are shaking. "What am I saying? You study here. You were there, you saw her -- and you did nothing." She sighs. "I'm not angry at you," she waves her hand dismissively, "most students here would do the same. Have you heard what they're saying about her?"
"Yes," he answers, "they express cursory pity and then deem her weak for lacking the strength to endure."
Her laugh is a creaky thing that verges on unnerving. "She wasn't weak. She was stronger than me."
Zandik waits for her to continue, but she never does. When he finishes his reading, he gathers his books under his arm. As he turns to leave, he pauses.
One last experiment.
"She told me to tell you," he finds himself saying, "that it's not your fault."
She smiles. "I know."
They find her body in the morning.