Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The faint scent of jasmine drifted through the Akademiya's marble corridors, mixing oddly with the scent of old parchment, ink and coffee. Morning sunlight filtered through the intricate latticework of the windows, casting shifting patterns over the polished floors. Kaveh stood near the far end of a spacious, wood-paneled meeting chamber, fidgeting with the strap of his satchel as he glanced toward the tall double doors.

He had dressed with care — not out of vanity, no, but because this meeting was important. His reputation as the Light of Kshahrewar preceded him, and he couldn’t afford to appear anything less than composed. Still, the weight of curiosity pressed at his temples. Why had Fontaine sent an envoy personally? And why him?

The doors creaked open.

A woman stepped inside, her posture poised, the delicate folds of her long coat rustling like water. She was unmistakably Fontainian — from the high collar of navy and ivory to the understated lace cuffs, and the precise way she carried herself. Her green eyes met his red ones, with calm and resolve.

“You must be Sir Kaveh,” she said, offering a courteous nod. “It is an honor. I am Lady Clotilde Dupont. On behalf of Fontaine’s Maison de l’Ingénierie and the Court, thank you for receiving me.”

Kaveh offered a small bow in return, though a touch more theatrical than necessary. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Dupont. I was informed your inquiry concerned an architectural matter of urgency?”

“Indeed,” she said, stepping closer. Her voice was crisp, precise — yet not unkind. “Following a series of catastrophic floods, the Fortress of Meropide has sustained structural damages. It is a matter of great concern — the fortress houses not only inmates, but a complex web of infrastructure and personnel. In short, a city unto itself.”

Kaveh’s brow furrowed. He had heard of the fortress, of course. Who hadn’t? But to be summoned for this...

“You seek renovation? Of an underwater penal city?”

Clotilde allowed herself a faint smile. “Reconstruction. Reinforcement. Innovation, where possible. You were not chosen lightly, Master Kaveh. Your reputation in Sumeru precedes you — and your vision is exactly what we need.”

He blinked. “I... see. I must admit, this is far from a typical commission.”

“Which is precisely why the Akademiya recommended you. Naturally, this would require your presence in Fontaine. For the full duration of the project.” She paused. “You would reside at the fortress — private accommodations will be arranged for your comfort and safety. And the compensation…” she slid a red velvet folder across the desk toward him, “is generous.”

He opened it.

His eyes widened slightly.

“...This is far above standard architectural rates.”

“We are asking for a great deal. Your expertise, your time, your distance from home. It is only fair that your value is recognized.”

He stood in thoughtful silence. The numbers alone were enough to make even the most frugal architect reconsider. But it wasn’t just about money. It never was.

A soft knock of uncertainty passed across his features. Living there, underwater, far from Sumeru — from him — for months. Or longer.

“I will need time to consider,” he said, his voice low.

“Of course,” Lady Clotilde replied, her gaze steady. “But do not take too long. The Fortress waits for no one.”

____________________________________________________

The soft clink of porcelain echoed faintly in the room as Kaveh set down his untouched cup of coffee. The Akademiya office he’d been given as a workspace — spacious, very lit, sparsely decorated — felt colder today. A folded stack of documents lay in front of him, sealed in dark blue with a single red folder, stamped with Fontaine’s official crest and the Akademiya’s approval notice.

He had read them twice. And yet, his eyes returned to the numbers every time.

“Enough to wipe my debts clean,” he murmured aloud, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “And then some…”

The room remained silent. The kind of silence that thickened around indecision.

Kaveh leaned back into the chair, staring at the ceiling — gilded trim curving into pointed motifs, odd, it was the classic architectural embellishment of the Haravatat wing not Kshahrewar. He wasn’t sure why his thoughts wandered there, but maybe it was to distract himself. Or maybe it was to hold on to the familiar for a moment longer.

Fontaine…

His fingers curled slowly.

It had been years. A blurred memory surfaced — his mother, elegant and determined, standing at the Sumeru City docks with a weathered satchel and a distant look in her eyes. Her final words still echoed in his head.

“Don’t wait for me. I need to start over.”

He hadn’t followed her. He hadn’t written either. she only sent a few letters with no return adress. They were alike in many ways, and that, he suspected, was the problem.

He sat up suddenly, drawing a deep breath, and pulled the documents closer. The project brief was meticulous — schematics of the fortress’ lower chambers, cross-sections detailing erosion points, the precarious status of the ventilation system, the emergency infrastructure…

It was ambitious. Daunting. And precisely the kind of challenge that could define a lifetime.

He flipped to the financial summary again. The commission wasn’t just generous — it was life-altering. Enough to reclaim autonomy over his work, to stop living under the weight of loans, rent, compromises.

His mind whispered another voice.

"But what about him?"

The question came unbidden, but not unexpected.

He imagined Alhaitham’s expression if he broke the news. Neutral, perhaps. Or vaguely irritated, like it was an inconvenience he’d have to process silently while sipping wine on their shared couch.

But maybe… maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all.

Kaveh closed his eyes, jaw tight. “I can't keep staying still because of him. I have to live.”

With a sudden surge of resolve, he dipped his pen into the ink and scribbled his signature across the final page. The soft scratch of the nib was the only sound in the room. When he finished, he sat still for a moment, staring at the ink as it dried.

Then he stood, smoothed his sleeves, and gathered the documents neatly into a folder.

Outside, the sun had shifted — casting long beams through the high windows as students murmured in the distance, pages turned, footsteps echoed.

He stepped out of his office and approached the administrative desk nearby. A secretary sat there, a young woman with sharp eyes and an ink-stained cuff.

“Could you please deliver this?” he asked, handing over the folder. “It’s my final approval for the Fontaine commission.”

She blinked in surprise. “Right away, Master Kaveh.”

He offered her a small, tired smile. “Thank you.”

As he turned away, his heart beat faster — not from doubt, but from the sensation of movement. The first real movement in a long time.

____________________________________________________

“You what?”

The sound of a cup hitting wood echoed sharply in their shared living room. Kaveh flinched only slightly — more from habit than guilt — as Alhaitham stood across from him, arms crossed, an unreadable expression clouding his normally stoic features.

“You heard me the first time,” Kaveh snapped, tossing a half-folded tunic into his half-zipped suitcase on the couch. “I signed the contract. It’s done.”

“And you didn’t think to consult anyone before deciding to move into a prison?”

“It’s not a prison—”

“It’s literally a prison, Kaveh!” Alhaitham’s voice rose, uncharacteristically sharp. “An underwater penitentiary in another nation, filled with inmates and god knows what else. You’ll be living there. Alone. For months.”

Kaveh turned, arms akimbo. “It’s a city. A complex social structure with engineers and workers and government oversight—”

“And criminals,” Alhaitham cut in coldly. “Criminals who will immediately notice you. You think you won’t be a target the second you walk in? You're not exactly inconspicuous, Kaveh.”

“Wow. Thank you. So now i am a liability?”

“That’s not—” Alhaitham stopped himself, jaw tense. “It’s not ... that.”

“Then what, Alhaitham? What is it?”

A pause. Alhaitham's gaze flicked toward the coffee table — cluttered with blueprints, notebooks, an empty mug with dried liquid. He fixated on the mess for too long.

“You’re a magnet for disaster. You always have been. Do you really expect me to believe you’ll be safe in a place like that?”

“I’m not helpless.”

“You’re impulsive, idealistic, emotionally driven—”

“And you’re cold, arrogant, and emotionally constipated, so what? I don’t stop you from doing anything!”

The silence after that crackled.

Alhaitham didn’t move. His expression remained unreadable, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“You’re not angry because it’s dangerous,” Kaveh said, his voice quieter but sharp. “You’re angry because you think i can't handle it.”

Alhaitham’s gaze hardened. “I’m not angry, Kaveh. I’m being logical.” He took a step toward him, his voice cold and controlled. “You are not just an architect either, you are a Sumeru asset. This is not a simple renovation project. You’re dealing with a foreign power, and any mistake could cause a diplomatic incident. My job as Acting Grand Sage is to ensure nothing like that happens. The risk of you being... caught in something you’re not prepared for is far too high.”

Kaveh stared at him for a long moment,confused, tension still hanging in the air between them. “You think I’m not capable of handling myself?”

Alhaitham’s eyes flickered, but his voice didn’t waver. “No. I think you’re impulsive, and you never think ahead. You’ll be in a confined space with criminals, and I highly doubt anyone will treat you like just another engineer.”

Kaveh’s expression tightened. “and why is that?”

“ and it’s not just that,” Alhaitham said ignoring his question, his tone lowering. “ I’m saying this because your luck always seems to run out at the worst possible time.”

Kaveh’s eyes narrowed, the words stinging more than he cared to admit.

“So, that’s it?” He shook his head, picking up the last of his papers. “I’m just some loose thread that needs to be tied up because you can’t bear the idea of things going wrong?”

Alhaitham’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Alhaitham, You don’t understand—”

“What I understand,” Alhaitham had interrupted coolly, “is that you're walking straight into another mess, and it won’t just be your reputation on the line.”

But what he didn’t say — what he couldn’t say — was: “I’ll miss you.”
Or “I’m scared you won’t come back.”
Or worst of all, “What if you find a reason to stay?”

But Kaveh was already turning away, grabbing his cloak from the chair with a huff. “I’ve already made my decision, Alhaitham. It’s not up for debate.”

Chapter Text

The days that followed passed in a blur of meetings and preparations. Kaveh met with Lady Clotilde several more times to finalize the logistics of his departure — travel arrangements, accommodation specifics, safety briefings, material shipments. Strangely enough, Alhaitham stopped arguing. He didn’t bring up the Fortress of Meropide again, nor did he scoff when Kaveh left blueprints sprawled across their shared table. In fact, he’d even offered a few pragmatic suggestions — the kind that sounded like general advice, nothing personal. Kaveh, still stung from their argument, chalked it up to professionalism. As Acting Grand Sage, Alhaitham had undoubtedly seen the reports — maybe even read transcripts of the meetings. It made sense that he’d simply chosen to set aside his personal feelings and let his title take precedence.

______________________________________________________

Bayda Harbor was veiled in a light mist that morning, the sea stretching out like a sheet of dull silver. Cargo crates lined the docks, workers bustled back and forth, and a Fontainean steamboat — sleek and unmistakably foreign — waited at the far end, its hull glinting faintly in the sun.

Kaveh adjusted the strap of his satchel, the weight of rolled-up schematics and notebooks digging into his shoulder while Mehrak was floating next to him. His suitcase had already been loaded aboard, and Lady Clotilde was still inside handling final formalities. That left him alone with Alhaitham.

Not that the man seemed particularly affected by the moment. He stood with his arms crossed, back straight, eyes impassive as he watched the loading crew.

“we’re late,” Alhaitham said, not looking at him. “They were ready to leave ten minutes ago. Typical.”

Kaveh rolled his eyes. “I stopped for coffee. Pardon me for wanting one last decent cup before I board a floating coffin of bitterness.”

Alhaitham’s lips twitched — almost a smile, but not quite. “Don’t blame the coffee when you inevitably get yourself thrown into a disciplinary cell.”

Kaveh huffed a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He hesitated, then added more quietly, “You didn’t have to come, you know.”

“Of course I did,” Alhaitham replied flatly. “You’d probably have fallen into the water or a ditch and missed the departure, if left unsupervised.”

They stood in silence for a beat, the screech of gulls and distant ship horns filling the gap. Then, just as Kaveh turned toward the ramp, Alhaitham spoke again.

“ Don’t let your... dramatic tendencies get us into a diplomatic scandal.”

Kaveh snorted. “Is that your way of saying ‘stay safe’?”

“That’s my way of saying ‘don’t embarrass me.’”

But as Kaveh boarded, casting one last glance over his shoulder, he caught a flicker of something else in Alhaitham’s eyes — something that looked suspiciously like worry, carefully buried beneath layers of disdain.

______________________________________________________

The voyage from Sumeru had been, to Kaveh’s mild surprise, mostly uneventful. The Fontainean steamboat cut cleanly through the ocean, its polished brass mechanisms hissing rhythmically beneath the deck. The crew was polite, efficient, and thankfully not too talkative. Lady Clotilde had remained professional but warm, occasionally checking on him to ensure he had everything he needed.

For once, Kaveh had nothing to complain about.

No leaks. No unexpected detours. No dramatic storms to match the ones in his head.

And yet, despite the calm, he hadn’t been able to sleep well. He’d spent the nights pacing in his cabin or drinking bitter, watery coffee from a steel thermos, his thoughts gnawed at by a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

It wasn’t until the boat rounded a narrow inlet and the coastline of Fontaine came into full view that the tightness in his chest began to shift — not ease, exactly, but transform into something closer to awe.

Kaveh stood on the deck, coat tugged closer against the sea breeze, Mehrak floating silently beside him. His gaze locked on the distant shape growing rapidly on the horizon.

Romaritime Harbor.

There had been no gradual reveal. No distant glimpse from a scenic inlet. The harbor had emerged all at once from the misty horizon, imposing and breathtaking.

Built into the cliffside, where a massive waterfall plunged into the ocean where they are, the harbor was an impossible sight. A towering elevator shaft ran alongside the cascade, made from shining stone and metal supports, rising like a spire toward the heavens. Observation decks extended like petals at intervals up the cliff, glass-fronted and bustling with movement. The structure shimmered in the sunlight, partly cloaked in mist, like something out of a dream or a vision of the future.

The engineering was bold, impossible. The aesthetic — unmistakably Fontainean. It was both impossibly delicate and unshakably strong — an architectural marvel. And Kaveh, architect to his bones, could only stare.

He pressed a hand to the rail, leaning slightly forward, the wind catching in his hair.

"Fontaine doesn’t just build—they declare." he murmured under his breath. “Fontaine doesn’t do subtle, does it?”

But the awe he felt wasn’t just admiration. There was something else behind his eyes — a tangle of emotions. The realization that this was where his mother had come to start over. That this was foreign soil. That his future, at least for the next few months, lived behind that waterfall and in the cold metal veins of the Fortress of Meropide.

And somewhere behind all that beauty... was a prison.

He stood there, watching as the boat began to slow, the harbor’s mechanical platforms adjusting for their arrival. His heart beat just a little faster.

It was happening.

The adventure had already begun.

Lady Clotilde returned from the harbor’s notice board with her usual composure, gloves pristine despite the humidity, her expression as unreadable as ever.

“Everything is confirmed,” she said, adjusting the clasp of her cape. “We’ll be taking the elevator shortly. Come along.”

Kaveh followed behind her, still half-entranced by the surroundings. The salty tang of the sea lingered in the air, and even here—far from the inner heart of Fontaine—the sheer elegance of the infrastructure was impossible to ignore. Pipes curled through stone walls with ornamental precision, valves gleamed with polish.

once they are in front of the elevator, the doors slid open with a hiss.

Inside, the lift round, brushed metal —only the faint hum of the mechanism as it pulled them steadily upward.

Kaveh rocked slightly on his heels, his satchel swaying at his side and holding Mehrak. “Does it always take this long?”

“Not particularly,” Lady Clotilde replied. “But Fontaine elevators aren’t built for drama. They’re built for safety.”

The lift halted with a soft chime. The doors parted to reveal a stone platform bathed in cloudy daylight. Here, the wind was stronger, and the air tasted thinner, cleaner. A few benches lined the waiting area, and shelves in elegant font displayed aquabus schedules and books. Other passengers stood nearby—some workers in uniforms, others in coats lined with velvet and gold thread.

Kaveh adjusted his tunic, keenly aware of how out of place he looked. the ornate sash, the messy hair still ruffled from the sea breeze. — none of it fit in with Fontaine’s colder palette and heavier fabrics.

Someone must’ve noticed, because not long after, a man with salt-streaked hair and a thick scarf gave him a friendly nod and stepped closer.

“You’re not from around here,” the man said casually, stepping up beside him. “Sumeru, right? Thought so. That fabric’s too light for Fontaine.”

Kaveh offered a polite, if somewhat sheepish smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to everyone,” the man replied with a grin. “If you're heading to the court, you’ll be taking the aquabus. Best part of the trip, if you ask me.”

He didn’t linger. Just offered a short wave before turning back to his spot by the railing.

As the wind tmessed with kaveh's hair even more, he leaned toward Lady Clotilde, lowering his voice. “He mentioned something called an aquabus. I’m guessing it’s… more than just a boat?”

“Correct,” she said with a faint smile. “They’re semi-automated vessels that run through Fontaine’s inland water networks. Very stable. And each is operated by a Melusine.”

Kaveh blinked. “A Melusine?”

“An all-female aquatic species native to Fontaine. Highly intelligent. They’re quite popular with the public—efficient, polite, and capable of managing both navigation and public relations.”

“I’ve never seen one before,” he murmured.

“You will soon.”

Right on cue, a distant mechanical whistle cut through the air. Moments later, a vessel slid into view—a rounded aquabus with polished bronze trim, a sleek, high-floating vessel with brass accents, like a cross between a gondola and a submarine..

A small figure stood at the top. She stood barely to Kaveh’s chest, her uniform crisply tailored, and her bright eyes scanning the crowd with professional cheer. Her voice was as light as a breeze.

“Welcome to the Clementine Line aquabus! This boat tour will take you to the magnificent Court of Fontaine, the most important city in our nation! I am Aeval, and I'll be your tour guide for this trip! Even though I am not as reliable as Elphane from Navia Line, I'll still do my very best! And if you're dissatisfied with anything, feel free to lemme know right away!.”

Kaveh stood frozen for a moment, taking her in. Her presence was so unexpected — charming, strange, almost ethereal.

“She’s a Melusine?” he whispered.

“Indeed,” Lady Clotilde replied. “Get used to it. You’ll be seeing them often.”

The aquabus ride on Clémentine line proved to be everything the man at the platform had promised — and more.

Kaveh had taken a seat, Mehrak nestled between his feet, but he spent most of the journey leaning forward with wide eyes and parted lips, like a child seeing snowfall for the first time. The aquabus glided smoothly along the aquarails, celegant arches suspended in incredibile configurations. Fontaine unfolded around him like a dream — the impossibly grand buildings, the Opera Epicles, the small villages...

Kaveh leaned out of the boat slightly.

"Is the fortress... somewhere beneath this?" he murmured to himself, eyes scanning the watery depths below. The aquabus followed a graceful arc between platforms, and for a moment, the reflections beneath the waves shimmered strangely — as if secrets moved below the surface, unseen.

When they finally arrived at the main terminal, their guide told them "Oh no! I almost forgot! Ahem! While aboard the aquabus, please keep your head, hands, and other body parts, as well as your canes, swords, Kameras, and other personal items, inside the boat at all times!"

Once at the Waterway Hub, the vessel slowed to a graceful stop. Aeval, the Melusine operator, gave them a soft farewell, and Lady Clotilde rose with practiced elegance.

"We’ve arrived," she said simply.

Kaveh followed her off the aquabus, stepping onto the marble platform of the hub. A slight mist lingered in the air, scented faintly with minerals and metal, like the aftertaste of rain.

They exited the terminal, and then — Fontaine greeted him.

The Court of Fontaine opened like an opera set at its most grandiose moment. Tiered buildings curved gracefully along the canal sides, ornate façades rising high with intricate designs and glinting stained glass. Giant flags arounf the city, Gardens, a number of shops lining streets that lead towards a large fountain - The streets bustled with elegantly dressed citizens, their attire echoing the nation’s aesthetic — layers of tailored formality, buttons like polished pearls, and gloves that never bore a wrinkle.

But Kaveh barely noticed the people. His gaze had locked upward.

There, perched like a crown above the city, was a monumental building that demanded reverence — the Palais Mermonia. Its high spires pierced the skyline, symmetrical yet ornate, every inch speaking of both power and intellect. Cascading water channels flanked the great steps leading up to it, and tinted glass embedded in its central arch glowed with solemn dignity.

Kaveh slowed his pace, staring.

"That’s where we’re going?"

Lady Clotilde, a few steps ahead, glanced back with a small smile.

"Yes. The administrative heart of Fontaine."

Kaveh exhaled, long and slow.

"Architecturally... it's absurd. Ambitious. Completely excessive."

He shook his head in wonder.

"I love it."

Chapter Text

Kaveh advanced beneath the imposing silhouette of the Palais Mermonia. Its sophisticated architecture momentarily made him forget the true reason for his visit — a commission from Fontaine’s administration to renovate the Fortress of Meropide. A challenge worthy of his talent… but before anything else, he was to meet Fontaine’s highest authority: the Iudex, Neuvillette.

Inside, the atmosphere was solemn — almost crystalline in its stillness. Water trickled down delicately engraved walls, each pillar imposing in the vastness of the audience hall, accentuating the silence rather than breaking it.

As Kaveh stepped through the towering doors of the office at his right, he saw him at last — the man known as the voice of justice.

The man stood by a towering window, his long silver-white hair cascading over his pristine blue robes. He exuded an aura of calm, but Kaveh had encountered enough powerful figures to recognize one when he saw it.

“Kaveh of Sumeru, I presume.”

His voice rang out, calm but resolute — like a gavel falling without force, yet not without sound.

Kaveh took a steady breath before bowing slightly, hand pressed to his chest.

“Your Honor, it’s a privilege to meet you. I’ve been summoned regarding the restoration of the Fortress of Meropide.”

Neuvillette’s expression didn’t change, but something in his gaze sharpened — as though taking precise measure of Kaveh’s words. He turned away from the window and crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps, taking his seat with quiet grace.

“The Duke of Meropide and I have spoken at length about this endeavor. The fortress serves as a place of exile, of discipline... of confinement. And yet, you’re here to make it more livable. Do you truly believe architecture has a place there?”

Kaveh didn’t hesitate.

“Architecture isn’t just about luxury, nor is it reserved for those with privilege. It shapes the way we live — whether we are free or imprisoned. If a structure is built without regard for its inhabitants, it only deepens their suffering. Even Meropide deserves to be a place where people can live, not merely endure.”

A hush settled over the chamber, weighty but not oppressive. Kaveh held Neuvillette’s gaze, unflinching, waiting.

Then — just the faintest shift. Not a smile, not exactly, but something like it flickered at the edge of the Iudex’s expression.

“Interesting.”

Neuvillette stood once more, his steps measured, and passed by Kaveh with an air of quiet decision.

“Will you accompany me to Meropide now? The Duke will want to meet you personally.” Then, in a voice low and almost imperceptibly softer
“Let us see if your words hold the same weight in action.”

Kaveh exhaled, only then realizing how tense his shoulders had been. He’d expected a formal discussion — perhaps resistance, or a meticulous review of plans. Instead, he had been… tested. And if he wasn’t mistaken, he had passed.

As Neuvillette moved ahead, Kaveh followed, the murmuring of Fontaine’s waters echoing softly in the city.

Kaveh wasn’t quite sure what he had expected when Neuvillette said they were going to Meropide right now. Was it beneath the city itself? Hidden within some unseen cavern? Or — more likely — submerged somewhere not far from the Court of Fontaine? He didn’t ask. He simply followed the Chief Justice through the elegant corridors and arches, curiosity growing with every turn they took.

What he hadn't anticipated was taking the aquabus again.

This time, they boarded a different line — one headed toward the grand building they had passed earlier on their arrival: the Opéra Epiclese, if Kaveh remembered Aeval’s commentary correctly. Neuvillette led him around the back of the majestic structure, until they reached a hidden lift built seamlessly into the rockface — its mechanism silent, but undeniably powerful.

As they descended, Neuvillette spoke, his voice calm, informative, as though delivering a lecture to someone he had already deemed attentive.

"The Fortress of Meropide is an autonomous stronghold located entirely underwater. It serves as Fontaine’s primary detention facility — where the convicted serve their sentences, far removed from the city’s surface, but we still consider it as a city, you will understand once there."

Kaveh nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of those words. An underwater prison. No wonder the place carried so much reputation.

“The Duke, Wriothesley, oversees its administration.” A pause. “And the infirmary is managed by Sigewinne — a Melusine.”

The name was spoken with a subtle shift in tone. Softer. Warmer.

“Her heart is untainted by malice — so gentle, so pure, it brings warmth even to the coldest corners of the Fortress.”

There was something almost reverent in the way Neuvillette said it. Kaveh glanced at him sidelong, briefly wondering — Was he speaking of her like a father would? The pride in his voice, the fondness in his eyes... it wasn’t the way one typically described a colleague.

Kaveh said nothing, but the image lingered in his mind as the lift continued its silent descent, taking them down into the unseen depths where justice met isolation.

When the lift came to a halt with a faint hiss of pressure release, Kaveh stepped forward, expecting perhaps another corridor, a station, a sealed chamber. What greeted him instead, just past the first sparse office, was something far more staggering. 

The Fortress of Meropide unfolded like the belly of some ancient mechanical beast, vast and humming beneath the weight of the sea. Built entirely by human hands, it was submerged in silence, a world apart from the one above. The shift from the refined elegance of the Court of Fontaine to this industrial stronghold hit Kaveh like cold air on damp skin. 

Kaveh stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the low, flickering light.

_______________

The architecture was a brutal hymn to utility — industrial corridors stretched into darkness, brass piping twisted like roots over the walls and ceilings, gears turned with grinding resolve. Steam hissed from unseen vents, some too close to the walls, leaving blackened scorch marks where the pressure had flared uncontrollably. Valves leaked a fine mist into the air making every breath feel heavier. The scent of oil, rust, and damp stone filled the air.

Gears rotated with sluggish grace, their constant grind adding to the mechanical chorus, humming conduits, and clanking metal. Some corridors weren’t corridors at all, but vast pipes hollowed out and reinforced to allow passage. 

Above them, turbines spun lazily, their shadows moving across the halls like passing thoughts. The light — if one could call it that — came from flickering gas lamps that flickered in and out of life, struggling to hold the gloom and the aquamarine conduits pulsed faintly along few walls, casting a washed-out blue. It felt both alive and ghostly — like the place itself breathed with slow, artificial lungs.

Kaveh couldn’t help but stop and turn slowly where he stood, trying to take in the sheer scale of it his eyes caught movements he couldn't quite make out — a figure passing through shadow, or maybe just another rotating gear slipping into alignment.

This lighting was abysmal.

Dangerous, even. Many areas appeared entirely unlit.

but it had it's own aesthetic, a kind of brutalist elegance — but it was also worn. Cracks split along some of the older support structures. Valves hissed with age, straining under pressure. The rust eating at the copper and steel wasn’t just surface-deep—it was invasive, some sections so corroded they seemed almost delicate — ready to crumble if pressed too hard.

Very, very Dangerous.

Condensation dripped from above, tapping steadily onto metal walkways. He tilted his head and noticed the long, slow stain of water creeping down several support beams. In one hallway, a series of puddles had collected beneath a cracked pipe, green with mineral runoff.

This fortress didn’t just need lighting and renovation — it needed salvation.

And yet, despite the decay, it had presence. Identity. Aesthetic. The designs wasn't merely a theme; it was the soul of the place. Those rotating mechanisms, those reinforced conduits, the thick-riveted doors with matte brass finishes — they weren’t just functional. They told a story. A gritty, relentless, mechanical heartbeat that had refused to stop.

Kaveh walked slower now, his boots clanking against the metal grates that echoed beneath him. Every echo answered by the hum of machinery. He took it all in — not just as a visitor, but as an architect.

He would have to secure the place: reinforce compromised piping, replace corroded valves, redesign ventilation and humidity control systems. The lighting alone was a logistical nightmare — it wasn’t just about illumination, but about visibility, safety, dignity. He imagined updated conduits, steady lighting that wouldn’t break the aesthetic — fixtures with smoked glass and brass framing, warm enough to ease the cold, but industrial enough to respect the spirit of the fortress.

But that was the challenge, wasn’t it?

How do you restore a place like this without stripping it of what makes it "it"? How do you layer safety, structure, and warmth onto something built to be unyielding, bleak, and confined?

As his thoughts spiraled between practical concerns and aesthetic dilemmas, the fortress revealed more of itself —

it wasn’t dead. Not quite.

Workshops echoed in the distance — faint clatters of metal, tools striking tools. A tucked-away café hummed with quiet conversation. And as they passed, Kaveh noticed individuals,  inmates, perhaps — or were they residents now? — passed by without urgency, carrying crates, speaking in low tones, even offering small nods and weary smiles.

It was a paradox: a place built for punishment, yet still bearing traces of community. Still… human.

He felt something twist in his chest. A place that shouldn’t feel alive… and yet somehow does.

At its heart, the Fortress of Meropide felt like a reliquary for forgotten burdens. It was not merely a prison — it was a place where guilt had been hammered into metal and regret seeped into the walls. And even in that stillness, people smiled. Small, tired smiles — like cracks in the surface of something long frozen.

A place that shouldn’t feel alive… but somehow does.

Still, eyes followed them. Kaveh felt them lingering — on Neuvillette, of course, whose presence silenced even the pipes, his presence unmistakable, unchallenged. Kaveh glanced back once, uncertain whether those looks were for the Iudex alone, or for him too — The one who didn’t belong here. An outsider. An observer. 

And yet, here he was. Architect, foreigner, witness to a prison that felt like a city in mourning — and now, his goal.

He hadn’t expected the Fortress to make him feel anything beyond professional curiosity — but there it was: a slow, creeping unease threading itself beneath his ribs. Not fear exactly, but something adjacent. Oppressive. Heavy. Maybe… maybe some had warned him. A gray-haired someone, annoying and somehow always right, told him to be more careful... No. He mustn’t let this anxiousness win over him. Alhaitham can’t always win an argument… right? …Right?

Chapter Text

Kaveh marched forward, the echo of his steps swallowed by the immense silence as they neared the administrative sector of the Fortress of Meropide — a cavernous, circular chamber where brass and iron coalesced into a throne of quiet authority. Towering columns stretched into shadowed heights, their forms half-lost in the low lights.

At the center of the space rose a colossal pillar — broad enough to house a chamber within. Its surface was marked with layered brass plating and reinforced iron rings, and at its base stood two guards clad in reinforced uniforms, each stationed on either side of a set of monumental doors.

As soon as they caught sight of Neuvillette approaching, one of the guards stepped forward and knocked twice with the back of his gloved hand. The doors creaked open with a weighty groan, revealing a spiral stairwell leading upward into the heart of the central column.

Kaveh followed Neuvillette up the steps, his fingers brushing the banister — the iron cold under his touch, slightly damp with condensation. As they ascended, the low mechanical hum of the Fortress faded behind them, replaced by a muted stillness that felt almost... private.

At the top, they entered a high-ceilinged office carved directly into the pillar’s core. The space was austere, yet functional — brass piping snaked along the walls, bookshelves stacked with books lined the background  subtly illuminated by warm lantern, and faint blue light filtered through thick-paneled glass on the top.

A tall man stood by one of the bookshelves. Dressed in a dark coat lined with black fur, Wriothesley turned as they entered, arms crossing over his chest. His expression barely seen because of the dim light, and his sharp, ice-toned eyes flicked toward Kaveh, studying him with subtle interest.

"So, you’re the famous architect from Sumeru." His voice was calm, edged with dry amusement. "Let’s see if you’re as good as Lady Clotilde claims."

Kaveh squared his shoulders, meeting the gaze with a composed — yet unmistakably self-assured — smile.

"I’ll let my work speak for itself, Duke Wriothesley."

A small smirk ghosted across the Duke’s lips.

"Good. Because down here, we don’t have time for empty words."

Neuvillette, who had watched the exchange in serene silence, finally stepped forward, his tone even and composed.

"Shall we begin?"

___________________________

The meeting itself wasn’t long — mostly a matter of reviewing documents, blueprints, and clearance papers. Kaveh found himself signing where indicated, responding to a few practical questions. But throughout the process, he couldn’t help but notice the Duke glancing his way now and then. Not subtly, either. The weight of Wriothesley’s gaze lingered just a moment too long each time, like he was sizing up more than just an architect’s credentials.

Once the paperwork was in order, Neuvillette straightened, his presence as composed as ever.

"Everything appears satisfactory," he said, turning to the Duke with a small nod. "I’ll leave the rest in your hands. Please ensure our guest is properly received."

Wriothesley’s response came with a flicker of a grin, faint but unmistakable.

"You have my word, Chief Justice. I’ll take good care of him."

There was something about the way he said it — calm, assured, just bordering on playful — that made Kaveh narrow his eyes, unsure whether to feel relieved or vaguely threatened.

Kaveh walked alongside Wriothesley per his suggestion for a tour of the fortress. His crimson eyes flicking across the dark corridors—cataloguing every warped arch, every misaligned support beam, every outdated fixture begging for redesign.

“According to the contract, you’ll be given accommodations and a dedicated workspace near the upper levels,” Wriothesley explained, voice smooth with practiced composure. “Plenty of light in the desk areas, as requested. And a team of workers at your disposal. Try not to charm them all at once.”

Kaveh blinked, caught off guard. A faint flush rose to his cheeks. “I—I beg your pardon?”

The Duke chuckled. “Just an observation. You’re far from invisible down here, Architect. Don’t underestimate the impact your presence can have in a place like this.”

My presence?

Kaveh scoffed, brushing back a stray lock of hair. “I came here to work, not to be... admired.” A beat passed. “Besides, I can handle myself.”

“So I’ve assumed,” Wriothesley replied, casting him a sidelong glance. “But Meropide has a way of testing even the most composed. Keep your wits about you.”

__________________________

The next few days passed in a blur—sketches, surveys, tense discussions with prison engineers. Despite the fortress’s gloom and the ever-present sound of echo and steam, Kaveh threw himself into the work. Each draft he sketched was a quiet rebellion against despair, an effort to carve beauty out of corrosion.

But not everyone welcomed him for his skills.

It began with stares. Then offhand remarks.

Until one day, in the deeper levels during a solo inspection, and exactly when Mehrak went for mesurement, a man stepped out of the shadows. One of the inmates- rough around the edges, someone with black market ties, or so he heard others say.

“A pretty thing like you is rare down here,” the man said, voice low, eyes gleaming as he grabbed Kaveh’s arm.

“Let go of me,” Kaveh snapped, yanking back. His arm looking for his Claymore but. No weapons are allowed here. Even if kaveh's voice was firm— his pulse betrayed him.

“C’mon now, don’t be shy—”

But the sentence never finished.

A blur of motion. A sickening thud. The inmate crumpled to the floor, gasping.

“He said to let go.”

Wriothesley stood over him, his presence like steel drawn in silence. His voice hadn’t risen. It didn’t need to.

Kaveh stared, chest tight.

“You alright?” the Duke asked, turning to him.

Kaveh nodded, breath still catching. “Yes… I—Thank you.”

Wriothesley extended a hand. Steady. Warm.

“Told you. Meropide tests people. He’s not the only one watching, you know.”

As Kaveh accepted the grip, something passed between them—relief, gratitude, a flicker of something unspoken. Kaveh allowed himself the smallest smile.

But high above, in the shadow among the balcony juste above this level, a figure in a stolen worker’s cap held closer the dendro mirror showing the scene from the corner under him.

Jaw clenched. Teal eyes dark.

“So the Duke likes to play hero, huh?” he muttered.

Jealousy wasn’t a feeling he liked to acknowledge. But here, far from the safety of Sumeru, watching his roommate smile at another man—it struck him like a blade between the ribs.

Alhaitham can't believe he did this. he had broken a dozen personal rules to be here. Disguised, somewhat illegal entry, bending the laws he so often upheld. He told himself it was precaution. Logic. He couldn’t allow Kaveh to create "an international scandal" after all.

 - Or so he told himself. Because deep down, he knew the truth. He was worried.

And he hated seeing someone else protect him. and worse of all. kaveh being grateful.

Alhaitham had always prided himself on being rational. Detached, even. Emotions were tools, not masters. But ever since Kaveh received that commission from Fontaine, logic had become harder to hold onto.

He remembered vividly: Kaveh, eyes blazing with passion, waving around architectural blueprints, pacing the floor of their shared home like a storm in motion. He couldn't argue more.

Alhaitham stood by the window of their quiet apartment, arms folded—pretending the hollow ache in his chest didn’t exist.

But it lingered.
And then it festered.

Days passed. Updates about the joint Sumeru-Fontaine operation trickled in through diplomatic channels. Kaveh was already in Meropide. And Alhaitham couldn’t sit still.

He’ll get into trouble.
He always does.
He can’t handle a place like that.
And what if he meets someone?

The final thought was the tipping point. Logic snapped like a cracked lens, and something else—unspoken and unadmitted—drove him to act.

So he drafted a plan.

He exploited a barely used clause, created a false identity and changed his uniform—one he “borrowed” from an informant with ties to the fortress. He forged a minimal but plausible record: a minor criminal from Sumeru, charged with obstruction of justice. Nothing serious, just enough to earn enough time inside.

Using information from the Traveler’s earlier infiltration, he located one of the less-secure checkpoints.  He staged a scuffle there—loud enough to draw attention, small enough not to raise flags.

When enforcers arrested him, he didn’t resist.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.

He was processed, identified under a false name, and transferred to the lower levels of the Fortress of Meropide within the week.

And just like that, the Acting Grand Sage of Sumeru disappeared into the shadows of Fontaine’s most infamous prison.

Inside, he kept his head down. Avoided eye contact. Observed.
The worker's uniform helped—he even blended in more easily than most inmates. His intellect and precision made him valuable to the workers, but he never volunteered too much. He had only one goal: find Kaveh. Observe him, from a distance. Protect him? Maybe. Kaveh can handle himself.

But fate, it seemed, had a flair for cruelty.

He had barely settled into his new position on the balcony when he saw it.

Kaveh. Smiling.

Smiling at him—Wriothesley.

The Duke stood beside Kaveh like some suave, overconfident knight out of a cheap romance novel. Worse, Kaveh didn’t pull away when the Duke offered his hand.

That brief, grateful smile Kaveh gave him… Alhaitham knew it too well. It wasn’t the one Kaveh wore for the public. It was genuine. Warm.

And it wasn’t for him.

His fists clenched on his mirror.

"Tch… That pretentious, overly polite, coat-draped bureaucrat is not his type."
Pause.
"...Right?"

But he couldn’t ask. Couldn’t show his face. Not yet.

So he watched from the shadows. A ghost in borrowed clothes. Waiting for the moment Kaveh needed him—
—or for the moment when he couldn’t stay silent any longer.

Chapter Text

- A few days later-

Again, Kaveh dusted off his sleeves, his hand still tingling from where it had met the Duke’s.  

Wriothesley’s grip had been steady, warm—more grounding than it had any right to be.

"Thank you," he repeated, his voice a touch quieter.

Wriothesley raised a brow. "how many times I've saved you already, and we haven't even had tea yet? I'm starting to wonder if this is going to become a habit."

Kaveh rolled his eyes, though a reluctant smile pulled at his lips. "Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t ask to be rescued."

"True. But you didn’t resist it, either."

Kaveh opened his mouth for a retort—but faltered. Instead, he sighed, letting his head drop back against the wall behind him.

"This place is stifling," he muttered. "No sunlight, no color, no beauty. How are people expected to function in a cage like this? i know it's a prison but still. No wonder everyone’s so tense."

Wriothesley leaned beside him. "That’s what you're here for, isn’t it? To make something better out of all this mess."

"Yes, well… It’s hard to design anything when you’re being harassed in the halls."

"I’ll assign someone to shadow you if you'd like," the Duke offered. "A guard. Someone who can keep an eye out while you work."

Kaveh hesitated. His pride bristled at the idea of needing protection—but he was too tired to argue.

"Fine. Let me know if anyone else gives you trouble."

They stood there a moment longer in silence, until Wriothesley broke it with a chuckle.

"You know, if you're not careful, some people might start thinking I have a soft spot for you."

Kaveh turned to him with a flat expression. "And what would give them that idea?"

"Well, perhaps the part where I knocked men out for you, or maybe the way I keep trying to get you to drink tea with me."

"Still sounds like a ‘you’ problem."

"Touché."

Over the next few days, Kaveh returned to his work, trying to keep his focus on the fortress’s redesign. Yet trouble, as always, had a way of finding him.

Incident n°1: The Exploding Pipe

While inspecting an old section of the lower engineering wing, Kaveh misread a structural diagram thanks to an overly eager worker talking his ear off and accidentally triggered a pressure release valve. Water burst from the rusted pipe, soaking him head to toe in seconds.

The workers scrambled to shut it down, but not before a full torrent doused the schematics he’d been carrying.

"I—I just—! Who turned that valve there!?"

A nearby enforcer muttered, "You're the architect. Thought you’d know."

By the time Wriothesley arrived, Kaveh was standing in a growing puddle, his hair clinging to his face, blueprints ruined, and his patience thoroughly drowned.

A few engineers were still loitering nearby—snickering, whispering, and letting out low, suggestive whistles that made Kaveh's cheeks flush hotter than the water had ever been.

"Ah," the Duke said with a smirk. "Trying to flood the fortress already? You do work fast."

"Don’t. Start."

"You should’ve taken me up on that tea."

Incident n°2: The Prisoner Debate

Kaveh made the mistake of engaging with an inmate who claimed to be a former stonemason.

What began as a harmless conversation about curvature and arch supports spiraled into a heated debate over load-bearing tolerances. Within minutes, half the floor was watching as Kaveh stood atop a table, passionately diagramming with chalk while the inmate argued back. Kaveh, now barefoot atop a metal inspection table, had commandeered the slab of dark slate and was passionately sketching stress diagrams while gesturing wildly. The inmate below barked rebuttals with equal vigor, arms crossed, and the crowd around them only grew.

The enforcers didn’t step in. They were invested.

Wriothesley arrived mid-argument and leaned in to whisper, "Should I be concerned that you've incited an intellectual uprising?" 

"I’m educating them," Kaveh snapped. "Maybe they'll stop insulting my arches now." Kaveh didn’t even look down.

"Mm. Just try not to unionize the prison while you're at it."

He was watching more than the argument. The flushed cheeks, the spark in Kaveh’s eyes, the way his voice rose with conviction—unapologetically brilliant, even when drenched in frustration.

Kaveh had come to fix broken stone.

But Wriothesley couldn’t help but wonder what else the architect might reshape while he was here.

...

...

...

Incident n°16: The Dreamscape Mishap ( in Kaveh’s words, “an innovative morale initiative.”)

In an effort to boost his  workers morale, who seemed to be needing a distraction other then making kaveh look like a fool, he got special permission clearance to demonstrate a new hall design using prototype dream-tech. a delicate product of diplomatic collaboration between Sumeru and Fontaine. A kind of visual projection that simulates a completed design through light and memory.

The idea was simple: Let the workers see what they were building. Inspire them.

“It has to work,” Kaveh muttered under his breath. “This was in the contract.”

Unfortunately, the machine had other plans.

Instead  ofnew hall designs and interior steampunk gardens with pots, it filled the entire chamber with a distorted, swirling version of a Sumeru-style buildings floating some are upside down, complete with kaleidoscopic vines that slithered across the floor.

Several workers panicked. One fainted. Kaveh himself nearly tripped into a projection of a pond.

Alhaitham, watching from the shadows, buried his face in one hand.

"Why is it always like this with him..." he muttered. Letting out a long, exhausted sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

This was supposed to be a private demo for the Duke. A controlled, quiet unveiling. Instead—not a spectacle. He hadn’t expected Kaveh expose it in front of half the prison.

Then again… maybe he could’ve recalibrated it more gently when he intercepted the prototype...

Wriothesley, entirely unfazed by the architectural fever dream unfurling before him, stood at the center of the chaos, arms crossed, lips twitching into a smile.

Wriothesley took it in stride. He simply crossed his arms and said, "You’ve managed to terrify an entire construction crew with a light show. I’m… genuinely impressed."

"It wasn’t supposed to do that!" Kaveh wailed.

___________________________

Kaveh stormed into the upper-level workshop, slamming down his rolled blueprints so hard that even the gears of Mehrak nearby whirred in protest.

His hair was a mess of golden strands half-unbound from his usual "work-tie", his sleeves rolled up, and his boots soaking wet from another “accidental” spill—this time a broken pipe in a corridor no one had been working in.

Again.

Harassment.

"That's it!" Kaveh snarled, throwing his gloves onto the table. "I’ve had it. I can’t even walk the hallways without someone trying to corner me or test my patience! Is there something about being a  foreigner that makes people forget I’m also trying to work?!"

He sighed hard and leaned on the table, visibly shaking.

He could fight—of course he could. He’s trained well enough. But when you’re knee-deep in sketches, materials, inspections, and political pressure from two nations… even a genius could burn out. especially without his weapon.

The door creaked open behind him.

"Finally lost your patience?" came Wriothesley’s low voice.

"It was hanging by a thread."

"You’ve been impressively stubborn, you know. Refusing a bodyguard this long, despite everything."

"Well, congratulations. You win," Kaveh muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "I’ll take one. But I choose who it is."

Wriothesley chuckled. "Of course. But before that…"

He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a slim envelope.

"This is an official invitation. Just so you don't forget."

Kaveh looked up, blinking.

"For what?"

"Tea."

Chapter Text

The corridor leading to his workshop was cold and silent, at this time, his only company was the low hum of Fontaine’s aquatech piping threading through the walls. The air felt heavy, saturated with the endless presence of the sea pressing down on the fortress’s metal skeleton.

Kaveh walked briskly, his boots echoing on the steel floors, blueprints clutched under one arm, the memory of yet another incident still stinging behind his eyes.

Another worker. Another misunderstanding. Another tense conversation that had nothing to do with architecture and everything to do with how difficult it was to simply exist in this place as himself.

He passed two enforcers posted outside the upper-floor security gate near the elevator when—

He stopped.

A fast-walking worker ahead turned slightly. Just the angle of his head. A tilt in motion. The profile barely visible in the gloom—only his silhouette.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark, slightly greasy hair that caught the gloomy light just like oil on water.

But that posture. That jaw—

His breath caught. For one irrational second, something inside him stirred.

He swore he could almost smell that familiar trace of cedarwood and old paper.
Hear the dry tone of a voice saying something infuriatingly logical.

No. No way.

His heart thumped once, confused. For a split second, his mind betrayed him.

"Alhaitham?" The word never left his lips.

He blinked.

The figure turned a corner, and Kaveh followed—just enough to see him stop, laugh softly, and speak to another worker.

Not him.
Too young. Too sharp. The eyes were wrong. The smile too easy.

Just a Fontainian inmate. Nothing more.

Kaveh scoffed under his breath, flicking his hair back as he turned away.

"Get a grip," he muttered.

_______________________

Kaveh sat opposite Wriothesley, breathing a little easier for the first time in hours. A teacup rested in his hand—still untouched.

"So," Wriothesley said, "you finally gave in."

"Don't act so smug about it," Kaveh replied flatly, setting the cup down. "I’m still annoyed. I should be able to walk the halls without someone getting handsy or trying to ‘accidentally’ corner me."

"You should. And I’d prefer it that way too." He gestured to the small tray of delicate cakes. "Come on. You’ve earned a break."

Kaveh narrowed his eyes. "This isn’t going to turn into some long-winded metaphor about tea and inner peace, is it?"

"Tempting, but no. Just tea. No strings. Unless you count the part where I finally get to see you sit still for five minutes without collapsing."

Kaveh sighed. He hated to admit it, but the steam rising from the cup did smell inviting. He was never a tea person—he cherished his coffee far too much. Coffee was ritual. Routine. A link to familiarity, to—

He took a sip.

"This is actually... nice."

"I don’t serve anything I wouldn’t drink myself."

Kaveh let his gaze linger on the swirl of steam above the amber liquid.

"So. About the bodyguard."

"Ready to pick someone?"

"I want someone who won’t talk much. Someone competent. Observant. Not nosey. And preferably not a flirt."

Wriothesley laughed. "You’re really narrowing the pool, you know."

"I’m aware. But I can’t afford more distractions. I can handle myself, but this place—" He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "It drains you. Mentally. Physically. It’s like living inside a pressurized cage."

The Duke’s gaze softened.

"Then let me help you."

"I’ll choose from your list." kaveh said firmly.  "But if I get even the slightest feeling someone’s reporting back on me to guards or the gossip mill—"

"You’ll throw tea at me?"

"If you’re lucky."

They shared a smile.

"You do realize you flirt like someone who’s read way too many romantic novels, right?"

"Only the well-written ones."

But even as Kaveh tried to settle into the moment, the warmth of the tea fading pleasantly into his chest, a shadow tugged at the edge of his thoughts.

That flicker of recognition in the hallway...

It wasn’t him.

Right?

________________________________

(Alhaitham’s POV)

He hadn’t expected Kaveh to round the corridor so quickly.

Alhaitham had been surveying the route from the Duke’s office toward the main engineering quarters, his borrowed uniform a size too small across the shoulders. Ill-fitting. Like everything about this assignment.

He didn’t like this plan. He never liked elaborate plans. Too many variables. But what else could he do?

The moment he caught wind that Kaveh had accepted the Meropide commission, something in his chest refused to settle.  It wasn’t just national diplomacy or the Akademiya’s interests- though he clung to those excuses more than he should. 

No, it was Kaveh’s bright eyes. His chaotic brilliance. His cursed tendency to attract trouble like a magnet drags iron dust.

And meropide was not the place for someone who loved too loudly and trusted too easily. 

He heard boots.
Fast.

Too fast.

That day, Kaveh appeared at the bend, frustrated, hair slightly disheveled, looking every inch a man ready to punch the next person who so much as glanced at him wrong.

Without hesitation, Alhaitham pivoted and slipped into the maintenance room on his right, right after his turn. he held his breath. Through the little dust-streaked glass panel in the door, he saw Kaveh pause, squinting.

Kaveh tilted his head—his gaze brushing the two workers still standing nearby.

Alhaitham stilled.

He watched Kaveh’s brows furrow… then relax as he shook his head and muttered to himself.

He didn’t see me.

Alhaitham exhaled slowly and leaned back against the cold wall of the maintenance room.

Close. Too close.

He could only play the ghost in the corridors for so long. At some point, he would have to speak to Kaveh. Face him. Convince him to come back to Sumeru, where the politics were only marginally less dangerous than a prison beneath the sea.

But at least there, Alhaitham could keep him safer.

Maybe.

If Kaveh would even listen.

His chance to speak with Kaveh came far sooner than anticipated—served to him on a silver platter by none other than the Duke himself.

Later that evening, a low chime echoed through the Meropide mess hall. The clatter of utensils dulled. Conversations quieted. Everyone—guards, inmates, and workers alike—tilted their heads as the announcement buzzed through the overhead conduit, distorted slightly by static.

“A special position has opened as Guardian Escort to one of the Fortress’s temporary officials. All eligible candidates among the well-behaved enforcers and trusted inmates may apply. The selection will be handled personally by the Administrator.”

The message ended. Silence lingered for a heartbeat.

Then—murmurs.

Ripples of curiosity, speculation, and amusement passed like wind across the surface of still water.

Alhaitham stood near the back of the hall, half-hidden in the shadow of a support beam, the brim of his borrowed cap casting a deep shadow over his eyes. But under that hat, his expression had shifted—subtly. A twitch at the corner of his mouth. A flicker of something sharp in his gaze.

Temporary official.

There was only one person that could mean.

Kaveh.

He moved. Calm, steady, but without a hint of hesitation, crossing the floor to the roster table as a line began to form.

One by one, names were added. A few belonged to actual candidates—enforcers with a clean record, workers with something to prove. But most of them…

his eyes narrowed.

Too eager. Too relaxed. Too many smirks exchanged between men who’d never once cared about their records here.

Alhaitham narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him—a tall inmate with a grin that lasted too long.

No.

Alhaitham stepped forward, eyes briefly locking on the man as he passed.

I’m not letting him be alone with any of them.

He signed his own alias with a practiced hand, then stepped aside—already calculating what it would take to be the one chosen.

If the Duke was offering the position like bait on a hook, Alhaitham was going to bite first.

And hold on.

Chapter Text

Kaveh left the matter entirely in the Duke’s hands.

He had no time—or energy—to deal with the selection process himself. Between overseeing structural evaluations and drafting emergency reinforcement plans, he barely had room to breathe. So, he made it clear to Wriothesley:

He trusted him to handle it.

His only request?

“I want the final say.”

The Duke had chuckled at that, but agreed without protest.

And so, the trials were arranged.

Wriothesley took Kaveh’s preferences seriously—though he might’ve laughed at the phrasing.

Someone who wouldn’t talk much.
Someone competent.
Observant.
Not nosey.
And preferably not a flirt.

Tough criteria in a place like the Meropide, but not impossible.

To narrow the pool, three filters were set in place.

-First: a thorough scan of the candidates’ records. No prior incidents involving harassment, violence, or disciplinary flags.
-Second: a test of intellect and situational judgment—nothing fancy, but enough to weed out the reckless.
-Third: a final cut to ten candidates, from which only one would be chosen.

Chosen not by the Duke, not by any guard or overseer.

But by the temporary official himself.

And that meant Kaveh.

________________________

(Alhaitham's POV)

His name -well, the one he was using- had passed the first trial without a hitch.

A clean record. No incidents. No affiliations. No red flags.
Of course there weren’t. He had built the identity himself.

And when the results were posted and he saw he’d advanced to the next stage, he didn’t even blink.

He’d expected this.

There was only one reason he was here.

The trial of wit was almost insulting in its simplicity.

Pattern recognition. Spatial logic. Memory exercises.
Timed riddles written to weed out incompetence.

He breezed through each one like a knife through butter.

Most of the others struggled—some more visibly than others. One man in particular, broad-shouldered and heavy-jawed, kept glancing at Alhaitham’s station with a growing scowl.

By the end, when the top scores were announced and Alhaitham’s alias topped the list, the man snapped.

“Tch. There’s no way he did that without cheating,” he barked, voice loud enough to draw attention. “I saw him just sitting there. Didn’t even write anything half the time.”

Alhaitham didn't flinch. He merely raised a brow, unimpressed.

“Maybe it’s not the writing speed you should be worried about,” he said coolly, eyes flicking to the unfinished sheet clutched in the man’s hand.

Before the tension could rise further, a new voice cut through the murmurs.

“That’s enough.”

Wriothesley’s steps were measured as he entered the hall, gloved hands clasped behind his back.

“Disrespecting another candidate is one thing. causing disturbance?” His gaze narrowed. “Another entirely.”

The room fell into silence.

The inmate bristled, then looked away.

“You’re dismissed,” Wriothesley said simply. “And before you argue—no, this is not up for discussion.”

A few guards moved forward. The man didn’t resist, but his glare lingered long on Alhaitham before he was escorted out.

Alhaitham exhaled slowly, then straightened his collar.

One more obstacle removed.

Effortlessly.

_____________________

The ten final candidates stood shoulder to shoulder beneath the vaulted ceiling of the selection chamber. Inmates and enforcers alike, each one silent, stiff with anticipation.

Kaveh entered with Wriothesley at his side, flipping absentmindedly through the remaining dossiers.

He barely glanced up at first—until something tugged at his attention.

third from the left.

That posture.

That precise, light stillness.

That hat tilt, almost defiant in how relaxed it looked at hiding his face.

There was something maddeningly familiar about it.

He frowned. Stepped forward.

Narrowed his eyes.

And without a word, he reached out and snatched the hat from the man’s head.

A breath caught in his throat.

“You—”

Alhaitham blinked, unmoved, his expression unreadable beneath the dim lights.

“Hello, Kaveh.”

Wriothesley arched an eyebrow, slightly surprised—but equally amused.

Kaveh’s grip tightened on the hat in his hand. His face twisted—between disbelief, irritation, and something dangerously close to relief.

“What in the Seven are you doing here?!”

Kaveh’s fingers were still clutched around that damn hat when Wriothesley’s amused voice cut through the like a knife laced with mirth.

“So… you two know each other?”

A sharp pause followed.

Alhaitham had already begun calculating his response.

Kaveh, on the other hand, looked like his brain had just blue-screened.

“W-Well, yes,” he stammered, tossing the hat back into Alhaitham’s arms as if it had personally offended him. “We, uh… we studied together. At the Akademiya. Back in the day.”

Alhaitham adjusted the hat under one arm, his voice calm.

“Classmates.”

“Unfortunately,” Kaveh muttered through gritted teeth, flashing a strained smile.

Wriothesley folded his arms, one brow raised as he observed them like a man far too seasoned to be surprised by "academic" drama.

“What a shame you ended up here,” he said dryly. “Well, that does explain the high score in the wits trial. If you’re from Sumeru’s Akademiya.”

Kaveh shifted uncomfortably, arms crossed. “Anyway, the position requires someone competent. Someone I can trust, or at least predict. So… I pick him.”

Wriothesley cocked his head. “Just like that?”

“Yes. He’s from home. That’s more than I can say about the rest of them.”

The Duke shrugged, already turning to dismiss the rest of the candidates.

“Your choice, your consequences.”

Kaveh didn’t even look at Alhaitham as he muttered to him:

“Follow me. Now.”

_______________________________

“Are you insane?!”

Kaveh stopped so abruptly that Alhaitham nearly bumped into him. Kaveh spun around, his eyes wide with disbelief and frustration. They walked throught an unused corridor between two storage wings—dim, quiet, just the faint hum of water pressure against the outer shell of the fortress.

Alhaitham, ever calm, crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine, thank you. The travel went smoothly.”

“Don’t play smart with me! Do you realize how dangerous what you’re doing is? Especially in a place like this?!”

“Yes. That’s why I came.”

Kaveh blinked. His anger faltered, just a little.

“…What?”

Alhaitham’s voice remained even, his eyes unwavering. “I knew you’d get into trouble. I knew you wouldn’t ask for help. And I knew I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

Silence fell between them, as heavy as the sea pressing against the fortress walls.

Kaveh looked away, nose up, the weight of the words pulling at him, confusing him.

“So instead of sending me letters or something, you broke into an underwater fortress? You disguised yourself as an inmate?!”

“Technically, I let myself be arrested for a petty crime. Nothing that…” He hesitated for a second, as if the weight of his actions just then had caught up with him. “Could stain Sumeru’s record.”

Kaveh groaned, rubbing his forehead. “You’re so—! Ugh!”

Then, quieter, more vulnerable:
“…Why? Why go this far?”

Alhaitham’s gaze softened, just a fraction. For once, the mask slipped, allowing a brief glimpse of what lay beneath.

“Even if I’m too much of a coward to say it the way you want… I care.”

Kaveh stared at him, the flood of emotions from all their years together crashing back. All the frustration. All the confusion. The feelings he had buried like ancient scrolls in a dusty library…now triggered.

And yet.

“Ugh, you’re so—so infuriating!” Kaveh snapped, turning away and raking a hand through his hair. “You don’t even understand how complicated this is. I don’t need distractions, or mind games, or—you. Right now.”

Alhaitham’s voice flattened. “Understood. Just classmates, right? Offering protection.”

Kaveh shot him a glare over his shoulder, eyes flashing with irritation.

“Will you really commit to the bit?”

“I’m very thorough. You know that.”

“Tch. Whatever.” Kaveh stormed off, muttering under his breath, his face flushed. “Stupid inmates. Stupid fortress. Stupid Alhaitham.”

Alhaitham waited a beat, then followed at a measured pace, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, barely perceptible.

Later, Wriothesley stood near a railing, reviewing a report with one hand while casually sipping tea with the other. His eyes flicked to the side, catching sight of the new "guardian" trailing silently behind Kaveh as they moved down the corridor.

He couldn’t help but notice the tension in Kaveh’s shoulders—stiff and slightly hunched, as though holding something back. And then there was the way the "new guy" kept his gaze trained on Kaveh, sharp, observant, but clearly trying not to look too interested.

Wriothesley’s lips curved into a knowing smile as his gaze lingered on them. He didn’t miss how Kaveh had snapped at him earlier when he casually asked whether the two of them were really just "classmates."

"...Huh." Wriothesley muttered to himself, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Then, in his usual relaxed tone, he called out casually, letting the words float in the air like a challenge.

“Architect! You’ll need to work late in the east wing tomorrow. Security might be thinner—so make sure your escort keeps up.”

Kaveh’s expression shifted to one of confusion, but Wriothesley’s gaze was already on the subtle shift in Alhaitham’s stance. Just a slight stiffening of his shoulders—enough for Wriothesley to notice.

Gotcha.

He smirked to himself.

The bait had been thrown.

Let the games begin.

Chapter Text

The days settled into a rhythm—if one could call it that in a place built of stone and steel, sound of engines, and a thousand unsaid threats.

Because something had changed. Kaveh noticed it almost immediately.

Where once inmates loitered near his workspace, offering unprompted “help” or excuses to linger too long, harasse him, now there was only the sound of tools and work. The lingering gazes had almost stopped. So had the convenient “accidents”, the unwanted attempts at flirting, the brushes down long corridors, or the suggestive jokes when he bent over blueprints.

Because each time—without fail—his guardian was already there. Silent. Watchful.

Alhaitham never said a word. He didn’t need to. Just standing at Kaveh’s side with arms crossed and that sharp, unreadable gaze was enough to keep even the boldest inmates at bay. He always moved just a little too fast, as if anticipating every potential interaction.

“You don’t have to stay with me all the time, you know,” Kaveh muttered once under his breath, not even looking up from his schematics on late-night working session of his.

Alhaitham simply replied, “it's my role. You said you needed protection.”

Still, he didn’t tell him to back off. Not completely.

“You’re acting like a trained wolf,” he muttered, sketching something.
“I’m acting like someone fulfilling his assignment,” Alhaitham replied evenly.
“You’re also blocking my light.”

Even with the fortress quieted around him, Wriothesley still dropped by occasionally, under the pretense of checking progress.

And he saw it all.

The way Alhaitham always glared to the room with Kaveh behind him.
The way he stood just a little too close.
The way his gaze lingered, no matter how impassive his face.

So he just leans against the wall, watching Kaveh sketch with faint amusement in his eyes.

“Another late-night work?” the Duke asked.

“You think?” Kaveh replied with a tired smile, accepting a drink offered by Him. He didn’t notice the way Alhaitham narrowed his eyes behind him.

Wriothesley did.

“Tense, aren’t we, Guardian?” the Duke called casually over his shoulder, smirking. “Might want to loosen up. You’ll sprain something.”

The glare Alhaitham gave in return could’ve frozen the sea.

Yet it didn't stop the Duke. He leaned slightly toward Kaveh, hand raised conspiratorially. “maybe he also wants some tea?” He jokenly whispered to the architect.

Kaveh, without missing a beat, replied dryly:

“he's more of a coffee person.”

_____________________________

Another day, in a lesser-used corridor, a worker approached with a small crate of insulation materials. “Hey, Architect,” he began, “I think this is the batch of materiels you requested—could you double-check before I install it?”

Before Kaveh could respond, Alhaitham stepped between them, eyes narrowed.

“State your purpose.”

The worker paled. “I—I just said it- I—I brought the—”

Kaveh shot up from the floor where he'd been inspecting a vent.

“Alhaitham.” His tone was firm.

Alhaitham didn’t move.

“He’s here to give me something I asked for. Not plot. Not assassinate. Just materials. You can relax.”

A beat of silence.

“Flirting isn’t always obvious,” Alhaitham muttered, stepping aside only a fraction.

Kaveh pinched the bridge of his nose. “I still have to work with people, you know. You don’t need to scare them off like stray cats.”

“It’s working.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

Still, after the worker scurried off, awkward and red-faced, Kaveh couldn’t quite hide the twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips.

______________________

Kaveh was hunched over a table, sleeves rolled up, completely absorbed in a new blueprint for the ventilation restructuring. His golden hair was a little mussed, smudges of graphite on his wrist.

Wriothesley leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, admiring the sight before speaking.

“You know, I’ve seen a lot of engineers in this place—but none who look quite as elegant while elbow-deep in schematics.”

Kaveh startled slightly, then sighed and offered a tired smile.

“I’d prefer appreciation for my skills rather than my looks, Your Grace.”

“Then you’ll have to deal with both,” Wriothesley said with a charming smirk. “You raise the standards of this fortress just by walking through it.”

Alhaitham, standing silently near the corner, narrowed his eyes behind his folded arms.

“Some of us are trying to work,” he said flatly.

Wriothesley’s smile widened.

“And some of us are providing well-earned compliments to our lead architect.”

Kaveh, visibly flustered, waved a hand.

“Oh stop—please—let me focus before I forget the measurement system entirely.”

“Only if you agree to tea again tomorrow.”
Wriothesley’s tone was teasing, but his gaze was fixed.

“…Fine.” Kaveh sighed dramatically. “But I’m coming for the cake.”

“I’ll personally ensure there will be plenty to eat.” He turned to leave, tossing a glance at Alhaitham.
“No need for your shadow tomorrow, Guardian. I’ll take good care of him.”

Alhaitham’s jaw clenched, even as Kaveh coughed into his fist and turned pink.

Later that evening, in the dim quiet of their shared quarters, Alhaitham stood silently near the window while Kaveh scribbled in a notebook.

“You seem to enjoy tea quite a bit lately,” Alhaitham said without looking. “Strange. You’ve always been a coffee person.”Like me.

Kaveh didn’t glance up.
“I’m allowed to take breaks, you know. I’m not made of gears and equations.”

“With the Duke.”

“Yes, with the Duke. Is that a problem?” Kaveh turned in his chair now, tone defensive.

Alhaitham’s eyes flicked toward him, unreadable.

“He flirts with you constantly.”

“So what?” Kaveh shrugged. “It’s harmless. He’s respectful, and actually quite—nice to be around.”

“Nice?” Alhaitham repeated, deadpan.

Kaveh raised an eyebrow.
“Are you jealous of me?”

You're so wrong. Alhaitham scoffed. “Hardly. I just think perhaps the Duke should focus more on his administrative duties and less on courting engineers.”

“So you get to follow me halfway across the world, sneak into prison, and insert yourself into my daily life—but a man offers me cake and suddenly he’s the problem?”

Alhaitham’s mouth twitched.
“I didn’t offer cake?.”

“Exactly.” Kaveh turned back to his notes with a flick of his hair. “Now unless you plan to interrupt my dinner plans next, I suggest you get over it.”

A long silence.

Then Alhaitham murmured, just under his breath:

“He’s not your type.”

Kaveh didn’t answer.
But his pen stopped moving for a moment longer than necessary.

________________________

The reconstruction site had been relocated temporarily to one of the fortress’s older, less monitored sectors. Kaveh had requested access to forgotten mechanical systems for evaluation—of course, accompanied by his ever-watchful “guardian.”

“According to this, there should be an unused sub-generator just beneath this floor,” Kaveh said, brushing dust from an old panel. “This area hasn’t been mapped in years.”

“Which makes it a security hazard,” Alhaitham muttered, scanning the walls. “You have ten minutes. Then we leave.”

But neither of them noticed the faint scraping echo in the background. Not at first.

Kachik—kachik—kachik—

Suddenly, a collapsed wall gave way, and out burst two rogue automatons—ancient Fontainian models, improperly deactivated, jagged and unstable.

“Kaveh, down.”

Without hesitation, Kaveh ducked. Alhaitham lunged, his blade materializing in a sharp gust of wind, deflecting the automaton’s claw inches from his head. Kaveh twisted behind him, reaching for Mehrak and throwing himself against the second unit, shielding Alhaitham without a second thought.

“Left side—joints are exposed!” Kaveh called.

“Acknowledged.”

In one synchronized sweep, Alhaitham moved low, striking the weakened limb, while Kaveh activated Mehrak once again and hit a unit's orb going towards his partner- while the other automaton lunged toward him.

This time, Alhaitham didn’t shout. He was already in front of Kaveh, catching the automaton’s arm mid-swing, absorbing the hit with a grunt before slicing it clean through the core.

Sparks flew. Silence fell.

The smell of burnt lingered in the air. Kaveh stood slowly, brushing dust from his shoulders.

“That was close,” he murmured, not looking at Alhaitham.
Too close.

“I told you this area was unstable,” Alhaitham said, breath steady but sharp.

“But you came with me.”

Alhaitham didn’t answer that.
He didn’t have to.

A few hours later, Wriothesley reviewed the footage from one of the old hallway cameras—thankfully still active in that sector. He watched the ambush, the way Alhaitham moved without hesitation, the way Kaveh’s words and Alhaitham’s actions flowed like pieces of one thought.

Then the final second: the look Alhaitham gave when Kaveh almost got hit. Not panic. Not fear.

Something deeper.

Wriothesley leaned back in his chair, a low hum in his throat.

“A cool, calculated protector, and our architect is entirely unaware, he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve.”

He smiled. “This might be more fun than I thought.”

Chapter Text

The day after the ambush, Kaveh had been given a short break—one the Duke took advantage of.

Wriothesley’s office was unusually warm. A table near the center down the staires had been installed and laid with polished cutlery, a steaming teapot, a bottle of vintage Fontaine wine, and several trays of delicate dishes—Poisson Seafood Soup, Duck Confit, and yes, cake.

Kaveh paused in the doorway, blinking.

“…You said tea and cake.”

“It’s included,” Wriothesley replied smoothly, pulling out a chair for him. “But I thought it's almost dinner time, and someone as hard-working as you deserved more than lukewarm leaves and stale biscuits.”

“I—I mean…” Kaveh hesitated, caught between politeness and suspicion. “This is… extravagant.”

“Is it?” Wriothesley tilted his head with a smirk. “I thought Sumeru architects were used to opulence. Or is that just your… childhood friend?”

“Classmates.”

“Ah yes, classmates.”

Kaveh rolled his eyes and sat down with a sigh.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“What can I say?” The Duke poured him a glass of wine. “It’s a little suspicious, seeing him tailing you all the way to an underwater fortress. Don’t you think?”

Kaveh accepted the glass, flustered.

“He has… protective tendencies. And ego issues. And control problems.”

“Hmm.” Wriothesley leaned in slightly, swirling his wine. “And yet, you picked him out of everyone.”

“Because he’s from my town.” Kaveh looked away, cheeks faintly flushed. “Familiarity is… easier.”

Wriothesley let the moment settle, sipping slowly. 

“You know, I’m starting to understand him.”

“What?” Kaveh blinked, caught off-guard. Because I surely don’t.

“If I had a connection like that with you, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight either.”

Kaveh nearly choked on his drink.

“You—! Excuse me? No— I know him. Can we eat now?”

Wriothesley chuckled, thoroughly pleased with the quiet chaos he’d just caused.

Kaveh didn’t mean to get drunk. Really.

But somewhere between the second glass of wine and the delicate seasoning of the Duck Confit, he’d slipped into that overly warm, slightly dizzy haze—his words flowing freer, his hands gesturing wider, and his brain politely checking out of the filtering process.

“You know,” Kaveh said, waving his fork vaguely, “he used to like tea. But then suddenly, he stopped drinking it. Now that I think about it, it was right before our first project together.” He blinked, then added with a puzzled frown, “He’s obsessed with coffee. The really strong, dark kind. Doesn’t put anything in it. Drinks it like it’s a challenge.”

Wriothesley raised a brow, clearly amused. “Sounds… intense.”

“It is.” Kaveh nodded solemnly. “He has rules about it, too. No sugar, no milk, never reheat it. He once threw out an entire carafe I made because it had been sitting too long.”

Wriothesley refilled Kaveh’s glass, smiling into the rim.

“That’s… oddly specific.” Your carafe?

“I know him well,” Kaveh said without thinking, then immediately flushed. “He takes rent but— euh. For—research. Akademiya projects.”

Wriothesley leaned back, laughing softly.

“Mmhm. Kaveh, you’re drunk.”

“I am not. I haven’t even gotten to the cake yet.”

“You’ve spent half the dinner monologuing about your coffee-loving guardian. You sure you don’t want to bring him a slice?”

“Maybe I will,” Kaveh muttered, cheeks pink. “He gets grumpy when I eat sweets without him.”

The Duke gave a low, satisfied chuckle.

“I’m starting to think he’s not the only one with an obsession.”

Kaveh threw his napkin at him, laughing.

________________________

Meanwhile...

Down in the corridor, Alhaitham shifted his weight near the reinforced doorway, arms crossed as he kept an eye on the security gate.

“Hhh’Tschh—!”

He blinked, sniffing, annoyed. It was uncomfortably cold. The Fortress’s humidity didn’t help.

His eyes flicked toward the hallway clock.

Kaveh was taking too long.

With Wriothesley.

Still.

Not that it bothered him or anything.

...But he sneezed again.

________________________________________

Ever since Kaveh had arrived at the Fortress of Meropide, the days had passed in a blur of blueprints, repairs, arguments with stubborn mechanics, and the occasional accidents, but also moment of quiet reflection beside rusted rails and humming machinery. Aside from brief sanctioned leaves to see the sun and breathe fresh air, he hadn’t really left.

Not the Fortress. Not Fontaine's underground labyrinth of stone and brass.

He hadn’t seen the city in full since the day he arrived, three months ago.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. Because, he does.

But this... this time, there was no escaping it. The diplomatic delegation from Sumeru was set to arrive in two days: officials, engineers, and a few esteemed figures from the Akademiya. The timing, of course, was not a coincidence. It marked the near end of Phase One of the project, and Fontaine’s Ministry had arranged a formal soirée in the Palais Mermonia to celebrate the collaboration.

Which meant Kaveh would attend.

Which meant Kaveh would need to prepare.

Which meant Kaveh would need to not stress.

If only his good guardian hadn’t chosen the absolute worst moment to disappear.

Alhaitham hadn’t been seen yesterday. Not at the nurse. Not in the Fortress. Not even near the elevator.

Kaveh had tried not to spiral. Tried.

He’d even confronted Wriothesley, asking if the Duke could “look into it” to which he’d nodded with his usual calm. But then came meetings, inspections, and security briefings that devoured every spare moment of his time beause of the said soirée.

And since then, no word. No apparence.

Which left Kaveh standing beside a table in the Fortress conference wing, face taut with polite exhaustion, as a younger assistant read off arrival times and updated briefings, while Lady Clotilde Dupont leafed through the portfolio of the renovations for the Fortress of Meropide.

She didn’t even look up when she spoke.

“I had expected the Grand Sage to be in Fontaine by now. He did mention he was taking a vacation here.”

Kaveh blinked, posture stiffening just slightly.

He gave her a smile. The kind that wasn’t really a smile.

“Oh. Did he?”

Clotilde turned a page, serene and vaguely amused.

“Yes. I recall his assistant saying so in his last correspondence. I assumed he’d be arriving with the others. I suppose… he changed his mind?”

Kaveh’s face was stuck on that forced smile. Well. Not exactly. But something behind his closed eyes dimmed into a flicker of annoyed fire.

“Yes. Perhaps.”

The assistant rambled on, but the words barely registered. Kaveh’s fingers tapped quietly against the folder in front of him, thoughts spiraling.

Alhaitham. Where the **** are you?! 

________________________

The entrance to the Palais Mermonia loomed ahead, grand and imposing. A humble marble staircase rose like a wave toward the double doors etched in delicate fontainian design, flanked by white-gold decorations on the frame.

Kaveh tugged at the hem of his cloak for the fifth time in less than a minute, the fabric whispering against his gloves. The red of his outfit glowed rich beneath Fontaine’s twilight lights—cut to fit his frame in elegant lines, stitched with golden embroidery from Sumeru’s ateliers. A ceremonial golden brooch, its design simple, a beautiful teal gem, pinned his cloak over one shoulder.

Wriothesley, standing beside him, adjusted his cuffs. His attire leaned more Fontainian: a black coat embroidered with silver thread, his House sigil at the lapel, and a steel-trimmed sash crossing one shoulder holding the fur of his cloak. He looked every inch the Duke, though his ungloved hands and casual poise betrayed a preference for practicality over pomposity.

Kaveh exhaled sharply. “You’re sure you haven’t seen him? Alhaitham hasn’t come by again?”

Wriothesley folded his arms, pausing before they took the final step toward the door.

“Actually… I meant to tell you earlier.”

Kaveh stopped mid-step, brows lifting.

“He’s not missing. Not really. He finished his sentence here.” Wriothesley’s tone was gentler than usual, almost cautious. “It ended two days ago. He was allowed to leave. I didn’t get a chance to tell you sooner—the preparations for tonight took everything out of my schedule. Didn't he alert you?”

The words took a moment to sink in.

“He… left?”

“Didn’t even take the main elevator,” Wriothesley added. “I’m guessing he didn’t want to be seen.”

“You think that man is capable of not causing a scene?” Kaveh scoffed. “He disappeared without a word! I was worried sick, and he just—walks out? No note? No explanation?”

Wriothesley offered a faint, apologetic smile.

“Maybe he figured you'd see him again soon enough.” will he get imprisoned again?

Kaveh rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they stayed in his head.

“If this soirée wasn’t diplomatic, I’d chase him down and I’d throttle him.”

“Mm. I’d advise waiting until after it.”

They reached the final step. The doors ahead cracked open, spilling golden light and the low hum of orchestral music into the hall. A uniformed attendant gave a bow and gestured them inside.

And then they entered.

The Palais Mermonia unfolded like a dream—arched ceilings dripping with crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors reflecting candlelight, and dignitaries from both Fontaine and Sumeru milling about in formal wear, the air laced with perfume, diplomacy, and the ever-present undercurrent of quiet rivalry.

Kaveh stepped in, his eyes adjusting to the gleam, when he stopped.

There, beneath the curve of a stained-glass skylight, flanked by a potted arc of fire-bloom lilies, stood Alhaitham.

Emerald and silver formalwear wrapped around his broad frame like a second skin, precise and sharp. A crimson brooch—crafted in the unmistakable style of Sumeru’s master forgers—pinned his dark green cloak in place. His posture was relaxed, the weight of the wine glass in his hand balanced with casual grace.

And beside him: Neuvillette. The Iudex himself. Speaking with him like they’d been colleagues for years.

Wriothesley arched a brow. “…I didn’t expect that.”

Kaveh didn’t speak.

He was too busy realizing several things at once.

That the men occuping his thoughts amd making him worry for the last two days was here. That he hadn’t told anyone he was coming. That he was currently sharing wine with the highest legal authority in Fontaine.

And—

“He’s wearing my brooch.”

Wriothesley blinked. “Wait—that’s the one you mentioned earlier, right? The ceremonial one from Sumeru’s forge?”

Kaveh’s breath hitched. “Yes! The one I told you I accidentally packed instead of the standard one—”

Wriothesley tilted his head slightly, amused. “Right. The one I complimented when I said ‘red suits you, architect,’ and you spent ten minutes explaining its origin.” He glanced toward the "Grand Sage/Guardian", then back at Kaveh. “So… how did he end up here, and with the exact same brooch?”

“We picked from the same forge set! He have options!” Mumbled Kaveh, ignoring the Duke entirely now as his face began to redden with what could only be described as a quiet, fashionable rage. “Why would he choose that one?”

“Maybe he didn’t realize?” Wriothesley said, unhelpfully.

At this point, it almost felt like steam would start rising from Kaveh’s head.

Alhaitham chose everything with calculation. Every word. Every angle. Even a cloak pin.

And then—as if summoned by the weight of his gaze—Alhaitham looked up.

Their eyes met.

A heartbeat passed. And then he smiled. The faintest curve of the lips. Cool. Confident. Familiar.

Kaveh’s stomach dropped.

“…I’m going to kill him.”

“Please wait until the soirée ends.”

___________________________

Alhaitham took another sip of wine, then, without urgency, leaned slightly to say something to Neuvillette. Whatever it was made the Iudex turn his head.

They began walking toward them.

Kaveh stood straighter. His heart pounded.

Neuvillette’s presence alone carried enough gravity to silence a hall, but paired with the calm confidence of the Grand Sage beside him, they cut through the crowd like a gliding ship through still waters.

“Duke Wriothesley,” Neuvillette greeted, voice like cascading water, stately and serene. “Architect Kaveh. What a fortunate occasion. I had hoped we would meet tonight.”

He glanced at Alhaitham, then back at them with a soft smile. “The Grand Sage has informed me that he wished to personally attend this soirée to strengthen Fontaine–Sumeru diplomatic ties. His presence is such a pleasent suprise.”

Kaveh’s smile was brittle, like it had been carved from glass.

Alhaitham didn’t speak right away. He lifted his glass slightly in greeting, eyes lingering just a moment too long on Kaveh’s expression—cool and unreadable, as always.

Wriothesley’s smile, by contrast, was all teeth.

“I thought I recognized you.” The Duke tilted his head just slightly, voice smooth and laced with polite venom. “Strange. You reminded me of someone I met recently… though the setting was far less diplomatic.”

Alhaitham blinked, unbothered, the motion slow—almost deliberate. “You must be mistaken.”

Wriothesley chuckled under his breath, the sound low. “Perhaps. But I rarely forget a face. Especially one that stared at me like it wanted me dead.”

Neuvillette’s gaze shifted between the two men, expression clouding slightly. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow. Is there something I should be aware of?”

“No, nothing at all,” Alhaitham said smoothly, giving the Iudex a sidelong glance before sipping his wine. “Just a misremembered encounter, I’m sure.”

Kaveh was actively counting backwards in his mind.

Five. Four. Three. Two—

“Excuse me,” he said with a smile so forced it could crack porcelain. “I’m going to get something strong to drink. I can’t survive this chaos without alcohol.”

“Red looks good on you,” Alhaitham added softly, just as Kaveh turned away.

Kaveh didn’t reply. He simply walked off—head high, cloak swishing, fingers curled too tightly at his sides.

He didn’t need to look back to know Alhaitham was watching him go.

He could feel it.

And the worst part?

That stupid brooch glittered in the candlelight like it was proud to be pinned to his cloak.

Chapter Text

The music rose and fell in delicate swells, the chatter around them shifting like a tide. But Wriothesley and Alhaitham barely moved, locked in place beside the stained-glass like statues in a stand-off.

Neuvillette had drifted away at some point—whether by excuse or simply the suffocating atmosphere, it was unclear. Neither man had noticed.

“I must say, you clean up well—especially compared to how you looked four days ago in Cell Block C.”

Alhaitham’s jaw barely tightened—but only for a fraction of a second.

“Must be a mistake,” Alhaitham said coolly. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

Wriothesley’s smirk grew ever so slightly. “Must be.”

Wriothesley stepped closer, taking a wine glass from an offering waiter, his tone deceptively casual.

“I knew something was off about you,” he said, eyes glinting. “You didn’t carry yourself like any prisoner I’ve seen. But I have to admit—I never imagined you were the actual Grand Sage of Sumeru.”

His attention drifted to Kaveh, eyes sharp with amusement.

“So tell me, does the Acting Grand Sage usually follow engineers on diplomatic missions abroad? Or is Kaveh just a… special case?”

Alhaitham didn’t flinch. His gaze was steady, calm, unreadable.

“Still making assumptions based on appearances.”

“Am I?” Wriothesley leaned in a fraction. “I just find it curious how a certain mysterious Sumeru ‘security officer and classmate’ disappeared the moment you arrived in Fontaine. Not to mention the very specific height and build…”

Alhaitham tilted his glass, inspecting the wine like it might hold answers. “You must be mistaken. The Acting Grand Sage has plenty of responsibilities. Certainly no time to play bodyguard in disguise.”

Wriothesley smiled. “And yet here you are. On vacation in Fontaine.”

Alhaitham met his gaze now, eyes cool as stone.

“Should I remind you that fraternizing with foreign officials at official events might compromise diplomatic neutrality?” His voice dropped just slightly. “Especially when said official spends an unusual amount of alone time with a certain architect.”

The Duke raised a brow. “Ah. So you have been watching.”

“I was made aware. For the good of the Sumeru–Fontaine collaboration,” Alhaitham replied smoothly. “A conflict of interest would be… inconvenient.”

Wriothesley chuckled, low and amused.

“You must take your role very seriously. Perhaps a little too seriously.” He stepped past him, just enough for their shoulders to brush. “Tell me then—what category of ‘interest’ does jealousy fall under?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer, but the flicker in his expression said enough.

“You're deflecting,” the Duke added, savoring every syllable. “But the more you dodge, the more obvious it becomes.”

“What’s obvious,” Alhaitham said, voice sharp now, “is that you’ve mistaken casual attention for something deeper. Kaveh, as talented as he is, has a tendency to attract… unwanted attention.”

“You mean affection?”

“I mean trouble.”

Their words hung in the air like smoke—sharp, heavy, unspoken things woven between every pause.

Neither noticed Neuvillette’s absence. Neither noticed how much time had passed.

They didn’t even glance around until the Iudex returned, silent as ever, holding two wine glasses filled with crystalline water.

“Gentlemen.” He placed the glasses into their hands. “You’ve been at it for a while. I thought water might temper the fire.”

Only then did Wriothesley glance to his side. Only then did Alhaitham’s brow twitch.

Kaveh wasn’t there.

“Where is he?”

“Idon't see him by the drinks anymore,” Alhaitham said under his breath, scanning the room.

Neuvillette sighed. “You’ve both been too absorbed to notice. He’s been gone quite some time.”

At the far edge of the hall, framed by candlelight and conversation, Kaveh had become a blur of red silk and tousled gold—half-lounging, drink in hand, cheeks flushed, laughter airy and disarmed.

The storm brewing between the two men shifted.

This time, toward a shared realization.

Their gaze had already tracked the soft gold of Kaveh’s hair amidst the crowd, glowing like a distant flame. The warmth, the motion, the way people gravitated toward him like moths—dangerously unaware of how close they hovered to someone so pure.

“He’s a flame,” the Duke murmured, “and no one here seems afraid of getting too close.”

Alhaitham was already moving.

_______________________

The world tilted softly in Kaveh’s vision.

The chandeliers above him were constellations. The polished floor shimmered like water, and the Fontainian officials around him—faces blurred with perfume and fine clothes—spoke in elegant, lilting tones that made him giggle for no reason at all.

He didn’t remember how many glasses of wine he’d had. They’d been so generous. So curious about his work. About Sumeru. About how his hair looked in the light...? 

“It’s all natural,” he laughed, running a hand through it dramatically.

“You have such... expressive eyes,” one of them said, far too close.

He blinked at that. “Do I?”

A laugh. Another drink was raised to him.

And then—suddenly, the warmth of a hand curled firmly around his forearm.

Kaveh turned his head and blinked up. There was the cool glint of Teal eyes, the same color of his brooch, and the faintest shadow of a frown.

“Pardon me,” Alhaitham said, addressing the officials without smiling. “I need to borrow Kaveh for a moment. Work matter.”

“But—”

Wriothesley’s voice cut in, smooth as silk. “Gentlemen. May I interest you in a rather controversial topic regarding the Iudex's latest rulings?”

There was a polite shuffle of interest, distraction successful.

Alhaitham was already walking Kaveh away, one hand still lightly wrapped around his arm. The architect stumbled slightly on his feet, leaning in closer than he probably needed to.

“Work?” Kaveh whispered, trying to focus on Alhaitham’s face. “But this is a party.”

“And you’re already drunk.” He sighed. 

“I’m not—!” His voice caught in his throat when they stepped onto the balcony. The cold air hit his cheeks like unbrushed wool.

Moonlight draped the space in silver. The muffled sound of the soirée faded behind them.

Alhaitham let go of his arm, finally, but Kaveh remained close—swaying just slightly, cheeks flushed and eyes unfocused.

“Why’d you pull me out?” he asked, voice softer now. “We were just talking.”

Alhaitham didn’t answer right away. He was staring out over the balustrade, jaw tense.

Then:
“You don’t notice when people are trying to... use you. Or getting too close.”

Kaveh blinked. “What? They were just being friendly.”

Alhaitham turned his gaze toward him then. Sharp. Steady. Unwavering.

“You’re not a toy to be passed around at banquets. And you certainly shouldn’t be letting strangers get you drunk in a room full of sharks.”

Kaveh’s eyes narrowed, heat rushing to his cheeks—not just from the alcohol anymore.

“Excuse me? Are you seriously accusing me of… what, exactly? Being careless? I was having a conversation, not throwing myself at anyone. Unlike some people, I know how to socialize-...” 

“Oh yes,” Alhaitham replied coolly with a humourless laugh, “ Very diplomatic. I’m sure shameless flirting with Fontainian officials counts as diplomatic work now.”

Kaveh scoffed, arms crossing, swaying slightly. “And what about you, huh? Following me across Teyvat, forging a fake identity, getting arrested, go into and out of the Fortress of Meropide like it’s some game—just for what? If the Chief Justice finds out, they’ll show you exactly why Fontaine is called the Nation of Justice. We’re lucky the Duke is kind! And appreciates me and isn’t saying anything. For now.”

Alhaitham’s expression darkened.
“Which is exactly why I had to follow you in the first place.” His voice dropped, razor-sharp.

“You have no idea how close you were to walking into a mess going to the fortress. You only see the good in people, Kaveh. And look what that got you into there.”

Kaveh flinched slightly, jaw tightening, but tried to mask it with scorn.

“And what, you think I need you to babysit me through my professional life now?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer that immediately. His jaw was tight, eyes flashing under the silver moonlight.

There was a pause. Then, sharper and more hurt then he intended.

“You didn’t even thank me. Not once. For helping you in the Fortress.”

Kaveh stilled. The words struck a nerve.

His breath hitched, caught halfway between disbelief and something twisting in his chest. The words hit deeper than he wanted to admit. Guilt, sharp and unexpected, slid beneath his skin, clashing with the wine and rising heat in his face.

He pushed himself off the railing, hands balled into fists at his sides, voice cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid.

“So that’s what this is about?” he snapped.
“You really came all the way to Fontaine just to… what? Be my shadow? Guilt-trip me? Supervise me? Help me?”His voice trembled, somewhere between defiant and raw.
“Explain yourself, Alhaitham! Was it really just about ...me?”

The question hung there, suspended in the chill of the evening air.

But Alhaitham didn’t answer.

He didn’t meet his eyes.

He simply held out the glass he'd been carrying—crystal clear, the water still cool from Neuvillette’s hand. No excuses. No explanations.

“Drink this,” he said quietly. “Sober up.”

Kaveh stared at the cup. Then at him. His chest rose and fell, breath uneven.

He didn’t reach for it. Not right away. he needed to breath.

“I didn’t think you needed to hear it. You never seem to care for thanks.”

Silence. and then, Alhaitham’s voice, softer than he’d ever known it to be.

“I do when it’s from you.”

Kaveh froze.

His heart stuttered. The ballroom faded. His thoughts—normally a thousand voices all shouting over each other—fell quiet.

He looked up slowly, eyes wide.

“Then… thank you,” he said quietly. “For everything. For coming here. For protecting me. For watching over me even when I didn’t know it.”

Something flickered in Alhaitham’s expression. kaveh took the glass of water. Warmth spreading in his chest. “So… yeah. Thank you, Alhaitham.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Alhaitham, ever the menace, tilted his head slightly. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Kaveh narrowed his eyes. “I know you heard me.”

Alhaitham smirked. “Say it again.”

Kaveh huffed but relented, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Thank you.”

Alhaitham gave the smallest nod, but then—

“You know, earnest thanks should be given thrice.”

Kaveh’s breath caught.

Because he didn't just-

Alhaitham had used it before, back then, when Kaveh had once begrudgingly thanked him for something. It had been a teasing habit—a way to get under his skin.

And now, here, after everything… Alhaitham had the audacity to use it again. a quiet way to needle him, to coax out something genuine.

Kaveh felt his face heat.

Without thinking, he shoved Alhaitham’s shoulder, aughter bubbling out despite himself.. “You’re insufferable—!”

Alhaitham, for once, didn’t resist. He let himself stumble back a step, laughing too—low and warm and real.

Before he could retaliate, Kaveh pushed him again, and Alhaitham caught his wrist, pulling him just enough that Kaveh nearly tripped forward.

For a moment, they were too close.

Kaveh froze.

Alhaitham still had that stupid smirk, but his grip was warm—steady.

Kaveh felt something stir deep in his chest.

He loved this. He wanted this.

More than he had ever let himself admit.

But before he could linger on that terrifying thought, Alhaitham finally let go, straightening himself, as if nothing had happened.

Kaveh exhaled shakily, forcing a scoff. “Unbelievable.”

Alhaitham hummed. “You should know that by now.”

Kaveh shook his head. But there was a small smile tugging at his lips.

And that—that was dangerous.

Because now, something had shifted.

And Kaveh wasn’t sure he could keep pretending otherwise.

Chapter Text

From a quite place by the ballroom’s gilded arch, Wriothesley leaned casually against the wall, a half-empty glass in hand.

He had just sent off the group that had been huddled too close around Kaveh—sweet-talking officials with too much wine in their blood and not enough sense in their heads. A few stern words from the Duke of the Fortress were more than enough to scatter them.

It had been easy.

What wasn’t easy, however, was pretending not to notice the scene unfolding beyond the open doors of the balcony.

He hadn’t meant to linger. Truly. But his eyes follow the blond instinctively.

Kaveh and Alhaitham stood close, their silhouettes lit softly by the pale shimmer of Fontaine’s moonlight. Their voices were too low for him to catch every word, but their expressions spoke volumes. The tension, the push and pull of something left unsaid… the way Kaveh’s laughter broke like a wave against Alhaitham’s quiet steadiness, how they seemed to orbit each other like planets too stubborn to collide.

Wriothesley chuckled under his breath.

“I’ll tease them about that eventually,” he murmured to himself, lips quirking into a wry smile.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he would leave it be.

A part of him—small, quiet, but undeniably there—felt the ache of something unspoken. Disappointment, maybe. The faint, bittersweet sting of not being the one Kaveh would fall for.

Not the sun he gravitated toward. Just someone who caught him when he stumbled.

Still, Wriothesley didn’t feel jealousy. Not really. He’d seen enough of people to know the difference between a spark and something that’s been burning quietly for a long, long time.

Kaveh and Alhaitham... they had history. A strange, tangled kind. The sort that could only be written through shared silence and half-bitten words and years of knowing.

So no—he wouldn’t interfere. Not with that.

Instead, he straightened, set his glass down on a nearby tray, and adjusted his gloves with practiced ease.

Let them have their moment.

There were still guests to manage, and a diplomatic soirée to see through. The night wasn’t over yet.

But as he turned back toward the golden-lit crowd of Fontaine’s elite, he allowed himself one last glance over his shoulder.

Just to make sure Kaveh was smiling.

He was.

And that, for now, was enough.

_______________________

The light filtered in, soft and pale, through the heavy curtains, brushing against his eyelids like an insistent whisper.

Kaveh groaned.

His head was pounding—dull and steady, like someone had hammered rhythm into his skull. He blinked against the morning brightness, squinting at the blue tapestry above him, embroidered in delicate Fontainian patterns. Silken sheets. Pillows too plush to belong to the guest quarters of the Fortress.

Where…?

He pushed himself upright with a wince, every movement causing a sharp pulse behind his eyes.

The last thing he remembered clearly was laughter—his own, loud and carefree—and clinking glasses, honeyed words tangled with too many syllables. Flirtation and diplomacy had blurred far too easily. The Duke had said something to him. Something vaguely scolding, though still kind.

And then…

Ah.

Right. There had been a warm hand on his shoulder. A familiar one.

Kaveh rubbed his temple, groaning again.

“Alhaitham…”

He turned his head slowly, taking in the room.

He wasn’t at the Fortress. He was in the Court of Fontaine, obviously. The tall windows framed an early morning scene bustling with energy: flower stalls opening, steam puffing from aquabuses gliding by, the far-off echo of music rising with the sun.

The room itself was elegant, probably Hotel Debord, since he had reservations for his week off. The signature deep-blue accents, marble inlays along the walls, and the faint scent of roasted coffee wafting in from the open window all gave it away. That, and the fact that it was clearly expensive.

He blinked again.

How did I get here? My memories aren’t all back—

A soft, grumbling sound interrupted his thoughts.

Kaveh turned toward the corner of the room.

There, half-curled awkwardly on a royal couch near the coffee table, was Alhaitham.

One arm draped over his eyes. His cloak had been tossed aside and folded with almost military precision. His boots were still on. A book lay face-down on the floor beside him.

Kaveh stared.

His first thought shifted from how did I end up here to why are you here?!

He looks tired.

And maybe -just maybe- he had been watching over him after a drunken night. Again.

Kaveh sighed and leaned back against the headboard, dragging his fingers through his hair.

He was supposed to stay in Fontaine’s main city: the Court of Fontaine, for a week before returning to the Fortress. A break between Phase One and Two of the renovation plans. Lady Clotilde had all the logistics ready for him. A time to network, socialize, and most importantly visit a few galleries and study the city’s architecture.

And yet, he had somehow turned his first night into a diplomatic embarrassment waiting to happen.

And Alhaitham… Alhaitham had caught him? Maybe?

Wait—

Kaveh glanced at the still-sleeping man, then at the small tray on the table next to his bed, a pot of coffee, two porcelain cups, and a note he hadn’t noticed before.

He reached for it.

A neat scrawl, unmistakably Lady Clotilde’s.

“For the guest in Room 4 and room 5: I assumed you'd both need this. – L.C.”

Kaveh blinked at it.

Both.

Right. Of course. They were both drunk, right? At least he wasn’t alone embarrassing himself. Because nothing says dignified guest of the Akademiya and Grand Sage like getting blackout tipsy on your official soirée.

He poured a cup—the warm scent grounding him—and glanced once more at Alhaitham.

Still asleep.

Still here.

Kaveh took a long sip and let the quiet buzz of the Court fill the silence.

And then—memories returned in flashes, fleeting but vivid. The balcony. The cold. The water glass in Alhaitham’s hand. A voice that softened at the edges, just for him.

“I do when it’s from you.”

The words echoed in his mind, almost too tender to be real.

And then the laughter—the teasing.

He had laughed. Shoved him. They’d joked like it was old times. And for a second, just a second, it hadn’t felt like they were broken at all.

Warmth bloomed in his chest.

He sat with it. Let it linger.

But then he pulled the covers up a little, as if shielding himself from a draft that wasn’t there.

No. Not now. Not yet.

Those emotions—buried, packed away, locked behind careful logic and layers of denial—they didn’t belong in the morning light and a hangover. 

He wasn’t ready.

Maybe he never would be.

But he let himself smile, just faintly, into his coffee.

And it was enough for him.

____________________________________

The terrace of Hotel Debord was still quiet at this hour—shadows long, air crisp with the scent of roasted beans and blooming flowers. Lady Clotilde walked lightly across the tiles, her heels making little sound against the stone. A silver clasp held her shawl in place, and a small leather folder was tucked beneath one arm.

She spotted them easily.

Two familiar silhouettes by the balustrade, where vines curled in neat patterns. One seated, one standing. A half-finished pot of coffee between them, and the low murmur of voices dancing through the sunlight.

Kaveh and Alhaitham were, unsurprisingly, bantering.

“You’re just refusing to admit this passage contradicts your own theory,” Kaveh huffed, tapping the open book with the back of his spoon. “The way they describe the original flow of the Fleuve Cendre and how the people used to navigate completely disproves that sedimentary layering claim from the studies done there.”

“It doesn’t contradict it,” Alhaitham replied evenly without glancing up. “It was mentions and updated. You’d know that if you finished reading before forming a dramatic opinion.”

“insufferably smug.”

“Thank you.”

Lady Clotilde’s smile softened. It was a soft, like something worn in and familiar. She hated to interrupt, but business called.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said warmly.

Kaveh turned, eyes wide, posture instantly stiffening as though caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Lady Clotilde! I—good morning.”

Alhaitham inclined his head silently.

“I’m glad to see you both looking so energetic,” she continued, placing the folder on the table. “Because I need you, Kaveh, to accompany me to the material inspections this morning. There’s been a delay at the docks, and I’m afraid it can’t wait.”

Kaveh blinked. Then blinked again.

“This morning?”

“Yes, I’m terribly sorry. I know you were meant to rest, and you likely still have a bit of a headache from last night’s… indulgences.”

“N-no, I’m fine, really—”

But the second he stood up fully, the pain lanced through his temples like a sudden betrayal.

Ow.

Lady Clotilde raised a brow. “You were saying?”

Alhaitham didn’t even look up from his book. “He's fine. He just discovered consequences.”

“You’re-...,” Kaveh muttered again, clutching the side of his head.

“It’s not my fault I don’t have a headache.”

“Unfair! How do you not have one? You were drinking too, I saw you holding a glass before I even got there!”

Alhaitham turned a page, slow and deliberate. “It was water.”

Kaveh blinked. “What?”

“Neuvillette was making me taste different samples of Fontaine’s regional waters. He insisted I try them all.”

There was a pause.

“You mean to tell me you didn’t drink anything last night?”

“Only pure spring, mineral, and glacial.” A faint curve touched the corner of Alhaitham’s mouth. “All expertly filtered.”

Kaveh groaned, dragging his hands over his face. This man is unbearable.

Alhaitham chuckled—just a little—and finally looked up.

“Enjoy your inspection.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Lady Clotilde, already on her way to the staircase, gave Kaveh a sympathetic smile.

“Come, let’s see if we can salvage what’s left of your morning.”

He cast one last glance at Alhaitham, now leaning back with his nose buried in the book like none of it had happened, and sighed before following her down.

Chapter Text

The week that followed felt like stepping into another world.

Kaveh had wandered every street of the Court of Fontaine, sketched facades of buildings of incredible history, tasted pastries from cafés that seemed plucked from dreams, and visited galleries that melted his mind in the best ways.

He'd never admit it aloud, but he’d fallen in love with the city.

But perhaps the most striking visit—one that left a deeper impression than he'd expected—was to Poisson.

A place that defied logic. That shouldn't exist, by every principle of engineering he'd ever studied… and yet it did.

The colossal remains of a ship, cradled inside a natural cavern below sea level, converted into homes and a manor, workshops and even food stalls. The air carried the scent of salt and seaweed, mingling with the scent of oil lanterns and baked bread. Light filtered down from slits and bridges high above, turning the ship’s rusted bones into something golden and surreal.

It shouldn’t work, he’d thought, staring up at the vaulted remains of the old vessel. And yet… it’s alive.

Of course, the wonder of it all had been punctuated—consistently—by a particular presence at his side.

Alhaitham.

Always one step behind. Or beside. Or waiting ahead with crossed arms and unreadable eyes.

Kaveh groaned, one hand pressed against his temple as they ascended the winding steps back toward the surface.

“Remind me please, why are you here again?” he snapped, voice low with exasperation. “You’re not part of my only week off. This isn’t the Fortress. Don’t you have… diplomatic duties or something?”

Alhaitham didn’t flinch. He barely blinked.

“I’m on vacation.”

“No, seriously.”

“I am. the akademiya assigned me to rest. I’m simply… making use of my time visiting Fontaine.”

“By following me?”

Alhaitham tilted his head, as though considering.

“You have a good program.”

Kaveh’s jaw dropped.

“You—are unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

Kaveh huffed and marched ahead, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

The worst part?

He actually likes having him around.

Not that he’d admit it. Certainly not after their hundredth argument over where to eat, or when Alhaitham called his sketch of a Fontainean spire “a little too romanticized for a structural representation.”

But still.

When he’d been on the aquabus alone, once—just once—because Alhaitham was reading and didn’t join him, he’d felt… off. Like something was missing. 

Kaveh scowled into the breeze.

Ugh. No. I’m not going down that path again.

They arrived at the station, water glittering beneath them, and the soft voice of the melusine announced the next departure.

Kaveh stepped forward to board.

A pause.

He glanced back.

Alhaitham stood a few paces behind, pretending to look at the board -though his eyes flicked to meet Kaveh’s a second too fast.

Kaveh rolled his eyes dramatically, stepping aside.

“Are you coming or not?”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes.

The city glimmered around them, reflections dancing over the windows as the aquabus rode smoothly through the waters of the waterways. Kaveh stared out, half-lost in thought.

He had only a few days left here. Then it would be back to the Fortress, back to reconstruction schedules and inmate regulations and Clotilde’s detailed plans.

But here… now…

Will he be allowed back?

He leaned against the window frame, watching the light flicker across Alhaitham’s reflection beside his own.

He really didn’t drink that night, he thought suddenly. And he really stayed the whole time.

The memory of laughter rose again—his own, startled and breathless, at some dry joke Alhaitham had made. The way he’d smiled, rare and soft, as if for once his words hadn’t been armor but something else entirely.

Warmth flickered somewhere behind his ribs.

Kaveh looked away.

No. Not now. I’m not… ready to think about that. Not yet.

The sun hung low, casting warm golden light across the Court of Fontaine’s rooftops. The aquabus ride was smooth, the gentle lapping of water against the hull a steady rhythm beneath their feet. Kaveh’s week was nearly up, and the weight of it sat heavy in his chest.

He wasn’t ready to go back yet.

There were still places he hadn’t visited, details of the city he hadn’t sketched. The air smelled different here—fresh, tinged with the salt of the sea and something new in the distance. The conversations around him carried that lyrical Fontainean lilt, elegant and crisp. He wanted to capture all of it in his sketchbook, memorize every street, every shade of blue in the stained glass windows above the cafés.

And yet…

He sighed, tilting his head back. “Two days left.”

Alhaitham didn’t respond at first, eyes still scanning the pages of his book. But Kaveh could feel his attention shift, a quiet flicker in the space between them.

Then, finally— “Regretting coming here?”

Kaveh scoffed. “Quite the opposite. If anything, I will be regretting leaving.”

Alhaitham hummed, barely looking up, but something in him shifted. “You say that now, but give it a week, and you’ll be complaining about Fontaine’s humidity, the extravagant bureaucracy, the—”

“I like the extravagant bureaucracy.” Kaveh waved a hand vaguely. “It has style.”

“I’m sure you’d say the same about drowning if it happened in a beautiful enough setting.”

Kaveh rolled his eyes, turning back toward the scenary of the Court. The sun hit the water just right, scattering light like shattered glass.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting Alhaitham to say. Maybe something sharp. Or dismissive.

But instead, the next words came almost casually—so casually that Kaveh nearly missed the weight behind them.

“Then stay.”

Kaveh’s breath caught.

He turned his head sharply, but Alhaitham had already returned to his book, gaze neutral as ever.

Stay?

Kaveh opened his mouth, then shut it. A laugh bubbled up—disbelieving, uneasy.

“Don’t joke about that.”

“Who said I was joking?”

Before Kaveh could find a response, the aquabus gave a gentle lurch, docking smoothly at the station. The moment broke.

He exhaled, pushing himself up from his seat, heartbeat uneven. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the motion or because of what had just been said.

It didn’t matter.

The moment was gone.

They stepped onto the platform, and just as Kaveh was about to shake off the strange tension settling over him, something else interrupted.

A man in a deep navy coat and polished boots was waiting just beyond the gates. His uniform was crisp, official—one of Fontaine’s messengers.

“Architect Kaveh?”

Kaveh blinked. “Uh… yes?”

The messenger bowed slightly. “Lady Clotilde requests your presence at the Palais Mermonia immediately. There has been an… unexpected development.”

Kaveh exchanged a glance with Alhaitham, whose expression had gone unreadable.

He straightened, shaking off the remnants of his thoughts.

So much for a quiet final two days.

__________________________

The pages before him blurred, words shifting like restless water—Fleuve Cendre and the Evolution of Fontaine’s Hydrological Systems. Dry. Predictable. Comforting.

He wasn’t reading it.

Not really.

Not when Kaveh was seated by the setting sun on the aquabus, bathed in light like it belonged to him. Not when every part of Alhaitham’s carefully curated composure was held together by thin wires and fraying patience.

“Two days left.”

The words were soft, but they hit like an announcement. A warning.

Alhaitham didn’t look up. Didn’t need to. He already knew what Kaveh was thinking. He'd seen the way his eyes lingered on buildings, the way he always slowed down at bridges or busy plazas, committing the chaos and elegance of Fontaine to memory.

He's falling for this Nation.

And why wouldn’t he? His mother sure did and him and her have way more in common then what the blond let's on.

Fontaine was brilliant and artistic and dramatic—all the things Kaveh was.

Sumeru City, by contrast, was heat and trees and memories. It was bickering in shared homes, annoying and entitled clients, half-written architectural plans on the floor, coffee spilled on important papers- and him.

“Regretting coming here?” he asked, tone measured. Testing.

When Kaveh said no, Alhaitham almost swallowed his sigh of relief. But it was fleeting. Because then came that admiring voice, the wistful tone, the faraway look in Kaveh’s eyes as he declared his love for the nation’s bureaucracy of all things.

“I like the extravagant bureaucracy.”

He wanted to laugh.

Of course you do.

But what he said—what he allowed himself to say—was simple, composed. Detached.

“I’m sure you’d say the same about drowning if it happened in a beautiful enough setting.”

Deflect, as always.

He should’ve stayed quiet.

He should’ve let the silence resume, comfortable and safe. But something twisted in his chest—sharp, sudden. And before he could stop it, the words were already out.

“Then stay.”

It was too much.
Too revealing.
He didn’t mean it like that—or maybe he did. Maybe he wanted to see if Kaveh would even consider it.

If he’d flinch.
If he’d joke.
If he’d say: No, of course not. I’m going back. With you.

Kaveh turned to him sharply, stunned. Laughed it off, uncertain and light, as if the idea was ridiculous. And maybe it was.

“Don’t joke about that.”

“Who said I was joking?”

He didn’t say it with warmth. Or vulnerability. He said it like a fact. Like it wasn’t something clawing at the edges of his control.

But when Kaveh didn’t answer—when he didn’t look at him again—it hit harder than he thought it would.

So that’s how it was.
Kaveh wasn’t staying. But he wasn’t staying for him, either.

Not yet.

The aquabus docked, giving him the excuse to close his book and stand. He followed in silence, calculating every step. Every breath.

He couldn’t tell him. Not here. Not when Kaveh might just fall in love with Fontaine the same way he used to fall for impossible projects and unreachable dreams.

But the thought stayed. Lingering like fog at the back of his mind.

What if he stays?

__________________________

“What happened?”

Kaveh’s voice cut through the formal stillness of Neuvillette’s office, the question unceremonious and jarringly human against the echo of polished marble and the gentle trickle of a water fountain in the far corner.

Lady Clotilde didn’t look up from the report she held. Her gloved fingers tightened around the edge of the paper, betraying her composure.

“A shipment,” she said quietly. “The one meant to arrive from the southern port two nights ago. It never made it.”

Alhaitham, standing beside Kaveh with his arms crossed, raised a brow. “Pirates?”

“No,” she said, setting the report down with care. “Abyss. At least, that’s what the survivor claims.”

Neuvillette remained seated behind his desk, silent, his expression unreadable as always. The only movement was the slow shift of his gaze, glancing toward Clotilde, then toward Alhaitham.

“Abyss? here in fontaine? and only a single survivor?” Kaveh echoed, voice lower now.

“A dockworker,” Clotilde replied. “He was accompanying the vessel to assist with unloading at the private harbor. According to him, the entire attack lasted less than two minutes. No warning. No chance to send a distress signal. He barely escaped by diving into the shallows.”

“Did he identify what was taken?” Alhaitham asked.

Clotilde nodded and pushed forward a fresh page—an itemized shipping manifest.

Kaveh leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he scanned the contents. “Brass sheets, rubber insulation, compressed pressure valves…”

His voice trailed off.

Alhaitham stepped closer, scanning the list as well. “All industrial materials. Mostly metallurgic or maritime-focused. Some of it’s common in Fontaine’s underwater tech.”

Kaveh tapped a finger against the sheet. “That’s not just random loot. Look at the combination—brass and rubber for sealing, pressure valves, polymer casing... They’re trying to build something.”

Clotilde’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Kaveh looked up, thoughtful. “They’re waterproofing. Pressure-proofing. These materials—together—they scream submersible engineering. I’d bet anything they’re building a submarine. Or at least something like one.”

The room fell into a heavy silence.

Alhaitham didn’t interrupt him—not this time. Instead, he gave a small, sharp nod, recognizing the logic immediately.

“And not a small one,” he added. “You’d need a significant volume of these materials to make something functional beneath Fontaine’s sea levels. Especially if it’s designed to withstand lower depths.”

Neuvillette finally spoke. His voice was even, but the weight in it was unmistakable.

“The Abyss rarely takes interest in technology. This… is unusual.”

“Not if they’re invading,” Kaveh said softly. “Or collaborating.”

That hung in the air like a storm cloud.

Alhaitham studied Kaveh from the corner of his eye, the way his brows knit together, his hand still resting near the list as if anchoring his thoughts. He looked shaken, but focused. Brilliant.

Still too brilliant.

Clotilde pressed her lips into a thin line. “I’ll send for the engineers. If they’ve taken enough, we need to assume construction has already begun.”

Neuvillette nodded once.

“We will begin quiet surveillance of all waters near the outer reefs. I will also request cooperation from the marechaussée. If there is something being built… it won’t go unnoticed for long.”

Kaveh said nothing. His mind was already racing ahead, calculating limits, potential docking points, weaknesses in Fontaine’s underwater terrain.

Alhaitham turned to him and asked quietly, “Do you think it’s for an attack?”

Kaveh exhaled. “If it isn’t now, it could be later. Either way… someone’s building a secret submarine in Fontaine’s waters. That’s not something we can ignore.”

Neuvillette stood, his long silhouette framed by the soft light filtering through the tall windows of his office. The water under the window behind him rippled faintly, as if responding to the weight in his voice.

“If it’s the Abyss we’re talking about…” he said, gazing toward the map pinned to the side of the chamber, “then there’s only one person we must call.”

Kaveh blinked. “You don’t mean—”

“Yes.” His tone left no space for doubt. “The Traveler. Especially after what happened in Natlan.”

A flicker of silence stretched between them, broken only by the quiet shift of Alhaitham’s stance.

“So it's true,” he murmured, half to himself. “The Abyss launched a war there.”

Neuvillette didn’t confirm it outright, but the subtle incline of his head was enough.

Kaveh exchanged a look with Alhaitham, eyes slightly wide. Even he—immersed in his architectural work—had heard vague reports of unrest in Natlan, but the severity hadn’t been clear until now.

Clotilde folded her arms tightly. “We’ll need to make contact immediately. If the Abyss is building something beneath our waters, we can’t afford to face them alone.”

Neuvillette turned toward her. “I will write to the Adventurers' Guild today. The Traveler has ties across all nations—they’ll know how to reach them.”

Alhaitham remained silent, though his jaw had tightened slightly. The Traveler’s involvement changed the scope of this entirely. It was no longer just a localized threat—it was a signal. A pattern.

Kaveh’s voice broke in, quieter this time, thoughtful. “They’re not just raiding. They’re ...”

Neuvillette gave a slow nod. “Indeed. And if their designs stretch across nations, then Fontaine must be ready. The court may sit above the sea… but it is no longer untouched by what lurks beneath, and let's not forget the Fortress Of Meropide.”

______________________________

The corridors of the Palais Mermonia seemed quieter now—its polished halls dulled by the weight of the meeting they’d just left behind.

They stepped into the open air, the Court of Fontaine unfurling around them with its usual elegance: aquabuses gliding silently over clear waters, the rhythmic splash of fountains echoing down the stone pathways. But even that beauty felt subdued, as though the city itself had caught wind of the danger.

They walked without speaking at first.

The threat of the Abyss hung over them like a shadow cast too long. It wasn’t fear exactly—neither of them were strangers to the strange, the unpredictable, the catastrophic—but it was a pressure, something settling in the chest that refused to let go.

Their thoughts were occupied. Their hearts, even more so.

“I should’ve known Fontaine wouldn’t be peaceful the moment I found out you were coming here,” Alhaitham said finally, his tone light, almost casual.

Kaveh glanced over. “Excuse me?”

“You have a habit, Kaveh,” he continued, a corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “Disasters tend to follow wherever you go. Architectural collapses. Ermites Attacks. Or International incidents.”

“That’s slander,” Kaveh shot back. “I bring beauty wherever I go. If the world crumbles under it, that’s not my fault.”

Alhaitham hummed. “So modest.”

“At least I didn’t spend the soirée drinking water and lurking in corners like a cryptid.”

Alhaitham chuckled, quiet but real. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“Yes. It was eerie.”

The banter flowed easily, familiar. A fragile thread of normalcy they both clung to—because right now, it was all they had. They didn’t speak of the stolen brass, or the words "submarine" and "Abyss." They didn’t ask each other how they felt. There was no room for it.

But they walked side by side.

And that, for now, was enough for both.

The Hotel Debord came into view—its graceful iron balconies bathed in soft midday light, the terrace unusually empty. Perhaps even the city was holding its breath.

At the entrance, they paused. The laughter had faded. Reality reasserted itself with the quiet pull of silence.

They shared a simple dinner downstairs, barely speaking—just the occasional Banter, the clink of cutlery and wine glasses, the quiet comfort of not being alone in the midst of uncertainty.

“Get some rest,” Alhaitham said, eyes on his room's doors. “We’ll need clarity tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Kaveh nodded, though his voice lacked conviction. “You too.”

They didn’t say good night.

They simply turned, each disappearing behind separate doors, leaving the space between them filled with everything unspoken—and the shared weight of a peace that might soon change.

Chapter Text

They had failed.

The invasion of Natlan had been long, brutal, and ultimately a fail. The Pyro Archon, Mavrika, still drew breath—resilient, unpredictable, unbroken. But the Abyss was patient. When they could not burn down the flame, they turned their gaze to the water.

“There is another way,” the Abyss Princess had said, her voice echoing cold. “The Hammer of Tupac—the Tidepiercer.”

They called him Tupac of the Sacred Flame.

A warrior of unmatched strength and reverence. in His final battle againest the abyss, it is said that when the skies split and monsters crawled from below, he alone held the line between despair and divinity. With a hammer forged from volcanic heartstone and imbued with the essence of the people of the spring, he carved paths through endless beasts. But it was no ordinary hammer—its core pulsed with hydro resonance, a power that made it capable of extinguishing chaos and kindling hope.

Tidepiercer. A weapon of impossible power, said to possess the ability to anchor elemental forces in perfect harmony. Some claimed it could sink islands, others that it could calm an entire ocean's wrath. But the legend most often told—especially by the elders of Natlan—was the one where Tupac carried Mavrika herself upon his shoulders, wounded from battle, across the molten plains to the Sacred Flame. And there, with his dying breath, he placed her upon the altar.

A hero. A martyr. A myth.

And like many myths, his weapon did not rest with him.

Fontaine's waters held more than secrets. They also held legends. 

Nearly a century later, as Fontaine teetered on the edge of divine judgment, a group of desperate adventurers sought salvation in old legends. haunted by the image of their archon weeping alone on a throne of ruin, sought salvation from beyond their shores. 

A Natlan mercenary, claiming descent from Tupac's bloodline, guided them across the seas. Their goal was not divine intervention, but the relic—Tidepiercer—lost and possibly still whole. If the weapon could channel hydro, they believed, perhaps it could ease the tides, halt the prophecy, protect their nation.

But the Wayob's blessing had faded.

They set sail. They vanished.

The ship sank.

Weighed down by hope and hubris, the ship was never seen again.

Swallowed by a violent rift off the coasts, where currents spiral like whirlpools and light disappears below the surface. No trace of the crew was found. Only scattered journals, one preserved in Fontaine’s Archives, speaking of a hammer that shimmered like blue fire, too heavy for a dozen men to lift.

That was over 450 years ago.

Swallowed by the sea. Forgotten by history.

Until now.

The Abyss seeks it.

With brass stolen, and designs whispered in shadows, they would build what they needed to retrieve it.

A vessel strong enough to reach the Depth of the oceans.

Not for salvation.
But for war.

Not to stop a flood… but to start one.

______________________

Neuvillette stood at the head of the table, hands joined with composure that even the new lights couldn't shake him. Beside him, Wriothesley leaned casually against the wall, though his eyes were alert.

The room had none of the warmth of Fontaine’s upper courts. Cold iron walls, dim lighting, and the distant hum of machinery made it feel like a war room rather than a place for civil discussions. But perhaps that was fitting.

The meeting was held  within the administrative area in the Fortress of Meropide—a detail Kaveh found curious at first, until he quietly learned that Wriothesley, despite being the Duke, was still tethered to the prison by more than duty. He couldn’t leave freely, not without it being official business. That explained his absence right after the soirée.

At the far edge of the table, the Traveler listened intently, arms crossed, with Paimon hovering above his shoulder, occasionally chiming in with questions. Kaveh sat beside Alhaitham, though he felt... oddly

The renovations had been put on hold following the stolen shipment, and while the news would normally frustrate him as an architect, Kaveh found himself feeling oddly relieved. Without his “guardian” around, the atmosphere in the fortress would be cold and bristling again—haunted by harassements and lingering gazes that scraped his nerves raw. He didn’t know if he could endure another week of it, let alone finish the project alone.

What surprised him most, however, was Alhaitham. Not once did he suggest that Kaveh return to Sumeru, even now, with the Abyss involved and the situation turning dangerous. It was unlike him… and that silence echoed louder than words.

Didn’t he care?

He's waiting for his turn to chip in?  kaveh thought.

The Traveler was finishing his retelling—scenes of smoke and ash, of invasion and abyssal monsters under Natlan’s burning skies.

“I don’t know what they want here, underwater,” he said finally, fingers drumming against the table. “But if they’re after something… maybe Mavvika will know more. I’ll ask her when I return.”

“A wise course,” Neuvillette said softly.

Kaveh tilted his head slightly toward Alhaitham, waiting—hoping—for him to say something.

Ok so, This is the part where he tells me to leave. That it’s too dangerous.  And I will oppose.

Still, Nothing.

But before he could spiral deeper into that ache—

“Kaveh.”

The sudden address pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. Wriothesley’s eyes were on him, sharp with focus beneath the calm. “You mentioned something before… about a submersible design. A theoretical machine the Abyss might use to explore Fontaine’s waters. Do you have any details? Anything that could help us predict what they’re building?”

Kaveh hesitated for a breath. “Only history. The blueprints I saw were old and incomplete. But from the curvature of the hull and the use of pressurized inner chambers, it wasn’t meant for short dives. They’re trying to build something… long-range. Something capable of staying submerged for weeks—maybe longer.”

He glanced at the Traveler. “It wouldn’t be impossible to go through the Fontaine if they found a way to hide—especially near the rifts sectors. But the people…  needed for that kind of project—they’d need an engeneer. Maybe they already have one.”

“We’ll look into that,” Neuvillette said, nodding once. Then he turned toward the Traveler. “We’ll take personal charge of patrolling the waters. Start with the larger settlements—Poisson, Elynas’ basin, and the western ridges.”

“Right,” the Traveler said, already mapping it out in his mind. “ Paimon and I can swim fast.”

Neuvillette then turned to Alhaitham. There was a brief pause—a courteous kind.

“Acting Grand Sage,” he began, voice composed, “this matter concerns Fontaine and her people. You’ve already extended much assistance. I believe it is only fair I release you from further involvement.”

Alhaitham was silent for a heartbeat too long.

Then, calmly, “It’s my personal time.” His eyes didn’t leave Kaveh’s for a moment too long. “And someone very dear to Sumeru is involved. You’ll find I’m not particularly good at standing aside when it comes to him.”

Kaveh blinked, visibly startled—but quickly looked down, pretending to adjust his cuffs. What did he just say…?

Neuvillette gave a small, knowing nod. “Then we are grateful for your presence.”

The conversation moved on, shifting into battle tactics and contingency plans—but Kaveh wasn’t fully listening. Not really.

He didn’t lift his head right away. Just stared at the polished grain of the table, heartbeat a little too loud in his ears.

He wasn’t used to that kind of attention—not from Alhaitham. Not without a challenge, a clash of wills.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t try to push me away—

He swallowed, the weight of the moment settling in quietly.

He didn’t tell me to go home because...

He's taking my side. Not against me, like always. 

But.. For me.

It wasn’t much. Not an open gesture of affection or anything, and maybe kaveh is too sensitive. But still—it spoke volumes for him.

Someone dear to Sumeru…When it comes to him…

The words echoed, unshaken. For once, they didn’t make Kaveh bristle. Instead, they settled somewhere warm in his chest.

____________________________

It happened a few days later, over tea in the Duke’s private quarters. The atmosphere was calm—deceptively so.

Wriothesley poured the next round, to alhaitham's demise, he really, really hated tea. the scent of bergamot invading his nose, the watery substance offended him personally. The Traveler leaned back in his chair, sipping with idle curiosity, while Paimon was already elbows-deep in the pastry tray. Neuvillette and Sigewinne sat nearby, quietly immersed in their own world—Neuvillette speaking softly, patiently explaining something to the little Melusine, who nodded with serious concentration.

The conversation between the two men on each side of kaveh had started innocently enough. Theoretical strategies. What-ifs. Potential responses to further Abyssal activity.

But somehow—somehow—it had derailed into what Kaveh could only describe as a cold war.

Not of politics.

Of egos.

“Of course,” Wriothesley said with a lazy smile, “it helps to be on the ground when managing that crisis. Direct involvement sharpens judgment, you can't amanage the workers from your chair” He stirred his cup slowly, eyes flicking toward Alhaitham.

“Mm,” Alhaitham replied, unbothered. “Assuming one has the depth of understanding required to recognize the full scope of that said crisis.” He didn’t even glance at the Duke—but the jab was felt.

Kaveh exhaled through his nose, arms crossed. Not this again.

“Oh please,” Wriothesley’s tone turned velvet-smooth. “I’m sure academic understanding is useful—but only in theory.”

“Experience is only as valuable as one’s capacity to interpret it,” Alhaitham countered, giving up on his cup without looking up.

To the Traveler’s immense amusement—and to Kaveh’s increasing despair—their polite bickering only escalated. Every topic was suddenly a competition: combat strategy, economic policy, preferred brewing temperature.

Kaveh rubbed his temple. Are they seriously trying to win this childish play over... tea facts?

He didn’t even have the energy to stop them. He just listened quietly, caught between a teasing Duke and a calculating Grand Sage, both of whom seemed far more interested in outdoing each other than anything else.

It was almost comical.

“Kaveh,” Wriothesley said suddenly, voice dipping into something smoother, more deliberate, “you’ve been quiet. Surely you have a preference when it comes to brewing methods?”

“Ah, Yes kaveh,” Alhaitham added, folding his arms. “You’ve certainly had enough cups to develop an opinion now didn't you?”

Kaveh blinked, caught between the two. He looked from one smug face to the other, wondering if the question was really about tea—or something far more ridiculous. 

is he still mad at me for drinking tea with the duke?! 

He opened his mouth to answer.

BOOM.

The sound shattered the walls—a deafening quake that reverberated through the iron bones of the fortress. A blinding red glow pulsed through the reinforced windows as alarms shrieked to life.

Everyone shot to their feet. Wriothesley was already reaching for the nearby command panel, fingers flying across it.

“…The security grid is breached,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “Lower level pressure valves spiked—blown, probably.”

“Are we under attack?!” Paimon’s voice pitched high with panic as she hovered close to the Traveler.

Neuvillette’s expression darkened. His tone dropped like thunder.
“Yes.”
He turned slightly. “Sigewinne, I would like you to return to the medical ward. If anyone comes in injured… they will need you.”

The little Melusine gave a sharp, obedient nod and darted off without hesitation.

“Do we have a position?” Alhaitham asked, his voice calm but clipped.

“South shaft—Sector D,” Wriothesley replied. 

The Traveler’s expression shifted. His brow tightened, the lines of his jaw sharpening with dawning realization.

“I might have an idea where they are.” He turned to face the Duke fully. “What’s down there? Anything important?”

Wriothesley signed, jaw tense.
“Not that we knew of. It was an old, unused zone. Scheduled for renovation soon.”

Kaveh’s stomach dropped.

He turned toward Alhaitham at the same moment the other did, their eyes meeting in silent recognition.
No… it couldn’t be that place right?
But what if it is?

“That area,” Kaveh began, his voice thinner than usual, “it’s where I was attacked before. During one of the inspections. I was with Al—euh, the guardian. We fought—”
He swallowed, fingers curling in on themselves.
“I thought it was just some broken constructs. Malfunctions.”

The Traveler nodded grimly.
“Then maybe those automatons weren’t just left there.”
His gaze sharpened.
“ Or maybe they were guarding something. Something they wants.”

Something buried deep.
Something forgotten… or purposefully hidden.

Neuvillette’s gaze sharpened.
“You’re all suggesting we’re heading straight there?”

“indeed,” Wriothesley said, reaching behind his coat to retrieve his weapon. “But this time… we’ll be ready.”

Chapter Text

The explosion struck without warning.

It wasn't loud, not in the way one expected from war or revolt. It was deep—a shuddering groan that rose from the earth like a beast stretching in its sleep. Metal moaned, somewhere distant. The new lights on the fortres... flickered.

They reached the lower section in moments. The air smelled scorched, tinged with wet stone and the acrid tang of machinery. Kaveh barely registered Wriothesley's clipped orders to the guards—his eyes were already fixed on the what ahead.

What had once been a sealed brass floor was now nothing but jagged rubble. Twisted metal, shattered pipes, and a blackened chasm lay where the foundation had given way. The remains of the two security automatons he was part in distroying sparked uselessly at the edge of the crater.

And beyond it... a hollowed space. Dark. Wide. Not part of any blueprint Kaveh had ever drawn.

“Was this an attack on the fortress? They weren’t seeking materials.” he murmured, stepping closer. “It’s like the floor crumbled.”

Wriothesley crouched at the edge, brushing a gloved hand over the stone. His fingers came away dusted in something—almost like ash, but finer. Beneath the collapse, the darkness opened like a wound.

“This wasn’t part of the structural map of the fortress,” he muttered. “It should’ve been solid. Nothing down here except—”

“That old pipe,” the Traveler interrupted, stepping forward with a faint frown. “There’s an access shaft on the west side of the prison. It leads directly to the seafloor. I used it before.”

Kaveh turned to him sharply. “That wasn’t in the main renovation plans.”

“It was never known,” Wriothesley confirmed grimly. He fixed the Traveler with a level look. “You need to tell me everything you know about this.” Later. was left unsaid.

The architect’s brow furrowed. “Then how did they find it? That pipe was facing the depths. You’d need to know what to look for to even notice it, am I correct?”

Wriothesley didn’t answer.

Instead, his gaze dropped to the footprints half-pressed into the dust-ash, trailing deeper into the ruins—organized, deliberate, unmistakably recent.

“They didn’t break in blind.” Kaveh’s voice was quieter now. “They had a purpose.”

The Traveler’s eyes narrowed. “And we are about to find out about it."

They descended with ropes and caution.

The air grew colder the deeper they went, the air stale and unmoving. The walls, once cut by prison engineers, slowly gave way to something older—stone bricks of a different color, etched with time-worn symbols, curving archways, and collapsed columns half-swallowed by earth. The cavern wasn't natural.

It was built.

“This… this wasn’t on any map,” Kaveh said, stunned. “Not even the historical books from before the Fortress became a prison.”

“Because no one found those.” Wriothesley’s voice was low now, as if speaking too loudly might wake something. “This structure… predates us.”

The ruins stretched outward—far beyond the Fortress of Meropide, yet still somehow tethered to its heart. Forgotten halls. Stale water collecting in ancient troughs. Runes so faint they were nearly invisible—until touched by the flickering light of a torch, where they shimmered with a hue unmistakably Abyssal.

“What are these pipe structures leading away from the center of the fortress?” Alhaitham asked, eyes narrowed.

“Away from the primordial seawater…” Neuvillette noted, his voice calm but grim. “This represents a greater danger than we may have thought.”

“We need to hurry,” Kaveh added, already moving. “They may already be at the end.”

Wriothesley turned, his expression grave. “And we have no idea what they found.”

No sound stirred now, save for the hurried rhythm of their own footsteps.

The footprints they followed were faint—barely a scuff in the dust—but unmistakable. They led deeper into the ruins.

They arrived at a vast chamber. The air was still—too still. Dust hung in thick columns where fractured beams of light pierced through the collapsed ceiling. Pipes twisted above like bent limbs, some still dripping water in slow, rhythmic intervals. The ground beneath their feet had changed as well: rough-hewn stone gave way to something older, darker… carved.

They stood before what remained of a massive archway, its upper half buried beneath the rubble. But it wasn’t the structure itself that made them pause—it was the door embedded within it. Blackened with age, etched in symbols that shimmered faintly beneath their torchlight.

“This place… doesn’t feel like Fontaine,” the Traveler murmured, brushing moss from the ancient stone. “These markings—they’re Natlanian. Or at least, they look like it.”

Kaveh blinked, confused. “That’s impossible. Why would ruins from Natlan be buried beneath a Fontaine prison?”

Wriothesley didn’t speak, but the crease between his brows deepened.

Alhaitham stepped closer, brushing dust from the weathered inscription above the door. His gaze sharpened.

“It’s not purely Natlanian,” he corrected. “It looks like a dialect—possibly predating known regional divisions. Maybe a remnant of people who lived here long before history remembered.”

His finger traced the glyphs slowly. “But I can read it.”

The others turned toward him.

“Read it, if you please,” Neuvillette said calmly, though there was a shadow to his voice.

Alhaitham took a breath, then recited:

“When the purest tear strikes the carved eye, the gate shall drink and awaken. Let not the sacred flame answer, for only the weight of water shall be known.”

Silence.

Wriothesley sighed. “A riddle.”

“A Hydro mechanism,” Kaveh said at once. “The ‘carved eye’ must be a basin. A sensor of some kind.”

He stepped forward, scanning the door until his eyes locked on a recessed symbol near the center—circular, with fine grooves spidering outward like veins.
“Here,” he said quietly. “This must be it.”

“Hydro energy,” the Traveler added, looking between Neuvillette and the basin. “But not just any Hydro… It asked for the purest tear.”

Alhaitham glanced at the Traveler, noting the way his gaze lingered on Neuvillette at those words. Curious.
“Could it be metaphorical? Or does it require something more… specific?”

The silence returned—heavy and expectant.

Then came the sound of soft fabric shifting as Neuvillette stepped forward. His expression was unreadable, but something in his posture shifted—serene, yet undeniably noble.

“Permit me,” he said simply, raising one hand toward the carved eye.

Water gathered in the air—not summoned by force, but drawn as if by memory, ancient and resonant. It coalesced into a luminous droplet, suspended in stillness, before descending into the basin.

The instant it touched the stone, the entire door shimmered faintly, as though recognizing something long lost.

With a low rumble, mechanisms stirred beneath centuries of dust. Water flowed through the etched veins, reawakened. The door shifted inward with a groaning sigh, releasing a breath of cold air laced with minerals and time.

“It recognized your… Hydro Power,” Kaveh whispered, wide-eyed, the realization settling in.

“Of course it did,” Alhaitham murmured. “ As if it was built to respond to Hydro Sovereignty…”
His voice trailed off, finishing the thought Kaveh hadn’t spoken aloud.

Neuvillette said nothing. He simply stepped aside, motioning toward the passage now revealed—dark, damp, and veined with forgotten energy.

“But how did they open it?” Wriothesley asked as he moved forward, his voice low.

His question hung in the air.

They descended into the unknown, each step echoing with the weight of history—lost, and perhaps deliberately buried.

The corridor beyond the ancient door was no mere extension of Fontaine’s underworld—it was something else entirely. The stonework shifted subtly as they passed: smooth  walls etched with glowing veins, archways shaped like the ribs of some long-dead civilization, and torches that ignited of their own accord as they approached. The Traveler slowed, eyes narrowing with a sudden, sharp recognition.

“This ruins… it’s Natlanian,” he murmured, voice low with tension. “Part of the old civilization tied to the dragons. I’ve seen ruins like this before— but never outside Natlan, it was inside a volcano”

His gaze swept the hall, wary now.
“Those places are remembered. Respected. What are they doing buried here?”

As if reacting to their presence, the path ahead answered with eerie precision—doors slid open without a sound, stone mechanisms shifting as if stirred by an ancient will. A pulse echoed through the chamber, faint but steady, like the heartbeat of something slumbering beneath the stone.

Then came the ambush.

Hilichurls burst from shadows with savage cries, their crude weapons raised. Abyss Mages followed in their wake, elemental energy crackling in the air. The group reacted instantly—Neuvillette raised his arm, the Traveler ducked low and lunged forward, blade flashing.

Alhaitham, Wriothesley, and Kaveh moved in tandem, ready to face the first wave with practiced precision.

But the stone beneath them had been waiting.

A sudden groan of pressure, then the floor gave way with a violent shudder. Dust and debris rose in a choking cloud as the ground collapsed. Kaveh slipped first, a startled cry escaping him. Alhaitham reached for him—Wriothesley too—but there was no time.

The three of them plummeted through the dark, vanishing into a tunnel carved by age and water, their silhouettes swallowed by the earth.

“Kaveh!” the Alhaitham shouted, but the name echoed back at him.

Above, only Neuvillette and the Traveler remained, standing at the brink of this hole, the final wave of enemies closing in.

And below, in the deep veins of the ruins…
The others had fallen—into what waited in the heart of a civilization not meant to be found in Fontaine.

Chapter Text

The fall wasn’t clean.
The wall curved at a sharp angle, catching Alhaitham’s descent and sending him skidding down into the earth. Dust and cold air pressed against him, scraping his skin lightly but sparing him any real injury.

When the motion finally stopped, he was left lying on smooth stone, his breathing steady but shallow. Darkness swallowed everything.

Kaveh...
The thought hit before anything else.
Alhaitham pushed himself upright, his brows knitting together in a frown. He had yelled the architect’s name as they fell — a useless instinct, one he hadn’t had time to suppress. He’s probably gotten himself into trouble already.

The air smelled of damp metal and old mechanisms, the faint hum of something ancient vibrating just beneath the surface. Alhaitham narrowed his eyes, trying to pierce the gloom. It was useless; he could barely see the shape of his own hand.

He summoned a glint of dendro energy into his palm, just enough to coax the environment into visibility.

The effect was immediate—and disastrous.

A low metallic groan echoed from the walls. One by one, faint lights flickered into life ahead, forming the shapes of massive figures embedded into the stone. Mechanical limbs twitched. Hidden panels slid open with a hiss.

Automatons.

"Tch. Troublesome," Alhaitham muttered under his breath, the soft green glow still clinging to his fingers. Of course they'd respond to elemental energy. Should’ve calculated that risk.

The nearest construct lurched forward, whirring into full motion. Its claws gleamed sharply under the emerging lights.

Alhaitham moved fast.
A blade of dendro formed instantly in his hand, humming with sharp precision. He ducked low under the automaton's first swing, pivoted, and sliced clean through its joints. Sparks showered the ground as the machine collapsed, writhing for a moment before falling still.

But more were waking.

"Fine. If this is the price, so be it."

He fought with brutal efficiency, avoiding wasted motion. A pivot here, a clean strike there.
Even as more constructs charged, Alhaitham kept moving—an elegant, cold calculation at work behind every blow.

When the last automaton shuddered into ruin, silence reclaimed the corridor.

Alhaitham exhaled quietly, stepping over the remains.
Among the wreckage, something caught his eye—a half-smashed core still flickering with light, attached to a broken tube.

He crouched, inspecting it with narrowed eyes.

Still functional... temporarily.

Without hesitation, he tore the tube free, the core dangling at its end like an improvised torch. A soft, eerie yellow light flooded outward, finally allowing him to see more than shadows.

He stood, holding the light source high, casting his gaze deeper into the ancient tunnel. Somewhere beyond, Kaveh was lost in this sprawling, treacherous ruin.

Alhaitham’s grip tightened slightly on the makeshift torch.

I'm coming for you.

______________________

Above the collapsed floor, silence gave way to the sound of crackling energy and the low growls of the remaining enemies. The Traveler spun, blades drawn, weaving between the Hilichurls with practiced ease. Waves of elemental energy danced along the walls as steel met wood and bone, and in moments, three foes fell to the ground, unmoving.

But the Abyss Mage still floated in the background, cackling behind its shimmering shield. The Traveler narrowed their eyes and dashed forward, switching elements in a blink—Anemo swirling beneath their feet. A burst of wind gathered at their feet before they released it, sending themselves leaping toward the shield with a pyro-infused attack.

The shield cracked. But the Traveler didn't hesitate and shattered it the moment the mage tried to reinforce it.

The Mage shrieked, falling backward, desperately trying to regain its footing—only to be caught in a sudden rush of soundless force. Water condensed from the very air, solidifying into a torrential cascade that slammed down upon the Abyss Mage, the force of it oppressive and final. The Mage was crushed beneath the weight of it, its form dissolving into vapor, leaving only a faint shimmer in the air.

Neuvillette stepped calmly through the aftermath, his eyes cool and unreadable. The last embers of the Abyss Mage's energy faded into the stillness of the room.

“It was only a distraction,” he murmured, almost to himself. His gaze shifted to the darkness ahead, searching for something unseen. Where is the real enemy?

The Traveler sheathed their blade, glancing down at the gaping hole in the floor where their companions had vanished. Dust still fell in slow cascades from the fractured stone, the echoes of their fall lingering in the air.

“We need to get down there,” they said quickly, already stepping toward the edge. “Who knows what they’re facing now?”

Neuvillette placed a firm hand on their shoulder, halting them. “Not yet. The trap was designed to make us fall, to slow us down. They didn’t want us to advance.”

He scanned the faintly glowing runes still etched into the walls. The air felt thick with unseen pressure, as though the very stones were watching.

“This place responds to more than just footsteps,” Neuvillette continued, his voice low, like the calm before a storm. “And someone doesn’t want us to move forward.”

The Traveler frowned, their concern palpable. Are they safe down there?

Neuvillette gave them a reassuring glance, his voice steady and deep. “We will continue. I am sure our companions are capable of handling themselves.”

____________________________

Darkness.

And then… warmth.

A dull throb pulsed behind Kaveh’s eyes as he stirred, a haze clouding his thoughts. The last thing he remembered was Alhaitham shouting his name—his voice sharp with something that might have been worry—before everything went black.

Now, something was cradling him. No, someone.

His vision slowly adjusted to the faint, glowing blue light around him, and he realized—with a mix of horror and disbelief—that he was being held.

“Well, well. The princess awakens.”

The voice was far too familiar. Kaveh blinked a few times, only to be met with Wriothesley’s smirking face, far too close.

“W-Wha—put me down!” Kaveh protested, face flushing red as he tried to squirm out of the Duke’s arms. “I can walk, thank you very much!”

“Hmm.” Wriothesley tilted his head, but set him down gently, careful to keep one hand on his arm until Kaveh steadied himself. “You scared me for a second there. You hit your head—just a scratch, thankfully. Still, you were out cold.”

Kaveh brought a hand to his temple, wincing at the tenderness. “…Right. Where are we?”

Wriothesley’s expression shifted slightly, the teasing fading into something more serious.

“Let me show you.”

The Duke’s voice faded into the background as the memory unfolded.

It had been pitch black when they fell. Wriothesley had hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him, but he’d scrambled to his feet instantly. Kaveh hadn’t moved—just a pale shape in the dark, crumpled like a fallen flower.

Then… the walls began to glow.

Faint at first, then brighter with each passing second—soft golden lines tracing ancient symbols in the stone, pulsing with life. All of it centered on Kaveh.

Wriothesley had rushed to his side, checking his breathing, gently brushing away a thin trail of blood from his forehead.

And then it appeared.

A floating wisp of light—sunset, soft, and slow-moving. It drifted from the wall and hovered in front of them, pulsing once as if acknowledging Wriothesley, before gliding forward, deeper into the tunnel.

“I figured it was one of those Seelie?” Wriothesley said, voice low as they now walked. “Friendly ones, I hope. It showed up right when you were out, and I wasn’t about to ignore that kind of sign.” He glanced sideways at Kaveh, offering a faint smile. “Either it’s leading us to our friends, or…”

“Or?” Kaveh asked, a bit wary.

“We’ll figure it out. Wouldn’t be the worst way to get lost, right?”

He didn’t add as long as I’m with you, but the thought lingered in his heart, unspoken.

Kaveh looked ahead, at the soft light dancing just out of reach. It cast no shadow, yet it felt strangely comforting, nostalgic—like a memory he couldn’t quite place.

Something is guiding us, he thought. But why does it feel like it’s responding to me?

He didn’t ask aloud. Not yet.

The corridor narrowed, the comforting glow of the wisp flickering faster now, like a heartbeat quickening before a reveal.

They caught up to it—twice—only for it to dart forward again, slipping past their fingertips like a breeze with purpose. Kaveh’s steps slowed as they entered the next space, the air shifting.

A vast chamber yawned before them, eerily quiet.

The light from the wisp vanished at the threshold, as though its purpose ended here.

Stone walls gave way to a massive, vaulted hall, lined with strange obsidian pillars, smooth and unnaturally tall, like sentinels from another age. In the halls, enormous circular discs lay embedded in the floor and walls—some upright, others tilted or partially sunken, like ancient mirrors waiting to be reawakened.

At the far end stood a pair of colossal doors, forged entirely from gleaming obsidian. Veins of dull gold traced their surface, pulsing once as they approached.

The chamber was darker than the tunnels behind them. Only two beams of golden light pierced the gloom. One shot down from the high ceiling to the stone floor on the right. The other cut through the air from the left wall, angling downward toward the opposite side.

Kaveh took it all in, brow furrowed. The architecture was unfamiliar, yet… purposeful.

“Do you think this is…”

“A seal of some kind,” Wriothesley said, already walking closer. “That door looks like it hasn’t opened in centuries.”

Kaveh followed him, squinting at the strange markings etched into the obsidian.

There was writing— looping, and completely undecipherable.

Kaveh groaned. “Of course, the one time we actually need his nerdy skills, he’s not here to flex his twelve-degrees-reading-ancient-nonsense-for-fun knowledge.” He threw his hands up. “Brilliant.”

Wriothesley raised a brow. “Him? You mean the Grand Sage?”

Kaveh hesitated. “…Yeah.”

A knowing smirk tugged at Wriothesley’s lips. “Hmm. Are you worried about him?” he asked, tone light, teasing. “He’s the Grand Sage. Probably a grand fighter, too.”

“That’s not true!” Kaveh replied quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. “I—I need his skills, not him. I mean… I’m not worried about him, I just…”
His voice trailed off, the rest unsaid, gaze falling back to the writing.

His gaze lingered on the writing a moment longer than necessary.

Wriothesley stepped away from the door curious to explore the place, and wandered toward one of the discs. He gave it a gentle nudge—and it moved. Not freely, but with deliberate resistance, like a gear in a machine long asleep.

Kaveh turned toward the noise, curious. He watched as Wriothesley angled the disc slightly.

Then his eyes widened.

“Wait—wait, don’t move it again!” He jogged up beside him, eyes darting between the golden beams and the mirror-like surface.

“It’s a puzzle. A light-beam puzzle!” he exclaimed. “These discs.. They’re mirrors. We’re supposed to redirect the light somehow.”

He ran a hand through his hair, already examining the layout of the beams. “But the inscription might explain the order, or the sequence, maybe even a warning if we get it wrong. And we can’t read it.”

Wriothesley tilted his head toward the discs. “Do we try anyway?”

Kaveh hesitated, chewing his lower lip. He hated not knowing. But standing still wouldn’t get them out of here either.

“…Maybe we test one or two moves. If the lights are meant to activate something, the worst that happens is nothing changes.” He paused. “…Hopefully.”

Wriothesley gave him a dry smile. “You’re not exactly reassuring.”

“I’m an architect, not a cryptographer!”

They both stood in the half-light of the glowing chamber, shadows long across the ground, the ancient discs waiting.

____________________________________

The tunnel gradually widened, the walls curving outward until Alhaitham emerged into a colossal chamber. His makeshift torch, flickering faintly, cast shadows against towering walls and glinted off something massive sprawled across a stone platform ahead.

He stopped.

Before him lay the hulking remains of a mechanical dragon—easily larger than any ruin guard he’d seen. Its limbs were coiled like a serpent resting, wings folded inwards, the metal plating etched with faded patterns that almost resembled Fontaine’s hydrotech merged with ancient Natlanese design. For a moment, it didn’t move. Dust covered its joints. One eye was shattered, the other dim.

Alhaitham narrowed his eyes. Dormant… hopefully.

His gaze flicked past it, to a narrow corridor on the far end of the platform—barely visible, but promising.

He moved.

Each step was measured, quiet, calculated. His makeshift torch cast long beams ahead, illuminating bits of the intricate metalwork beneath the dragon’s wings. He was nearly past it, just a few strides from the exit—

A low hum reverberated through the floor.

Then a clank.

Then another.

His steps halted.

The faint glow of the core of the dragon’s chest pulsed harder. Its intact eye flared to life, firey and ominous. One wing twitched. Gears ground into motion, shedding dust.

Alhaitham clicked his tongue. “Of course.”

The dragon stirred, rising slowly—massive plates groaning, its head lifting to face him. From deep within its throat, a whine of charging energy built, echoing through the stone chamber like the growl of an ancient beast long forgotten.

The dragon reared back, its eye burning brighter as it released a soundless pulse—a wave of pressure that knocked Alhaitham off his feet. He skidded across the stone floor, metal shards biting into his coat, the torch flying from his hand and extinguishing on impact.

Darkness rushed in for a heartbeat.

Then came light—its light. The dragon's core flared as it lunged forward.

Alhaitham barely rolled aside in time. His boots scraped against ancient floor panels as he pushed up, drawing his sword in one swift motion. He didn’t waste energy shouting, didn’t bother calling out tactics. He just moved.

He ducked beneath a swinging claw, then vaulted up the creature’s folded wing, sword scraping along its side as he ran toward the shattered eye. The automaton jerked violently, trying to throw him off, but he clung on, plunging his blade into the socket with precision.

Sparks flew.

The dragon screamed—not a sound, but a vibration that tore through the walls like thunder. It shook him loose. Alhaitham fell, rolled, and barely dodged another energy blast that turned the platform behind him into molten glass.

He gritted his teeth. “This is pointless,” he muttered, eyeing the corridor—his only exit.

He ran.

But the dragon, infuriated, slammed its tail into the far wall, collapsing debris into the corridor’s entrance, cutting him off completely.

Dust rained down. For a moment, everything stilled again—just him, the broken corridor, and the beast turning toward him with mechanical fury.

But then—something else.

A low creaking opened to his right. Alhaitham turned, just in time to see a section of the chamber's floor shift, revealing a narrow gap barely wide enough for a person to slip through. Not an exit, but at least a way out.

He didn't hesitate.

Another blast tore across the room just as he jumped, rolling into the hole as stone and fire exploded behind him. He tumbled through darkness, sliding down a hidden chute carved with ancient, moss-covered wall until he landed roughly—but alive—on another level.

He lay there for a moment, catching his breath in the dim glow of his still-glowing automaton torch, now miraculously clinging to his belt.

“What the hell was that thing doing down here…” he muttered. His voice echoed.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t just wandering. It was guarding something.

And he had just stepped deeper into its domain.

Alhaitham steadied himself as he stood, brushing dust off his coat. The chamber behind him faded into shadow as he stepped forward. Another set of ruins. He though he had grown used to it's air, their stillness, their secrets. Yet this place felt… different.

He passed into another corridor, only to realize the path was no longer straightforward. This one twisted oddly, more like a maze than a hall. At least the darkness here was thinner. Pockets of illumination filtered in from sharp beams of light here and there from the diffent chambers, just enough to guide him.

He turned into yet another dead end when his eyes shifted. The walls curved unnaturally. It felt like the inside of a great shell. At the center, a single vertical beam of white light descended from a slit in the ceiling, striking the ground just shy of an obsidian pillar that stood alone to the side.

Strange, geometric markings circled the base of the pillar like a sun-shaped seal. Across the far wall, text shimmered faintly in the dark, a familiar script now.

He stepped closer, narrowing his eyes to read.

"When white meets the unyielding black,
The path beyond will crack.
Align the sun to the watcher’s gaze—
And see what lies beneath the haze."

An easy riddle, yet again. He exhaled slowly, reaching for his Vision. A dendro mirror shimmered to life in his hand, its edges glinting faintly in the scattered light.

He raised it—then stopped.

A sound.

Faint. Subtle, like breath against wind, but unmistakably there.

He lowered the mirror, tension bleeding back into his limbs. Slowly, he stepped toward the wall closest to the obsidian pillar and pressed his ear against the cold stone.

Muffled… distant… but real.

A voice. Familiar.

Kaveh.

“...talking to you...,” Kaveh’s voice echoed faintly through the wall, distorted by stone but still hold it's warmth and seems vunerable, “I can’t just say it yet…”

Alhaitham’s brows drew together. He leaned in closer, heart suddenly thudding louder in his chest.

“…i wanted to say what's on my heart ever since i stepped foot in that...”

A pause. The prison?

“…I can’t shake the feeling that I’m only lying to myself…”

Alhaitham’s grip on the mirror tightened, his thoughts scrambling. Was Kaveh… confessing to the duke? He pressed his ear harder against the wall, as if the stone could offer clarity.

“What if you spend your whole life waiting for something that may never happen?”

The voice was muffled, and it wasn’t Kaveh’s, Wriothesley's, but it still struck Alhaitham like a blow to the chest. 

Kaveh’s voice returned, quieter but with a raw edge.

“But I can’t let it show, Wriothesley. Not now. Not until I’m free to say what I truly feel… and .... I wanted to stay in Fontaine but...”

The were walking away from the wall each time but he could hear alot of the conversation, at least enough. a sigh followed.

Alhaitham’s heart hammered in his chest as confusion rippled through him. So he truely wished to stay in Fontaine, What was that about?

He pressed his ear harder to the wall, clenching his jaw.

From the other side, a teasing voice rang out. their conversation getting closer

“Oh, Kaveh,” Wriothesley said with a grin in his tone. “.... anyone resist someone as pretty as you? Only a fool wouldn’t..... with you, you know.”

There was a hint of warmth beneath the teasing, but Kaveh’s voice—hesitant yet full of a certain kind of yearning—came through clearly.

“I… I don’t know. It’s always complicated.”

Alhaitham stood there for a long moment, thoughts swirling in confusion and something darker he couldn’t place. He stepped back from the wall, fingers still clenched tightly around the mirror.

Alhaitham stood frozen, the mirror biting into his palm. He barely noticed. The warmth of Kaveh’s voice still lingered in his ears-faint, distorted by stone, but unmistakably sincere. Too sincere.

I wanted to stay in Fontaine...

He hadn’t said it to him.

He’d said it to Wriothesley.

Something cracked inside his chest, sudden and sharp, like stone splitting under pressure. Jealousy surged first—hot, unrelenting. The image of the Duke leaning just a little too close, of Kaveh’s hesitant smile, of that raw, vulnerable voice—it coiled like thorns around his thoughts.

But then—

No.

His jaw tightened. I don’t know what I just heard. The wall twisted everything. Voices warped, tone blurred. He was eavesdropping, grasping at fragments. He shouldn’t be drawing conclusions from whispers through stone.

You’re smarter than this, he told himself. But the words rang hollow.

Because he knew Kaveh’s voice. Knew how it shifted when he was hiding something. He’d heard the ache braided into it, the way it softened when he said Wriothesley’s name. He knew what it meant, even if he didn’t want to. Kaveh was sincere.

Even if he couldn’t bear to.

His breath came shallower now. All at once, it felt like the walls weren’t made of stone at all, but of everything left unsaid. Pride. Fear. Time.

He had spent so long barricading himself behind silence, logic, sharp words.

And for what?

A bitter taste rose in his throat. He looked down at the mirror still clenched in his hand. A sliver of light caught on the glass, casting a narrow, precise beam.

Numbness began to settle, soft and suffocating. He welcomed it.

Wordlessly, he raised the mirror, adjusting the angle until the beam touched the obsidian pillar across the chamber. A low click, then the grind of shifting stone.

The wall began to move.

And Alhaitham, still half-shadowed, stepped back—face unreadable, thoughts aflame.

He told himself it was just this. A necessary step.

But the truth, buried deep beneath all his reason, was far more fragile:

Yet he couldn’t show a single thing...