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The good thing about paper which had absorbed so much sweat that her pen carved long gashes across the sheet was that Faruzan could tear it to shreds and it wouldn’t make a sound. Not that anyone could hear her anyway, because no one spent any more time in this part of the Akademiya than they needed to. The scholars in the neighboring offices had long gone home, if they were ever in, especially as today was a cloudy day, and Kshahrewar’s admittedly impressive network of prisms and mirrors build into the internal structure of the Akademiya found little sunlight to reflect inside, forcing her to bring so many candles and oil lamps to her office that she completely lost her train of thought every time she returned to her desk from trimming the wicks.
It didn’t make a difference, though, because she had nothing meaningful to say. She had filled out so many of these forms by now that she could almost recite their contents in her sleep. The real challenge was pushing her hand to move through to syrupy air to actually put ink to still-dry paper.
This course will focus on the patterns of associations between the location a piece of text has relative to a mechanism and its contents. A key part of the process of deciphering ancient texts is gleaning as much information about the text itself before starting the process of identifying and translating the written symbols. Where a text appears to have been placed provides valuable clues as to what its contents may be, and this information can be indispensable in finding a starting point in the deciphering process. The skill of predicting a text’s likely meaning based on its location is critical for a researcher working to decipher them, whether it be in the context of solving mechanisms or another area of study. Because of my personal expertise, this course will primarily be taught in the context of aiming to solve mechanisms, but the core skill within is easily transferrable to any other pursuit in Haravatat. Students will be introduced to both the theoretical and practical underpinnings of…
The desert was different. Even on a day with no wind and in a place with no shade, she could go a whole day in the sun if needed. The sun was witheringly harsh, but here, where perspiration pooled on the polished wood of her chair to be wiped periodically, where the very air grew thick with warmth, she could barely last an afternoon. It was torturous, but even if she stepped outside, the hallway was scarcely better, and the walk out was so long that it was only worth it to grab a meal for. She had nowhere else to go.
It wasn’t even this bad in the ruin. At least whoever designed and built the mechanism that trapped her wasn’t doing it to her specifically, and she knew that it had to have a solution, even if she had no clue how to reach it. At least there wasn’t anyone who was supposed to help her but did nothing except hinder her efforts at every turn. At least there, in the most disastrous of her failures, she was in her element.
She dipped her pen back into the inkpot and brought it to the page.
…has expanded, the research into the intermesh between inscriptions and the very environment around them has not. This grant would go a long way towards my efforts to remedy this gap and develop a more holistic understanding of the structure, purpose, and context of ancient ruins around Sumeru. I plan to go to the area north of Pardis Dhyai in Vissudha Field, as the ruins there on the river have not been thoroughly explored, according to the existing literature and consultations with the Adventurers’ Guild. I anticipate that funds will be needed to secure equipment, such as food supplies, light excavation kits, and lighting, as well as to cover transportation costs, such as purchasing camping equipment, paying for lodging, and if necessary, procuring Sumpter beasts. Such an expedition has the potential to unearth valuable knowledge that…
How was she supposed to know what made her stand out among every single scholar in the Akademiya? She was not so blinded by her personal preferences to deny that other fields of study also had academic value, and could freely admit that her own research was niche. A cursory scan of the recent research projects her Akasha turned up turned up plenty of proposals that, if she was in charge of disbursing the Akademiya’s funds, she would have no problem granting mora to. It was a useless collective delusion to act as if money should only go to those research projects that were going to upend Teyvat.
But that was the song and dance they all had to play along with. It had been an acceptable nuisance back when things were going well, when, as her mentor once put it, she was still “on the treadwheel,” but now that she’d fallen off he’d been proven correct in that it was nearly impossible to get back on. Research begets funding, and funding begets research, and without either she was stuck groveling for scraps.
…only right for a Distinguished Scholar to be provided with a stipend that comfortably exceeds their living expenses and allows them to conduct research activities even in the absence of grants. Else, what value does honoring scholars with distinguishment have beyond a simple honorific, if not to further their research which the Akademiya has recognized? Academic stagnation is in no one’s interests, and niche expertise should still be nurtured. I hope you give my arguments due consideration, and should you hold a differing viewpoint, I look forward to hearing back from you so we may engage in an exchange of viewpoints and arguments as befitting of academic scholars.
Footsteps sounded from beyond the door, making her jolt upright, lifting her face off the desk. Was someone coming to see her? Would someone at last come ask after her, ask why the course proposals and grant applications and stipend increase requests were late again, and this time see the sorry state she’d been reduced to and lend her their support in wrangling an ounce of respect out of the Haravatat higher-ups? She would settle for just the former if they were respectful. She would settle for anything at this point, really, any modicum of empathy or care or sign that she mattered to someone. Even a passing remark on her unquestionably visible exhaustion would do. But the footsteps continued and receded down the hall, and she slumped against the desk again.
Why won’t anyone care about her? She felt so alone. She knew she’d feel alone when she came to terms with how much time had passed, and she was prepared to rebuild her network of friends and colleagues and acquaintances. Those were the consequences, and she understood that she needed to accept them. What she wasn’t prepared for was the sheer apathy, the overwhelming speed at which amazement shifted into thunderous indifference. Even if she wanted, even if she dragged herself out to the cafeteria or the Haravatat lounge or even another scholar’s class, no one would exchange more than pleasantries with her. There was nowhere she could go.
Even worse, if she went out to socialize, she might receive yet another sales pitch about joining Kshahrewar. She could basically deliver it right back to them at this point: more funding, more students, pan-Darshan admiration, far more collaboration opportunities, near-total academic freedom, and more funding. At least for them, she had a meaningful answer: no. She’d survived near entombment, she was not going to buckle to a Darshan that once told her that they had made her obsolete and sell out her integrity as a scholar just so she could be reliant on them forever.
I would like to request an extension on the deadline to submit the proposal for my class on the general differences between desert and forest ruins. Due to bureaucratic hiccups, I predict that I will regrettably be unable to complete my proposal by the due date. As such, I would be very grateful if the date could be moved back for me. Please reach out if you have any questions or wish to discuss any aspect of this request with me. Thank you for your time and consideration.
If people asked her about why she hadn’t finished the paperwork on her desk, though, she didn’t really have anything to say. It shouldn’t have needed to be said, just a cursory glance would do. But the sight of a scholar struggling through stacks of writing, whether it be papers, theses, or applications, was too common a sight in the Akademiya, and compassion for the suffering was hard to find among peers. So all she could do was mumble something that maybe made sense, gesture at herself, and if they pressed it pretend to fly into a defensive rage to get them to leave. That trick was rapidly becoming her signature move at this point.
Why couldn’t people just leave her alone? Did they take joy in the distress of a fellow scholar? Surely they knew that they could be next if their research faltered. But the Akademiya had never been a kind place, and compassion was not one of the qualities that made for a successful scholar. Ruthlessness, though, sometimes served one well, as was capitalizing on the struggles of another. Perhaps her, having fallen so cleanly off the treadmill, was a safe vent for their frustrations. Perhaps there was no longer any place for here among the Akademiya’s scholars. But she had nowhere else to go.
She sighed and lifted up the two documents she had completed today, heavy with moisture. She could turn them in on her way out, and come back tomorrow to finish the rest. She replaced the pages she was working on back on the pile, still of a disheartening thickness as she aligned the papers nearly together. She gathered what possessions she brought to her office, blew out the lights, and locked the door behind her.
After a journey through half the Akademiya, she dropped her forms off at the treasury office and the Great Sage’s office respectively, and set out to return home, eat some food, and prepare herself to do it all over again the next day. Because there was almost no chance her applications would be accepted; the only thing she ever got approved for were extensions. Even though she told herself that even the slimmest glimmer of success was a chance worth taking at this point, she couldn’t bring herself to hold out any home that all her effort would ever translate into anything. The message couldn’t be clearer: her research direction was niche, redundant, and not worth the investment, and her wisdom did not need to be shared. She was just a curiosity, and curiosities were not meant to be touched or used. They were gawked at, inspected from every angle, bought and sold, and left to slowly wilt in the archives when their novelty wore off. Still, she had nowhere else to go.
~
Faruzan’s stomach made itself heard above the sound of the rain as she closed the door behind her. Still, she nearly slumped straight to bed anyway. Instead, she placed her belongings down and stepped into a pair of sandals before turning away from the bedroom into what might be called a kitchen. She opened her mist flower box, but inside was only the tiny remaining core of a cabbage and a quarter of an onion. A pitiful quantity of beans remained in their bag, and a potato and a carrot presented the only presentable ingredients she had left, aside from her ground spices. If it hadn’t been raining, she would’ve at least bought some meat, but she didn’t want to stay out any longer, and that was the price that she had to pay.
Her mind drew a blank, and searching through her Akasha turned up neither well wishes nor suitable recipes. Staring at the shelves didn’t give her any new ideas, so she shut her mist flower box and strolled to her window, pulling back the translucent turquoise curtains to look down at the dimming streets. Back in the heady days when she was the center of everyone’s attention, when she believed there was promise and hope, she thought she had made peace with her loss here. She had set out to dignify the past by embracing the future, but the future did not embrace her. Now she was left alone to mourn everyone she’d known, including herself. The Faruzan that should have been.
Her stomach gnawed at her, but she knew she had no answer, so she stood staring, gently swaying. The scent of fresh bread had long dissipated at this hour, leaving only the slight hint of mold in the air. The brilliant sunset that normally greeted her outside the window was replaced by a sky that simply slipped from blue to grey. The streets were still bustling as she remembered now that the rain had stopped, the hubbub of merchants, residents, and scholars milling about, vendors hawking their wares as people haggled and celebrated and separated and called out to find one another, dodging giggling children darting between their legs. But she stood above it, looking down on their happy lives, untouched by neither nourishing rain nor desiccated chaff.
“It’s my birthday,” she whispered hoarsely. She cleared her throat. “I should get to treat myself.”
She had enough mora to afford a meal, more than enough, but the thought still ate at her as she closed her door behind herself. What if this bit of mora would be the difference between being able to afford a research expedition and staying confined in Sumeru City? What if something happens and she needs the money for an emergency? What if she ended up regretting her decision tomorrow? The despair and doubt were almost enough to keep her frozen in front of her home, but she forced her legs to move her out onto the street.
The night was warm, but not hot, the recent rain making the air much more pleasant. The aromas of multiple curries competed in the air, driving her on. People walked all around her, carrying on past her as she wandered down to Treasures Street. She kept her head down, eyes staring at the ground ahead, following the crowd to wherever it was flowing. Next to all these people heading to their destinations or cheerfully wandering around, she did not have the slightest idea where she was headed. She simply walked forward, more hurriedly than if she was browsing, more leisurely than if she had somewhere to go.
The crowd flowed to the waterfront, where it dispersed in several directions. The most enticing aroma came from Lambad’s Tavern, so she walked up to the hostess and got a seat outside overlooking the docks. The hostess tried to make some small talk, asking her which Darshan she was in and what she studied. She was evidently not an Akademiya student, but even if she was, Faruzan had no interest in conversing with her, so she simply gave her some polite answers and placed her order. She splurged on a serving of sabz meat stew and fresh tahchin, even though there were better and cheaper places to get both. She was here now, and they looked like the most appetizing things on the menu that she could afford.
The food arrived in short order, even with a complimentary piece of lavash accompanying the stew, and she eagerly tucked in to quiet her stomach. The flavors of childhood burst in her mouth, the delicious tahdig as crunchy as she always liked it. She let the taste and texture swirl through her mouth and down her throat, chewing and swallowing without savoring. She ate to sate her hunger, staring out across the water. Moonlight shimmered on the ripples across Yazadaha Pool. Boats plied across the glimmering reflections, shuttling north and south between Port Ormos, where sturdier ships awaited their cargo to bring beyond the oceans.
How wonderful must the world beyond be, away from the omnipresent tendrils of the Akademiya. Where people lived their lives free from the whims of elitist, unsage sages, pursuing their trades and arts and learning without worrying about what the most principal institution in Sumeru’s opinion on the worth of their work. Where they didn’t have to scrape and grovel for legal and monetary approval, nor twist and contort themselves to the tune of its bureaucratic diktats.
The Sakoku Decree has crippled the flow of knowledge into Inazuma, the Akasha chirped in her head. As a result, scholars in Inazuma are unable to access the vast body of existing research and literature to conduct their research. The people of Natlan must constantly live in vigilance against the encroachment of the Abyss, forcing them to devote time to martial pursuits, even if their occupations lie elsewhere. The Ministry of Civil Affairs in Liyue is notorious for its convoluted bureaucracy, requiring citizens up to two years to navigate for a simple business or construction permit. The legal system in Fontaine—
Faruzan ripped the Akasha Terminal off her ear to stop the obnoxious flow of information into her brain. She didn’t need the Akasha to think for her; if anything, she used to be the one feeding it knowledge in the depths of the desert where its data was cursory at best. The terminal’s indicator lights blinked green in her hand as her own thoughts flooded in in its absence. Why couldn’t she just leave? It wasn’t as if anyone would actually come see her with something worth discussing. If she returned soon enough, it wouldn’t make a difference in the endless line of applications and forms she needed to submit anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to take a three-day unannounced leave, nobody really cared. She didn’t have the money to go any further than Port Ormos anyway, and she was decently familiar with the city, even though she hadn’t visited it again recently. It would be nice to see how it changed, have a change of scenery, get away for a bit. The merchants and sailors there probably didn’t know who she was—her little fame was largely limited to the Akademiya’s circle. Although, she should probably check at the docks, just in case boat fares rose in the meantime. They should still be affordable, but it was best to make sure.
Maybe she wouldn’t bring her Akasha. Her mind felt a bit clearer with it off, and she wouldn’t be doing any research at Port Ormos. If she needed to know anything, she would just do it the hard way. If she got to go out in the field one day, she would need to work without its help, so it would be good practice, get her brain back in the thinking groove. She’d be spending most of the time on the boat anyway, so it was highly unlikely she’d need the Akasha. She’d leave it at home.
What was the meaning of all this? She didn’t know, didn’t really care. It would be different, that was all the mattered. All the other factors were negligible, sufficiently insignificant. She couldn’t really say she looked forward to it; it was just a plan, a viable alternative, an option that, since she chose it, she may as well follow through on it. In the worst case, nothing would change.
So, it was decided. She flagged down the hostess to pay and get some to-go boxes, and hooked her Akasha Terminal on her other ear after turning it off. She would head down to the docks to see who was leaving tomorrow morning and inquire about fares, then head home to get an early rest. Her leftovers should be enough for the journey down to Port Ormos. The rest, she’ll figure out as she went along.