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It had been years since he had last thought of Alhaitham.
It had become an unspoken rule not to bring up his name around Kaveh, but after a few too many drinks in, Kaveh felt the need to toast the entire bar. “Congratulations to Cyno on his promotion to General Mahamatra,” he announced, not a slur in his words to give away just how sloshed he was. “With this, and Alhaitham’s promotion to Grand Scribe years ago, I can safely see my graduating year is the most successful. Let’s go—”
The last of his words were cut off as Tighnari dragged him back down. He shared a look with Cyno as Kaveh continued with his inane babbling—Cyno had long since learned to tune out Kaveh’s drunken ramblings—and heaved a sigh. “I think,” he said, “that’s our cue to call it a night.”
Cyno grinned. “What, you don’t want to wait until he vandalizes the welcome boards with his insightful commentary?”
“Given your new position, I would think you would be inclined to stop the vandalism before it occurred.”
“That’s been my job since I took the Oath of Service. Raising to General doesn’t change it. But you know how he is, get him drunk enough and suddenly he’s a master of stealth.”
Tighnari couldn’t hide his snort. It was true, years of drinking with Kaveh and still neither had caught him in the act. They had taken turns monitoring him and left many nights confident they had kept him from his proclivity, only to come across Kaveh’s newest grievances written around the city the next day. It had long since stopped being aggravating, leaving only a sense of amused exasperation and begrudging respect.
“I know it’s your day we’re celebrating, but do you mind taking him home? I have to get back to Gandharva Ville and it’s not exactly on the way.”
Cyno had already been in the process of dragging Kaveh on to his feet and holding him steady. “Are you good to make it through the rainforest as you are? Would it not be safer to wait til morning?”
Tighnari waved him off. “I haven’t drunk nearly enough to have my senses impaired, and I know the forest like the back of my hand. I have a lecture to give in the morning, so I can’t afford to wait til then.”
Cyno frowned. “If you were busy, you didn’t have to come. We could’ve rescheduled.”
“And miss celebrating on your big day? Nonsense.” He placed a hand on Cyno’s shoulder. “Congratulations again Cyno, I know you worked hard for the position, and there’s no one I can think of that would be better suited. Stop by the village when you have a chance, by the way, we’ll have to hold another celebration with Collei.”
With a promise to do just that, the two parted ways. For most of the walk, Kaveh rambled about his newest project and complained about how his clients kept changing their minds on just about everything before falling uncharacteristically quiet.
“What are you thinking about?” Cyno prompted.
Kaveh scoffed. “Just that Alhaitham would be telling me I shouldn’t let them walk all over me,” he said. “Or, rather, that I was an idiot for letting them, because that asshole never learned how to talk to people without insulting them.”
Cyno nodded, unsure how to respond. He had never met Alhaitham, only ever hearing of him in passing. Apparently, they graduated the same year, though he was younger than them, and he was appointed as Grand Scribe shortly afterwards. He remembers the waves that made throughout the Akademiya at the time; the Grand Scribe was not an easily attained position, and that one so young had reached it had people screaming of nepotism. Never mind that Alhaitham had no family on the council—or at all, as was later discovered—but Alhaitham had taken the objections in stride, announcing that any who had objections to his position may step forward and contest it. No one did, not willing to risk their standing with the Sages, and after a year the complaints died entirely as three things became common knowledge: the man was a genius, the man was the best at what he did, and the man was completely insufferable.
He hadn’t exactly sounded like someone Cyno would want to know either, so he never bothered searching him out, only ever meeting him in passing through his friendship with Kaveh. When he finally realized there was perhaps more to the man than what was common knowledge, he was no longer around for Cyno to seek out.
As they reached Kaveh’s place—a nice house not too far from the Akademiya, which probably would’ve cost a fortune—Kaveh dug out his keys and smiled at Cyno.
“Congratulations again, Cyno, and thank you,” he said as he opened the door and crossed its threshold. “I feel more at ease knowing you’re in charge now. Maybe next time someone goes missing, an actual investigation would take place.”
Before Cyno could ask him what he meant, the door was closed.
The next day, as he made his way to his newly appointed office, Cyno was unsurprised to see find a succinct “Fuck you Alhaitham, come home” written on the message board nearby the barracks. Shaking his head, he thought back to what Kaveh had said the night before.
Kaveh rarely spoke about his erstwhile roommate. Ever since his disappearance nearly half a decade ago, the very mention of his name would have Kaveh clam up. Grief, it was believed to be, for as much as Kaveh used to complain about the man when he was around, much had been learned since his disappearance that made it clear they had cared for one another. They had been friends once, during their years in the Akademiya, and the extremely nice house Kaveh lived in had actually belonged to Alhaitham. While none of Kaveh’s complaints had been for show, their relationship wasn’t solely one made of clashing opinions.
Kaveh’s comment last night had him rethinking that. Did Kaveh not speak of him less out of grief, and more out of fear? That, what, Alhaitham’s disappearance had been some sort of cover up? That he had discovered something he shouldn’t have, and had been silenced as a result? Cyno scoffed at the ridiculousness of the thought. Kaveh wasn’t one for conspiracy theories, and there was no reason for anyone to have needed to silence Alhaitham. Even if there were a grand conspiracy, Alhaitham’s position as Grand Scribe meant he would’ve likely been a part of it from the beginning.
As much as he tried to banish the thought, it clung to him throughout the day. He went through the roster of Mahamatras and assigned tasks to their strengths; he ignored the nagging thought that some may fail to properly investigate the disappearance of a high-ranking official. As he swore in the new recruits and recited them the Oath of Service, he did not think of how some might not follow through on their pledge. As he looked through the ongoing cases, he only scrutinized the notes taken as much as was required and no further. And when he checked the unsolved cases, it was only to see if new information had appeared, and not to single out one particular case. When he spotted Alhaitham’s case, he wouldn’t even need to open it to move on with his life.
Only, he never found it.
He went through the catalogue of unsolved cases once more, in case he may have overlooked it, but once more he came up empty-handed.
“Aarav,” he called, and his second in command was quick to enter the room and await his orders. “Who’s in charge of organizing the evidence?”
“No one specific, General,” Aarav replied. “It’s usually left to whoever is without an ongoing investigation or guard duty.”
Cyno frowned, not liking the implication that anyone could come in and claim it’s their turn to rearrange things.
“That’s going to have to change,” he said. “Until we find a more permanent solution, no one is to enter the evidence room except you and I, if additional evidence is needed to be submitted or old files referenced, they’ll make a request and we’ll get it for them.”
Aarav’s brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”
Cyno shook his head. “Just a clerical error,” he said. “Some of the older cases have been misfiled, so now I have to go through all of them individually to make sure they’re filed correctly. It’s just to avoid a repeat.”
Aarav grimaced in sympathy. “If anyone needs you, I’ll let them know you’re busy and to come back later.”
“Thank you. As long as it’s nothing urgent, I trust you to handle things. If it is, you know where to find me.”
Aarav nodded, bowed and shut the door behind him.
With a sigh, Cyno got to work. Pulling out each individual file, reading through from beginning to end, to ensure nothing as was misfiled. It was tedious and time consuming, but worthwhile as he discovered more than one file that had fallen over and covered by others, some evidence linked to the wrong cases. Most were filed correctly, but enough errors existed to further convince Cyno he would need a dedicated team to handle the vault. The last thing they needed was to make a false arrest because of clerical errors.
It took him hours. Though there were no windows in the vault, he knew the sun had long since set when Aarav arrived, asking if he needed assistance or if he could clock out. Cyno waved him off, wished him a good night, and continued with his task, determined to complete everything, even if it cost him all night. He was so focused on the task; he had nearly forgotten what had sparked it until he came across a thin file under the solved cases.
Name: Alhaitham
Age: 22
Status: M. I. A
Living Relatives: None
Roommate Kaveh reported Alhaitham missing on XXX, XXXX. He was last seen three days prior by coworkers in his office. No hint of a struggle or interference in either office or home. Case closed XXX, XXXX.
Cyno read the file over four or five times in case he missed something. There was next to nothing in the file. No information that was simply redacted, just straight up nothing. No notes on an investigation, no suspects, no questioning of witnesses, nothing. And worse, when he double checked the dates, it was clear it wasn’t an issue of not taking notes, but rather of there having never been an investigation. Alhaitham, as Grand Scribe, was one of the highest ranking officials in the Akademiya, subservient to the Sages and little else. He had access to more information than even the General Mahamatra, and could devastate the Akademiya with the knowledge he could leak. Even should no one have been looking for him out of a desire for his wellbeing, the matra should’ve been searching en masse, if only to ensure there would be no misuse of the academic knowledge he would have in spades.
And yet, the case was closed only a week after it was opened.
That night, when he finished his self-appointed task, he left with the file in hand.
Cyno had never spoken with Alhaitham.
He knew of the man, as by that point in time everyone did. It was impossible to work at the Akademiya without hearing his name. The Grand Scribe was not a position easily attained, especially for one so young—newly graduated, and an early graduate at that—it only made sense that his promotion to its seat had caused ripples throughout the Akademiya. Cyno had only recently joined the Mahamatra as one of the low-ranking officers and, stuck with guard duty more oft than not, left him in a prime position to overhear most of the schoolyard gossip. But, while Alhaitham’s name seemed to fall from everyone’s lips, it seemed not much was known about him as a person. Hearing all that he did, Cyno could only confidently say he knew three things about him: the man was a genius; the man was the best at what he did and, seemingly universally accepted, the man was insufferable.
Despite the prominence of his name, Cyno had only ever seen the man himself once. He had been positioned to guard the House of Daena, and he found that Kaveh and Alhaitham were already there when he relieved his colleague. Kaveh hadn’t noticed the change in guard, but Alhaitham did, catching his eye for a moment before returning to the book before him.
A quarter of an hour passed before he spoke.
“Strange, isn’t it?” He said, not even bothering to look up from the book he was reading. “Nearly five centuries and what do we know about the Lesser Lord?”
Kaveh scoffed as he thumbed through his own book, skimming the pages more than reading them. “Since when have you become pious?”
“Nothing so grandiose,” Alhaitham said, voice dripping with condescension. “Do you not find it curious that the nation that prides itself on its wisdom seemingly cannot keep records of its own deity?”
“We do. They’re just redacted.”
“As useful as a fish that can’t swim.” The harsh sound of a book shutting caught Cyno’s attention, catching eyes with Alhaitham, who kept them locked as he delivered his next line. “For a nation that prides itself on wisdom, it is idiotic to refuse knowledge based on something as arbitrary as pragmatism. Knowledge isn’t knowledge because it is useful, it is knowledge because it is known.”
He then looked away as he stood and put the book he had been reading back on the shelf. “See ya,” he said, not waiting for a response from Kaveh as he walked away.
It was the last thing Cyno had heard Alhaitham say. Five days later, the man had gone missing.
He spent the next week learning what he could of the man.
Knowledge of Alhaitham was hard to find. The man, Cyno quickly learned, had mostly kept to himself, interacting with others only when absolutely necessary. He had no friends to speak of—with possibly the exception of Kaveh, though he would argue otherwise—nor any family that survived him. No one Cyno could reach out to that would know his habits. The only thing his old colleagues could really give him was his preference for the tactile: while most of Sumeru had embraced the Akasha terminals, Alhaitham had preferred writing on paper, and reading from novels. When asked if any notes remained, he was only given a shrug in return. If there had been, they weren’t in his old offices.
With that in mind, he reached out to Kaveh. If the man had kept nothing at the Akademiya, perhaps they remained at home. Thankfully, the man hadn’t lived alone, for if he had his belongings would’ve likely been cleared of his old abode, but Kaveh was sentimental. He wouldn’t have thrown out any of Alhaitham’s things, not when they could be the last connection he would ever have with his reluctant friend.
I don’t know of any notes. Kaveh’s message came in hours later, lighting up his Akasha terminal with its notification in the middle of a meeting. He had silenced it then, reading it over only after a recess was called. He wasn’t one to leave notes lying around. But I have all of his books I could let you read over?
Cyno accepted readily. After the meeting, Cyno had clocked out earlier than usual—that is, on time—and made his way to Kaveh’s place.
Despite being friends with Kaveh since graduation, Cyno doesn’t believe he had ever been inside the home. Kaveh used to wish to hide that he was rooming with Alhaitham, and after his disappearance, Kaveh preferred to spend most of his time out of the house as he could. Kaveh wouldn’t be there. He was in another city, supervising the site of one of his projects, but the man told him where to find the spare key.
All Akademiya graduates had spent a considerable among of time in the House of Daena, so an abundance of books wasn’t exactly an uncommon sight, but even Alhaitham’s collection still impressed. Some books were written in Vendagari, but there were just as many in other languages, some he recognized, and more he didn’t. While certainly a smaller library than the House of Daena, it was the largest personal library he had ever been witness to, and he could only imagine there were more in his old room.
Sighing, Cyno grabbed the nearest book—a slightly battered tome written in Liyue script—and thumbed through it. He may not understand the language itself, but there was enough data entered in the Akasha by the Haravatat Darshan to allow for a rough translation. Rough, but good enough for Cyno to understand that the subject matter was dense and the Akasha’s auto-translation hardly did it any justice.
Not that it was a concern of Cyno’s. He couldn’t care less about the syntax of the Liyue language. He was much more interested in the additions written into the margins. He couldn’t read them—it was neither written in a language he recognized, nor one his Akasha could translate—but it gave him hope. Cyno opened another book, this one written in an archaic but otherwise understandable Teyvat script, and thumbed through a few pages until he came across more notes written in that same strange script. He didn’t find any notes in the third book he opened, but the fourth was filled with the strange writing.
There were notes. Likely written by Alhaitham. And though he couldn’t guarantee they would be relevant, it was more than what he had before. He just needed to figure out what language they were written in, then find someone from Haravatat that could translate it for him. Grabbing one of Kaveh’s grid papers, the thin ones he used for his blue prints when he needed to draw over them, he copied the notes as best as he could from multiple books, until he had filled most of the page with the strange writing.
For the next several days, Cyno spent his breaks and off hours reaching out to every Haravatat scholar he could find, showing them the samples he had taken and asking if they recognized it. Most responded negatively, some pointed in the directions of others, and after a long game of telephone, he found himself before Madame Faruzan.
“Are you trying to create your own stenography?” she asked upon seeing the samples he gave her.
“Do you recognize it?” Cyno asked, unable to keep the excitement completely out of his voice.
“Partly,” she said. “It looks very similar to the shorthand we used when I was in school—in my days, one wasn’t given an Akasha terminal until after they had graduated to encourage individuality of—”
“Can you translate it or not?”
“Now young man, it’s rude to cut off your elders,” she groused. “But I believe I should be able to transcribe it. Like I said, though there are some modifications, it is similar to Amal shorthand with a mix of Janus shorthand—an even older form of shorthand originating in Mondstadt that”—she sighed—“but you’re not listening, are you.”
“How long do you think you’ll need to translate it?”
“Shorthand is not its own language. I can’t even confirm all these notes are in the same language just by looking at it,” she explained. “Give me an hour or so to study this and create a guide for you. Shorthand is just an abbreviated form of writing. Each symbol represents a letter. Once you’ve transcribed it into the Teyvat script, we should be able to determine what language it was written in. Would that be acceptable?”
“It would be appreciated.”
“Not a matter, young man. It’s the duty of the elders to assist their juniors in times of need. Come back at the end of the day. I’ve got some lectures I need to prepare for first, and I imagine the General Mahamatra has his own duties to attend to in the meantime. I’ll have the guide completed for you by then.”
It becomes an obsession.
With Madame Faruzan’s guide, he could copy all the notes into the Teyvat script, and while they were not, in fact, all written in the same language, it didn’t take long to figure out the notes were written in the book’s language they were scribbled in. From there, it was just a matter of using the Akasha to translate the languages he didn’t speak. Most notes he found were about what was written in the tomes, but now and then he came across some notes to self that were unrelated to the academic writing. A reminder to pick up groceries, a week’s schedule planned out, a comment on Kaveh’s gullibility after he bought a cart full of keychains.
Each note was a further look into Alhaitham’s character. Sometimes he got to read about interesting theories he had. Other times, he could revel in the dry humour and sarcastic comments he used to showcase his skepticism. It painted the picture of a meticulous man. One who seems to enjoy knowledge simply for knowledge’s sake, and bemoans his fellow’s reliance on the Akasha. After nearly three months of transcribing and translating and reading Alhaitham’s notes, of looking into his routines and habits, he feels as though he’s come to know the man himself.
It’s why he believed he’d finally found his trail when he comes across one note, written in a sloppier hand than the others, and succinct beyond measure:
Sages. Sanctuary. Blasphemers.
Zandik.
The last word—name—was underlined twice, the press of his pen hard enough to imprint the page behind. Alhaitham’s notes are never just single words. In fact, they are more often long-winded rants about whatever he deemed important enough to write about. That he refused to elaborate on any of them told Cyno he felt it too sensitive to write about, even in his own made up shorthand, tucked away into a children’s book about dreaming in Sumeru. It was as though he didn’t trust that his belongings wouldn’t be riffled through upon his disappearance.
Nor should he, for “Sages” implied they were involved. It made sense. Should they desire it, they could order the arrest and persecution of a man with no questions asked. They could also cover it up, shut down any investigation prematurely with a simple word. It would also explain the lack of urgency in trying to find him—he couldn’t be spreading Akademiya secrets if they killed him after all.
But what could he have found that they decided the only appropriate course of action would be to silence him?
Blasphemers. Maybe something against Lesser Lord Kusanali? It would also fit into the conversation he had overheard the week before Alhaitham’s disappearance. If he had been looking into the Lesser Lord, of course, he would note the discrepancy of her complete and utter censorship in the Akasha database. Most people didn’t question if something was redacted from the Akasha. Everyone knew the Akasha would tell them everything they needed to know, so if the Akasha didn’t provide information on the archon, surely it was unimportant?
On that note, did they have a way of manipulating the Akasha? Could they be determining what is shown in its database, debasing it with whatever falsehoods would best suit their needs? A chill ran down Cyno’s spine as he considered the Akasha’s interface. It could display itself in front of your entire vision. Could the Sages, with careful manipulations, alter what you see before you?
Cyno ripped off the terminal. He powered it down and shoved it into the drawer of his desk. For good measure, he left the room with the book.
Zandik had him stumped. If he was following the right thread, Sanctuary surely referred to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, but Zandik didn’t ring any bells. It sounded like a name, but was it the name of a person? A project? A theory?
Cyno hadn’t the slightest clue, but the vehemence with how Alhaitham had written the name convinced him it was surely an important piece of the puzzle, but could he afford to dig into it? He knew where to go. Whatever nefarious deeds the Sages were up to must be taking place in the Sanctuary of Surasthana. Alhaitham uncovered this five years ago, and with his disappearance, the Sages would’ve continued unopposed. Cyno only found what he did after three months of combing through every note Alhaitham left behind, and that was when he knew where to look. Zandik could refer to anything, and he didn’t have the luxury of reading every tome he came across.
Zandik could remain a mystery for now. He had a Sanctuary to infiltrate.
Cyno was a cautious man. He didn’t get to his position by being careless, so he didn’t immediately charge into the Sanctuary.
For the next week, Cyno’s days comprised delegating the Mahtra’s duties in the morning, then finding the alcove above the sanctuary that kept him out of sight, but allowed him to view it in its entirety.
He waited.
He observed.
He noted who approached the sanctuary. He noted when they approached it. He noted how often they approached it. He especially noted those that entered it.
Only when he was he was certain did he act.
On the ninth day of his observation, he counted those that came and went, making sure they matched the makeshift schedule he had saved in his head. At 1500, after the latest straggler left, he made his move.
He scaled down the tree and approached the building, careful to ensure no eyes were on him as he opened the door and slipped in.
The room was large, and nearly empty, safe for its centre, where what could only be described as a cage resided. Cyno approached, and that’s when he saw her: suspended in the air, slept an enchained child. She looked like she couldn’t be older than 10, but Cyno could tell—even imprisoned as she was, the mass of dendro energy emanating meant she could be nothing less than an archon.
He circled around the room til he stood on the other side, to keep the door in his line of sight as he approached, reaching a hand out to touch the walls of her cage. It gave the slightest bit under his hand, moulding around it as though to leave a cast, but only a quarter of an inch when whatever material it was made of hardened and became immovable. A light applicable of electro reacted to the overwhelming dendro energy, but the barrier remained. Lesser Lord Kusanali didn’t even react.
“Oh my, we have a visitor.”
The voice had drawled right next to his ear in a sickeningly sweet tone, but when he turned, staff already slicing through the air, he found no one.
“A jumpy visitor, it seems.”
This time the voice came from the other side of the room, and when he turned, he found the man leaning against the wall, arms crossed lackadaisically, as though he had been there awhile. His eyes were hidden behind a mask, but the smarmy grin and distinctive blue hair outed his identity.
Cyno let his weapon hang low. He refused to put it away—he was not foolish enough to be unarmed in the presence of a Harbinger, never mind one he did not like.
“I’m afraid the Sanctuary is off limits to foreign dignitaries,” he said.
The Doctor smiled, pushed off the wall and glided over towards Cyno. Cyno tried to keep his eye on him, but between a blink of an eye, the Doctor approached so swiftly he seemed to have materialized right next to him.
“And yet, between the two of us, it is not I who snuck in without the Grand Sage’s knowledge.” The Doctor wrapped an arm around his shoulder and it took everything in Cyno not to throw it off him. Instead, he let himself be guided away from the sleeping archon towards a wall that looked no different from the others until the Doctor did something and it opened, exposing a hidden hallway. “Now, it’s been awhile since I had an authorized visitor I could show my hard labour to, so why don’t I show you instead? I’m certain you’ll find it enlightening.”
And show him he did.
The Doctor lead him through the factory—for what else could it be called—through each stage of production until he led him to the unfinished product: a large, mechanical doll already carrying enough firepower to put the Ruin Guards to shame. He didn’t elaborate on any of what he’d shown, letting Cyno’s mind run laps trying to make sense of it all himself.
Surely meant as a diversion tactic. Otherwise, Cyno was certain he would’ve caught on to the Doctor’s attempt to imprison him before he had him transported to an uninhabited tower. One without the graciousness of a door to allow him to leave.
Cyno throws aside another bookshelf to get to the wall behind it.
He’s been at this for hours now and gone through six floors, each one covered floor to ceiling with books. He’s seen more here than the entire House of Daena, and he still does not know how high the tower goes. Normally, he would be inclined to be impressed, but as it is now, the shelves are just in his way. He’s trying to find a flaw in the structural integrity somewhere, but nothing has been given whether he hits it bare or infused with the power of electro. Once more, he gathers the power of his vision at his hands and punches.
Not even a dent. Cursing, he disperses the electro, enshrouding him and goes to the next shelf. He throws it aside, not caring about the tomes that get scattered across the floor at his actions. He tries again.
If the tower were a normal one, he wouldn’t need to go through the hassle. Even confiscated of his weapon, he has enough power with the power of the spirit and his Vision for something as benign as a wall—no matter what it was made of—to be much of an obstacle. And yet, there was clearly some form of circuitry that kept the stone from giving beneath his touch. It was why he needed to get to the stone directly, to slam his electro charged fist against it so he could find the seam that would break. No circuit was impervious—not even Lisa had made a perfect magic circuit, and she had a mastery over magic he’d never seen before or since.
There was a flaw somewhere. He just had to find it. And when he did, he’d make the Sages regret their arrogance in letting him keep his Vision by killing that blaspheme of a god they insisted on creating.
He heads to the next bookshelf and throws it aside. A window was behind it, as he had found a few times, barred and would not give even as he tried to pry at them, electro coursing through his veins.
“What are you doing?”
The shock of the voice disperses the electro and his fist hits the circuit without it. It lashes out, has his whole arm spasm before he can pull away to turn to the intruder.
Leaning against the guardrail of the stairs leading to the next floor, arms crossed, stood a man glaring down his nose at him. Literally down his nose, as he stood a good head taller than Cyno. His clothes are hardly rich—a threadbare white shirt whose neck line is too stretched it nearly hangs off his shoulder and black slacks that are ripped that stop just above his ankles—but he holds himself with a confidence that reminds him of the scholars unafraid of passing their tests, knowing they can just buy the grades needed to graduate.
“What are you doing?” he repeats, and there’s a bite to his tone that was missing from earlier.
Cyno doesn’t rise to the bait. He’s never formally met the man, but his face had been haunting him for the last few weeks. He instantly recognized the grey hair, though longer and not as well kept as his picture. Alhaitham bent down and gently picked up a tome that fell during his rampage. His dual-toned eyes were much sharper when they looked his way.
“Testing the integrity of the walls,” he answers.
“Surely you’re not so brain dead as to not know how to do so without destroying the place.”
“…I am intending to break the wall.”
“And you must know enough about Bayt al-Hikma to know that’s not how you do it. There’s a circuit that runs through the entire building meant to absorb and redistribute all shock and tremors safely. It is a sanctuary for the millennia of knowledge gathered here, but clearly it did not count on a rampaging Mahtra invading its walls.”
There were many things Cyno wished to ask. Namely, where they were and how to leave and why Alhaitham hadn’t returned to the city or attempted to reach out to anyone in the five years he was missing if he were alive. What came out though was neither of those.
“You know who I am?”
Alhaitham stopped in his task of collecting the thrown books, placing them down on a nearby desk already overflowing with papers. “Unless my memory is not as intact as I believe it to be, you are Cyno, fellow Akademiya graduate who went into the Mahamatra instead of continuing your Spantamad studies. You were one of Kaveh’s friends, or am I mistaken?”
“You’re not.” Cyno admitted. Though Alhaitham’s question hadn’t had the inflection of one, he still nodded, as though he was pleased with the answer. Cyno helped pick up a few more of the books, strangely pleased that Alhaitham had recognized him despite having never truly known the man. It helped lessen the strangeness that came from feeling as though he knew the other intimately. “Where are we?”
Alhaitham didn’t answer him, simply grabbed a book and shoved it into his chest. “Before trying to destroy the place, try reading up on it.”
And then, as though dismissing Cyno’s very presence, he turned and swept out of the room.
Cyno threw the tome on the newly created pile on the desk and followed him after him. “Fine, don’t tell me. Just tell me how to leave.”
Alhaitham paused and massaged the bridge of his nose. “If you did as I suggested, you would know there is no way out currently.”
“Then we make one! You know as well as I do that Azar and his cronies are building a weapon of mass destruction while the city remains completely oblivious. I know you do, because I followed your notes to the same conclusion.”
“Clearly not well enough. The Sages aren’t looking to make a weapon, they’re looking to make a god.”
“Like that’s any better. You were clearly opposed to it. Why else would they have imprisoned you here? Help me get out and get back at them.”
“Why bother? Let them make fools of themselves. Mortals aren’t meant to touch the heavenly realm and will be punished for their transgressions. There’s not I need to do. No point wasting my energy when I can instead read my way through the library without interruption.”
Cyno narrowed his eyes. “Even if that were the case and justice is divinely served, the gods aren’t known for their precision. I will not allow innocent Sumerans to suffer because of the actions of a select few.”
“I won’t stop you, but I don’t see why I need to assist. Just be careful when moving things and we won’t have any issues.”
He turned to leave once more, but Cyno grabbed him by the wrist and squeezed, refusing to allow him to break his grip should he attempt it. “I’ll give you a couple of options,” he growled out. “Either you help me out because you know we can’t allow Azar to build a god to follow his whim, or you help me get out because, if not, I will systematically destroy every tome in this entire library.”
Alhaitham stared him down. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m negotiating. It may be underhanded, but I swore to protect the people of Sumeru, and I cannot do so trapped in this tower. You can stay all you like, read whatever you want, but while I am still trapped here, I will do everything in my power to escape, and if that means taking a few books hostage, so be it.”
Alhaitham’s face remained impassive, but Cyno recognized the glint in his eye. It was why he allowed Alhaitham to break his hold and cross his arms. “Fine.” He walked back over to the book he had once shoved into Cyno’s chest, picked it up and once more handed it over. “I won’t be the only one working on it, though. You can start by reading up on your gaol.”
This time, when he turned to leave, Cyno let him.
Alhaitham regularly made himself scarce.
He would appear every now and again to drop off a tome about their gaol, in case they could find any hint of a design flaw or hidden passages, while Alhaitham researched other methods of escape. Cyno had read more on the tower than he would’ve liked as a result—sorry, the Bayt al-Hikma, an Old Venadagari way of saying House of Wisdom he learned. It was an old collaborative project between Greater Lord Rukkhadevata and King Deshret meant to record all knowledge prior to the age of the Akasha. Specially appointed Scribes recorded each book in its halls, one for each of the seven—seven, the books stated, not six—darshans.
It’s sealing, he also learned, was Rukkhadevata’s last known act.
Other than the brief moments of passing him books, Alhaitham was only ever present during their meals. Twice a day, Alhaitham would appear with food rather than tomes—always fruits or vegetables that were overly dense and tasteless—and they would sit eating their insipid meals together. Alhaitham always had a book on hand, flipping through the pages as he ate rather than engaging Cyno unless to compare notes of what they’ve learned, and then he would disappear up or down the stairs in search of another book. Cyno divided his time between reading the books Alhaitham presented and searching the floors, but never once had he found an exit, nor Alhaitham’s secret store of nutrition.
“What initially roused your suspicion?” Cyno asked once a week into their routine as Alhaitham appeared with their breakfast.
Alhaitham sighed, but for once he didn’t immediately open the book he brought with him. “Azar’s sudden crack down on Divine Knowledge felt too aggressive for something that had been a longstanding issue. That and the increased amount of capsules he would have me upload on the Mahamatra despite there being nothing new in the Akasha.”
“I can understand the Divine Knowledge, but why are the updates on Mahamatra investigations important?”
“The Akasha isn’t simply a search terminal. It is a mechanism of unprecedented computations. It could, theoretically, look into information provided to find patterns and approximate how one may react based on their past actions.” He took a moment to finish the last of his apple before continuing. “If he could foresee how the law of governance may react to his actions, he could more easily learn how to avoid drawing suspicion.”
“It’s not perfect though,” he insisted. “They had calculations run on me, and the Akasha may have suggested that I may not be completely opposed to their plans should I discover them, so Azar was not as cautious with me as he probably should’ve been.”
“But you opposed, did you not?”
Alhaitham smiled, a quirk of the left side of his lips that displayed little pleasure. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Then he stood and walked away.
A few days later, Cyno tried again.
“Where do you get all the food from?”
Alhaitham already had an apple in his mouth, but he pulled it back. He looked Cyno’s way, for once, rather than continue reading what was before him.
“Upstairs,” he said. “There’s a garden.”
“Is that where you go whenever you disappear?”
“Sometimes. Someone has to tend to it if we do not wish to starve.”
“Would you like some assistance? We could take shifts.”
Alhaitham stood up, book shut with a finger between to keep his page. “No need. I’ve tended to it fine the last four years I’ve been here. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He bit into the apple as he walked away.
Cyno never checked out the garden.
He was curious, of course, but Alhaitham had not invited him. He had not outright denied him either, to be fair, but Cyno got the distinct feeling it was something private. Alhaitham had a wall erected round him, insisted on keeping Cyno at a certain distance. His threat at the beginning of their partnership had probably not endeared him to the other, and Cyno didn’t want to further aggravate their tenuous cohabitation.
Alhaitham was cautious. Strange as it was, after months of obsessing over the man and reading his innermost thoughts, Cyno already felt as though Alhaitham were a friend. It was a one-sided connection, and too much familiarity would make Alhaitham retreat further.
But Cyno was patient. He could respect the boundaries Alhaitham placed with no need to be told and chip away at the wall slowly. He would give him a couple of days before reaching out again.
“You said four years.”
Alhaitham paused as he was about to leave after having dropped off the most recent books to read.
“Yes?”
“You’ve been gone for five.”
A strange spark lit in Alhaitham’s eyes, and he turned around.
“I was in the prison for a while,” he explained. “They approached a few times with offers before they had their mock trial and sentenced me. They didn’t do that for you.”
He said it as a statement, not a question, but Cyno felt the need to answer, regardless.
“No, they didn’t.”
Alhaitham sat across from him. “I was unconscious when they transported me here. They made sure I had no way of knowing how I got here. How did you get here?”
It was the first time Alhaitham had asked him a question not in derision. It was ridiculous how excited that made him.
“I had made my way to the Sanctuary, after finding your notes”—a glint of pleasant surprise flashed in his eyes at that comment—“when I encountered the Fatui Harbinger. He led me through the facility as he gloated about their new god—”
“Skip all of that,” he interrupted. “How did you get here?”
“The Doctor led me to a room and there was a flash. Then, I was here.”
“You just found yourself here? A sudden connection?”
“I was conscious the whole time. I wasn’t transported. I was in one place, and then I was here.”
Alhaitham jumped up. He had a determined force in his step. He went down the stairs and was gone for a few minutes before returning with a book in hand.
“Found it,” he said, laying the book down before him so that Cyno could read it himself. The words, however, were in a language he didn’t recognize. “The blue way markers throughout the land. You’ve seen them, of course.”
“Yes.”
“They’re from the age of sovereigns. They are a means of quick travel. As long as one is attuned, they would serve as lighthouses to mark your way as you dissimulate your being and reassemble it elsewhere. There is none in the tower, though, and even if there were, neither of us could have possibly been attuned to it beforehand.”
“Which means it’s possible even without the way markers.”
“Exactly. And relatively safely, seeing as neither of us are missing any components. It’s just a matter of finding the right equation.”
“And the Tower supposedly contains all of mankind’s accumulated knowledge!”
“Come on.” For the first time since meeting, Alhaitham actually looked excited. His eyes shone and the corners of his lips twitched. “We have forgotten ancient knowledge to learn.”
From then on, Alhaitham no longer spent as much time away. Rather than dropping off a book or two and leaving, he stayed in the room and read alongside him. He would share any information he found and walk Cyno through the steps of creating their latest array attempt.
(It was quickly discovered that while Alhaitham could approximate an array, he didn’t have the precision to keep them effective.)
They experimented with fruits, placing them in their makeshift arrays to judge their distance and safety. When they finally found a stable enough equation, the fruits stopped exploding; they tried with other objects, starting with pieces of wood and eventually Alhaitham’s precious books too.
It was like being back in the Akademiya days, before everything felt so heavy with responsibility and was instead simply done in pursuing knowledge. There was always the knowledge of the Sages schemes at the back of his mind, but the more time he spent with Alhaitham…
“You plan on staying.” Cyno stopped drawing the most recent array as the thought crossed his mind.
“Hm?”
“You plan on staying,” he repeated. “Even knowing you can’t draw the arrays yourself. Without me here, there would be no way for you to leave.”
Alhaitham rolled onto his heels and stretched his back until he stood at full height.
“It’s been, as you said, five years,” he said. “I don’t have any family, and the only companion I had was a disgruntled roommate that swore off his friendship. My job, while fulfilling, was more than just a means to an end. There’s nothing for me in Sumeru city that I can’t get here. More than that, Sumeru is lacking in the knowledge that can be found in these halls. All I’ve ever wanted was a simple, stress-free life. Overthrowing a government does not conduce itself to such a life.”
“Kaveh misses you.”
“Kaveh will be fine.”
I’ll miss you, Cyno didn’t say.
Alhaitham watched him as though waiting for him to say more. When he didn’t, he sighed and walked towards the stairs.
“Follow me,” he said, and made his way upstairs without waiting for Cyno to follow.
Alhaitham leads him higher up the tower than he’s ever been before. The air gets thicker with dendro the higher up they go until Cyno becomes afraid he might set off a reaction just by breathing it in. Alhaitham looks unaffected, but judging by the glow of the Vision at his hip, that may be because the dendro energy is his.
Eventually, Alhaitham leads him to a door and steps aside.
“Here,” he says, inclining his head towards the door. It was the first word he’d said since he woke him this morning, informing him he had something to show him.
Cyno takes a moment to watch him first. Alhaitham looks the same as always; back straight, shoulders rolled back, face impassive. It’s the same nonchalant look he wears when reading, or cooking, or studying the runes and circuitry of the tower’s defences to find him a way out. There’s nothing to suggest Alhaitham may be nervous, but Cyno can feel how much of him he has put into whatever is beyond the door. The air is thick with a miasma of his own making, and Cyno can only imagine how much of himself has been laid bare in the room.
Normally, Cyno’s stalling would reward him with an eye roll and Alhaitham barging forward and forcing him to see what he was hesitating to see before, but this time, Alhaitham hangs back. He doesn’t move, simply watches Cyno with those eyes of his. Beyond the door is not a truth Alhaitham has deemed necessary for him to know. He was offering to show him something, but the choice was Cyno’s. If he decided not to open the door, Cyno knew Alhaitham wouldn’t force him, and judging by the lack of expectancy in his eyes, he probably wouldn’t even begrudge him. If he turned around and walked back down the stairs, Alhaitham would let him, and never again bring it up again.
It’s this thought that has Cyno grab the door and yank it open.
The first thing he sees is green. Lots and lots of green. The room’s ceiling is higher than any room he’d seen before—three entire floors broken and turned into one, multiple levels recreated and connected roots turned stairways. What can only be described as a tree whose trunk was carved into an aqueduct leading to each level stands in the centre, raising until he cannot see the top. There are gardens on every level, some shaded, some hounded with a facsimile of natural light, each growing different plants. Vines hang from different levels, and he can see sunsettias and apples and other fruit growing on them despite him knowing they don’t grow on vines.
Cyno steps into the room, and is surprised to feel the grass growing between the cracks of the floor. He can hear flowing water and as he approaches, he can see the water running down makeshift aqueducts built into the tree in the centre, sending water to different parts of the room, pooling into various little areas that only feed the gardens at certain thresholds to not drown the plants.
Cyno grew up in the desert, and even after coming to Sumeru City, the desert remained where he had been most comfortable. “Too green,” he used to complain to Tighnari whenever he had been stuck in the rainforest for longer than he would’ve liked. “I’m not used to it.”
And yet, he must have been more accustomed to it than he thought, for now, surrounded by all this foliage, all he could feel was homesickness. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed plants while stuck in this damn place.
“Alhaitham,” he whispers, not even bothering to take his eyes away from the beauty before him. “This is…amazing.”
He can hear Alhaitham approach. With the air practically dripping with Alhaitham’s very essence, it’s the only thing that gives away his presence when he stands next to him.
“I realized early on there wasn’t any food here,” he explains, and when Cyno turns to look at him, he swears the man is glowing from the dendro energy that clings to him. “The first day, I searched everywhere for some sort of pantry or foodstuff. I thought surely there had to be something. The Sages wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of banishing me if they wanted me to die when they could just kill me. But, I couldn’t find anything. Resigned to my fate, I figured, may as well read as much of the knowledge here before I starved. It wasn’t the long and carefree life I had wanted, but it wasn’t a bad one either, and dying while reading certainly seemed like an appropriate way to go.
“The archons had other plans for me though, it seemed,” he continues, and this time, he doesn’t bother trying to hide the wry humour from his tone. “On the third day, while finishing one book and about to start the next, I realized a Vision had appeared at my side. And not just any Vision, but a dendro Vision, and it took next to no effort to grow things. I could create a seed and then have it mature til it was ripe enough to eat in a matter of seconds, though I discovered the more I forced it to grow with dendro, the less tasteful and nutritious it was. So, remembering everything I could from my Kshahrewar roommate’s rantings, I tried to make something that could sustain me. The irrigation system was a pain, but thankfully, they weren’t exaggerating when they claimed this tower held all the knowledge of mankind. It was just about finding the right tome.”
Alhaitham steps forward again and, with a surge of dendro at their feet, the grass grew until there was an entire patch for them to lie on. Alhaitham sits, and without waiting, Cyno follows. He says no more, simply lays back and closes his eyes.
Cyno watches. There’s no wind to mess up his hair. Even so, Cyno’s fingers itch with the desire to reach out and brush his bangs away from his face. He’s not asleep—his breathing is not nearly deep enough—but he looks peaceful, the permanent furrow of his brow smoothed out and relaxed. Cyno wonders how long it took him to feel so at ease, to create an entire system he felt confident enough to keep him alive. Not to mention the loneliness; five years without another to speak to, without another to bond with. Alhaitham often claimed he was fine without the company, but Cyno had his doubts. For a man who dedicated his life to languages above all else, whose very nature was about communicating and connecting with others, the isolation must have killed him, even if he refused to admit it to even himself.
And, if everything worked out as they planned, Cyno would be once more leaving him here all alone.
Cyno lays down, and doesn’t put distance between them when his arm brushes against Alhaitham’s side. Instead, he reaches over and puts his hand in Alhaitham’s and shuts his eyes. He knows he needs to get out, to find his way back to Sumeru City and stop the Sages with their insane plan, but side by side with Alhaitham, he thinks he can take it slow from time to time.
It was not to be. Less than a week later, Cyno stood over the array drawn onto the floor. He turned to Alhaitham for what may be the last time. A million words caught in his throat, a thousand things he wished to say, to have heard, but none would make their way past his lips. Alhaitham smiled back, wryly, as though he did not see the desperation in his body.
“This should, theoretically, place you in the city’s heart. From there, it’s whatever you wish to complete your quest. I trust you won’t fail. They surely won’t send you here again, knowing you can leave.”
The magic activated, and Cyno could feel his body react. It was just a matter of time before he would be transported—to safety, to the people he’d sworn to protect.
“Tell Kaveh to stop worrying,” Alhaitham said, seeing the same. “It’s about time he moved on. And the place is his. He doesn’t need to keep it how I left it.”
Cyno was disappearing. He could already no longer feel the very air around him, and when he reached forward and wrapped an arm around Alhaitham’s neck to pull him down, he didn’t react. It didn’t matter. Cyno stepped on the tips of his toes, stretching to close the distance Alhaitham’s stupid height granted him. He only just grazed his lips when he was gone, and found himself in the middle of one of Sumeru City’s walkways. Around him, onlookers gasped, not expecting his sudden materialization.
Cyno ignored them and ran onwards. He left because he had a mission to complete. There was no point in standing around.
He had a god to abort.