Archive of Our Own

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! - Alexander Pope

There were three truths that Alhaitham knew for certain.

The first truth was that he was content living the life he led. Perfectly comfortable living alone in his home: enjoying the fruits of the menial work he applies as a scribe and having access to his ever-expanding library that served as a true wellspring of knowledge. It was an unambitious life, one devoid of grand risks and high stakes, and far from what was expected of someone of his scholarly reputation.

He was never bothered by said expectations anyway. He is aware of his above-average intellect, and it is solely this fact that causes him to live the life he does. Because he is a genius does not mean he will be destined for greatness. Because genius is nought but a label by those who think they are lesser than; and those who think they are blinded by their egos to see their hypocrisy.

The Akademiya has always been one to inflate the egos of the many scholars who have graced its halls. It is in that short-sighted pursuit of what is expected, rather than in realising what that pursuit truly holds, that many a scholar finds themself greedily working towards that shallow recognition. Perhaps, if he were one to be easily swayed by titles and expectations, then he would be among the ranks of these so-called academics. Maybe he would no longer be pursuing knowledge for curiosity alone, perhaps he would be another false genius.

This leads to the second truth, that the current state of Sumeru as a nation directly opposes the values of its ruler. The Akasha allows open access to knowledge, but the people of Sumeru do not have the wisdom to understand it, criticise it, or separate it from the self. It’s what he realised after expanding his home library, after getting his hands on books and documents that are only ever presented in the Akasha in slivers and paragraphs with little context. It’s what he realised after finding his own words in the Akasha asserted itself so aggressively that it was as if there was no other truth to be found at all.

Knowledge exists abundantly in Sumeru, a resource that is given in surplus, never coveted. But it takes wisdom to realise that knowledge is what separates the desert from the rainforest. That knowledge is what segregates people into genius and average. That, in Sumeru, knowledge is not synonymous with wisdom, but power.

The third then, is a recent truth. One he discovered not because it was new, but because it had simply grown in magnitude impossible to ignore.

The Akademiya is aware that knowledge is the source of power. It is why they grant effusive titles and celebrated geniuses. It is why each scholar seemed to hit the ground running, chasing after a goal that was never solely theirs. It is why the sages guise knowledge as wisdom, and why they claim to act according to the will of the Archon.

The Sages have always been aware. The Akademiya was neither a temple of wisdom nor a fountain of knowledge. The Akademiya equated genius to power, and designed systems to reward anyone who took this belief at face value with a sliver of that heady illusion. 

The pursuit of these truths leads him to his current predicament, stranded in Aaru Village with the former General Mahamatra, the Flame Mane, and a spritely, illustrious traveller who seemed to always be at the heart of the action.

The palpable tension that was present moments ago was replaced with awkwardness, with Cyno still mistrustful of Alhaitham, Dehya on edge after leaving her employer by Caravan Ribat, and the Traveller drained after helping Candace fight off the monsters that attacked by the outskirts of the village.

Alhaitham didn’t know what to do in this situation. He was often used to working alone. His work rarely required the presence of another person— proof of the Akademiya’s tendency to provide illusions of power—and his Akademiya life had been solitary due in no small part to his supposed genius. He knows that the others in the room are quite similar to him in that regard, but their lines of work are different from Alhaitham’s. Less rigid and formulaic, but still, intrinsically, a lone endeavour.

That, and Alhaitham couldn’t shake an odd feeling of familiarity that came with Cyno. It was likely they had met in passing back at the Akademiya, back when he was a student rather than working his desk job. When exactly that particular meeting occurred eluded him, but he’s confident it’s part of the reason why Cyno seemed less suspicious of him.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by Candace re-entering the room, offering them bed rolls and an enticing bottle of liquid amber, gleaming beneath the lamplight. “I have a feeling none of you guys are tired in the slightest,” She says, setting the bottles down on the table. “How about a drink? We make our mead here, and it has quite the kick I must say.”

He scans the room, eyes meeting with Cyno’s, then Aether’s, then finally Dehya’s, who all too heartily replies. “That would be lovely, Candace.”

Each round of drinks leads to surprisingly genuine conversation. Cyno worries over the worsening Eleazar that plagues the people closest to him, Candace worries over the worsening sandstorms and the future of Aaru village, and the Traveller, confessing to missing his sister, is worried over some grand plot to overthrow the heavens itself that he has so little context for.

He listens and nods, sloshing his glass as he catalogues the conversation to memory, clearer than any record the Akasha could capture. He remembers the sparse actors they spin in their tales, like Cyno’s beloved forest ranger or his over-eager charge. Like Dehya’s eremite buddies—who she treats them like her own flesh and blood. Like the family Candace has lost to the sands. Like the Traveller’s sister, whose name he fails to mention.

And he ends up talking too, about his grandmother, about the Akademiya along with a thesis he completed on his own, and about a senior with golden hair and stark ruby eyes he’d forgotten the name of.

The tension washes away by the end of the night.

# Access restricted from Akasha_Alhaitham;

# Initiating recovery. Process triggered by Akasha_Primary;

beep.

“Alhaitham, are you alright?” A voice whispered, warmth ghosting against the shell of his ear. He felt a hand gently shake his shoulders. Alhaitham found himself slowly blinking himself awake, remnants of sleep caking his eyelashes. His fatigue almost glueing his eyelids back shut.

He heard a sigh, likely from the owner of the hand on his shoulder. “You can’t be sleeping in the House of Daena. Come on, let's get you back home.”

Alhaitham finally managed to open his eyes, coming face to face with red eyes swirling with amused fondness; his straight nose scrunched as if pretending to be displeased; a small, seemingly practised frown painting his lips. He couldn’t help but notice the traces of sleep on the face in front of him, the smudged kohl and tussled hair. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who had fallen asleep burning the midnight oil.

“You’re saying that as if you didn’t just wake up a few moments ago.” Alhaitham teased, revelling in the way the man in front of him flushes, a shy shade of pink colouring his cheeks as his lips fell into a pout.

“That’s no way to be talking to you senior, Alhaitham!” The man in front of him responded, pretending to be annoyed at Alhaitham by squinting his eyes. “Besides, I woke up before you, and still managed to wake you up. You should be thanking me.” He replies petulantly.

Alhaitham marvelled at how animated he was. The way his eyes seemed reflect his thoughts, the way his brows contorted and furrowed with each emotion he’d processed, the way his smile mirrored his heart. It almost made him sentimental—he wouldn’t mind waking up like this, with this pretty senior by his side. The thought startled Alhaitham enough that the retort he’d prepared died on his lips, leaving him stupidly blanking for a scarce few seconds.

“Thank you, senior.” He found himself saying instead.

The man in front of him stared at him owlishly, then began positively radiating as an unabashed laugh escaped him. “Oh, so now you’re thanking me? Have you finally decided to show some respect?” He began wiggling his eyebrows, his hand leaving Alhaitham’s shoulder as he pushed himself off the table.

“Come on, if the sages see us here we’ll be sanctioned.” He stretched a hand out to Alhaitham’s hunched figure, his eyes catching onto a pair of golden rings encircling his middle and index fingers. It glints, catching the moonlight from the window.

From this view, Alhaitham can see more of the man. He seemed taller, slightly broader than he was. His uniform sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders, the creases in the fabric making him appear larger than he probably was. It didn’t escape his notice that his hair, despite being sleep-mussed, was still held together in a simple half-up hairdo, pinned together by a series of criss-crossing pins.

He easily pulled Alhaitham up from his spot, hand slotting into his as he led the younger out of the library. Alhaitham simply contented himself with watching the back of his head, watching the way his braided hair curls at the ends of his shoulders, swaying with each step. His steps began to fall into sync with the man in front of him, though he’s a few centimeters too short to briskly match his stride.

Against all odds, Alhaitham found himself smiling.

beep.

Log. 1349530

# Data Processed. Akasha_Alhaitham located in Caravan Ribat. Estimated signal strength: 349ss;

# Projected action: Data collection by Caravan Ribat: 50%. Return to Akademiya through the Pardis Dhyai: 50%. Willingness to cooperate with Akademiya policy: 25%;

# Suggested action: Void. Missing Variable;

# Unknown_Entity Detected;

# Warning. Data Corrupted. Unknown_Entity_1 voids Log. 1349530;

# You do not have administrative access to Akasha_Alhaitham. Akasha_Alhaitham is out of range. Please return Akasha_Alhaitham to Akasha_Akademiya for a factory reset;

Alhaitham was not easily distracted. He knew this because he did every task with utmost efficiency—because he knew what to avoid to save time. He knew this because this focus got him to graduate years ahead from the rest of his peers. He knew this because it’s what had gotten him high enough the Akademiya’s food chain without being affected by its power-play and politics.

But that odd dream had been gnawing at him, taunting him with its afterimage every time he so much as blinked. It ate at his thoughts ravenously when he idled for even a moment. It tormented him as he lay on his bedroll. Thoughts of sleep-addled red eyes, the shade of mourning flower petals and braided blond hair that strung reminiscent of the very sands he was stepping on. The smudged kohl, the crinkle of his eyes, the fondness.

Thoughts of a face with no name and a painful numbness that resided in his chest. It put him on edge, like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

And there he goes, waxing poetic about a man he’s at least seventy, maybe eighty per cent sure is fictional, an image conjured up from drinking the heavy-hitting desert mead. Contrary to popular belief, he was quite good with words, it was simply much more efficient to be direct rather than flowery. He’s sure any Haravatat scholar worth their salt would agree.

He found himself browsing through the Akasha, cataloguing his findings against the testimonies of the villagers. As much as he had originally dreaded the additional work that would undoubtedly come with being involved in a convoluted plot against the Akademiya, he found that occupying himself with this arduous task kept the more uncontrollable thoughts at bay.

After noting down Uncle Anpu’s words against his research, he moves on to his next transcript. He reads the transcript over once, highlighting the keywords and searching for them in the Akasha. He manages to sort through the mishmash of empty words and roundabout explanations, finding the root of this particular conversation to be about a famous architect out on a commission in the desert.

He begins sorting through the information the Akasha bombards him with, overwhelmed with the influx of articles on famous architects that are practically assaulting his brain. He almost rips the Akasha off of his ear until a pleasant beep chimes from the device.

The jamming, headache-inducing feeling washes away, replaced by clarity—a clearheadedness he hadn’t felt in a long time. He releases the breath he’d been holding as he sifts through the information, coming to him gently in digestible pages rather than janky spines and headlines.

He stumbles across an article, written with a looping print unlike any of the papers he had seen in his time in the Akademiya. He skims through the contents, focusing on its abstract and its introduction by the author of the paper. He manages to read the first few sentences, and his eyes widen as he absorbs the information.

Ksharewar graduate. That was a given. Not all Ksharewar graduates were architects, but all architects in Sumere were Ksharewar graduates. The Light of Ksharewar. Seems to be a moniker from a reputation that precedes, rather than an appointed title by the Akademiya. They have never been one for artistic aesthetics—and from the way the author was introduced, the Akademiya would have never given him a title for it.

He looks back through the page, searching for his name, only to find none in the article. Not a single mention, not even his initials.

‘How could you submit a thesis to the Akademiya without a name?’ was his first thought. ‘How did he not have access to the author’s name?’ was his second.

He hears the Akasha beep, its chime resounding alongside the light pitter-patter of feet.

By the time the chime ends, he can no longer access the article he had been looking through.

# Channel restricted from Akasha_Akademiya;

# Connection established to Akasha_Primary;

beep.

You could never fool Alhaitham twice. The moment he experienced something new, he catalogued it. Slotting that particular event into his infinite library of memories.

This is how he realised he was dreaming.

He could tell it was a dream from the way the room looked. The bookshelves freshly varnished instead of cracking old wood. The room three heads taller than what he remembered it to be. A blanket in the corner intricately patterned with embroidered feathers. A large table littered with books and annotated sides and notes mapping out some thoughts and others. A room he hadn’t been in for a few years now, a home that was now simply a house.

His grandmother’s.

He traced his fingers against the swirling carvings on the shelves, on the grooves and bevels. He examined the spines of books he’d etched into memory, and remembered their new homes in shelves of his own. He tentatively slid a book out, tiptoeing to reach for it.

The book was leather-bound, lush in colour with the spine adorned with mauve, swirling patterns. He opened the book in his hands, and the familiar words turn into indecipherable scribbles—a swirling, cursive print that seems ancient in his mind. His eyes began to scan each line and paragraph for anything intelligible, but he fails to find anything written in a language he’d understand.

He frustratedly flips through the pages, trying his best to decipher its contents. The script continued on, each paragraph seemingly more convuluted than the last. He groaned at the text that seemed close enough to the common tongue, yet not quite. Attempting to read through these paragraphs felt familiar, a sense of deja vu washing over him as he tried his best to make out the contents.

He’s broken out of his frustrated reading by a tap to his shoulder. He lifted his gaze away from the book, and found himself face-to-face with a child.

A look of surprise painted the child’s face, a silent ‘oh!’ forming at her lips before she settled into a placid smile. “You can see me? What a delight this is!” She said to Alhaitham. She skipped over to the corner with the blankets and pats the space beside her, the bells on her dress jingling with each step. “Come here, I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

Alhaitham found himself dumbfounded. His legs acting on their own as he strode over to where the child was seated, sitting down beside her cross-legged. Upon further inspection, she doesn’t seem to be the average child. She had stark white hair with ends dyed the same shade as the vision on his belt, pointed ears that seemed to belong to mythical creatures in fairy tales, and an unnatural presence that bordered on sacred.

He was no fool. He’s quite confident he knows who this child was.

The child beside him motioned for him to set the book in his hand down on her lap, splaying the pages open to reveal the garbled text he’d been struggling to decipher earlier. She pointed to a particular paragraph. “Can you read this?”

He shook his head. He couldn’t make out a hide or hair of the book’s contents, even though he was sure that this book was one he had read through before—had likely even reread on multiple occasions.

She sighed, and it sounds like disappointment laced with a telltale tinge of grief. “I see.” She replied, as if his answer weighed down on her whole being.

She looked at him, her eyes reflecting a severe determination. “The Akasha has stolen something dear from you, Alhaitham. It has stolen from you something that will be lost forever if the Irminsul continues in its state of disrepair.”

Alhaitham considered his next words carefully, mulling over the cryptic words. “Do you know a way for me to restore what is lost?” He asked, and he acknowledges the gentleness that seems to lace his tone.

She shifted her gaze away from his, her eyes downcast. “You must restore the natural order of this world.” She paused, conjuring a cage onto the pages of the book. “I’m afraid I can’t help you much, my circumstances have limited my ability to fly.”

She reached for the Akasha terminal at his ear, cupping it in her hands. “I’ve done what I could in setting you free. I will continue to look after the people of Sumeru who have yet to dream.”

“But you, Vultur Volans, you are a dreamer free to stretch your wings,” Her hands glowed, imbued with the power of the purest earth. He felt the Akasha’s hold on him lighten, the terminal fading away.

“Now go, and reclaim what is lost.”

beep.

Log. [REDACTED];

# Data Processed. [REDACTED];

# Projected action: [REDACTED];

# Suggested action: [REDACTED];

# Unknown_Entity Detected. Unknown_Sequence detected;

Warning. You do not have administrative access to [REDACTED];

Their ragtag group of soon-to-be Akademiya exiles was diminished by the count of possibly everyone, and increased by the count of one. Alhaitham realises this as he surveys the area that he had unfortunately fallen into.

This entire desert trip was a disaster, but this experience was probably the worst to have happened since his arrival a whole week ago. This was the absolute worst case scenario: stranded, separated from Cyno and the rest, and stuck with an absolute stranger.

And truly, how unfortunate did this guy have to be to have fallen straight into the brewing storm that was their plan to assail the Akademiya? Why was there a random guy out in the middle of the desert anyway? It was probably best that Alhaitham acted indifferent towards him.

He dusts off the sand that had piled on his clothes before approaching the newcomer—who was still splayed on the floor, his briefcase clutched against his chest like a parent cradling their child. Their eyes were still sealed shut, clearly in some attempt at self-preservation.

“Are you alright?” He asks, outstretching his hand towards the blond that had unfortunately fallen into the mausoleum alongside him.

The blond opens his eyes slowly, seemingly taking in the sudden darkness of his surroundings. He blinks back the sand in his eyes as he gingerly adjusts his grip on his suitcase, shifting his grip towards one of the handles while grabbing onto the hand that was being offered to him.

Alhaitham pulls him up with little effort, scanning him for any injuries in the process.

The man beside him rights himself, dusting off his clothes and fixing his belt. He looks up at Alhaitham and replies “Yes, I’m good. I can feel a scrape on my knee but nothing too serious. How about you?”

The man’s eyes finally meet Alhaitham’s, and his words begin to die on his tongue. Blond hair, tied into a ponytail. Blond hair, tied into a delicate half-do with a crown of braids. A feather was clipped on his ears. Hair held in place by criss-crossing red pins. Eyes the shade of mourning flowers. Smudged Kohl.

The fictional Akademiya man was a real person after all.

Or at least, that was what he would’ve thought if he were depraved and concussed—which he likely was with the way he was staring like a deer in the forest.

The man in front of him shot him a concerned look, abruptly pulling Alhaitham from his thoughts. He takes a deep breath. “I’m fine as well.”

He manages to bite back the words he wishes to say, like: ‘I thought you looked familiar’, or worse: ‘I’ve seen you in my dreams’. He ignores those nagging thoughts if only to give himself peace for a moment. 

The man’s striking resemblance to Alhaitham’s vivid, vaguely ethereal dream man was likely a statistical coincidence. An image his mind had formed from a bunch of Akademiya faces all mushed together to create a person that represented, well, something that not even Alhaitham himself could entirely explain—something within him that he couldn’t be bothered to even dissect.

The man in front of him nods at his response before his face contorts into mortification. “Archons, I haven’t introduced myself!” The blond’s hands flail in embarrassment. “I’m Kaveh, an architect. I was out on a commission from a client who wanted to take inspiration from the Mausoleum.” He extends a hand towards Alhaitham, intent on a handshake.

Alhaitham takes his hand and firmly shakes it. He feels the callouses on Kaveh’s hands much more now, a telltale sign of intensive work with a pencil or pen. Alhaitham feels the warmth of the blond’s clasped palm bleed into his own, similar to the warmth he’d dreamt against this shoulder. He bites the inside of his cheek as he manages to introduce himself.

“I’m Alhaitham, a scribe.” He replies with a firm shake, easily slipping his hand away.

There’s a flicker that reflects in Kaveh’s eyes. A glint that could just be the trick of the light, or his fatigued mind playing tricks on him after running around in the desert for nearly a week. By the time it took for him to register the odd look at all, it had disappeared from Kaveh’s expression.

“Well then, Mr. Scribe,” Kaveh starts. “How about we try finding a way out of here?”

# Access granted to Akasha_Alhaitham;

# Access granted to Akasha_Primary;

[Attached below is an annotated version of the study: The Regional Implications of Dreams: An Analysis into the Prejudices created by the Akasha System from the Journal of Social Work and Community Development for the Desert Region]

Multiple scholars have argued that a Sumeran’s inability to dream serves as a necessary evolutionary response towards the centralised and heavily Akademiya-influenced lifestyle of the general rainforest region and subsequent cities. This is possible due to the existence of the Akasha, which has been widely available to those living within the rainforest regions of Sumeru. [I thought you said they banned this paper because it’s horrendously written? - K// It’s poorly structured, but the data is relevant. - A] The absence of dreams, especially towards those within the sectors of the academe and overall research-focused professions, have found higher turn over rates of produced knowledge and has marked a significant improvement in overall scholarly productivity. The rainforest region also shows significant relevant statistics towards logical thinking and pattern recognition, with children from the rainforest region having significant educational ability in comparison to those from the desert region because of the absence of dreams as a deterrent towards information processing during the pre-adolescent sleep cycle. [They didn’t cite the statistic :c - K// It’s probably lost somewhere in the footnotes, there’s a note - A]

In a similar vein, those who currently work in vocational fields (ie. farming, fishing, smithing) within the rainforest region have shown significantly larger output and overall economic gains in comparison to those from the desert region. As such, certain joint studies by Amurta and Ksharewar scholars have indicated that this absence of dreams that are distinctly present in Sumeran from the rainforest region has led to greater potential for human ability and overall understanding of productivity as a function of the human brain. However, it is undeniable that certain regional conditions, such as external topographical and socioeconomic factors, make these claims less substantiated, but more grounded in prejudice. [Can you believe this is the first source we’ve found that actually acknowledges this point? - K//And that’s exactly why this source is in the restricted section of the House of Daena - A]

These views towards dreams and increases in productivity stem from the belief of the rainforest region’s superiority in comparison to the (READ MORE…)

# Access revoked from Akasha_Akademiya;

After finding their way back to the rest of the group and—quite literally—unearthing the harrowing truth behind the death of King Deshret, Alhaitham was quite ready to return to Aaru village. The depths of their discovery furthered his working theories about the sages and the Akademiya. He was itching at the chance of bring his life back to normal.

And, he had planned to, already packing up the few rolls of parchment he used back into his pouch, until Cyno stopped him.

“I need you to stay here with Kaveh.” Cyno said, followed by something along the lines of ‘Tighnari would be worried’ and ‘he can’t handle the desert alone’.

He had no idea what made Cyno think that leaving him with a guy he had never met before was a great idea. He didn’t make for the most personable company, and he wasn’t about to go out of his way to entertain inane questions. He’d had enough of that for the past week he’d been in the desert.

Besides, if he wanted someone to watch over Kaveh, why couldn’t Cyno—the guy who’s friends with him—do it himself? But Cyno had left before he could protest further, tailing after Dehya and the Eremites.

Which left him here: in the desert, with a man he’d never met before; except he had, in some roundabout way. But the blond in his dream was neither here nor there, and instead it was just Kaveh, the guy unfortunate enough to get himself into the mess that was the growing conspiracy against the Akademiya.

He sighs as he follows Kaveh, the blond holding a Kamera to his face, angling to take a photo.

He hears the click of a shutter, the Kamera whirring to print the photo. Kaveh turns towards him, setting his Kamera back down. Surprise colours his face as he stares at Alhaitham. “Why are you still here?”

Alhaitham shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Cyno told me to keep you company.”

Kaveh rolls his eyes, muttering an exasperated ‘seriously?’ before returning to his Kamera. “Well, you’re free to leave. I can manage perfectly on my own. This isn’t the first time I’ve been to the desert.”

Alhaitham considers it for a moment. It wasn’t as if Cyno could bind him to this place, not after leaving him here on a whim. Kaveh seemed to at least know what he was doing, carrying around his automated briefcase which should have supplies. There are more pressing matters, like confronting the sages. But still…

“I’d rather not get on Cyno’s bad side.” He curtly replied, a half-truth.

Because the whole truth is that Kaveh’s appearance happened so suddenly it was almost prophetic. That the living, breathing man beside him had the same curves and edges as the nameless face in his dreams. That the very set of circumstances that led to this meeting was too comical to be ignored.

Kaveh chuckles at his response, smiling wryly. “Well then,” He motions for Alhaitham to follow him, slinging his briefcase over his shoulder. “If you’re going to be my Cyno-appointed escort, then you may as well help me do my job.”

Alhaitham thinks back to the child in his dream, of the words she practically etched into his brain. The Akasha has stolen something dear from you. He thinks of the Akasha, of all the oddities he’d been experiencing ever since he found himself at the heart of unearthing the Akademiya’s corruption of Sumeru. He thinks of that smile, fond and so full of an emotion he hesitates to name.

He paces after Kaveh.

# Access restricted from Akasha_Alhaitham;

# Initiating recovery. Process triggered by Akasha_Primary;

beep.

They’re seated cross-legged in their laboratory, knees touching beneath the desk, coursework scattered haphazardly across the low acacia table. They worked in relative silence, with only the flipping of pages and the sounds of graphite scratching against paper filling the room.

It’s a comfortable silence, he realised. A silence that spoke volumes louder than any words he could muster. Trust was the first one. Safety was another. Domestic was the one that ultimately rang true in his mind.

The man beside him pushes his hair away from his face, a displeased groan escaping his lips as he furiously erased at his draft. Alhaitham had noticed that he’s been fussing over his hair quite often, most of his locks falling back to the front of his face with each aborted attempt to pin it behind his ears.

He spotted a hair tie lost in the sea of papers that crowded their desk, and a rather obvious solution came to mind. He reached for the hair tie before offering. “Do you want me to tie your hair?”

The man beside him pauses, his hands still pinched around the kneaded eraser. He blinked in evident confusion, his gaze shifting between the hair tie and Alhaitham. “Why do you want to braid my hair?”

“It’s a simple yes or no question, senior.” He stated, a teasing lilt tacked on to the end of his reply. The man in front of him rolled his eyes.

“You were the one who asked me, junior. Besides, you’re a Haravatat scholar, why don’t you put your lessons to use and explain why you want to tie my hair?” He retorted petulantly.

Alhaitham shrugged. He could’ve just dropped it, and let them fall back into working in silence. Instead, he found himself considering a reply, the urge to explain itching at him. “You’re being bothered by your hair. It’s distracting the both of us. If you don’t want to braid it because you’re working, then I’ll do it for you.”

The man goes silent at that, a mischievous glint swirling in his eyes. Alhaitham knew he was up to no good. “Oh, so you find me distracting, Haitham?” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

Alhaitham knew the expression on his face was nothing short of incredulous. “Forget I asked, enjoy getting blinded by your hair, senior.” He scoffed, turning away from the man beside him and returning to his research. He’s about to pocket the hair tie when the blond grabs at it.

“Wait, Haitham, I’m sorry.” The blond started, a wry smile working its way onto his face. “You’re right, I do need that hair tie. I’m going to tear my hair out at this rate if I don’t tie it in place.”

Alhaitham regarded him for a moment, considering whether he should surrender the hair tie in his hands. He nodded towards the blond in understanding. “I understand, senior,” He wrenched his hand away from the blond’s, holding the tie behind his back, his lips already forming into a shit-eating grin. “But you’ve already missed your chance.”

If the blond was going to be a petty menace towards him, then he was going to return the sentiment two-fold.

An affronted gasp leaves the man in front of him, an annoyed ‘you!’ escaping his lips before dropping his project on the table and tackling Alhaitham. He wrestled him for the hair tie, reaching for the hand Alhaitham kept tucked behind his back and the table.

“So much for respecting your seniors! Alhaitham give it back!” He exclaimed, a bit tinny and frowning as Alhaitham dodged another on his attempts at grabbing the hair tie.

The blond righted himself, reaching for the tie by crowding towards Alhaitham. His brows furrowed as Alhaitham stubbornly hid the tie between his fingers. It was easy to wriggle away from the blond’s pathetic attempts at getting his hair tie back. The image of his senior getting so worked up over a hair tie of all things would be seared into his memory forever.

The annoyance on the man’s face washed away, replaced with resignation. He placed his hands on Alhaitham’s lap. “You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

“I have nothing but the utmost respect for you,” Alhaitham replied sagely at his non-question, thoroughly amused. He removed his hand from his back, bringing it in front of the latter.

“Petty.” The blond reached for the hair tie, but pauses midway. He looked up at Alhaitham.

“You know what? You do it since you’re such a respectful junior. My fingers are covered in charcoal right now, and I don’t want to get even more of it on my hair.”

Before Alhaitham could come up with a retort, the latter had turned around, settling against the younger, his back facing Alhaitham.

He looked at the tie in his hands, then at the golden locks in front of him. If a fond smile began to creep up on his face, then his senior was none the wiser.

beep.

Log. 1349531

# Data Processed. Akasha_Alhaitham located in [REDACTED]. Estimated signal strength: 00ss;

# Data Processed. Akasha_Alhaitham has made contact with Akasha_Primary;

# Warning. Jnana Collection discontinued;

# Data processed. Access granted to Akasha_Primary. Access restricted from Akasha_Akademiya;

# Entity Detected. Status Unknown. Labelled Nahida;

# Access to Jnana terminal restored;

Kaveh sets a plate of food on an empty spot on the table. Alhaitham tilts his head away from the parchment to face him, raising a brow.

“It’s dinner,” Kaveh says. “Cyno said you haven’t eaten yet, so I figured you’d be hungry.”

Alhaitham hadn’t noticed the time, absorbed in organising the information he’d gotten from interrogating the two sages behind the entire desert conspiracy. He had left the two sages in the all too willing hands of Dehya and Rahman— and he was confident that they wouldn’t do anything too bad to the sages.

He had felt a headache forming at the edges of his temples, the exhaustion from the day's events finally setting in. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but the past few days had taken a toll on him. He was ready to pass out, his mind too fatigued for anything other than rest.

But then Kaveh walked in, two plates of piping hot Aaru mixed rice in hand— a dinner invitation.

Alhaitham nods, not denying the blond’s statement. “You didn’t have to.” He sets aside the stacks of parchment he’d been poring over, placing his pen on top as a paperweight.

“It’s the least I could do after you stayed behind at the mausoleum,” Kaveh replies smoothly. He sits across Alhaitham, setting his plate of food in front of the latter. “Consider this compensation for your troubles.”

If this were any other person, Alhaitham might’ve left it at that, simply nodding as he took the plate of food without further complaint. However—

“So you do have a sense of self-awareness, after all. I was beginning to think that you just existed on a different plane entirely” — This was Kaveh, the man who seemed to have an uncanny resemblance to the man in his dreams, to the flashes of memory and emotions he’s been pushing far back into himself.

Alhaitham was a researcher at heart. Of course, he wanted to see if Kaveh would rise to the bait. He wanted to know if Kaveh would react the same way his dream blond would. Would Kaveh scrunch his nose, turning away from Alhaitham the way the blond in his dream did after being teased? Would he reply in a particularly whiny manner? Would they fluster the same; laugh the same; smile the same?

Kaveh crosses his arms, feigning annoyance. “Don't give me that attitude, you could just say thank you for the food, you know? I actually cooked this to give some to you.” He says, a cheeky expression on his face.

“Whatever you say.” Alhaitham shakes his head. “And if you wanted to compensate me, you should’ve done so with mora.”

Kaveh flusters, turning away from him with a huff. “Well if this was how you’re going to react then I guess I shouldn't have made some for you at all.” Alhaitham can’t help but catalogue his reaction: how predictable—the exact same as the blond in his dreams.

Though the latter isn’t facing him, he can feel Kaveh’s eyes on him as he takes a bite of the food. “Does it taste good?”

It was a hearty, flavourful thing, spices significantly stronger than the ones he’d used back at home—most likely due to the conditions the herbs were dried in in the desert. Alhaitham lets out a satisfied hum. “Did you not taste your own cooking before serving it?” He asks the blond teasingly.

Kaveh rolls his eyes. “You could have just said you liked it! No need to annoy me to death about it.” He sighs, bringing a hand to his temple. “Now I’m really regretting making you anything.”

Alhaitham chuckles at Kaveh’s words. The blond was just too easy to tease, so easily riled up, so defensive and ready to argue—And against Alhaitham’s better judgement: comforting, to see it in his waking hours instead of those vague images in his dreams. It was amusing to see his face contort with each emotion colouring his face.

“Alright, alright.” Alhaitham raises his hands in mock surrender. “It’s good food. Thank you, Kaveh.” They fall silent after that, eating their food in relative peace, the scratching of utensils against glass plates the only sound reverberating in the room.

The silence gives way to Alhaitham’s thoughts: The growing, nagging feeling tugging at his heart strings each time his brain dared to connect Kaveh to his dreams; His odd encounter with a girl who he was quite sure was the dendro archon herself; His inability to access the Akasha System with his terminal apart from the log book he had found.

The logbook severely bothers him, especially since it updates ever so often, but even less so since the logbook apparently marked his terminal as disconnected from ‘Akasha_Akademiya’. Seeing his actions reduced to an algorithm—one that calculated his every action, every decision and every interaction—was enough to throw him off kilter.

His life was slowly unravelling from the confines of his self-applied normalcy. His personal life had been put through the ringer, his work life threatened by the changes the sages wished to implement.

And it was admittedly terrifying. Each day with a new discovery had meant much more for the future than anyone could’ve anticipated. No one had expected the sages to go against the Akademiya’s fundamental principles. No one had expected the blasphemous creation of a new god. No one had expected the truth behind King Deshret and Greater Lord Rhukkedevata.

And Alhaitham hadn’t expected to be caught in the middle of it all in an attempt to preserve his way of life. Hadn’t expected to be all the way in the desert instead of reading from the comfort of his home library. Hadn’t expected to be plagued with dreams that conveniently filled the empty spot in his chest at the thought of his Akademiya days.

Alhaitham can feel Kaveh’s gaze shift from him to his plate, feeling the blond’s eyes bore into him. He wondered if Kaveh could hear his thoughts, wondered how he’d react to the knowledge he’d been hiding behind. Would Kaveh find it amusing— maybe tease him for running his mind ragged with what could be a coincidence? Or would Kaveh entertain his thoughts— maybe indulge him, strengthen the dreams' truths as they manifest into real life.

He dismisses the thoughts running through his head. “Do I have something on my face?” He asks, and Kaveh freezes.

“No, it's nothing.” Kaveh starts, averting his gaze. He can see the way the blond's hands fidget with his shirt. He was nervous “It’s just that, well…”

“Well?” Alhaitham parrots.

“Are you from Haravatat?” Kaveh asks sheepishly.

Alhaitham blinks, caught off guard by the question. “I think I made that pretty clear back in the mausoleum.”

Kaveh sighs. “I mean yes, you did make it clear. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t making a fool of myself to someone from the same darshan. Can’t have the “Light of Ksharewar” be anything less than...” He admits awkwardly, clearing his throat as he looks back towards his plate.

A realisation hits Alhaitham, and the thought of it amuses him. “ Is this your way of making conversation? Was the silence too unnerving for you?”

Kaveh rolls his eyes. “Well, I apologise.” He drags the words out, clearly flustered. “It wouldn't be this hard if my conversation partner weren’t so dull. You do realise I’m the one who keeps initiating here.”

“If you’re finding it hard to talk to me then you’re free to leave,” Alhaitham replies. “It’s not my fault that your poor social skills make it hard to hold a simple chat.”

Kaveh scoffs, seemingly affronted, as if Alhaitham’s words had slighted his honour. “Poor social skills? Pot, meet kettle.”

Kaveh glares at Alhaitham, the latter levelling him with his own amused gaze. They stay stuck in that moment for a while, Kaveh’s annoyance melting away into something unreadable, something far away where Alhaitham can’t reach.

Finally, Kaveh laughs, amusement spreading flush across his body.

His laugh is a pretty, familiar thing. It bellows from his stomach and escapes through his lips in a manner that strikes Alhaitham with such clarity that he can’t help but question his sense of reality.

Alhaitham doesn’t know what to do with that.

The dinner with Kaveh was locked away with a host of other memories Alhaitham would rather not talk about.

He didn’t want to think about the way Kaveh smiled, warm with the way it spread across the blond’s lips. He didn’t want to think about how easy it was to tease the blond, the latter always reacting regardless of what Alhaitham did. He didn’t want to think about that faraway look, as if Kaveh knew something that he didn’t.

And he really didn’t want to think about those dreams. The ones that got clearer with each passing night. The ones his mind made up to torment him.

He doesn’t want to think about dreams of hiding between the House of Daena’s shelves, two students, wet behind the ears as they break into the Akademiya’s restricted section. He doesn’t want to think of mournfully watching from the sidelines as the blond slipped away. He didn’t want to think about the implications of keys that came in pairs, of cafe servers knowing their orders, of a tired barman chuckling at their antics.

Of the blond, and his striking resemblance to Kaveh that there was no other explanation that would’ve made sense other than it really was him, and yet it was simply impossible.

He had never met Kaveh before, not until they were hurtling into the mausoleum. And he was sure of this because he knew he could never forget someone like Kaveh, could never forget the dreams his mind would conjure.

It was all a dream, inane—insane fiction.

And yet.

beep.

“Something is bothering you.” The girl says, announcing her presence to Alhaitham. He blinks, making sure that she wasn’t just a figment of his imagination conjured from fatigue. She really was in the room. “Is it those dreams that bother you so?”

Alhaitham meets her gaze, her green eyes shining with mirth. “Do you find my torment amusing, Lesser Lord Kusanali?” He asks, tacking on her name accusatorily.

She chuckles at him, undoubtedly due to his use of her name. “Please call me Nahida, unless you’d prefer I call you by your official title, Grand Scribe Alhaitham?”

He shakes his head at that, and Nahida shoots him a small smile in reply. She lets a few blooms grow around her, their flowers snaking their way across the floor and towards his feet. “Come, sit with me, we have much to talk about.”

He follows her instruction, sitting down on the floor against the bed of flowers that miraculously sprang in his dingy inn in the desert. “How com you’re here?” 

Nahida points to his Akasha terminal, the device long since abandoned on his side table. “Ever since I’ve managed to make contact with your terminal, I’ve been able to collect enough energy to project my image out into the open world.”

“It helps that you’re a dendro vision holder too! The resonance for the energy needed to accomplish this would’ve been much more difficult if you wielded a different element.”

Alhaitham considers her answer—and her presence carefully. He can’t help but wonder why exactly she appeared to him. He wasn’t the most devout, nor was he acting selflessly. He’d just fallen into these set of circumstances out of a professional curiosity (for a lack of better term).

But those would be the wrong questions to ask, not with the information he had right now. There was a more pressing concern here, one that involved the very device she was projecting herself from. One that involved his dreams—his visions?—of a different time, slotting perfectly in the gaps of his lonely memory.

“Why am I able to dream?” He asks, hoping for a clear answer.

Nahida seems to have expected the question though. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I can’t give you the answer to your question, lest your mind succumb to the sheer weight of its existence.” She replies congenially, a frown tugging at the edges of her lips.

“All I can say is that everyone can dream, the people of Sumeru especially so.” She conjures a mourning flower, pressing the flower against his hands. “But, you must be aware of the Akasha’s functions, no?”

“It’s why I asked in the first place.” He replies, gently taking the mourning flower from her. He knows that the Akasha uses dreams to further the distribution of knowledge in Sumeru, it was something taught at a very young age. The disappearance of dreams was symbolic, one that the people of Sumeru associated with shedding away the innocence of youth. The Akademiya peddled that narrative, ingraining with it a culture that dared to dream with words and ink.

“But if you, the Archon herself, can not answer my question, then who am I to have asked at all?” He says, a statement akin to a throwaway line. Empty in nature.

“You don’t believe that, do you?” Nahida replies, and it is this statement that convinces Alhaitham of her wisdom.

Alhaitham simply nods at her, and Nahida stops, considering her next words. She closes her eyes as she speaks. “Well, seeing as I can not deter you from knowing the truth, I can at least guide you to the wisdom you seek.”

Alhaitham feels the dendro energy in the room swell, its power pulsing against the floors and creeping through the walls. “There will come a time when the truth of Sumeru will be revealed, and when that time comes, you will find your answer nestled deep within your heart.” She places her hand against his, cupping his hands and the sole mourning flower blooms. “If you are truly as wise as I think you are, this answer will feel just right.”

“What you wish to do with that answer is all up to you.” She opens her eyes, her irises glowing a fervent shade of green. “But, my advice? Seek it out, no matter the cost.”

beep.

Seeing as Kaveh had unfortunately wound up in their plans to confront the Akademiya, the blond, ever righteous as he was, volunteered to be a part of it.

No one had objected, not when Kaveh’s presence would probably throw off the Akasha’s predictions for their next course of action. Admittedly, no one in their ragtag group had the heart to object to him. Not when his own passion towards dismantling the current system stemmed from his own compassion towards the people affected by the Akademiya’s self-serving way of ruling Sumeru.

They were heavily banking on the Akademiya’s computation not taking into account the fact that they’d all work together, especially Alhaitham. Besides, if the log book about himself he found on the Akasha was anything to go off on, then the system hadn’t even considered factoring in that possibility at all.

They had pored over all the details of the plan multiple times, spotting potential pitfalls and tying loose ends as neatly as they could. They were working on a tight deadline after all— with Jnagarbha Day looming on the horizon.

That plan was how he had ended up in Kaveh’s company on his trip back to Sumeru City.

They were going to travel together until they split off at Avidya Forest, Kaveh heading back towards his home in Gandharva Ville to try and convince Tighnari while Alhaitham went towards the Akademiya, reporting back to Azar with the scrolls he found in the desert, altered to incite an unexpected panic at the heretical resurrection.

They had managed to hitch a ride with a Sumpter Beast taxi back at Caravan Ribat, the pair stopping near Port Ormos by nightfall. Staying here for the night was their safest bet—specifically Alhaitham’s. He knew that there would be a handful of Akademiya spies who would tail him had he arrived earlier in the day.

Alhaitham followed Kaveh as the latter dragged him through the busy streets, Port Ormos transforming completely beneath the moonlight.

His thoughts nag at him again, something about the aching familiarity of their motions. As if this wasn’t the first time Kaveh had dragged Alhaitham, leaving him and his schedule at the mercy of the blond’s whims. As if the way their steps fell in sync, the sight of the back of Kaveh’s head, or the grip on his wrist betrayed far more than it did.

He lets Kaveh take the lead. Putting his trust in him completely as they end up drinking at Djafar’s Tavern, Kaveh calls for one round after the next, each reason for each pint as wild as the next one that left his mouth.

He lets Kaveh talk his ear off, the blond telling various stories from different parts of his life. A story about his earlier days and the pressure of following his mother’s footsteps. A story about a commission he took, pointing towards the arch bridge by the port’s centre, calling it ‘his baby that he poured his heart and soul into, but not as much as the Palace of Alcazarzaray’. A story about his life in Gandharva Ville, about ‘changing paces’ and ‘getting back on his feet’.

He doesn’t interrupt, absorbing every word Kaveh said. His storytelling rivalled those of bards in distant lands, of storytellers in nearer shores. Each experience was colourfully built, almost as if Alhaitham himself were watching these moments unfold before him.

And there was Kaveh himself, radiant even when drunk—‘tipsy! Just tipsy! I’m not drunk Alhaitham, I can carry my own weight’. He was giggling now, and perhaps Alhaitham was drunk too, with the way his cheeks flushed at the sight.

He puts an end to their short stint at the tavern, footing the bill with his mora before looping one of Kaveh’s arms around his shoulders and putting one of his own behind his back, supporting the blond on their way back to their inn.

“Oh, come on Alhaitham. I’m not that drunk.” Kaveh says, words much more coherent now that they were away from the tavern. “I can walk on my own just fine.”

“You clearly needed help standing up a while ago,” Alhaitham replied, adjusting his hold on Kaveh.

Kaveh shakes his head as he leans towards Alhaitham. “Oh trust me, I can walk on my own.” A devious smile forms on his face. “I just wanted to snuggle up against something warm, and who can blame me? It’s so cold right now, junior.”

Alhaitham stumbles, Kaveh jolting along with him. He can feel his heart jackrabbit against his chest, those thoughts coming back to gnaw at him again. Kaveh looks at him with concern, their almost stumbling enough to sober him out of his drunken stupor. “Are you okay, Alhaitham?”

Alhaitham swallows, taking in the sight of Kaveh’s carmine eyes glossed with concern.

Junior. He said it so naturally, as if it were reserved for Alhaitham alone. As if there were no other juniors and seniors. There was no way his dreams weren’t about Kaveh.

He’s almost tempted to ask, tempted to reach out into the deepest depths of his mind with his dreams and feelings and lay it out for Kaveh to see. Let Kaveh be the judge of his dreams, let him make meanings and write beginnings for each, let him breathe life into them the way he did his own stories.

Instead, he nods, his words failing him. Kaveh removes himself from Alhaitham’s hold, taking his hand in his. He slots their fingers together, a shy smile forming on his face. “There, that should be easier for both of us.”

Alhaitham’s gaze pans downwards towards their linked hands. Against his better judgment, he smiles. “Yes, it seems that would be.”

They leave Port Ormos by the crack of dawn, the sun’s rays peeking beyond the horizon, bathing the lush forests in a soft golden glow.

They don’t talk much about what happened at the tavern, nor do they talk about what happened after. Instead, they trek through the winding paths in Ardravi Valley, their conversation filled by lighter topics, like Cyno’s puns— ‘did you know he got the Traveller to laugh at some of them?’ he says, followed by Kaveh’s distressed ‘Oh no! That’d encourage him more’— or the odd nature of floating fungi, because ‘why were they so adorable yet so dangerous?’

Alhaitham likes to think there’s a silent acknowledgement between them, at the very least. With the way Kaveh’s light touches lingered for much longer than it should; the way they shared a waterskin despite both having their own; the way they seemed to crowd towards the other’s space; the way they’d lean against each other for a short break.

He lets his guard down upon seeing Vimara Village in the distance, confident that the rest of the way would be much safer due to how often he frequented the route.

He takes their relatively peaceful trek as a chance to carefully sort out his own feelings. An absolute mess it was, with the way each circumstance had thrown a wrench into his perfectly normal life. He had let them simmer for far too long, his head swimming at the implications of each event. Each dream—each memory?

Why was he always following Kaveh? Always seeing the back of his head? Always being led by his hand?

Why give him dreams of a man he had never met at the time of his dreams, but wishes he had? Why now, when they were stuck in a situation that could mean life or death? Why Kaveh, when they had simply ended up in this situation through pure coincidence?

He almost called it fate, entertained the notion of destiny in his head, just like how he entertained the thought of Kaveh aligning with that nameless figure in his dreams.

Kaveh squeezes his shoulder, bringing Alhaitham out of his thoughts.

“We’re here,” Kaveh says, voice a whisper. They can see the grand sprawling elder tree upon which the Akademiya was built on the horizon, the sun’s rays rolling along the clouds, bathing the world below in a subdued afternoon glow.

“We are. Just in time too.” Alhaitham remarks. Beyond the usual, Alhaitham found himself waiting for Kaveh’s reply—for a remark or anything. It was as if he was compelled to keep listening, to lend his ear, to prod and potentially pry.

Kaveh looked in the opposite direction, setting his sights on the path towards Gandharva Ville. He spares a look towards the space between them, then towards Alhaitham’s face, meeting his eyes.

Alhaitham sees that expression in Kaveh’s eyes again, the one he wore back at the village centre after their awkward dinner, the one he hid away at their time at Port Ormos. He couldn’t read them back then, as if he had become distant, but Alhaitham could see them clearly now.

It contains sorrow, poorly concealed.

And the questions swirl within his head again, Alhaitham tempted to reach out—wanting to provide comfort; Wanting to understand what could cause such an expression to appear on the blond’s face; Wanting to steal away that expression and seal it in the depths of his thoughts unseen.

Instead, he falters, watching as Kaveh schools his expression to neutrality.

The blond catches him off guard, surprising Alhaitham by pulling him into a tight embrace. Kaveh squeezes Alhaitham’s arms wrapped against his, as if saying ‘don’t worry’. Alhaitham can’t help but shake at the familiarity of these motions, as if this hug was something they’d done before, from a past he cannot recall.

But common sense dictates that there is no shared past, because Alhaitham would never be able to forget the warmth that spread throughout him—would be unable to forget the feeling of safety and comfort it could exude. Common sense would dictate that Alhaitham would never forget someone like Kaveh.

But the evidence said otherwise, with the return of his dreams and the uncanny resemblance between Kaveh and the mystery blond in his dreams. The evidence dictates there is something there, bubbling and threatening to boil over. The evidence dictates that something is afoot, that something was taken.

“Good luck,” Kaveh whispers into his neck, before gingerly slipping his head away from Alhaitham’s neck and facing him head-on. Alhaitham finds himself longing for that touch, for the sheer overwhelming feeling of Kaveh’s head resting against his shoulder, for the weight of his lips as he says the words into his neck. 

Daringly acting against his better judgment, Alhaitham decides to gently put their foreheads together. Alhaitham hears the way Kaveh’s breath hitches, and he finds himself staring at Kaveh’s eyes, cataloguing the shades of red that shape them, the curl of his lashes, the sight of near-invisible bumps along the bridge of his nose.  

“Good luck to you too, senior.”

Playing the linchpin role was not one Alhaitham had seen himself assuming.

It had left him vulnerable—at the risk of losing everything, all for the sliver of a chance to preserve what little normalcy he had left. All for the sake of an Akademiya that could return to what it once was, if he could be blessed with the chance to truly see it for what it was supposed to be.

But he knows that it had become more than that, grown in magnitude that it would be willful ignorance on his part if he asserted that it was still his sole motivator. It was why he placed himself in such a precarious situation, knowing full well it could only be him. The rational choice. The only choice.

Because it could only be him, or how else would he finally get the answer to his questions?

So, when they finally manage to overthrow the sages and free their Archon, Alhaitham feels relieved.

It’s temporary, undoubtedly. The Sages’ treason had left ugly, festering wounds in its wake, effectively uprooting the Akademiya and the Sumeru he had known and grown up in. The lingering effects are palpable in the emptiness of the Akademiya’s offices, in the silence of its halls.

But for now, there’s only relief. It was finally over. He could finally return to his normal life: to his work as the menial minute taker, to his house with his collection of books, to his routine of simply being.

Except it wasn’t that simple, because Nahida was in front of him, talking about one final thing she needed to do to fully ensure the safe termination of the Akasha: the returning of Jnana energy to Sumeru.

“Just shutting down the Akasha isn’t enough. We need to return the Jnana energy because its absence has caused the Irminsul to tamper with human cognitive memory.” Nahida explained, her eyes on the dendro construct in front of her.

There it was, in all its glory, the manifestation of the Jnana energy. The purest form of leyline: human memory.

“Jnana energy was listed in a few entries of the logbook, specifically every time my brain seemed to spike with particular activity. The Akasha wasn’t just feeding off dreams, was it? It was taking memories too?” Alhaitham clarified, though he was already confident that she would confirm his theory.

“When the Sages set out to create a supposed ‘Greater Lord’, they managed to program the Akasha to siphon off the most vulnerable of human connections to the Irminsul: memory. Looking through all the change logs, Ksharewar scholars collaborated with Spantamad scholars of the time to synthesise memories through dreams, creating Jnana energy with a particular set of data collection points.” Nahida spread her fingers against the dendro construct, the shape exploding into a starburst of interconnected webs pulsing with energy.

“From the looks of things, they didn’t only use it to monitor citizens, but also to serve as a data pool for when the time comes that this ‘Greater Lord’ can be brought to fruition. Essentially, they were using it to not only provide the more human knowledge, but also to gather what the people of Sumeru wanted from their Archon.” She tapped the construct once more, the points synthesising back into the solid mass of pure ley energy it originally was.

“In essence, all that energy is stolen memory. You just want to return it back to everyone through the Akasha terminals.” Alhaitham says, trying his best to mask his discomfort at having to use the Akasha for any longer than necessary. He can’t help but be reminded of the algorithmic logs about him, about his life, about all the redacted lines and missing memories.

“It’s the most convenient route.” She says. “Everyone has one, regardless of the levels of access you actually have to the knowledge within the Akasha. It’s also the least painful method on the human brain, seeing as most of the nation has sort of built their lives around the offerings of the Akasha.”

Alhaitham nods at her explanation, and he thinks her lack of any other statements must mean that their conversation was over— that all he had to do was simply perform his duty as the Grand Scribe. He waits for her dismissal though, because he understands the relevance of providing Nahida with the ability to dismiss him: Autonomy.

She looks at him and smiles. “You know, I figured if anyone would understand the importance of returning these memories, it would be you. Out of everyone in Sumeru, you were the one I managed to reach out to. Aren’t you curious as to why?”

Alhaitham thinks it over in his head. He was curious, undeniably so, at what made it easier for Nahida to contact him out of every single person connected to the system. He knew he wasn’t the only one Nahida had managed to contact, considering the Traveller, but he knew he was the only Sumeran she managed to communicate with on such a regular basis. What had made him penetrable? What had made him different was that a weakened god could slip in through his dreams and effectively disconnect him from the system.

But then, he thinks of the blond man in his dreams—he thinks of Kaveh— and he thinks he knows how Nahida managed to slip by undetected. Nahida simply slipped into something familiar, she slipped into the role of a dreamer.

“I think I’ll let the Jnana energy speak for itself.” He replies, and he sees her smile grow even wider.

“In that case, you’re dismissed, Alhaitham.”

Log. 1918941

# Transfer of administrative access from Akasha_Akademiya to Akasha_Alhaitham;

# Termination of Akasha_Akademiya. Established;

# Process Underway: Jnana Retrieval for Akasha_Alhaitham;

beep.

Alhaitham found himself dressed in his old Akademiya robes, watching from a distance as a particular blond made his way across the stage.

It had been months since they’d last spoken to one another, and what remains of their ill-fated attempt at working together turned their thesis into a destructive testament to a difference in ideals. Kaveh’s martyrdom had led them to ruin, had led to the blond carrying too many pieces until he failed to even keep himself afloat.

‘A labour of love’, the blond had called it once, a year before its inception and inevitable breaking point. ‘That’s what a thesis made by us will be’.

But there was no love left, not when all that thesis did was take and take and take. He knows of the difference between genius and the ordinary, he understands that these two never mix. He knew that the Akademiya, in its attempts to bridge the gap between the two, offered grand titles and even grander benefits. But true genius didn’t need to exist behind that. It simply existed above it, with no fault of its own aside from simply being naturally given.

The blond, ever the idealist, didn’t seem to understand that, insisting instead on being charitable; that a genius extend himself to the point he is stretched too thin, to ensure that everybody else will remain. His altruism had consumed him whole, and Alhaitham had been unable to stop it. Look where that labour of love had gotten them.

It had gotten them here: to the blond’s graduation, no longer speaking, no longer acknowledging. It had gotten them here: where Alhaitham watches from the sidelines as the blond walks into the real world and away from the Akademiya—the last thing that kept the two of them together. It had gotten them here: where Alhaitham doesn’t know whether to bid farewell or to keep himself rooted in place, forever watching over his blond senior no matter how hard he tried not to.

He looked absolutely radiant: his eyes lined with practised traces of bright kohl, his hair braided into a loose tail thrown over his right shoulder. He held himself with the gait of a man who had finally won, and Alhaitham couldn’t help but feel pride, as misplaced as it is for him to feel that way towards his senior.

But he couldn’t help it, Alhaitham was aware of how hard his senior had worked to scrounge up enough data and faculty support for a completely different thesis—not wanting to spend any longer writing his gods forsaken paper and getting his license. He knew that the blond was especially motivated to finally bring his idealism out into the open. Alhaitham just hoped it didn’t come back to bite him.

Alhaitham watched as the man accepted his diploma, shaking hands with the sage of the Ksharewar Darshan. He watched as his senior strode towards the centre of the stage. For a moment, the blond seemed to scan the crowd.

Alhaitham wondered if his senior saw him, if he knew that Alhaitham was still here, lurking in the shadows, still miserably trailing after his senior but hesitant to approach. Alhaitham wondered if he’d forgive him for being here, on a day that was decidedly the blond’s victory—a celebration of his ability. He wondered if the blond would meet his eyes and finally acknowledge him beyond pointed jabs and snide words on the sides of different journals and papers.

He stared straight at the blond—at Kaveh—as the latter bowed deeply towards the crowd. When Kaveh righted himself, Alhaitham swore he saw tears.

There was once a time when he’d have let Kaveh do anything to him, would let the blond lead him in circles and have himself be chased after. There was once a time when he’d finally understand the intricacies of his beating heart, and trust Kaveh to take care of it. There was once a time when they’d share a look, and that would be enough.

He would still let Kaveh do all those things. He would let himself be dragged, and be pestered, and be amused. But that was then, and this was now. Alhaitham couldn’t continue to hold the moon for a sun that no longer shone.

Alhaitham allowed himself one last glance at his senior, before slipping out of the auditorium.

beep.

“You will get yourself [REDACTED]!”

“And you can’t seem to understand that you’re being [REDACTED][REDACTED][REDACTED]!”

“Why don’t you see it the way I see it, Kaveh? You’re [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] yourself!”

beep.

“Senior, are you sure you can handle all this work?” Alhaitham asked, breaking the solemn vigil they’d been holding in their research lab.

It had taken a while for Alhaitham to notice that Kaveh had been unnecessarily swamped with more work than he could manage. It had started with the offhand spell check or two, but had then snowballed into Kaveh taking literal subsections of other parts of the thesis in addition to all his own work as one of the primary researchers.

The point was, Kaveh was doing all the unnecessary miscellaneous work, such as organising data tables and graphs, when he should have been focusing on decoding the data and synthesising their findings. They had contributors and co-researchers for a reason. He wasn’t supposed to be doing their work. If anything, their help should be the ones picking up the load.

And Alhaitham was not about to let Kaveh burn himself to the ground with his stubborn idealism.

“I’ve already told you, Haiyi. I can handle it. Don’t worry about me.” Kaveh had replied, and while Alhaitham was sure he was trying to go for reassuring, he could tell the blond wasn’t wholly confident in his own answer.

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham tried again, forcing Kaveh to meet his gaze. “Are you sure?”

Kaveh simply nodded, returning to the papers strewn all over the laboratory table.

Alhaitham knew that it was difficult to pull Kaveh out of these moods, and that it would be doubly so so long as he was still immersed in his work. As such, he resorted to the next best thing.

Alhaitham walked out of the shared space and towards the other room, the makeshift kitchen-slash-dining space. If he couldn’t get Kaveh to stop taking on more work, at least he could get the latter to relax for a few moments.

He turned towards the coffee beans, making sure to get the right ones before preparing them for the percolator. He knew it was only a matter of time before Kaveh stalked out of the room, searching for the scent.

Kaveh slinked out of the shared laboratory as soon as the coffee had filtered into the pot, a small smile on his face as he finally recognised what Alhaitham had prepared. “Is that coffee-“

“It’s using your preferred blend, yes,” Alhaitham replied, pouring the finished drink into two mugs. “But I’ll only give you yours if you sit here with me for a few minutes.”

Kaveh gasped, once again pulling out that dramaticism he enjoys tormenting Alhaitham with. “But!”

“No ifs or buts. I’m serious here, Kaveh. If you’re going to take on more work, at least take a bit more time to rest.”

Kaveh manages to school his expression, all his dramatics melting away to give way to an unspoken fondness, “Alright, you win this time, Alhaitham.”

Their arms brushed against each other as they drank in companionable silence.

beep.

“And your method is any better? I [REDACTED][REDACTED] can’t even [REDACTED][REDACTED]!”

“You [REDACTED] altruism is just another form of [REDACTED][REDACTED][REDACTED]!”

“Well, you’re an egocentric [REDACTED][REDACTED][REDACTED]! I can’t believe you [REDACTED]”

beep.

“Why are we doing this again?” Alhaitham asked as they sneaked past another one of the night guards.

“Because, junior, you need to live a little! There’s much more interesting data to be found in the restricted section than there is in just the House of Daena.” Kaveh replied, voice lowered to a whisper as they made their way through the unnervingly quiet library.

These nightly overtures of theirs started out as a simple request. Kaveh would show up to his dorm, all but begging Alhaitham to be his dubbed partner-in-crime in another silly escapade that lasts well into the night. Alhaitham would grumble a bit, feigning disinterest in some odd game of cat and dog, but would eventually relent because even he had to admit that having his life summed up to Eat-Sleep-Akademiya wasn’t the healthiest.

“Just so you know, if we get caught, I’m going to blame it all on you,” Alhaitham stated blithely, going through the motions as he trailed after Kaveh, hand in hand. 

“You keep saying that, and you also keep saying that you’d never come out with a guy as annoying as me ever again, but look where that got you!” Kaveh replied cheekily, and Alhaitham just knew that a self-satisfied smirk had managed to work its way onto Kaveh’s face. As per the usual.

Alhaitham found himself thinking up ways to trip Kaveh up, just to see how far he could rile up his already excitable and reactive senior. He could pull them against one of the bookshelves and trap Kaveh against them. He could pretend to have panicked at the nightguard spotting them. Or worse, he could even bring up another weakness of his poor senior, the supposed ghosts of the House of Daena.

But in the end, he didn’t manage to enact even one of these plans, as they somehow manage to run into a night guard as they turned into the final corner of Kaveh’s supposedly new and improved route to the restricted section.

They found themself at an awkward standoff with the night guard, the guard clutching onto his lamp as if he were checking if there really were two students in front of him, and not just a figment of his imagination. Kaveh had practically frozen beside him, his short-lived satisfaction replaced with one of abject horror. 

Alhaitham found himself grinning a bit at the turn of events.

The guard seemed to have finally gotten over his entire inner panic and had begun to stride towards them. And while Alhaitham did say, time and time again, that if they were ever caught, he would let Kaveh take the fall, well…

He couldn’t do that to his hapless senior, who had done nothing but be one of the few genuinely caring and understanding people Alhaitham had in his life. He couldn’t just leave his poor, bullheaded senior to fend for himself.

Making his decision, he yanked Kaveh’s right arm in the opposite direction, heart leaping out of his chest as he looked Kaveh in the eye. He didn’t need to say anything, simply squeezed the blond’s hand. This tactile silence was how they had operated best. 

Kaveh gave him a small grin, and with that the two of them sprinted off, stalking into the shadows of the House of Daena.

beep.

“I regret ever [REDACTED] you!”

“Wait, [REDACTED]! You know I don’t mean that. [REDACTED], come back.”

“[REDACTED], I’m done. I can’t watch the man I [REDACTED] while [REDACTED].”

beep.

Alhaitham found himself standing in front of his house—their former research laboratory, he recognised— knowing full well that there was someone else inside his home.

He took a deep breath to centre himself, steeling himself against the growing haze of pinpricking anxiety that emanated from his front door. This was it, the very heart of it all, the beginning and the end of it all. This was the moment that would irreversibly change the way he understood the world; the moment his reality would finally become clear.

He had known Kaveh. He had known him well, had cared for him, had understood him and his differences. And, if he had acknowledged it during their time at Akademiya, loved him just as much. 

He didn’t even have to reach for his key. He already knew that it was unlocked. He already knew that there was something aching behind those doors. He simply pushed his palm flat against the door and watched as his front door swung open.

He carefully stepped inside, his eyes taking in every detail. The atmosphere had felt oppressive, the generally airy and light air replaced with a sombre weight. Each step felt heavy, as if he were stirring something unbidden. He could see papers strewn haphazardly across the floor. He could see scrolls and pens scattered about. He could see ink pots and tattered pages and…

He could see Kaveh, in the middle of it all, seated dazedly in the heart of the aftermath. This was a younger Kaveh, a Kaveh he knew he never really saw. This was a Kaveh built from the last bitter dredges of his feelings after they had fallen apart.

Alhaitham couldn’t help but notice how defeated he had looked. This Kaveh was not one he remembered, he had no frame of reference for a Kaveh fresh in such an oppressive disbelief. He had seen Kaveh annoyed; he had seen him amused and chipper; he had seen him in grief, regardless of whether it was fresh or something smoothed.

But he had never seen him like this, with such an obvious guilt pressed against the set of his shoulders.

“Why did it come to this?” Kaveh whispered, his own breathing uneven. “I don’t even know where it went wrong.” He said to no one in particular, as if he weren’t addressing Alhaitham in the room.

“With what in particular?” Alhaitham asked, slowly approaching.

”With…the thesis, the data collection, the people. Just, everything.” Kaveh finally lifted his head up to face Alhaitham, his eyes glossed over with a vulnerability that floored the latter. “But especially you. Especially us.”

Alhaitham found himself taking a few deep breaths, regaining his bearings as he processed the words being spoken to him. “You were good to me.” 

“But was I good for you?” Kaveh had replied, with no hesitation between Alhaitham’s answer and his own. “Were we good for each other?”

“You were my best friend.” Alhaitham slid into a sitting position, carefully sidling to see eye to eye with Kaveh. “You still are. You’re still the best person I have ever met.”

Kaveh shook his head, resigned. “You don’t use titles. You don’t care for them.”

“But I care about you.” Alhaitham set his gaze on Kaveh’s hands, tilting his head towards them in silent permission. He waited for any sort of rejection—for this version of Kaveh to push him away, to retaliate, to say too little, too late.

But this Kaveh didn’t do that. Instead, he nodded, letting Alhaitham take his hands in his. “And because I care about you, I know that you’ve wanted me to acknowledge you as my best friend to the whole world.”

And he remembered the way they’d argued about it too, and while it had been lighthearted Alhaitham knew that it had always stung for Kaveh. His stubborn refusal to use such a juvenile title had caused Kaveh to doubt their friendship, and even if Alhaitham could show him just how much he really meant to him, it would never fully heal the festering doubt Alhaitham’s own refusal had grown. 

“And I know we’ve bickered about the semantics of it all. I know I shut it down and called it childish, but Kaveh, believe me when I say that you are my best friend. Believe me when I say that you mean the world to me. You have changed me for the better. You have made me grow even in your absence.”

For Alhaitham, he didn’t need those titles, because he simply felt Kaveh’s importance, the magnitude in which he had taken Alhaitham’s life and the inevitable change he’d caused Alhaitham to go through. Kaveh had made him better, had made him more than the bottled moniker of a genius, simply by understanding him. 

Alhaitham thought that he understood Kaveh, and that Kaveh had understood the sheer weight of Alhaitham’s love for him without him needing to say it. That had always been how they were, a tactile operation.

But that had been his understanding of how Kaveh would think, not how Kaveh actually thought. It was foolish of him to expect Kaveh to understand his feelings when he failed to translate them into a manner that Kaveh understood the world with. He had been incredibly short-sighted.

No wonder Kaveh had wanted him to use his words. For a Haravatat graduate, he had royally failed to use his words.

Never again.

“We were imperfect, yes, but we were good. We were everything. You mean everything to me. I’m sorry I ever made you doubt it. I’m sorry it took this long.”

He watched as Kaveh stared at him, mouth slightly agape as he processed his words. Alhaitham had bared everything, had finally put them out in a way only Kaveh could fully understand. He watched as the blond’s lips slowly upturned into a smile.

beep.

Alhaitham found himself pulled into a hug, Kaveh wrapping himself tight across his waist as he is buried into Alhaitham’s chest. He couldn’t help but return the hug fiercely, savouring the touch,

beep.

“I’m glad you’ve forgiven yourself,” Kaveh had spoken into his chest. Alhaitham felt the room’s oppressive atmosphere dissipate, leaving only him and Kaveh. He thinks he could exist in this moment of clarity forever.

Kaveh raised his head from Alhaitham’s chest and faced up towards him. He surged forward, planting a soft kiss on Alhaitham’s forehead. “Now, go, and find me in the waking world too.”

beep.

# Process Completed: Jnana Retrieval for Akasha_Alhaitham;

# Terminal Akasha_Alhaitham has been shut down.

[Attached below is a stocky note slotted against a multitude of others on Lambad’s message board. The return of Jnana energy and subsequent memory has led to a sudden influx of citizens using message boards as a means of reaching out.]

Kaveh,

 

 You know where to find me. 

 

Your best friend, yours always

- A

The ring of the doorbell had Alhaitham practically leaping out of his skin to get to the front door. He found himself swinging the door wide open, relieved to find that the person on the other side was exactly the person he had been waiting for.

Ever since his memories had returned he couldn’t help but replay the last bits of it in his head, of memory Kaveh and him reconciling. He was getting antsy with the knowledge the longer he stewed in his memories.

“Hi,” Alhaitham manages to breathe out, his relief palpable in the sudden laxness of his shoulders.

“Hi,” Kaveh parrots, trying to go for nonchalance but failing to do so. “I got your note.” He holds out the folded note in his hand, waving it a bit. “May I come in?”

Alhaitham nods, moving aside to let the blond into his home. He watches as the blond pockets the note, slips off his shoes and pads into his home—their former research laboratory, it must be jarring for Kaveh. It had jarred him too, to wake up here knowing the history behind it.

“So, this is the place where it all began…” Kaveh starts, taking in the sight of the repurposed space. 

“Yeah…this is where we…” Alhaitham tries to get more than a few words out, but inevitably trails off as he takes in the sight of Kaveh—the real, living breathing Kaveh—in his space. It felt right to have him here, even with all the horrible things that had lived and breathed in these four corners.

“You need better interior decor,” Kaveh says, chuckling slightly. “These curtains are hideous and a real shame to the natural lighting this place provides.” 

“I actually quite like it,” Alhaitham replies, suddenly defensive. Kaveh can’t help but raise a brow at his sudden behaviour.

“Though I’ll keep what you’ve said in mind.” Alhaitham tacks on awkwardly. He and Kaveh share a seemingly impassive look. It only takes a beat or two before Kaveh starts giggling.

“By the Archons, we’re horrible at this,” Kaveh says in between a few stifled laughs. “Here we are, making small talk about curtains, instead of talking about our feelings like real adults do.” 

“I don’t know about you, but I think curtains are a pretty adult topic.” Alhaitham snipes, and he can’t help the chuckle that leaves his mouth.

Kaveh rolls his eyes at that, and they find themselves lapsing back into silence again. Alhaitham wants to push, and he can feel that Kaveh does too. But all of this is new territory, and neither of them wants to be the one to screw things up.

But it was frustrating Alhaitham too. For the first time in his life, he wants to be able to actually do something about this. He wants to keep this connection alive. He wants to be able to call Kaveh his best friend, to let him know he’s the most important person in the world, as long as Kaveh will let him. He wants Kaveh to know everything that happened in between, and everything that happened before and after.

“Would you want coffee?” Alhaitham suddenly asks, remembering how fond Kaveh seemed to be of his blend of beans. Kaveh nods, shyly.

They find themselves in the kitchen, waiting for the percolator to finish brewing the beans. Kaveh was on the other side of the kitchen island, seated on one of the stools. He was content to let the smell of the coffee waft through the air, hoping the familiar scent would relax both of them enough to properly talk.

“I’ve been looking for this scent. Every time I make a cup of coffee, I keep thinking something is missing. Turns out, it was this.” Kaveh shares, deeply inhaling.

Alhaitham smiles as he moves towards the percolator, the finished coffee sitting at the bottom, ready to be served. “It was your favourite.”

“I remember. You used to make me coffee all the time. I remember having to slave away every night and then you would pry me away from the desk with a cup of coffee. Sometimes you’d offer to braid my hair too.” He feels Kaveh watching him intently as he pours the coffee into the mug, adding the slight dash of milk that he remembered Kaveh enjoyed with his drink.

“What other things do you remember?” He says as he hands the cup to Kaveh.

“I remember that we’d sneak into places we weren’t supposed to. I remember that we’d annoy each other using different research studies and annotate random texts for shits and giggles.” Kaveh took a long sip of the drink, humming in satisfaction. The content smile on his face was enough for Alhaitham.

“I remember we were quite mean to each other,” Alhaitham adds. “Not in a genuinely vile way, we weren’t cruel. But we kept teasing each other and dragging the other around and-“

“And we didn’t talk.” Kaveh finishes, setting the mug down on the counter and gesturing for Alhaitham to move closer to him. Alhaitham finds himself leaning on the counter right in front of where Kaveh was seated. 

“We never did, even when you wanted us to.” Alhaitham looks right at Kaveh and— “I’m sorry, for not bothering to meet you halfway.”

Kaveh looks up at him, clearly startled. “You don’t have to apologise for that. If anything, I have to apologise to you for not seeing what was right in front of me. You were so obvious, but I kept second-guessing myself-“

“And that wouldn’t have happened if I had bothered to actually say what I meant, properly.” 

Kaveh’s gaze shifts, as if suddenly hit with the same clarity Alhaitham had. They were no longer the young, ever-bickering Akademiya students they once were. Yes, they were slightly emotionally constipated, but they at least had half a mind to simply exist without pretence. They were finally seeing each other.

“Well then, I guess that just means we’re both at fault.” Kaveh chuckles, his eyes crinkling in amusement. Alhaitham watches as the bright kohl around Kaveh’s eyes thins as he smiles. Smile lines. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

“We have.” Alhaitham smiles back, taking another sip of the coffee, letting the warmth of the drink calm him as he reorganises his thoughts. 

In the end, it’s still Kaveh who manages to put his thoughts into words. “You didn’t leave that note just for us to reminisce, didn’t you?” 

Alhaitham shakes his head. The original intention was always to talk about what would come after for them, given their circumstances. Alhaitham was already plenty interested in Kaveh prior to unearthing all of this history between the two of them. He knows their history might’ve soured whatever other potential directions their relationship could’ve gone if their meeting in the desert had really just been fate.

Alhaitham just wants to know where they stand now. 

He doesn’t expect it to be a happily ever after. He and Kaveh are too old to be fooling themselves into thinking whatever relationship they have could be simplified into such shallow tropes. But he doesn’t want to lose their friendship, doesn’t want to lose the bond whose absence had made his waking hours a dull ache. He doesn’t want to lose Kaveh again.

“I just wanted to know your thoughts on…our relationship moving forward.” He admits, using much softer language than he’d intended. It seems so hopeful, and he really didn’t want Kaveh to feel pressured to maintain contact with him just because he felt so strongly about him.

“I’m terrified, actually,” Kaveh replies, as if he’d been practising this. “I’m terrified that we’ll end up slipping back into pretending we know everything about each other. I’m terrified I’ll wake up and realise I don’t actually know you anymore.”

Kaveh’s gaze settles on his hands. “May I?” 

Alhaitham nods, and Kaveh ends up taking Alhaitham’s hands in his own and kneading them. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes I made last time. I want this to work.” He looks Alhaitham in the eyes, determined. “Is that what you were hoping I’d say?” 

“That’s more than what I was expecting,” Alhaitham replies.

Kaveh falls silent at that, his fingers continuing to knead thoughtful circles into Alhaitham’s palms. “How things ended in the past are still affecting us until now, but that doesn’t mean that it will define us forever. Do you trust me to make sure it won’t define us?” 

“I do. I trust you with many things, Kaveh.” Alhaitham rubs back against the fingers kneading against his palms. He shifts his hands a bit until they’re half clasped, half wrapped against Kaveh’s. “Just as long as you can trust me to do that too.”

“Of course,” Kaveh affirms, slowly his hands away from Alhaitham. 

He gets off the stool and begins to walk over to Alhaitham’s side of the counter. “Then let’s start over. No titles, just us. ” Kaveh says, with a smile.

 He stops right in front of the latter, his hand outstretched.  “Hi, I’m Kaveh.” 

Alhaitham clasps Kaveh’s out with his other hand. “I’m Alhaitham.” 

He lets Kaveh’s warmth seep into him, like a cat lounging in the sun. This was the warmth he’d been missing. He sees the amused twinkle in Kaveh’s eyes, finally understanding the emotions behind those eyes.

Alhaitham lets himself be pulled into the hug, laughing as Kaveh squeezes tightly against his ribcage. He returns it with the same force, as if they’d wanted to fuse. 

“I’ve missed you,” Kaveh says, eyes beginning to gloss over with happy tears. 

To his better judgement, Alhaitham leans their foreheads together and says— “I’ve missed you too.”