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The Sanctuary of Surasthana was quiet that evening, the only sound the faint creak of branches swaying in the night breeze. Nahida had finally drifted off to rest, her breathing even and calm as she leaned against a stack of half-finished books. Wanderer lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at her.
He hated how small she looked, especially when she was asleep. Too fragile. Too trusting. And yet, she was the one who had taken him in, without hesitation. It ate at him.
He shifted his weight, scowling.
'I should do something. Repay her, somehow.' Immediately, his thoughts turned into annoyance and he rolled his eyes. 'What could he possibly give her?'
“Flowers? Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, pacing across the room. “She’s surrounded by plants all day. What’s she going to do, press it into a book and pretend it’s special? Tch.” Books were out of the question too. He snorted at the thought. “The Archon of Wisdom doesn’t need another dusty tome. She’s read more in a year than I’ll ever bother with.”
Food, then? He grimaced, remembering the last time he tried to cook during one of those insufferable “lessons.” Nahida had politely said it was edible, but he knew better. “I’m not poisoning her just to say thank you or whatever.”
He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration.
“So what then?”
His gaze drifted across the room, to the scattered wooden puzzles Nahida had been carving earlier that day. Small blocks, intricate shapes, toys and trinkets made with her delicate hands. Things she didn’t need, but enjoyed making anyway. Wanderer’s frown deepened. The idea lodged itself in his mind before he could shove it away.
'…I could make something.'
Immediately, he wanted to reject it. He wasn’t good with his hands. He wasn’t patient. He wasn’t meant to create things - only to destroy. For the first time in a long while, he hesitated not because he didn’t care....but because he did.
'It's a stupid idea anyway. She doesn't need anything. And I don't own her anything or-'
He was still thinking about it the next morning. His feet carried him to the market before he realized it - an irritating habit, when his body seemed determined to betray his thoughts. He should’ve just stayed in the Sanctuary, but instead he found himself standing amidst the chatter of merchants and customers, the air heavy with spice and dust.
He scowled, tugging his hat lower. 'What am I even doing here?'
Up ahead, a familiar pair caught his attention. Dehya and Dunyarzad had stopped in front of a stall draped with bright silks, the table covered in jars of kohl and shimmering powders.
“Do you think this color suits me?” Dunyarzad asked, lifting a small pot of rose-colored pigment.
Dehya chuckled, leaning down with a smile that was so disgustingly gentle it made Wanderer’s stomach twist. “Everything suits you. But yeah, that one looks especially good.”
Wanderer rolled his eyes so hard it nearly hurt. Make-up? Really? That’s what people give each other? As if painting your face makes anything better.
But Dunyarzad’s shy smile at Dehya’s words lingered in his mind as he walked past them.
No. Nahida wouldn’t want something like that. She doesn’t need to change anything. Besides, she’d probably end up giving it away to some kid the second she got it.
He turned down another row of stalls, muttering under his breath, “Useless.” He cut down another street, but the market was just as lively here. Music spilled faintly from a cluster of dancers, the air filled with clapping and laughter.
Nilou stood at the center of it all, bright as sunlight, speaking with a few members of her troupe. One of them held up a bundle of ribbons, each dyed a different shade, while another fussed over a half-finished costume.
“I still think blue fits better for the festival performance,” one said, adjusting the cloth between their hands.
“But pink feels more alive!” another countered, holding the fabric against Nilou’s arm.
Nilou laughed softly, twirling once so the ribbons fluttered around her. “They’re both lovely. Why don’t we combine them? A little blue, a little pink - they’ll balance each other out!” she clapped her hands together. Her troupe mates exchanged doubtful glances, but Nilou just smiled, calm and unwavering. “What matters most isn’t the color,” she added gently, “but the feeling behind it. When people see the dance, they’ll feel the joy we put into it. That’s what they’ll remember.”
The others fell quiet, their small dispute dissolving as they nodded.
Wanderer lingered at the edge of the crowd, his frown tightening. 'Always with the optimism. So stupid-' He wanted to scoff, to dismiss her words as naïve. But the way her troupe relaxed, the way they smiled and carried on, made it harder to shake off.
'So the thing itself doesn’t matter, as long as the intention is there?' He crossed his arms, tugging his hat lower to shield his expression. 'Tch. Easier said than done.'
He turned away before anyone could notice him, weaving back into the flow of the market. Still, Nilou’s voice clung to him like the lingering notes of a song.
He thought he’d shaken Nilou’s words off, but just ahead, two familiar voices rose above the noise - sharp, irritated, and impossible to ignore.
“I’m telling you, this one is better!” Kaveh argued, gesturing wildly at a stack of ceramic cups. “The glaze is uneven, yes, but it has character. You can’t just dismiss it!”
“It’s flawed." Alhaitham, arms crossed and entirely unimpressed, replied in his usual flat tone. "A cup’s purpose is to hold liquid, not to look pretty while it cracks in your hand. Function matters more than sentiment.”
“Function? Function?!” Kaveh practically exploded. “So if someone made you something with their own hands, you’d throw it away because it wasn’t perfect? Unbelievable!”
The vendor looked increasingly nervous as Kaveh picked up the cup, turning it over like he was about to launch it into Alhaitham, who look unfazed.
“If he cared,he wouldn’t give me something poorly made in the first place.” Alhaitham sighed.
“Heartless! Cold! Do you even know what affection is?” Kaveh clutched the cup dramatically to his chest, scandalized.
Wanderer walked by the scene with a scoff, ignoring the rest of the blonde's rant, though the corner of his mouth twitched. Pathetic. Arguing about cups in the middle of a market.
And yet… the words lodged uncomfortably in his mind.
If someone made you something with their own hands…
Further along, he spotted Cyno and Tighnari at a spice vendor. Tighnari was rattling off names at lightning speed, while Cyno nodded solemnly, pretending to understand.
“-and this one can help soothe an upset stomach,” Tighnari finished, holding up a small jar.
Cyno glanced at the vendor, then back at Tighnari. “Do you sell it in bulk? I know someone who’ll need it after hearing one of my jokes.”
The vendor blinked. Tighnari groaned.
Wanderer snorted despite himself. Spices, huh? Practical. Thoughtful, even. But Nahida doesn’t cook, and she’d probably want me to ‘share the meal experience’ or something equally irritating. Neither of them needed to eat, strictly speaking either. And medicinal herbs felt...not like a good gift.
Wanderer was already turning away from the spice stall when a small voice piped up.
“Master Tighnari, do you think Amber would like this?”
Collei stood a step away, holding up a small wooden charm painted with bright Sumeru flowers. Her eyes shone with quiet hope, though her hands fidgeted nervously around the trinket. Tighnari’s ears twitched. He took the charm, examining the strokes of paint.
“It’s lovely. She’ll appreciate that you thought of her.”
“I just… I want to send her something from here." Collei’s cheeks flushed pink. "So she knows I’m doing well.”
Cyno, solemn as ever, nodded. “It will make her happy. Gifts are a way to express bonds across distance. …Unlike my jokes, which only create distance.”
“Cyno,” Tighnari groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
But Collei giggled, clutching the charm to her chest with renewed confidence. “I think she’ll love it.”
Wanderer lingered for a moment, gaze sharpening. So she just picks up the first cheap trinket and suddenly it’s meaningful because it’s for someone she cares about? Ridiculous.
But Collei’s quiet smile stayed with him as he turned away, weaving back into the bustle of the market.
…No. Not ridiculous. Not to her.
The thought irritated him more than he cared to admit. He didn’t want to acknowledge the warmth that crept beneath his ribs, or the uncomfortable comparison it drew - how easily Collei acted on her feelings, and how he couldn’t even decide what to do for Nahida.
He slipped into a quieter alley, the chatter of the market dulling behind him. His steps slowed, and for once, there was no one left to overhear his thoughts.
…Sentiment. Intention. Imperfections.
Words he’d scoffed at, yet here they were, clinging like bugs he couldn’t shake off.
His jaw tightened. “What am I even doing, listening to all that nonsense?”
But Collei’s smile resurfaced anyway, soft and stubborn. Nilou’s calm certainty. Kaveh’s dramatics, Dehya’s gentle grin. Each scene replayed in his mind, irritatingly vivid. He stopped in his tracks, scowling at the cobblestones.
If he brought Nahida something meaningless, she’d see through it instantly. If he bought her something perfect, polished, expensive... it wouldn’t be hers. Not really.
Which left only one option.
"Unbelievable. This is so stupid.”
Still, his feet carried him down the quieter row of stalls, until the air was thick with the smell of fresh wood shavings. Small carvings lined the tables: animals, toys, blocks half-shaped into puzzles.
The woodcarver glanced up, startled, as Wanderer stomped toward the counter.
“I need wood. Tools,” he muttered, voice sharp as ever. “The kind you’d use to make a puzzle.”
“…Planning a project?” Wanderer tugged his hat lower, gaze flicking away.
“…Something like that.”
He had shoved the bundle of supplies into a corner of the room, half-hoping he’d forget about them. But they sat there like they were staring at him. He shouldn't be stupid. Like, the supplies themselves were already a good enough gift, in theory. Buer enjoyed crafting those useless things. She'd probably make more use of the blocks than he would. He stared at the bundle again.
“Tch. Fine.”
He unwrapped the blocks and tools, setting them out on the low table. The smooth, untouched wood glared back at him.
“How hard can it be? She just… cuts shapes into these things all the time.”
The first attempt splintered almost immediately. He scowled, sweeping the ruined piece aside. The second cut too deep, the pieces no longer fitting together. By the third, he had snapped the blade in frustration, the sharp crack echoing through the room.
Wanderer hunched over the low table, a small mountain of discarded blocks piled at his side. Splintered edges, grooves cut too deep, shapes that refused to fit. He pressed a hand over his face, muffling a groan.
“Of course. Naturally, I can tear apart automatons, cities, gods themselves - but a block of wood? Impossible.”
Another sharp snap as the knife bit too far. Another ruined piece tossed aside. His fingertips burned, tiny cuts stinging where the wood had bitten back.
“Useless,” he muttered. “All of it.”
Another block, another attempt. His hand slipped, shaving too much off one side. Now it was lopsided. Useless as a puzzle piece. He lifted it, ready to throw it onto the pile - but stopped.
He turned it over in his hand. The curve was uneven, the edge clumsy, but… if he squinted, it almost resembled a little sprout. Or a leaf. He clicked his tongue.
“Tch. Whatever.”
The knife scraped again. Not a puzzle, then. Something simpler. Something he could force into shape, even if it wasn’t perfect. The knife rasped again. Not cleanly, but steadily. The hours blurred, scraping, sanding, gritting his teeth against splinters and frustration. Until, at last, something sat in his palm.
A charm. Small, crooked, the surface uneven where he’d sanded too harshly, but still...not perfect but recognizable.
“It’ll do.” He stared at it, breath held.
He almost didn’t hear the soft footsteps padding past the doorway.
“Wanderer?”
“What?” He jolted, shoving the charm into his sleeve. Nahida stood in the hall, a book tucked under her arm. She tilted her head, blinking.
“I thought I heard… Never mind. Did you need anything?”
“No.” His shoulders stiffened.
"“All right." She smiled faintly. "I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Her steps faded again, quiet as ever. Wanderer sat frozen for a long moment, the charm heavy in his hand where he’d hidden it. Finally, he let out a sharp breath, scowling down at the rough little figure.
“…She didn’t see. Good.”
When Nahida returned to her reading nook, she closed her eyes for a moment, a small smile touching her lips.
He must have dropped it in his exhaustion. The charm sat on the ground, next to the door of the sanctuary next morning, wood catching the pale sunlight. Nahida paused as she noticed it, her fingers brushing gently over the uneven surface.Later, when Wanderer returned, she held it out with both hands.
“You left this behind.”
His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing into a scowl. “Tch. I told you not to-”
“I like it,” she interrupted softly. “Did you make it?” He froze. Words tangled in his throat.
“It’s...It's nothing. Just… scraps. Just throw it away.”
“I think I’ll keep it close. It feels… precious.” Nahida smiled instead. Wanderer’s glare faltered. He turned away sharply, hiding the flush creeping up his neck.
“…You’re insufferable.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to deal with me keeping it.”
"Whatever. If you want to keep trash laying around, that's on you Buer."
A few days later, as he passed by her desk, his steps slowed.
The little tree charm sat neatly atop a stack of books, tucked beside her quill as though it had always belonged there. Later still, he noticed it dangling from a delicate cord, woven into the end of her braid.
Nahida never mentioned it again. She simply kept it with her.
And Wanderer never asked for it back.