Chapter Text
The last time these many dignitaries were gathered together in one place, Azar was still the Grand Sage.
Al-Haitham massages his brow as he walks into the Sanctuary of Surasthana, taking in the present conglomerate. There is Cyno, Sethos, Rukh Shah, and even the arrogant Vahumana student whom the Archon has taken under her wing. A few other important figures are there, but the Acting Grand Sage has never bothered knowing their name.
He had initially wanted to decline the meeting, believing it to be related to the event planning for the upcoming Sabzeruz festival (where he would have definitely been of no use). However, when Panah told him that this was a gathering requested specifically by the Archon, Al-Haitham had no grounds to decline.
Soon, Nahida walks in. Once the initial greetings are exchanged, the Archon immediately gets to the agenda, putting up a projection on display.
“The Abyss’ attacks on Natlan have suddenly increased in frequency. We are doing our best to contain the situation here, but I urge you, fortify your borders and stay vigilant. The Abyss is hard to predict. Be careful.”
The screen goes off, leaving behind a chamber of confused and worried delegates, all looking at their Archon for clarifications.
“I received this message from the Traveler this morning,” Nahida looks around the room, her voice grave. “I was made aware of the situation in Natlan, but things seem to have become serious overnight.”
“You mean the strife they had always had with the Abyss?” the General Mahamatra asks, his serious tone in stark contrast to his usual, upbeat self. “What is the current status of things? And why even is the Abyss after Natlan? ”
“According to the texts in the Temple of Silence,” Sethos answers. “Natlan’s leyline networks were destroyed in a calamity of the past, following which the Night Kingdom was established. It serves the same purpose as the leyline networks, but it is isolated from the rest of Teyvat. The Abyss has always targeted Natlan for this reason, and constant wars over the aeons have weakened their Night Kingdom.”
“Exactly.” Nahida nods in approval. “Our ley lines are stable for most part, but we still need to be on guard in regions near the Natlanese border, like the west of Hadramaveth and Hypostyle Desert. If those borders fall, it will not take long for the Abyss’ rampage to spill over into the rest of Sumeru.”
“Are the desert dwellers aware?” Al-Haitham hopes not to make his suddenly tense state apparent. “We have multiple researchers and adventurers out on expeditions in the desert, many of whom are capable enough only to defend themselves against hilichurls.”
Wanderer laughs, and all eyes in the room turn to him.
“What?” he scoffs, a disdainful smile pasted on his face. “You are foolish to believe that the Abyss will send simple hilichurls to cause trouble. These are not the everyday monsters of the Abyss Order that you are dealing with, Acting Grand Sage — they are far worse than that.”
“Wanderer is right,” The Archon sighs. “The Abyss is an entity with a mind of its own, and a power that is completely analogous to the elemental powers of Teyvat. It is the power responsible for corrupting King Deshret, making Irminsul sick, and causing the Withering in the rainforest. It is the culprit behind the Cataclysm 500 years ago. The Abyss Order just chases the power of the void realm; the realm in itself is extremely cunning and disastrous.”
“Has Natlan asked us for any reinforcements?”
“Not yet, Rukh Shah,” Nahida shakes her head. “However, keep some units at standby. I do hope the situation does not become that dire — the power of resurrection only extends to the Natlanese, and even then, only under special circumstances. The power of the Abyss corrupts and kills; We have already seen that with Eleazar. I would not wish for the lives of our people to be endangered without valid reasons.”
“I believe it would be wise to dispatch forces to Caravan Ribat,” Al-Haitham muses, “and Aaru Village and the Temple of Silence, among other key locations. We can situate patrols to survey the perimeters, and report back any incidents to the nearest base. The faster the aid reaches the affected, the lesser damage we sustain.”
“It is indeed the best way to combat any danger that comes our way, but…”
“Parchamdarji,” Nahida cuts in, her eyes glowing green. “I understand that arranging resources suddenly is a momentous task. You can always ask the Eremites and our other desert brethren for help.”
“But Archon, our resources are involved with the Sabzeruz festival, and the Eremites alone won't be able to handle this crisis—”
“Redirect our resources, then. Effendi can help you with that,” Nahida’s voice is stern, arms crossed. “This situation is the utmost priority. I appreciate your venerance to give my birthday the utmost respect, but we cannot celebrate a festival over dead bodies now, can we?”
“Of course not, Devi Kusanali.” Rukh Shah bows his head. The Archon’s silent rage is evident, for she rarely uses official terms to address the council. “We will work on reorganising the forces right away.”
With a curt nod, Nahida turns to the others. “Cyno and Wanderer, work with the Corps of Thirty to survey the area. Estimate the forces required at each strategic location and dispatch them as soon as possible. Sethos, I would like to request aid from the Temple of Silence to house our soldiers for the duration of this situation. Al-Haitham and the other Mahamatas, release a decree to the entire Sumeru administration advising them to keep an eye out for any suspicious activities. Alert the Sumeru public, and keep a sharp eye on the area beyond the Wall of Samiel.”
Nahida gets back on her chair, her form glowing green. “I will try to gather more information on the situation. Stay calm, and keep each other updated. Together, we can see this through.”
The rest of the day passes amidst a rush of paperwork and orders. People are cautioned against the upcoming danger and advised against travelling in the wilderness. Decrees are put into place, and resources are redirected from festivities to strengthening Sumeru’s defenses. Patrols are stationed across the key points in the desert. Word is sent to Caravan Ribat and Aaru Village, advising them to cease the outflow of people and deploy their best defences.
Al-Haitham walks out of the Akademiya to his home. Around him, the streets are in a frenzy. Corps of Thirty are putting up notices on all available bulletin boards and prominent wall spaces. People are scuttling about, talking in hushed whispers about the announcement circulated some time ago. The desert-dwellers, merchants and outlanders appear distraught, some worrying about their goods and resources, others praying for theirs and their family’s safety.
Kaveh is also out in the desert, Al-Haitham ponders. But he does not know exactly where the architect is, and the lack of that particular knowledge scares him.
The last time he had properly talked with Kaveh had been a few weeks ago, in the House of Daena. After the whole Temple of Silence fiasco with Cyno and Sethos, he and Kaveh had returned to the library to arrange the books back in their respective shelves. Familiar environment and comfortable company brought back missed memories. Soon, they were engaged in erudite discussions, just like they used to do in their Akademiya days.
Maybe it was the thrill of their hushed discourse, heated but balanced, like magnets pushing and pulling each other. Maybe it was the quiet of the library, the secluded corner they had found becoming a tiny world of its own. Maybe it was nearly a decade’s worth of feelings — regret, resentment, nostalgia, longing — all piling up together, initiating a burgeoning reaction of their own.
Al-Haitham remembers the feel of soft lips on his slightly-chapped ones, their taste reminiscent of the Fatteh they used to share while staying up late in the dorms. He remembers the feel of Kaveh in his arms while the blond’s callused fingers had danced through his hair and across his back, knowing just the way to leave him wanting for more. He remembers the heated passion that crested between them as they poured their hearts out and bared their entire self in that one singular moment.
The dazed look in Kaveh’s eyes when they broke apart for air had left Al-Haitham craving for more. His affections for Kaveh were definitely not unrequited, and his heart had raced with this knowledge and the anticipation for their future.
He had felt it come to a jarring stop when Kaveh’s expression fell, and he pushed Al-Haitham off.
“I-I need to go,” was all the blond had stammered as he had gathered his things and left in a hurry, leaving a confused and dejected Al-Haitham in his wake.
“Uh, Sir?” A meek voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and Al-Haitham flinches. He finds himself in the familiar neighbourhood of his home. The cleaning lady gives him a semi-apologetic look as she gestures to him to step aside to allow her to continue her work.
Muttering an apology, Al-Haitham quickly unlocks his house and rushes in, closing the door behind him.
The establishment is dark and dusty, with hardly any traces of someone having lived there recently. From what Al-Haitham knew (thanks to a letter generously left by Kaveh), his roommate had left for the desert for some urgent commission and had no estimate on his returning date. Meanwhile, with the Sabzeruz Festival preparations, and now the impending crisis over Natlan, Al-Haitham had kept himself holed up in his Akademiya office, coming home only to sleep and shower.
He trudges across the living room and sits himself heavily down on the divan. Everything is grimy and in a fray. The fruits are as they had been two weeks ago, some of them going bad. Al-Haitham does not find it in himself to care. There is only one thing he misses — the presence of the blond who sits across from him on the table, the one who would always keep prattling over hot meals and fine wine.
He sighs, turning off the hearing aids built into his headphones. What is the use of these devices if the house is already deadly silent?
As the chaos of the world quiets down to a dead silence, his repressed emotions rise to fill in the void. A part of him is angry at Kaveh, maybe even resentful. The architect’s habit of running away from his problems is not lost to Al-Haitham, but Archons, it hurts to be on the receiving end of it. Al-Haitham knows very well why Kaveh dashed from the library that day and subsequently went to the desert for an undefined amount of time — he is not ready to accept his feelings and face the situation at hand.
Kaveh has always been the one to try his utmost best to avoid any confrontation, either by bending over backwards to satisfy his peers or just running away from his problems altogether. This was one of Kaveh’s multiple flaws that irked Al-Haitham, and a topic they regularly used to argue over back when they had dated as teenagers.
Even now, in the face of confusion and bewilderment, Kaveh predictably ran to his work, the first (and probably the only) thing he feels extremely sure about.
And now the desert is in danger, Al-Haitham ponders grumpily. What a way to get himself out of ‘trouble’, huh?
The scribe closes his eyes, letting his head fall back on the headrest. He wonders what Kaveh would actually be doing at this moment. Has he gotten the news in time about the looming danger? Or is he still exploring the desert without caring for his safety, intent on finishing his work and delivering his best to the client? Or is he just sloshed out somewhere, using alcohol as the medium to keep his worries away?
It is one of those days when he wishes he could just give up on his feelings for Kaveh and move on with his life. Al-Haitham is already so tired with Akademiya work and his emotional turmoil of requited-yet-unrequited feelings, that worrying about Kaveh right now seems a task.
He is surely safe, and I'm positive we will find him in time.
The silence does feel a bit abnormal, but in the face of exhaustion, it now feels comforting. With the ghost of the kisses from before calming his heart a bit, it is not long before the Scribe lets his worries take a backseat for the time being, and allows sleep to finally capture him in its embrace.
Al-Haitham jerks awake to the world shaking.
Instincts make him grasp the headrest tight, as if he would fall off the sofa without the support. He looks around to find the hall in a much worse disarray than he remembers. A painting on the wall that Kaveh had bought from his last trip down the Grand Bazaar lies on the floor, broken glass shards all around it. He looks up to find the chandeliers swaying back and forth, indicative of a recent earthquake.
Al-Haitham gets up quickly, wincing at the cramp in his neck caused by his bad posture. His sleep had been fitful, and he can feel the telltale signs of an oncoming headache. He rubs the dirt out of his eyes, turning his aids on. The chaotic noises from outside make his head throb. It takes him a moment to reorient himself before he can hear the urgent knocking at the door.
Making himself presentable as quickly as he can, Al-Haitham strides to the door. Outside, Effendi is standing, his face pale, sweat dripping down his brows as if he has just run a marathon.
“A-Acting Grand Sage, the Abyss—” The man is wobbly as he gulps in air, trying to get a hold on his words. “Th-the desert… it is under attack.”