Work Text:
‘So this is where you went, Sister.’
‘Where else would I’ve gone, Brother?’
It was late in the afternoon, so although the artificial sun still shone brightly, the glass panes of the ceiling were already darkening. Alisaie sat on the cliff edge of the highest stratum of Labyrinthos dangling her legs off the ledge. Alphinaud crouched to take a seat beside her, but not before brushing the dirt away from the platform with his hand. The Studium’s classes had ended for the day, and the two students had been freed from their schedules, if not their responsibilities.
The many levels of the volcanic cavern unfolded before them, a manifold love letter to Sharlayan ingenuity written in marble whites, verdant greens and the occasional brown of a windmill blade.
Alphinaud rubbed his nose. ‘It’s certainly a lovely view.’
‘My favourite spot.’ Alisaie turned her head away to hide a slight smile.
The breeze picked up as the silent fans of the nearest monument redirected the air flow. Floating in that lukewarm wind were the sweet scents of new flowers brought in for cultivation, none of which the siblings knew the names for.
‘So, have you done your homework for tomorrow’s Aetherology class?’
‘Alphinaud, I don’t come here to think about homework.’
The quiet returned to the two of them. Alisaie studied the gleaners going to and fro in the distance below as absent-mindedly as one did a trail of ants in the cracked soil. Alphinaud clasped his hands and twiddled his thumbs.
‘...It must have been rather inefficient, ploughing fields with animals,’ Alphinaud said, gazing at the automata minding the fields of Meryall Agronomics.
‘...What?’
‘I said—’
‘No, I heard you the first time,’ Alisaie interrupted. ‘I meant, what brought that on?’
‘Oh, right, of course. Well, I was thinking of oxen ploughing because of today’s Language lesson. You’ll hear about it soon.’
‘Yes, I know, half a year from now, you don’t need to say it every time.’ A pout had taken the smile’s place on Alisaie’s face. ‘Why did you talk about oxen ploughing in Language class?’
‘Boustrophedon.’
‘...Boustro-what? Don’t just produce the word, tell me what it means.’ He does so love to be asked for more details, she thought.
‘It means to write left to right, then right to left when you reach the end of the page, then left to right again and so forth. Alternating every line, as it were. The same way an ox would plough the fields, hence my observation.’
Alisaie scoffed. ‘Wondrous. Some Archon in the distant Sharlayan past thought to revolutionise writing, I imagine.’
‘Well, not quite,’ Alphinaud replied while crossing his arms. ‘In reality, it began with—’
‘Not now,’ Alisaie interrupted again. ‘I’ll learn about it in half a year anyroad.’
Alphinaud coughed. ‘Indeed.’
Alisaie’s dangling legs alternated back and forth over the scenery. Alphinaud looked to the elevator leading back to upper Sharlayan.
Turning her head to her brother, Alisaie tilted her head. ‘So, you’re telling me that looking over this incredible place, with all of its colours and intricate patterns, so very far from the Studium… Your first thought was Boustrophedon?’
‘It wasn’t my first thought. I have homework to do!’
Alisaie sighed. ‘Brother, you are such a marvel…’