Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dreams, they say, are stitched from faces we've seen before. An uninspired explanation, but sufficient for now.

The Grand Sage's office was as pretentious as ever, its giant blue globe casting accusatory shadows across the fortress of paperwork threatening to bury Alhaitham alive. He pushed aside a flimsy "research" paper masquerading as scholarship, nose wrinkling in mild distaste. Another Rtawahist student's fever dream of a theory on dreams — about as credible as the Akademiya's committee meetings.

Fortunately, he only needed to await their results; unfortunately, he had to personally wade through the swamp of mediocrity until a new sage was appointed. The bureaucratic detritus of progress, as it were.

He yearned for simpler days: locked away in his dusty scribe's office, blissfully irrelevant to the world. Now, responsibility clung to him like a stubborn stain — no thanks to the "heroics" that made him Acting Grand Sage.

"A few more days," he muttered, reclining in the ludicrously upright chair that seemed designed by a sadist. "Then, back to a scribe's life. With a much better salary."

Delegating the repititive tasks to subordinates offered a flicker of satisfaction. Ten minutes left in the workday. Freedom beckoned.

Naturally, that's when Kaveh exploded through the door.

A whirlwind of blond fury stormed in, brandishing papers like a man wielding a sword.

"You infuriating dolt!" he bellowed, slamming the rejected funding applications onto the desk hard enough to rattle the inkwell.

Alhaitham leaned back, "Kaveh, barge into my office again without an appointment, and I might have to assume your education was a tragic waste."

"Don't you dare play games with me!" Kaveh roared, face flushed with righteous indignation. "You rejected Kshahrewar's funding request! Explain yourself!"

Truthfully, Alhaitham had rejected it for entertainment. He fully intended to approve it later. Watching Kaveh work himself into a froth was simply too amusing to pass up.

"You demand explanations for your poorly written applications?" Alhaitham shrugged. "How quaint."

Kaveh practically vibrated with fury. "I'll file a formal complaint! I'll have you removed for negligence!"

"Please do. Perhaps Lesser Lord Kusanali will realize her error and release me back to my quiet life. Think of it as an act of mercy."

"You—!" Kaveh sputtered, hunting for a particularly scathing curse. None arrived in time.

"I'm not leaving until you approve the funding," he declared, digging in stubbornly.

Alhaitham rose smoothly, shadow falling over him. "Then I suppose I'll have to remove you by force."

Kaveh met his gaze without flinching. "Try me."

The clock chimed, interrupting their impromptu standoff. Kaveh sagged, a balloon pricked by reality.

"Off the clock, huh?" he muttered. "Fine. But I'll be back tomorrow. With reinforcements."

He pointed dramatically toward the door. "In the meantime, come to the market. We need groceries."

Predictable.

"Fine. Only because last time you spent half your rent on wine," Alhaitham said, gathering his things. "And if you're so worried about appearances, perhaps dragging me through the Bazaar isn't ideal. I've noticed a short, green-eyed desert-dweller tailing us lately."

Kaveh rolled his eyes. "So what? Grocery shopping's normal. For friends. Not that we’re— Never mind!"

He grabbed Alhaitham's wrist, tugging him out of the office with surprising gentleness.

"Hurry up, slowpoke. We have a month's worth of shopping to do… and more to drink."

Watching Kaveh chug another glass of wine like it was water, Alhaitham considered the possibility that his roommate harbored a secret plan to bankrupt him.

Around others, Kaveh treated kindness like a trap. Every favor was a debt with criminal interest. Around Alhaitham, however, those defenses crumbled. Whether due to Alhaitham's stable finances or out of petty revenge for past teasing, he couldn't say.

Alhaitham allowed it. Better Kaveh waste his coin than burden him with guilt or expectations. Kaveh carried enough — debts of coin, emotion, and regret, all tangled up like an abandoned loom.

But after watching him polish off an entire bottle in one night, Alhaitham decided enough was enough.

Groceries in one hand, Kaveh’s deadweight draped over his shoulder, Alhaitham navigated the streets with the ease of a man resigned to public spectacle.

"After all your whining about appearances..." Alhaitham muttered, fishing Kaveh's key — lion keychain and all — from his pocket and unlocking the door.

He dumped Kaveh in his bedroom and placed the groceries in a cupboard beside the single, small stove on the smooth marble table. This converted kitchen, now Kaveh's bedroom, was a rather strange sight. Alhaitham, the man who preferred the efficiency of quick, easily eaten meals, rarely used the stove since his childhood. He owned a good amount of disposable income, allowing him to indulge in regular takeout from trusted restaurants. When Kaveh proposed converting the kitchen into his own room, Alhaitham hadn't expected him to retain the stove. Yet, there it stood, a symbol of Kaveh's culinary aspirations, though not much of it translated into action, thanks to his busy schedule.

But sometimes, Kaveh surprised Alhaitham with fresh, hot meals, each dish showcasing his creativity and passion (for some reason, Kaveh preferred all the food he made to be impeccably designed with garnishing- even after Alhaitham reminded him that the stomach does not care). Though Alhaitham never voiced his appreciation, the warmth of a home-cooked meal, a reminder of his grandmother's cooking, filled him with a quiet contentment he hadn't quite anticipated.

Later, showered and dry, Alhaitham stretched out on a diwan, a House of Daena journal open in his lap. A Haravatat scholar's musings on desert runes filled the air with blessed silence — the rarest luxury since Kaveh had moved in.

Their chaotic coexistence had its uses. Kaveh’s impulsiveness dragged Alhaitham out of comfortable stagnation. Their arguments, infuriating but illuminating, sharpened both their minds.

Tonight, however, was his alone.

He flipped a page, frowning slightly at a tablet’s translation: the sun consumed by its own heat. A fitting metaphor for unchecked ambition.

His own ambition had never been so grand. Misinterpreted as laziness, it was in fact a quiet, stubborn thing: a promise written in faded blue ink at the bottom of a journal page. "May my child Alhaitham live a peaceful life."

That was all he wanted. That was everything.

Even as the day’s exhaustion threatened to claim him, Alhaitham stubbornly continued reading, desperately clinging to the waning night and delaying the return of another demanding day as Acting Grand Sage.

He persevered to read the decrypted messages in the journal, hoping to freeze time with his actions. 

‘Rejecting the gift granted by the divine throne, the red-crowned king sought a new path of his own volition.'

His eyes drooped as he deciphered the ancient text, each word a struggle against sleep. 'Though the future she revealed was ruinous and bleak, the king refused to yield an inch...'

"...You seek but to chain the winds. Upon the tombstone of divinity shall humanity become the god of gods."

"I beg you to not speak loud of these desires of yours that might shock even the wisest of gods. Heed my warnings: seek not the Master of the Four Shades, and inquire not of the mysteries of the sky and the abyss. Otherwise, as shown by the nail of retribution, certain calamity and sorrow shall follow."

Alhaitham's eyes snapped open, heart hammering from an unsettling dream he couldn't quite remember. A throne of branches, laughter with faceless companions, a woman dancing among purple flowers — images from childhood, from some half-forgotten dream.

His grandmother had once smiled at such tales. "Books are your best friends, are they not? Seems like the friend you made that night was special."

In hindsight, maybe this had sparked his interest in Sumeru's history and literature, much of which lay shrouded in mystery due to ancient languages and lost ruins.

Reaching for a bookmark, he caught a glimpse of a small line etched at the bottom of the page, written in an archaic script:

'Dreams will always dissolve, their landscapes fated to collapse — this is the true meaning of the blooming flowers.'

Chapter Text

Morning brought the usual scene: Kaveh sprawled half-dead in the bathroom, paying the price for last night’s excess. Alhaitham, consistent if nothing else, left herbal tablets and a  cup of freshly brewed chai nearby. He wasn’t one for coddling, but basic damage control seemed prudent.

His day at the Akademiya blurred past in the usual tide of paperwork: clearing yesterday’s backlog, only to watch it replenish itself like a hydra. As he stamped another scroll, his mind drifted to the dream again. Most of it had already slipped away — just faint impressions of a conversation with someone. Man, woman, it hardly mattered. Dreams dissolved faster than academic funding during budget season.

An urgent need for a reference text pulled him toward the House of Daena. Passing two scholars embroiled in a noisy debate, he paused. Their argument was heated, almost theatrical — yet they smiled through it. It stirred a memory: a much younger Kaveh, storming into his usual quiet corner of the library.

Blond hair wild, laughter louder than protocol allowed, Kaveh had demanded to share Alhaitham’s table. Initially annoyed, Alhaitham found himself trapped by Kaveh’s enthusiasm, a contagious force that somehow made even the driest theories sound like grand adventures.

Unlike the scheming, self-serving scholars of the Akademiya, Kaveh spoke with a reckless sincerity. Against his better judgment, Alhaitham stayed to listen.

After that, Kaveh became a fixture — an incessantly chatty one. Groups of students, drawn to Kaveh’s easy warmth, often interrupted. Yet Alhaitham never felt abandoned. Kaveh always returned, pockets full of half-baked ideas and new stories, as if tethered by some unseen thread.

Weeks blurred into months. Debates by the Akademiya’s fountains, arguments over the viability of interstellar travel at sunset — Kaveh had, with characteristic recklessness, breached Alhaitham’s carefully maintained walls.

Another memory surfaced: the Grand Bazaar, that ill-fated festival day.

Dragged into a riot of colors, smells, and noise, Alhaitham had tried — and failed — to process the sensory assault. Bodies pressed too close, laughter and shouting fused into an unbearable hum. Sweat dampened his palms. His heartbeat roared in his ears, louder than any merchant’s cries. He hadn't yet invented his noise-canceling devices. In desperation, he clamped his hands over his ears — useless against the cacophony.

Panic crept in like a rising tide.

Faces blurred. Words lost meaning. His chest tightened; breath came shallow and fast. He stumbled blindly through the crowd, disoriented and dangerously close to losing control.

Then — a hand.

Kaveh’s voice, cutting through the noise with effortless familiarity: “Alhaitham, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Kaveh’s hand closed around his arm — steady, warm, unshakably present. Alhaitham latched onto that grip like a lifeline.

The roughness of Kaveh’s calloused hand, the casual strength in his pull — it grounded him in ways logic never could.

Once outside the crowd’s suffocating grip, Alhaitham leaned heavily against him, chest heaving. Kaveh, oblivious to the near meltdown he had just prevented, merely pressed a bottle of water into his hands.

“You alright? You look pale. What, tired already? Here, drink.”

Alhaitham drained the bottle, unable to summon words for the immense, wordless gratitude roiling inside him.

It created a debt — not of obligation, but of the heart. One that could never be repaid, and would define him more than any contract ever could.

After that, Alhaitham found himself seeking Kaveh’s company almost obsessively. Jealousy crept in whenever others monopolized him: the casual touches, the easy smiles thrown too freely.

He'd quietly down Kaveh’s abandoned tea cups, a silent claim on moments left behind. He knew — rationally — that their paths would diverge, and Kaveh’s world would always be bigger, brighter, messier.

Still, he let him go every time.

And every time, Kaveh returned — scanning the crowd, finding him, grinning like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Their dynamic became a well-known spectacle: two intellectual opposites orbiting each other in the Akademiya’s strange ecosystem. People whispered disapproval; some envied the inexplicable bond between the aloof genius and the golden boy.

Alhaitham, who had never sought popularity, found himself curiously smug about it.

He admired Kaveh’s recklessness, his talent, his refusal to be neatly categorized. In a world of pretense and calculation, Kaveh lived with reckless sincerity.

Despite everything — the differences, the chaos — their bond endured. An understanding deeper than words, built quietly, stubbornly, into the foundation of their lives.

Alhaitham's idle daydream at the House of Daena dissipated like smoke in the wind when a harried Matra burst into his office, accompanied by a dazed figure in the Akademiya uniform.

"Forgive me, Acting Grand Sage," the Matra gasped, his voice ragged. "But there has been an emergency requiring your immediate attention."

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow, maintaining his usual calm. "Oh? This better be important."

"This morning, during our routine patrol near Ashavan realm, we encountered a researcher in a state of near-insanity. Initially, we suspected an attempt at the Satyawada stage that went awry," the Matra explained, "A team was dispatched to investigate if there were other scholars nearby, but they never returned. A second team reported a section of the forest completely poisoned by some strange energy. It has been three days, and even some of our higher officials who had gone in to investigate the area haven’t returned either. We've consulted forest rangers, but it does not look like it's a case of withering so far."

Alhaitham's mind raced. The described symptoms, the unsettling energy poisoning the forest, the missing personnel – these pointed to a single conclusion: a malfunctioning ley line device causing uncontrolled ley line activity. This was a crisis demanding immediate action.

The researcher, his voice raspy with fear, confirmed Alhaitham's suspicions. "I… I barely escaped. The forest… it pulsed with unnatural energy… like nothing I'd ever felt." He clutched his head, his eyes wide with terror. "The others… they were consumed by it… their minds..."

Alhaitham understood the gravity of the situation. An abnormal ley line overflow was at hand, and with both General Mahamatra Cyno and Forest Watcher Tighnari away at Mondstadt, the responsibility lay squarely on his shoulders.

He sighed, momentarily lamenting the absence of Lesser Lord Kusanali, who had accompanied the Traveler to the Chasm. 

"Very well," Alhaitham declared, "I will handle this myself. Please lead the way."

Chapter Text

"Acting Grand Sage," a relieved Matra official at the outskirts of the Ashavan realm exclaimed as he saw Alhaitham approach them, "I assume you already know what happened. We can't pinpoint the exact location of the malfunctioning device, so we've cordoned off the entire forest as a precaution."

Alhaitham met the Matra's gaze. "Understandable. But we can't afford to waste time. I need to get to the source of this ley line disorder as soon as possible."

"But Acting Grand Sage," a ranger piped up, fear etched on his face, "The air itself is thick with toxic energy. Even the strongest among us couldn't stand it for long. We can’t risk having Sumeru’s leader going in there with no precaution.” 

Alhaitham’s face was unreadable as ever. “I will be alright on my own,” he said, partly to reaffirm it to himself. Besides, he was curious about this energy and wanted to experience it for himself to understand what it truly was. 

He strode past the hesitant rangers, his eyes scanning the dense foliage for any sign of danger nearby. None, so far.  

"Are you sure about this, Acting Grand Sage?" the Matra asked, his voice tinged with worry. "Going alone into the heart of this corrupted forest is..."

"Necessary," Alhaitham interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "Ashavan Realm connects the forest to Caravan Ribat and the rest of the desert. Until this is settled, transportation and trade between the two regions becomes difficult. Someone has to stop this ley line disorder before it spreads further, and the General Mahamatra as well as the Dendro Archon aren’t available currently."

With that, he stepped in. 

Initially, everything seemed normal. The only sounds were the occasional chirping of birds and the crunch of fallen leaves under his boots. He adjusted his earpiece and readied his sword, anticipating potential dangers.

As he continued his trek, however, he noticed a change. While the landscape looked similar, breathing started to become increasingly difficult, despite his regular exercise regimen. The ley line energy leak was taking its toll, but at the very least, it confirmed his direction.

An eerie stillness hung in the air, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a bird. It was an unnerving silence, heavy with anticipation, as if the forest itself held its breath, waiting for his intrusion.

With every stride, an undeniable weariness began to settle in his limbs. He paused, a prickling sensation crawling across his skin. His breath grew heavy, each inhale a laboured effort against the thickening air. It was as if the very atmosphere bore down on him, every molecule imbued with an unseen force that subtly sapped his strength.

The ley line resonance pulse had started to hit. And it was getting more and more intense by the second. 

A lonely path stretched out before him, beckoning him deeper. Alhaitham considered sprinting, but hesitated, unsure how his body would handle the increasing toxicity.

The journey started to become arduous. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and a white noise filled his ears. As he trekked, Alhaitham contemplated the challenges faced by the forest rangers in combating the withering's poisonous effects. If nothing else, this ordeal gave him newfound respect for Tighnari's resilience.

He gritted his teeth, pushing forward. His vision swam. The forest, once vibrant and alive, now seemed to warp and twist around him. The path ahead, once clear, began to blur and fade into an oppressive darkness. The birdsong that had once filled the air was now replaced by a low, ominous hum that vibrated in his bones.

He stumbled, his legs trembling. Each step felt heavier than the last, his body screaming for rest. The world tilted around him, the forest closing in, threatening to consume him whole.

Now I understand why those scholars haven't returned, he thought, realizing the debilitating effects of the ley line's poisoning even with his Vision. Each passing moment within the forest drained his energy.

Teleportation, a potential means of reaching the device faster, appeared wasteful at this point. He lacked the precise location, and his body was on the verge of collapse. Even holding his sword required immense effort. He doubted he had any energy to call upon his Dendro powers, and if he did, it made more sense to reserve it for any visible danger.

The world swam before his eyes, and the forest seemed to writhe and contort, like a living entity. The path ahead had completely vanished into darkness, resembling a gaping maw ready to engulf him.

Alhaitham did not know how much time he had spent in the forest, but he knew he was close. The source of the ley line energy, the device that had caused this chaos, pulsed somewhere ahead. But with each passing moment, the effort to move became more agonizing.

He fought the urge to collapse, to surrender to the darkness that beckoned him. His mind, usually sharp and calculating, felt sluggish; the oppressive energy clouding his thoughts.

He looked down at his trembling hand, the sword he held slipping from his grasp. His thoughts scrambled into crazed whispers. He knew he was losing his grip, both on his body and his sanity.

Alhaitham took a moment to take a deep breath, despite the momentous effort it required- like swimming against a strong current that dragged you in. He straightened his back, his jaw set with determination. He would not succumb to this madness. He would find the source of the ley line energy and stop it. As the Acting Grand Sage, he owed it to those who have been lost, to the forest itself, and to himself, to get out of this mess.

He took a step ahead, only to stop once more. 

Through blurred vision, he perceived a vague figure standing a few metres away. 

Could it be one of the missing researchers? If so, Alhaitham marveled at their ability to stand upright, withstanding this oppressive energy.

"You- Scholar or Matra?" he croaked, blinking once, twice.

But the figure approaching him was neither. Alhaitham froze, his mind grappling with the unexpected sight. His eyes widened in disbelief as the impossible materialized before him.

It was his long deceased grandmother.

Chapter Text

The spectral image of his grandmother smiled at Alhaitham's disbelief. "Where have you been, my dear boy? Back in the library, or in the garden?” her voice echoed in the eerie silence of the forest- wait, when did the forest turn silent again?

His chest tightened. This was a hallucination, he reminded himself, a product of the ley line's stored memories and his own subconscious. “You are not real," he rasped, the words heavy with a truth he could not deny.

"Only children dream," she replied. 

"Everybody dreams in Sumeru now,” Alhaitham countered with grit teeth, “You're just a figment of my imagination."

His heart ached at the thought. He disliked speaking to his beloved grandmother with such cynicism, yet he knew this was not her, not truly.

"Silly boy," she continued, extending a hand towards him. "I’m just here to offer you some help."

In her hand rested a familiar book. It was the same one she had left him, a hardbound green journal chronicling the lost history of the Red Kingdom, a book filled with desert folktales. 

Alhaitham had thought it was impossible to read in dreams. Curiosity piqued, he reached out and took the book.

The smooth leather felt surprisingly, unsettlingly real. He opened it, expecting to find the message she had written to him, the one line that had shaped his ambition. But the page was blank, the book seemingly newer than he remembered.

Confusion washed over him as he looked up from the book, and found himself sitting at the familiar library of his childhood home. 

Had he been here all this time, lost in the world of stories? 

Alhaitham stood amidst the familiar stacks of books. The library, his haven, remained just like how he always knew it to be. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting warm hues onto the worn spines of countless volumes. Each book held a memory, a story devoured and pondered over while perched on rickety stools. He knew every title, every worn cover, every subtle shift in the arrangement of the shelves.

A pang shot through his chest, an ache he couldn't quite place. It was a familiar feeling, yet distant, like a melody half-remembered. He ran his fingers over the smooth leather of a book, its comforting texture grounding him. He yearned to sink into its pages, to yet again escape into the comfort of familiar stories, to lose himself in the world of words.

Evening sunlight streamed through the window, casting long shadows across the dusty room. He stood up, rubbing his eyes. The passage of time was unknown, but there was one certainty in his mind. 

His grandmother, ill in bed, needed his attention.

He lingered there for a moment longer, the library whispering memories into his ears. His hand immediately went to his earlobes in an instant. Wasn’t he supposed to cover them with something? The ache in his chest intensified, a bittersweet yearning for a past he could not fully grasp.

Perhaps a story from this book would bring her some comfort. He tucked the book under his arm, a sense of purpose calming the unease within him. He needed to be strong, to care for her, just as she had cared for him.

Alhaitham entered to find his grandmother lying in bed, a stark contrast to the vibrant woman he knew. Her once-proud frame was thin and frail, her silver hair, usually meticulously styled in a bun, now unbound and disheveled. Yet, her eyes lit up at his presence, and she beckoned him close with a weak smile.

He settled beside her, the book in hand and read to her stories of whimsical Seelie lands, the grieving King Deshret, and the Heavenly Nail of Retribution. He recounted tales of the Jinn, of Shiruyeh and Shirin till his voice was hoarse from reading.

As the stories unfolded, his grandmother's voice, barely above a whisper, interrupted. "Alhaitham, do you yearn to be like King Deshret?” She asked, “To leave a legacy, inspiring tales about you to be told long after your time?"

He replied without hesitation, "No."

"Why not?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued. “Children I’ve asked this question to have always replied with a yes.”

"Building cities to rule none," Alhaitham murmured, "Surrounding himself with companions only to face his demise alone in sorrow... Only a fool would wish for such a pathetic life."

His grandmother stared at him for a few seconds before letting out a chuckle, soon turning into a cough. He quickly offered her water, concerned.

"Well then," she rasped, taking the book and scribbling something within its pages, "At least I know what your future holds after I'm gone."

"Don't talk like that," he pleaded, for he did not want another reminder.

Her frail hand, laced with age, gently stroked his hair. "You are such a smart child. Many such people have large egos and a propensity to act on their own. You are outstanding and possess a broader horizon than ordinary people. This is not a bad thing, but you must take care to have a clearer mind than others. You must understand that vain pursuits are but dust, and that you must discern your path with the greatest of wisdom."

His own eyes burned with unshed tears. He grasped her arm tightly with both of his hands. 

His arms were smaller…than they used to be? 

He shook off the strange feeling. He knew his grandmother wouldn't be with him forever, just like his parents. But right now, she was here, his only anchor in a world that did not care. And for now, that was enough, wasn’t it?

No sooner than that thought crossed his mind, a hacking cough wracked his grandmother's frail body. 

Alhaitham's heart lurched as he kneeled to stroke his grandmother’s back. He could feel the sharp angles of her spine beneath the thin nightgown, an unwelcome reminder of her fading strength. Her cough continued, each rasp a tremor against the silence of the room. Tears welled up in her red-rimmed eyes as she gasped for water.

Panic clawed at Alhaitham’s throat. He sprinted to the kitchen, desperation fueling his frantic search. He grabbed the nearest bottle. 

It was empty. 

No. No.

He swore under his breath, rushing to the tap, filling the bottle halfway before he heard a soft thud as his grandmother’s coughs cut off, and raced back without even closing the tap. 

But his small legs couldn't outrun fate.

His grandmother lay still, her hand limply draped over the edge of the bed. The book he'd been reading lay open face down on the floor, its pages crushed haphazardly. 

Alhaitham approached his grandmother with slow and unsteady steps, the weight of dread settling in his stomach, dragging him down.

He climbed onto the bed, and stared at her watery eyes that gazed blankly at the ceiling. He poured water into her open mouth, waiting for her to swallow it. His hands trembled as he shook her frail shoulders, and as they desperately searched for a pulse, a breath.

Nothing. The only sound was the frantic thump of his own heart.

Somewhere in the corners of his mind, he knew what had happened, what he had to do. He had the contacts, the reports, the Akademiya acceptance letter, the money, the food – an arsenal meticulously prepared since his grandmother's first illness, her instructions etched into his memory. He had prepared for this inevitable moment.

Yet, another part of him remained frozen, numb. Nausea churned in his stomach. 

He knew what to do. But why couldn't he follow the script? 

Why did his body crumple and curl against his grandmother’s still form? Why did sobs wrack him like a storm as he held her lifeless hand like he could drag her back to him again?

Why did he dig her grave by himself in the pouring rain? Why was the silence punctuated only by his shallow breaths as he performed her last rites alone? 

Whom could he share his grief with? Who could understand the hollowness that echoed within him?

If there was only one thing Alhaitham knew in his state, it was that he had to start over. 

But where did one start, when the very ground under his feet had vanished?

Chapter Text

Alhaitham was no longer at his childhood home.

He ripped through the bustling streets of Caravan Ribat, his Akademiya uniform plastered to his sweaty skin. The desert sun beat down mercilessly, but it was an emergency, and every second counted. His heart hammered in his chest as he skidded to a halt beside a nondescript building near the Wall of Samiel. It was the local clinic, a cramped building with a few beds and fewer doctors, yet taking its place as one of the busiest spots in Sumeru.

Ignoring the scolding voices of the people he bumped into, he barged through the clinic doors, fear tightening his throat. "I'm looking for Kaveh," he rasped to the receptionist, his voice rough from the journey. "Blonde hair, Akademiya student. Reportedly admitted here yesterday after a cave-in."

The woman eyed him wearily. "Second floor, third room on the right. Wait for the doctor's report and keep the noise down!" she called after him as he shot up the stairs.

Hunger gnawed at his stomach, exhaustion weighed heavy on his limbs, but nothing could stop him until he saw Kaveh, alive and safe. The grueling journey from Sumeru City had been fueled by anxiety, his thoughts constantly swirling with images of the collapsed cave and Kaveh's uncertain fate. He checked for any doctors conducting procedures before he stepped into the room. 

The sight before him stole his breath. Kaveh lay sprawled on the bed, his skin tan and sun-burnt and bandaged, his eyes closed. Apart from a fractured leg, a few cuts and burns (was there fire involved?), there was no injury too significant. 

Relief washed over Alhaitham, a wave so powerful it almost buckled his knees. But then he noticed the pained grimace on Kaveh's face, the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

The relief he felt a moment ago morphed into worry. What other injuries did he sustain? What happened to him to end up this badly?  What about the other two students he went with? He sank into a chair beside the bed, his gaze fixed on Kaveh's unconscious form, holding a silent vigil for answers. 

Kaveh woke up an hour later. 

His rasping voice broke the silence. "Didn't expect you here after our little…disagreement."

“Kaveh,” Alhaitham immediately zoned into him, “What happened?”

"Cave-in," Kaveh muttered, wincing. "Sharif, Adriti, and I were studying ruins near Hadramaveth. Wrong passage, primal constructs…fire. Adriti used her Pyro Vision, but it collapsed the tomb."

"And the others?"

"Safe. I pushed them out before it went down." His voice dipped. "They left for Sumeru City yesterday. Withdrew from the project."

Anger flared in Alhaitham. His last conversation with Kaveh, a heated debate about the talent shown by the last two students working on their joint thesis on ‘Decoding the Runes and Architectural Philosophy of King Deshret’s Civilization’, and Kaveh's unwavering support of them, echoed in his mind.

Their argument started when Alhaitham pointed out that Kaveh was running himself ragged by helping out the fellow students in their project to keep up with the two of them. 

Words exchanged, boundaries pushed, a bitter taste lingering.

"They lack the raw aptitude," Alhaitham had said. "No amount of nurturing can coax a bud into bearing fruit if its very nature is barren."

Kaveh's eyes narrowed, defiant. "And who decides that nature, Alhaitham? You, with your ivory tower intellect and inherited privilege? Don't you think it's arrogant to judge their potential based on your own narrow metrics?"

"Metrics that have proven themselves time and again," Alhaitham countered, unfazed. "There's a reason prodigies exist, Kaveh. Their natural spark ignites the fire, while others struggle to even kindle a flicker."

"A spark that can be extinguished without the fuel of dedication and guidance is no spark," Kaveh shot back, his voice tight. "Do you truly believe these students don't have it in them? Or is it just easier to dismiss them as failures than acknowledge the possibility your rigid definition of talent is flawed?"

Alhaitham's expression remained impassive. "Throwing them into the crucible of the desert without the necessary tools is not nurturing, Kaveh. It's recklessness."

Kaveh slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing through the silent room. "Then I will be their crucible, Alhaitham!" He declared, "I will take Sharif and Adriti to Hadramaveth myself, and we will show you what they can achieve with the right support, with the belief they lack from you! You don’t need to join us, if you don’t like it. We only need one Vision holder after all. Keep sitting here in the comfort of your cushy chair, and maybe, just maybe, you'll finally see the fallacy of your narrow perspective."

“As you wish.” Alhaitham had crossed his arms as he watched Kaveh leave. 

Alhaitham usually spearheaded these desert explorations. His sharp eye for detail was invaluable, but more importantly, he possessed a Vision, a rare asset among their peers. Traveling solo in the unforgiving desert was risky, and having at least one Vision holder was considered essential.

Learning about the accident, however, gnawed at Alhaitham. He knew Kaveh struggled to fight in the heat, yet he'd allowed him to go with the two others. And the two had not only abandoned their savior in a cramped clinic, fleeing to the comfort of Sumeru City, but also removed their names from the project Kaveh had championed them for.

While Alhaitham wouldn't miss them, the sheer indifference that fueled their desertion after Kaveh's tireless efforts – days and nights poured into their education – ignited a fury within him. It wasn't about their lack of talent, it was their utter lack of gratitude that made his blood boil.

"They were dead weight, Kaveh," Alhaitham declared, "You wouldn't see it, blinded by your misplaced loyalty. But they took advantage of your good nature, leaving you to face the consequences."

Kaveh's eyelids fluttered, exhaustion pulling him under. "I just...wanted to help them reach their potential," he mumbled, his voice weak.

"Potential you saw, not them," Alhaitham countered, his anger simmering beneath a tightly controlled veil. "They walked away without a second thought, leaving you here...alone."

Pain was etched across Kaveh’s face. "Don't...blame them," he pleaded, "It's...my fault. I dragged them into it. As the senior member in the project who endangered their lives, I deserve to be punished for my actions."

Alhaitham's frustration bubbled over. He grabbed Kaveh's hand, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the anger throbbing in his veins. "This isn't some academic debate, Kaveh! You're hurt, alone, and blaming yourself for the actions of others."

Kaveh closed his eyes in defeat. He tried to pull his hand away, but Alhaitham held firm. 

"Please...just let me rest."

Alhaitham released his grip. He knew pushing wouldn't help. Anger wouldn't heal Kaveh's injuries, physical or emotional. He sighed, the sound heavy in the silence.

"Get some sleep," he said, his voice softer now. "We'll talk about this later. But right now, you need to rest."

Chapter Text

The oppressive heat of the Akademiya research centre clung to Alhaitham like a second skin, mirroring the growing tension between him and Kaveh. Days bled into one another, punctuated by the relentless tick-tock of the approaching deadline. Stacks of research papers sprawled across the cluttered desk, a result of their frantic efforts. Yet, the mountain barely seemed to recede.

Kaveh, his face drawn and pale, limped around the room, his injured leg a constant reminder of the desert ordeal. He scribbled furiously on his notepad, his brow perpetually furrowed in frustration. Alhaitham watched him, a familiar knot of irritation tightening in his gut. If not for those two…

"This would have been done weeks ago if it were just the both of us," he finally said, unable to hold back any longer, “But you had to go and be the saint.” 

Kaveh slammed his notepad down, his eyes flashing with anger, despite the obvious strain etched on his face. "Don't even start, Alhaitham. You wouldn't have lifted a finger to help them if it weren't for me."

A distant part of Alhaitham's mind registered Kaveh's quick flaring of temper. Their interactions had been laced with similar outbursts lately. The pressure of the looming deadline and the dwindling number of researchers – now just the two of them – had pushed their disagreements to a boiling point. 

A pang of resentment flickered within Alhaitham. Hadn't he warned Kaveh about the shortcomings of the other students? Weren't they in this predicament precisely because Kaveh refused to listen? 

"Because they weren't worth the effort," he countered coldly. "Their ‘potential’ wouldn't have amounted to a grain of sand in this research."

Kaveh's face contorted. "And whose judgement are we going by, yours? You think talent is the only thing that matters, that dedication and hard work don't count for anything?"

"They clearly didn't count for those two," Alhaitham pointed out, his voice devoid of warmth. "They crumbled as soon as things got tough, leaving all the work to you. Wasting both their time and yours.” He leaned back on the chair, putting down his notes on the desk. “The Akademiya is about merit, about achieving results. We don't have the luxury of wasting time nurturing those who simply aren't cut out for it. Can’t you see it from the situation we are in right now?"

Kaveh strode towards the desk, his leg protesting with a sharp wince. He towered over Alhaitham, his voice tight with suppressed fury. "You think I regret helping them? You think I wouldn't do it all again, even knowing how it would end? At least I tried to give them a chance! Unlike you, who wouldn't even bother!"

Alhaitham met Kaveh's gaze, unwavering. "Giving them a chance? Or clinging to some misplaced idealism? Their limitations are real. Giving them a temporary boost won't erase the fundamental difference in ability. You can't paper over their ineptitude with your blind faith, Kaveh."

"Not everyone is a prodigy like you, Alhaitham. Some need a helping hand to reach their full bloom."

"A helping hand, or a crutch for their shortcomings? This project demands results-”

"Results at what cost?" Kaveh slammed his fist on the desk, rattling the papers. "The alienation of anyone who doesn't fit your narrow definition of brilliance? You could be so much more liked, Alhaitham, if you just cared a little more about helping others."

The barb struck a nerve. Alhaitham stood up from his chair, his gaze hardening. "Liked? I don't crave popularity contests, Kaveh. My worth lies in my very existence, not because of some empty praise from those who lack the capacity to understand me."

Kaveh scoffed. "Is that truly the legacy you wish to leave behind? A trail of discarded potential and bruised egos?"

Alhaitham's voice turned icy. "Don't project your faulty ideals onto me, Kaveh. I know exactly why you do these things. You let others treat you like a doormat just because you can't bear to face your own guilt.” 

The air crackled with the weight of the accusation. Kaveh's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise that turned into anger.

"Guilt? Is that what you think motivates me? And what do I have to be guilty about?"

"The answer seems readily apparent, doesn't it?"

He didn't miss the way the blood drained from Kaveh's face, and the way all the anger in those features evaporated in an instant.

"Think about it," Alhaitham pressed, cornering his senior like a predator rounding up on a prey. "Isn't that why you throw yourself into helping others? Why you let anyone with a sob story manipulate you? You cling to the desperate hope that perhaps, if you'd intervened back then..." He trailed off, letting the implication hang heavy in the air.

Kaveh's jaw clenched tight. There was pure, unfiltered shock on his face.

"You... you can't possibly..."

"Can't I?" Alhaitham countered, moving closer to Kaveh as the latter’s back hit the hard edges of the bookshelf. He could see the beads of sweat trickling down near his senior’s sideburns, could feel the panicked quickening of his breath. "The guilt of your father's disappearance, the burden of believing you could have changed the outcome – it's a heavy weight to bear, isn't it? You punish yourself by expecting the worst, by letting others take advantage of your compassion. You feel like you deserve the hardship, don't you? Like any suffering that comes your way is just the universe balancing the scales for you sending your father to die."

Kaveh gaped, his mouth opening and closing silently like a goldfish. 

“You take comfort in that pain,” Alhaitham continued, somewhat relishing the words tumbling out of his mouth as he finally voiced the thoughts that had festered in the back of his mind for so long. “No matter how much you deny it, your impractical idealism is just a flight from reality, and it would come to be a burden on your existence someday, if it already isn’t one now.”

An unnerving quiet descended upon the room. Alhaitham waited, a sliver of unease worming its way into his mind. 

He waited, expecting Kaveh to hit back with a rebuttal, but none came from his friend, who just stood staring at him in suffocating silence, hands shaking from suppressed emotions. 

Though everything he'd said was the raw truth, a disquieting sense of something fundamentally altered settled in Alhaitham’s gut. The dynamics of their argument, once a familiar dance of strained bickering, had shifted into something unsettlingly new. He couldn't pinpoint what had changed, but a prickle of apprehension ran down his spine.

"Is that truly what you think of me?" Kaveh finally asked, his voice hoarse.

Alhaitham hesitated, a flicker of doubt threatening to crack his wall of certainty. He recalled what he felt when he saw Kaveh lying on that hospital bed all broken, bloodied and alone, solidifying his resolve.

"It's not about you, Kaveh," he said, his voice betraying none of the storm churning within. "It's about facing reality, not clinging to impossible dreams. A person who wishes to ascend to the garden of heaven upon steps made of thin air would inevitably plant their feet on an empty stair and fall to their death."

I don’t want to see that happen to you. 

The two of them stood frozen in silence for what seemed like a lifetime. 

Kaveh let out a humorless laugh, the sound echoing hollowly in the room. 

"Perhaps you're right, Alhaitham. Perhaps, I have been a fool all along."

Alhaitham blinked. That was not what he had expected to hear. He had won the debate, yet the victory tasted like ash in his mouth.

“Kaveh-” 

"Perhaps," Kaveh continued, his voice barely a whisper as tears welled up in his crimson eyes, "Our friendship was a mistake after all."

The declaration pierced through a part of his heart that Alhaitham did not know existed, each word a shard of ice severing the ties that bound them. 

There was a strange emptiness that bloomed in his chest, a hollowness he could not explain. He stared at Kaveh, the familiar silhouette now a stranger cloaked in heart wrenching disappointment. 

There were no pleas, no desperate attempts to salvage the situation. They both knew, with a chilling certainty, that this bridge was well and truly burned.

Without another word, Alhaitham marched towards his desk, his movements stiff and mechanical. He grabbed his belongings, the familiar weight failing to provide any solace. A glance at Kaveh, hunched over his desk, his shoulders slumped and shaking, only intensified the gnawing feeling within.

"In that case, you can complete this with whoever you want," Alhaitham said, his voice flat, “I quit.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed a quill, dipped it roughly in ink, ignoring it spilling on the table, and crossed out his name from the title page of their thesis with a single, clean strike. 

As he reached the door, a commotion from behind made him pause. He turned to see Kaveh rip the thesis in half, his teeth gnashed together and his bright eyes spilling tears. The research paper, their once-shared project, lay in shreds at his feet, a mirror to the shattered bond between them. 

Alhaitham watched the scene unfold, a storm of emotions churning within him. A part of him wanted to stay, to offer some semblance of comfort. Yet, the words remained trapped in his throat, choked by the weight of their fractured friendship.

What was left to say anyway? 

With a final, lingering look at the room that had once housed their shared research and camaraderie, Alhaitham made his way out, tasting salt on his tongue. 

He headed straight for the Razan Garden, the silence broken only by the rasping sound of his own breath, a desperate attempt to hold back the burning tears blurring his vision.

Their friendship, once a promise of shared dreams, now felt like a story ripped from the pages, leaving behind only the ragged edges of a memory.

Chapter Text

With the weight of his clash with Kaveh clinging to him like a shroud, Alhaitham stumbled out of the research centre and made his way to the Akademiya alone. While he did not have a particular destination in mind, his feet automatically made their way to the familiar solace of Razan Garden. 

It was one of the places in the Akademiya he liked the most- a secluded haven, albeit a lot of his time there was spent with Kaveh. His senior was intertwined with so many of his Akademiya memories that removing him from them was pointless. 

So, he decided to let them be. 

Moonlight bathed the garden in an ethereal glow as Alhaitham sat on the steps of the empty Razan Garden, taking deep breaths to steady himself. His back pressed against the cool marble of the pillars, and he eased himself against it. It was a place seemingly untouched by time, a sanctuary from the bustle and chaos of the Akademiya. Here, amidst the whispering leaves, he and Kaveh had spent countless hours in their younger days whiling away.

A bittersweet pang of nostalgia flooded him, memories blurring the lines between past and present. He saw himself, a younger, slightly less cynical version, sprawled beside Kaveh beneath the canopy of stars. An almost-empty bottle of dandelion wine sat precariously between them, its label already peeling from their enthusiastic attempts to decipher Teyvat's constellations.

"Hey, Alhaitham," Kaveh said, his voice slurring from the wine. "Isn't that one supposed to be the Lesser Lamp Grass constellation? You know, the one that supposedly grants wishes?"

Alhaitham snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, Kaveh,” he said, trying to speak as coherently as possible, “Constellations are just patterns in the sky. They don’t grant wishes."

“Constellations are just patterns in the sky,” Kaveh repeated in a squeaky voice, in a pathetic attempt to mimic Alhaitham. “Rtawahist darshan wouldn’t exist if the stars and their patterns had no meaning to them, you know?” 

“I attended a bunch of their lectures. They were boring.” 

“It’s because you haven’t had the right teachers.” 

Kaveh was quiet for a few moments and then continued, “My father was Rtawahist. He taught me to read the skies. At least… some of it.”

Alhaitham knew not to prod into that too much. “Is that so?” 

“They are some of my favourite memories from my childhood,” Kaveh said wistfully, his hands reaching out as if he could almost touch the stars. “But if stars could grant wishes… I do wish I could get those days back." 

Alhaitham simply gazed at him. 

"But enough about me,” Kaveh took a deep breath and turned, facing Alhaitham. “What would you wish for, Alhaitham?” 

After a quiet moment, Alhaitham reached out too, tracing a lazy pattern on the constellation above them. "I don’t have much to wish for," he finally spoke, his voice soft. “A peaceful life would be good, I guess.”

Kaveh smiled at him. “You know what I’d wish for at this moment?” he asked, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of Alhaitham’s hair behind his ear, his fingertips lingering at his jawline for a bit. “I'd just wish for us to always be like this. Here, exploring the mysteries of the world, together."

Maybe it was the wine, but Alhaitham felt a wave of warmth surge from within. Kaveh’s eyes sparkled brighter than any of the billion stars scattered across the night sky when he looked at him. He had this weird, unexplainable urge to grab Kaveh right there, like his life depended on it, and never let go. 

Instead, he scoffed playfully. "We're not gonna learn anything trapped forever in Razan Garden."

Kaveh, however, wasn’t fazed. He reached out, a careful touch on Alhaitham's arm, as if he was testing the waters. "Maybe," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "But wouldn't it be nice?"

A hesitant smile tugged at the corner of Alhaitham's lips. Before he could reply, though, Kaveh rolled over and tackled him into a sudden embrace.

"Mmph!"

The warmth of the gesture, unexpected and awkward yet sincere, took Alhaitham by surprise. No one except his grandmother had ever hugged him before in his memory. 

But for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to relax, to lean into the comfort of their shared solitude. He gently gripped on to Kaveh, burying his face into his soft, golden hair that smelled of lemon and honey. 

Here, he felt safe. He felt peaceful. 

The memory flickered, distorting like a malfunctioning projector. Kaveh's face morphed, the familiar features replaced by those of a beautiful woman whose eyes were open but unseeing, framed by cascading blonde hair adorned with horns that defied the natural order. 

They were in a desolate wasteland, the sand whipped into a frenzy by a colossal, otherworldly storm. A celestial nail, immense and ominous, loomed in the sky right above them, as if preparing for their execution. 

Alhaitham's heart lurched. Panic surged through him, a primal fear far removed from his usual detached logic. He cradled the woman's form, a choked sob escaping his lips. Blood stained his hands, staining the stark yellow sand. He was filled with a suffocating grief, a mix of despair and anger so inhumanely profound it threatened to shatter him.

"Forgive me, Pairidaeza," his voice rasped, shards of broken glass fracturing the silence. "My ears were deaf to your warnings. Though the very heavens tremble, though time itself stops in its entirety, I swear upon these fading breaths – we shall meet here once more."

The scene lurched. One moment Alhaitham cradled the woman, the desert wind whipping at his face, the next, a dense forest materialised around him. Towering trees, their branches clawing at the stormy sky, a strange glowing green tower replaced the endless dunes. 

Was this another shift? A trick of his failing mind? Panic clawed at his throat, constricting his breath. He stumbled back, the woman's weight suddenly a burden in his arms.

His vision swam, spots dancing before his eyes. Reality seemed to ripple around him, a distorted reflection of both landscapes. He blinked furiously, trying to force the world into focus. But instead of clarity, a wave of nausea washed over him. His stomach lurched, threatening to expel its contents onto the shifting ground beneath his feet.

The emotions he felt – the crushing loss, the primal fear, the undeniable connection to the woman – they were too vivid.

He staggered to his feet, a subconscious urge to escape driving him forward. His heart hammered in his chest, the piercing sand stinging his eyes. The celestial nail above threatened to crush him with its oppressive weight. 

He had to get away. Now. 

With a desperate snarl, he channeled his elemental power, aiming for a familiar tingle that would whisk him far from this desolate nightmare.

But the world remained stubbornly unyielding. A searing pain erupted in his core, a violent pushback against his teleportation attempt. He felt like a puppet yanked on broken strings, flung backwards with a brutal force. The air rushed out of his lungs in a choked gasp as he slammed into the unforgiving sand. Stars exploded in his vision, the taste of copper heavy on his tongue.

Lying there, dazed and disoriented, the storm still raging around him, a horrifying realization dawned. 

This wasn't just some hallucination, some feverish dream of his fractured psyche. This was some sort of reality that he was reliving. And somewhere, amidst the swirling sand, he had stumbled upon the source of it all.

A low groan escaped his lips as he struggled to push himself up, his body screaming in protest. He squinted through the sand grit clinging to his eyelashes, searching for the source of the unseen force field that had repelled him.

And there, partially buried beneath a swirling vortex of dust, stood a monstrous contraption – a pulsating ley line tower connected by ominous metal tendrils. It hummed with an ancient, otherworldly energy, a beacon in the heart of the storm.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in his ribs, Alhaitham stumbled towards it with whatever strength he had left.

This was the crux of the issue. If he could just disable it...

He reached out, his fingers brushing against the scorching metal. Waves of raw elemental energy crackled around his hand, momentarily repelling him. But Alhaitham gritted his teeth, channeling his power with a renewed ferocity. His Vision flared a bright green, and the desert glitched into forest.

With a final surge of willpower, he slammed his hand onto a heated control panel.

Silence.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a deafening screech and a shower of sparks, the machine sputtered and died. The desert, the woman, the sandstorm and the nail- all dissipated together, the swirling sand replaced by green earth. 

Panting heavily, Alhaitham fell to the ground, his exhaustion warring with a grudging sense of victory. 

A powerful ley line extractor gone haywire. That’s what caused all of this. 

Paralyzed, Alhaitham willed his fingers to twitch, but they remained stubbornly unresponsive. A metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils, an unwelcome companion to the throbbing agony in his head. A warm, sticky wetness trickled down his nape. The world swam before him, his ears ringing with a persistent shrillness. 

His body was pushed to its limits. 

Maybe... he thought as the world faded into black, A little rest should be alright...

Chapter Text

The sterile white of the Bimarstan room swam before Kaveh's eyes.

Two agonizing days had crawled by since the Matra found the Acting Grand Sage unconscious in the Ashavan Realm.

Kaveh had rushed to the Bimarstan, abandoning his latest commission the moment he heard the news. Alhaitham had looked deathly when admitted: head bloodied, body limp, breaths strained. Kaveh hadn't left his side since.

Why did this idiot have to go take up such a risky job? It was so unlike him.

Kaveh supposed his roommate had no choice. With the Dendro Archon and the General Mahamatra both away, the responsibility of safeguarding Sumeru had fallen directly onto Alhaitham’s shoulders.

But as Kaveh gazed upon Alhaitham’s still face and closed eyes, he also knew it wasn’t just duty that drove him. It was choice.

That was the thing with Alhaitham. A man of contradictions. He often claimed to act only from self-interest, to set logic above all else, to disdain notions of heroism.

And yet—Kaveh knew. Beneath that veneer of detachment, Alhaitham could be startlingly selfless when it mattered most.

A flicker of guilt gnawed at Kaveh. Countless times he had criticized Alhaitham’s cold logic, his aloofness. But he had always known, deep down, that Alhaitham bore more weight than he ever let on.

Perhaps... in ways neither of them would admit, they understood each other better than they thought.

A sudden flutter of movement snapped Kaveh from his thoughts. Alhaitham's eyelids twitched, then slowly opened.

"Alhaitham?" Kaveh lurched forward, voice cracking under the pressure of worry. "Can you hear me?"

A faint, delirious murmur — "Kaveh?" — escaped Alhaitham's lips.

Relief crashed through Kaveh like a tidal wave. Alhaitham’s eyes, though unfocused at first, soon sharpened into recognition — tinged briefly with horror, then swiftly masked by indifference.

"Kaveh," Alhaitham rasped. His voice was hoarse, yet stubbornly steady.

"Thank the Archons," Kaveh muttered, his relief fraying into thin strands of concern. "The Matra found you collapsed near a ley line extractor in the Ashavan Realm. Some of the missing scholars and guards are still critical, but at least everyone's alive."

Alhaitham offered a noncommittal grunt, his gaze slipping toward the ceiling. "Headache," he muttered, touching his temple with a grimace. Kaveh quickly fetched a cup of water from the nearby table.

"How long?" Alhaitham asked, his voice barely audible.

"Two days," Kaveh answered quietly, helping him sit up to take a sip.

Alhaitham drank, then leaned back with a grimace. Silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable.

"What happened, Alhaitham?" Kaveh finally asked, keeping his voice soft. "You were trying to shut down a malfunctioning ley line extractor... but something else happened, didn't it?"

Alhaitham’s expression closed off immediately. His fingers tightened around the blanket draped across his lap.

"Memories from the ley lines," he muttered eventually. "Flashes... of the past. They're irrelevant."

"Alhaitham," Kaveh pressed gently, reaching for his arm.

Alhaitham flinched back, a rare crack in his usual composure. His voice, when it came, was cold as a desert night. "I'm fine. Leave it."

The rejection stung sharper than Kaveh cared to admit. He let his hand fall, breathing through the tightness in his chest.

"Alright," he said, voice tight. "If that’s what you want."

Alhaitham closed his eyes, feigning sleep, but Kaveh could see the tension etched into every line of his body.

He hesitated, then spoke quietly:
“Pairidaeza.”

Instantly, Alhaitham’s eyes snapped open.

"You were mumbling it in your sleep," Kaveh continued, keeping his tone carefully neutral. "The name of the Goddess of Flowers. Over and over."

Alhaitham said nothing.

"What did the ley line memories show you?" Kaveh asked, softer now. Almost pleading.

No response.

Alhaitham simply pulled the blanket up higher, turning his face away, shutting him out completely.

Kaveh stared at him, torn between anger and helplessness. He turned away before either could win.

"I'll let you rest," he said stiffly.

He left the cup of water within reach and moved to the door. Before he stepped out, he glanced back one last time — at the man lying alone, so fiercely guarding his silence even now.

"You can tell me whenever you feel like it," he whispered to the empty room.

And then he was gone, leaving Alhaitham alone in the sterile quiet once again.

Chapter Text

The world shimmered under a burning crimson sky.

Alhaitham stood upon a high stone dais, looking out over a vast, thriving kingdom. Sandstone spires rose like fingers from the desert, glinting gold under the unforgiving sun. Lush oases dotted the landscape, impossible against the endless dunes. His people — his creation — thrived below, their cheers a roaring tide that reached the heavens.

By his side stood his ministers, each bearing a ceremonial animal head: falcon, bull, ibis, lion. Closest to him, the figure with the head of a jackal knelt, offering a tablet of golden hieroglyphs.

Pride swelled in his chest — fierce, pure, almost overwhelming. This was his legacy. Forged through love, knowledge, blood, and sacrifice. A kingdom destined to stand for eternity.

He lifted his hands to embrace their adulation.

But something was wrong.

From the tips of his fingers, dark scales unfurled, slithering up his arms like living chains. His hands, once strong and welcoming, turned stiff, brittle — alien.

Below, the cheers dissolved into screams.

The sands blackened. The vibrant cities crumbled like dried leaves. His ministers turned to stone where they stood. His people — his life's work — shattered into dust before his eyes.

No matter how he strained against the creeping corruption, it consumed him, and everything he had built.

At the last moment, just before his own hands cracked apart—

A name whispered at the edge of consciousness.

"Rukkha…"

And he awoke.

Alhaitham sat bolt upright in bed, breath harsh against the quiet night.

He stared at the polished stone walls of his home as his heartbeats steadied and his eyes focused.

He was at home, safe, he reminded himself. But the lingering sensation of the scales — the helplessness — clung stubbornly to his mind.

Another dream. Or was it something else?

He pressed a hand against his temple, feeling the familiar pulse of a headache. Dreams are not supposed to be like this, are they? he thought. Forbidden knowledge, Eleazar, the Goddess of Flowers, and now a name he couldn’t even place.

The ley lines had shown him something. Something dangerously specific. And it was slowly consuming his sleep. 

It would be foolish to dismiss it any longer.

---

The Sanctuary of Surasthana was quiet as always.

Alhaitham stepped inside, the gentle scent of sandalwood and parchment greeting him. Shafts of pale green light filtered through the domed ceiling, painting soft patterns across the marble floor.

Nahida stood near the central lotus pool, her white hair catching the light, head bowed slightly as if in thought.

At his approach, she looked up and smiled — though there was a trace of guilt in her luminous gaze.

"How are you feeling, Alhaitham?" she asked, without waiting for him to speak. "I'm sorry. I heard you carried a heavy burden while I was away."

Alhaitham tucked his hands behind his back, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. "Apologies are unnecessary. I just did my job."

Still, there was a beat of silence between them, heavier than the words that followed.

"I didn't come to ask for compensation," Alhaitham said finally. His voice was even, but there was a tension to it — like a scholar approaching an unfamiliar theorem. "I'm here because of something else."

Nahida’s expression turned attentive. "Go on."

Alhaitham recounted everything, methodically: the dreams of golden cities crumbling to dust, the sensation of corruption crawling up his arms, the vividness that defied mere imagination.

And finally, the whisper of a name — one that clung to the edges of his mind like a half-remembered song.

"Rukkha," he finished. "Does it mean anything to you?"

Nahida’s brows knit together. She pressed a finger thoughtfully to her lips, her gaze growing distant.

"Rukkha…" she repeated slowly, tasting the word.

But after a moment, she shook her head, strands of white hair brushing against her shoulders.

"My memories of that time are... fractured. Blurred by erosion, by the collapse of Deshret’s reign. It's possible that the King knew someone by that name — perhaps a companion or confidant — but I cannot say for certain."

Alhaitham accepted this with a small incline of his head, though inwardly, a different calculation spun through his mind.

"The dreams are not random," he said. "I’m aware of that much."

Nahida nodded. "No, they aren't. Especially considering where you encountered them — at the rainforest ley lines. Deshret’s memory should be strongest in the desert, where he lived, where his influence lingered. No other victim of this incident were shown such memories. They only seemed to recount the incidents that had affected them heavily in the past. The fact that you were shown these echoes so far from their origin..." She trailed off meaningfully.

"It suggests a personal resonance," Alhaitham concluded, though he didn't like the conclusion very much.

"Exactly," Nahida said softly. "The ley lines show reflections tied to the observer. Memory fragments surface when they find an anchor — a thread strong enough to tug them back into visibility. For you to experience Deshret’s memories… it could mean your soul once brushed against his legacy. Perhaps... even shared a samsara with it."

Alhaitham was silent for a long moment.

The thought was uncomfortable. He preferred the idea of human autonomy — clean, linear, self-contained. The notion that the echoes of an ancient king might bleed into his own existence was... too messy.

"I see," he said finally.

Nahida watched him carefully. "You understand now why you cannot simply ignore this."

"Do you propose a solution?" Alhaitham said, already predicting her next words.

"There is only one place where you could truly understand King Deshret, his legacy and his intentions," she said. 

At the mention, a small flicker of interest crossed Alhaitham’s face — subtle, but there.

"The Temple of Silence," he said slowly, "It did surface once in one of my dreams. A place of locked knowledge led now by Sethos, Cyno's distant cousin."

Nahida nodded. "It is a vault. A tomb for secrets even the Akademiya dared not touch. If the dreams you’re seeing are symptoms of something buried — a curse, a fragmented samsara, or worse — the answers might lie there."

Alhaitham’s gaze sharpened. "You overestimate the value of answers. Some knowledge is best left inert."

"Perhaps," Nahida said gently. "But what if it's not inert? What if it festers?"

For the first time, uncertainty flickered across Alhaitham’s features. He has seen enough damage by forbidden knowledge to know what happens when something like this festers. 

After a moment, he said, "I don't know where it is, and maps are rather useless in the desert."

"You don't," Nahida agreed, and a small smile ghosted across her lips. "But someone else does."

Before Alhaitham could inquire further, she turned her head slightly, voice light but carrying unmistakable authority.

"You can come out now."

A figure dropped from one of the upper beams — landing with a soft thud.

A young boy with indigo hair, arms crossed, scowled at them both like a cat dragged from its hiding place. His hat was tilted low over his face, but his irritation was palpable.

"I was listening," he said sourly. "Not volunteering."

Nahida gave a bright, innocent smile that masked iron beneath it. "Perfect. Then you already know the situation."

Alhaitham raised a brow. "You're enlisting him?"

"I am," Nahida said serenely.

The Wanderer scoffed. "I have better things to do than babysit a glorified librarian."

"You'll do it," Nahida said, a little more firmly. "Sethos is currently at the Temple. There's work there that requires oversight — and you're already familiar with the route."

Wanderer opened his mouth, clearly about to argue, but Nahida cut him off with a sweet, pointed remark: "And if you refuse, I’m sure the paperwork explaining your sudden dereliction of duty will be absolutely fascinating to read."

He shut his mouth with a click.

After a moment of glowering silence, the Wanderer jerked his head sideways. "Fine. But don’t expect me to hold his hand."

Alhaitham gave him a dry look. "Nor would I tolerate it."

Nahida clapped her hands once, the sound echoing lightly around the marble hall. "Excellent. Then it’s settled."

Neither man looked pleased.

Still, as Alhaitham glanced once more at the small, silent figure of the Archon, he understood something: It wasn't about destiny. It was about containment. Rational risk management.

He adjusted his cloak slightly, resigned. "When do we leave?"

"I'm not wasting time on this," The Wanderer said grimly, "We leave immediately."

Chapter Text

The desert stretched out before them — a boundless expanse of scorched gold, rippling under the pitiless glare of the midday sun. Each step that Alhaitham took sank fractionally into the shifting sands, an endless exercise in friction.

Above the ground, perhaps half in mockery of natural effort, the Wanderer drifted lazily through the air, arms crossed, his wide-brimmed hat tilted low enough to obscure his face from both sun and scrutiny.

Alhaitham adjusted the satchel slung across his back, ensuring it wouldn’t slide during movement, and checked the positioning of his sword for the third time. 

Predictability was a luxury. In the desert, complacency was death.

Before departing, he had sent a single, concise message back to Kaveh: "Gone for two or three days for personal research. No cause for concern."

Minimal information, maximum efficiency.

He doubted Kaveh would appreciate the brevity — or the alarming absence of context. In fact, Kaveh was probably already halfway through drafting a self-righteous tirade about irresponsibility and poor communication skills.

For a brief moment, a thought crossed Alhaitham’s mind: Perhaps he should have brought Kaveh along instead of... this guy.

He glanced sidelong at the Wanderer — who was now idly kicking at the air, the way one might swat at an annoying fly — and immediately discarded the idea.

No. Absolutely not.

Kaveh was many things: brilliant and creative. But he was also emotional to the point of self-sabotage, and chronically allergic to subtlety.

This mission was not a simple archaeological jaunt. It involved remnants of forbidden knowledge, personal entanglements with a figure whose legacy was as bloodstained as it was revered, and, most critically, the kind of messy, unresolvable moral questions that Kaveh insisted on dragging into everything.

No.

This was a problem best approached with logic, detachment, and minimal witnesses.

In other words: a problem for him alone.

He exhaled softly, feeling the heat rise off the sand in shimmering waves. At least the company, though caustic, was unlikely to dissolve into emotional theatrics.

Small mercies.

"So," the Wanderer's dry voice finally cut through the stifling silence, "How many steps ahead did you calculate this little trip of yours to be?"

Alhaitham didn’t break stride, didn’t even spare him a glance.  "Enough to predict that relying on you will be necessary but unpleasant."

The Wanderer gave a low, amused snort. "Feeling’s mutual. I'd have better odds babysitting a sand lizard."

"Possibly," Alhaitham conceded lightly. "At least a lizard wouldn’t argue for the sake of argument."

The Wanderer floated a little closer, shadows flickering under the brim of his hat. "And here I thought scholars appreciated healthy debate."

"Debate implies a mutual exchange of ideas," Alhaitham said, finally turning his gaze on him with disinterest. "You seem more invested in winning."

The Wanderer’s lips curved. "The way I see it, winning is the only point of a debate. Otherwise, it's just two idiots wasting air."

"Curious," Alhaitham mused aloud, adjusting the strap of his satchel. "Would you rather prefer monologuing to fungi?"

The Wanderer chuckled, humorless. "At least they listen better than most Akademiya graduates."

"Not a high bar," Alhaitham agreed.

They walked — or rather, one walked and one floated — through the relentless heat, the tension between them simmering like a pot just shy of boiling.

There was no real animosity — just two sharp edges testing each other's sharpness, finding no reason to blunt themselves yet.

And somehow, despite every instinct suggesting otherwise, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Trouble found them soon enough.

A cluster of Eremites, vision-bearers, ambushed them near a crumbled outpost — accompanied by rogue desert fungi bloated with corrupted leyline energy.

Neither man wasted breath discussing strategy.

The air tore apart as Wanderer's cyclone of razor-sharp anemo strikes sliced through the fungi with each flick of his wrist, sending spores scattering like ash.

Alhaitham moved with clinical precision, teleporting through gaps in the eremites’ defenses. His chisel-light mirrors shimmered into being, every strike of his blade decisive — arteries, tendons, joints.

They fought independently, but the battlefield remained oddly controlled — no wasted movements, no backtracking.

When the final Eremite collapsed onto the sand, gasping, the two men stood — back-to-back — breathing evenly, their clothes and weapons marked only by dust and minor scuffs.

The Wanderer floated down lightly, straightened his hat, and gave a sardonic smile. "Didn't think you could move faster than a lecture."

Alhaitham wiped his blade clean. "Didn't think you could hit harder than a tantrum."

Their gazes met — measuring, faintly amused.

It wasn't friendship. It wasn’t even camaraderie.

But there, between the grit of the sand and the sting of their bruised egos, a sliver of grudging, professional respect took root.

Neither acknowledged it. Naturally.

Later, as the sun dipped low and the shadows stretched like claws across the dunes, the silence between them frayed — taut, uncomfortable.

The wind picked up, whistling past the jagged rocks. The Wanderer kicked at a loose stone as he floated by, sending it skittering across the sand.

"You know," he drawled lazily, "for someone dragging me into the desert, you're remarkably bad at conversation."

"I didn’t realize you required entertainment," Alhaitham said, dry as bone. "I assumed you were self-sufficient. Like a cactus."

The Wanderer scoffed under his breath. "Spoken like a man who's spent too much time lecturing empty halls."

Alhaitham glanced at him sidelong, considering something. The barest glint of curiosity sharpened his gaze.

"I’ve heard rumors," he said finally, voice mild but unmistakably probing. "Of a certain... puppet wandering Teyvat. A relic from another Archon's folly."

The Wanderer’s smirk evaporated. His lips thinned into a straight, dangerous line.

"Careful," he said coolly. "You might get your tongue cut off for asking stupid questions."

Alhaitham only hummed, perfectly unbothered. "So the rumors are true, then."

For a moment, the Wanderer said nothing. A spark of old anger flickered behind his eyes — quickly buried, but not invisible.

"I'm not obligated to confirm or deny anything," he muttered. "Least of all to an Akademiya dog."

"And yet you’re here," Alhaitham pointed out, "babysitting said dog through the desert."

The Wanderer shrugged with exaggerated indifference. "Mutual exploitation," he said. "You needed a guide. I needed a reason not to waste another day beating mushrooms to death."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Alhaitham’s mouth — gone as quickly as it came.

In return, the Wanderer tilted his head slightly, the sharp gleam back in his eyes. "And what about you, oh Grand Sage? These scary nightmares of yours. What exactly are you chasing out here in the wasteland?"

Alhaitham’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly — a small shift, but enough for the Wanderer to notice.

He opened his mouth to retort —

And the ground shuddered violently beneath their feet.

The dunes heaved like a living thing, sand exploding upward with a shriek of displaced air — and the massive hulk of a Wenut burst forth, its armored carapace catching the last furious light of the setting sun.

Alhaitham's sword was already in his hand. The Wanderer's hat snapped back in the sudden wind, creating a glowing halo behind his head and revealing his eyes — narrowed, gleaming, and ready.

Their argument forgotten, they stood ready to strike.

Chapter Text

Chaos exploded across the sands.

The Wenut's massive body slammed into the desert floor, the impact sending violent shockwaves through the brittle ground. Cracks spiderwebbed outward, sand spilling into sudden sinkholes.

From those yawning fractures, dozens of sand scorpions erupted — an overwhelming swarm, their armored shells glinting like broken obsidian under the dying light.

Alhaitham moved instantly, teleporting in short, sharp bursts between unstable ground and snapping pincers. But the terrain betrayed him — each step shifted treacherously, every foothold threatened to give way beneath his boots.

Above, the Wanderer shot into the air, twin streams of compressed wind spiraling behind him. He slashed powerful anemo blades into the Wenut’s armored hide — but it did not cut quite deep, the creature burrowing and re-emerging with impossible speed, its massive jaws snapping at anything within reach.

“Watch out!” Alhaitham shouted, but it was too late. 

A low-frequency sonic blast tore from the Wenut’s core. The sound hit the Wanderer mid-air like a hammer — his body jerked sideways, momentum shattered, and he crashed hard into the sand, sending up a plume of dust.

For a heartbeat, everything stilled. 

Alhaitham, slicing cleanly through two scorpions trying to pin him down, caught sight of the impact. He tried to make his way through to offer help, but stopped when the Wanderer moved. 

If that were Alhaitham, he'd have been dead by now.

But the Wanderer, incredibly, stirred — rose to his feet with a grimace, brushing dust from his sleeves like someone swatting away an annoying insect. His coat was torn at the shoulder, blood trickling down one arm — but he moved, alive, stubbornly upright.

Their eyes locked across the battlefield.

No words passed between them. None were needed.

Alhaitham’s mirrors flared into being, flooding the battlefield with false images — decoys flickering and scattering, drawing the Wenut’s attention in chaotic directions. Meanwhile, the Wanderer raised a hand sharply, summoning gravitational black holes that tore the sand scorpions off their feet — dragging them into crushing clusters, breaking the swarm's coordination.

But the Wenut was relentless.

It surged forward, jaws snapping, sonic tremors splintering the ground beneath them. For every scorpion they eliminated, three more seemed to crawl from the depths.

Alhaitham dodged low under a sweeping tail strike, slicing upward into exposed joint gaps with calculated precision. The Wanderer, floating higher now, used the unstable winds to hurl spinning gales down like sawblades — cutting through scorpion ranks before they could overrun them again.

It was still barely enough.

Their breathing grew heavier, movements sharper, more desperate — two blades cutting separate paths through chaos, but never colliding.

Finally — finally — they forced the Wenut into a mistake.

Alhaitham’s mirrors blurred into a sudden feint, causing the creature to snap at an illusion — exposing its softer underbelly. At that exact moment, the Wanderer slammed a compressed vortex into the exposed gap, staggering the beast.

Alhaitham lunged — his sword a streak of green dendro light — driving upward into the Wenut’s core from below.

Above, the Wanderer gathered a final, massive cyclone, hurling it downward like a falling star.

With a deafening screech, the Wenut collapsed, its massive frame crashing into the dunes in a cloud of bloodied sand.

The last of the scorpions scattered into the desert wind, broken and leaderless.

They found shelter among the crumbling bones of an old ruin, half-buried beneath shifting dunes. The sky overhead had darkened into a deep violet, stars beginning to prick through the last tattered veils of daylight. Already, the desert’s heat was bleeding away, leaving behind a sharp, brittle chill.

Alhaitham settled against a weathered pillar, pulling a makeshift bandage from his satchel. A shallow gash streaked across his shoulder, with smaller cuts along his legs — nothing fatal, but irritatingly inefficient injuries.

Across from him, the Wanderer leaned against a cracked wall, arms folded, utterly unaffected by the cold or the exhaustion hanging in the air like dust.

"You took a hit that would have killed a mortal," Alhaitham noted.

The Wanderer smirked, tilting his head slightly. "That's because I'm built different."

Alhaitham's gaze sharpened just a fraction. "A creative way to admit you're not entirely human."

"True," the Wanderer said easily, as if discussing the weather. "But I'm not about to bore you with the tragic little fable of my creation. Let's just say..." — he flicked a grain of sand off his sleeve — "free will is a recent acquisition."

Alhaitham nodded once, accepting the partial truth for what it was — and nothing more.

"Fair enough," he said. "Since we're exchanging half-truths…"

He paused, considering.

"There’s something I heard — something I dreamed," he continued, voice low, thoughtful. " Heed my warnings: seek not the Master of the Four Shades, and inquire not of the mysteries of the sky and the abyss ."

At the mention of the old words, the Wanderer's brows lifted slightly, the first real crack in his indifference.

"You don't need a degree from Vahumana to know you're brushing up against dangerous things," he said. His voice was lighter than the weight of his words. "Old things. Forgotten for a reason."

Alhaitham leaned forward slightly, interest sharpening behind his calm exterior.

"You know something."

The Wanderer toyed with a loose thread on his sleeve, eyes half-lidded, as if debating whether to waste the energy speaking.

"A little," he allowed. "I’ve seen the Abyss. I’ve fought things most people wouldn’t even recognize as living. And the sky..." He gave a humorless chuckle. "The sky’s a whole different problem."

Alhaitham remained silent, waiting.

Finally, the Wanderer added, in a tone almost too casual, "Stars have been falling loose from the heavens. Fragments breaking away. Happens more often than the Church of Favonius would like you to think."

Alhaitham's eyes narrowed. "Meaning?"

The Wanderer shrugged. "Meaning... at this point, you'd be a fool to trust that what you see overhead is anything close to the real thing."

The fire between them crackled.

Alhaitham absorbed it in silence, mind working through possibilities, probabilities — weighing what he knew against what he refused to accept too easily.

"And whatever you’re chasing," the Wanderer added, voice turning quieter, heavier, "It might be tied to that."

For a long moment, neither spoke.

The wind hissed through the broken ruin, stirring the sand around them like restless ghosts.

Finally, Alhaitham exhaled slowly, settling back against the stone. He could almost feel the desert shifting under his skin — unstable, treacherous, hiding deeper fractures than even he had anticipated.

Eventually, Alhaitham finished binding his wounds, setting aside the remains of his rations. He leaned back against the pillar, exhaustion creeping up behind careful calculation.

"Get some rest," the Wanderer said, tone surprisingly neutral. "I’ll keep watch."

Alhaitham offered no argument.

As he closed his eyes, the image of blackened scales creeping up his arms lingered at the edges of his mind — blending now with the vision of a false sky, a hidden truth.

Somewhere beyond the dunes, beyond the Temple of Silence, answers waited.

And he would find them.

Or they would find him.

Chapter Text

“Morning, sunshine.”

Alhaitham stirred with a grimace, one eye cracking open to find the Wanderer looming overhead, arms crossed and looking far too smug for someone without a bedroll in the cold of the desert night. 

“You didn’t even stir when I beat up a bunch of idiots who returned here with their loot in the middle of the night,” Wanderer added, idly flicking a grain of sand off his shoulder. “Slept like a little baby.”

“Good to know your talents include pest control,” Alhaitham muttered, sitting up and brushing grit from his jaw. “And if you had trudged throughout the desert on your two feet, you’d have slept the same.”

The Wanderer clicked his tongue. “How charming. Is this your pre-breakfast personality or the permanent one?”

Alhaitham ignored that in favor of checking his satchel — still intact. The earliest signs of dawn had just arrived, as the sky started lightening. His shoulder ached, but it was manageable. They freshened up using what little water was left from the previous night, the silence between them broken only by a few pointed sighs from Wanderer as Alhaitham took a little too long tightening his bandages.

Over a sparse breakfast — dried dates, water, bread, and a questionable Ajilenakh nut bar Alhaitham had been carrying for a while now — they spread out a small map. The Wanderer tapped a narrow canyon winding between dunes.

“This way. Shortest route to the Temple.”

 “Avoids the old bandit camps,” Alhaitham considered, “Efficient.”

“And boring,” The Wanderer stood up, “Let’s go.”

They left before the sun climbed higher, watching it turn the sand into liquid gold as they made their way through. For the first fifteen minutes, they walked in silence — until the Wanderer piped up, bored already.

“So. Planning to meet the old geezers at the temple with your usual dazzling charisma, or is there a special ‘Desert Mode’ Grand Sage personality you reserve for diplomatic visits?”

“I plan to introduce myself and ask questions,” Alhaitham replied. “It’s called a conversation. You should try it sometime.”

“Hard pass. The last time I had one, the other person cried.”

Before Alhaitham could reply, a shout rang out — a ragtag group of territorial Eremites burst from behind a dune, blades raised.

Alhaitham sighed. “I suppose this is what counts as a warm-up.”

What followed was efficient brutality. Alhaitham disabled joints, shattered footing, and parried blades with mathematical grace. The Wanderer danced through the air, gusts of wind slamming opponents into the sand — not dead, but humiliated.

When the last Eremite limped off clutching his arm, the Wanderer dusted his sleeves and smirked. “Well, that was satisfying.”

Alhaitham glanced at his mirror, deactivating it. “Mildly inconvenient.”

As they walked away, the Wanderer mused, "I’ve always found it funny how the Akademiya people are so terrified of the desert that they only travel in groups. If your usual golden-haired conscience tagged along, he'd have probably gotten himself skewered in the name of a peace treaty. Strange. I thought you'd drag him along with you — figured you two were a package deal.” He smirked, “What, troubles in paradise?"

“You know, for someone who claims to detest people, you’re remarkably chatty about them.”

"Observation isn't affection. I study people the same way you study books — occasionally useful, mostly disappointing." He tilted his head, "Besides, it's not gossip if I'm right."

Alhaitham chose to remain silent. 

They continued on, the sun now fully risen.

A flicker in the air. The ley lines stirred — faint, metallic vibrations thrumming beneath the sand.

Alhaitham paused mid-step.

“Residual leyline interference,” he noted, low.

The Wanderer rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. What now?”

The answer came in the form of a spear slicing through the wind — stopping inches from Alhaitham’s head before it was yanked back by a lithe, strong hand.

“ Apologies, ” came a cheerful voice. “Bit jumpy with all the leyline pollution lately.”

A young man in orange and white clothes emerged from behind a jagged stone outcrop, hood drawn back, exposing his startling green eyes, his long, dark hair windswept and wild, a grin tugging at the edge of his lips.

“Well, well. Didn’t expect to see you two haunting the desert together.”

The Wanderer snorted. “Neither did we.”

Alhaitham stared at him for a second before his brain connected the dots. “You're the guy who's been tailing me and Kaveh around Sumeru city.”

“In my defense,” the young man said, shrugging, “Something about you guys really caught my eye. Guess I just like looking at beautiful people.”

The Wanderer hovered a little higher, eyes narrowing. “Do all temple guards open conversations with a spear to the head and mild flirting, or is that just a Sethos exclusive?”

Ah, Alhaitham thought, So this is Sethos . 

“Oh, I’m not a guard,” Sethos replied easily. “I’m a curator of secrets, occasional stalker, and very occasional host. And today, it’s my pleasure to welcome you both to my old neighborhood.”

He eyed them both. “You must be here for something very specific if the Acting Grand Sage of Sumeru showed up uninvited with the Akademiya Liaison in tow.”

Alhaitham adjusted his cloak slightly. “It’s not official business.”

“Mm-hm. So personal, then?” Sethos leaned forward, intrigued. “Didn’t take you for the nostalgic type. Looking for a romantic getaway?”

“I’m here to study ancient records not found in the Akademiya,” Alhaitham said, with grit teeth, “The Temple of Silence holds knowledge on King Deshret that the city has forgotten.”

Sethos grinned. “Well. Now I’m even more curious.”

He turned, gesturing casually for them to follow. “Come on then. The gate’s still hidden — wouldn’t want the unworthy stumbling into forbidden lore, now would we?”

As he walked, he tossed a glance over his shoulder. “Try not to trigger anything ancient and deadly, would you?”

“I’ll restrain myself,” Alhaitham replied. 

The banter followed them as the dunes swallowed their footprints, and the cliffs began to rise.

The wind shifted.

They crested a ridge of fractured red stone — sun-bleached, sharp beneath their boots. Below, the desert stretched silent and blank. No ruins. No temple.

Just sand.

Sethos stepped forward. Whispered something old. Language carved in bone and flame.

The sand responded. Trembled.

A seam cracked open beneath their feet — slow, deliberate — and out from the dune's gut rose a gate of sandstone, taller than any structure had the right to be. Lines of red pulsed faintly across its surface, the Scarlet King glyphs humming with residual power.

Alhaitham’s breath did not hitch. But his pulse… shifted.

Glyphs that old should not glow.

“Welcome to the Temple of Silence,” Sethos said, spreading his arms with a grin too wide. “The library the Akademiya wishes it had the guts to fund.”

The glyphs pulsed again.

As they stepped closer, the sandstone gate shivered. Threads of red light snaked outward — no longer dormant, no longer neutral. Energy laced through the air like a warning… or a recognition.

Then, the vibration started. Deep. Subterranean. The kind that made bone ache.

A single line of red light arced toward Alhaitham’s chest. Not harmful. Not entirely benign either. It hovered there — analyzing. Probing. As if trying to identify something that wasn’t supposed to exist.

Wanderer’s eyes narrowed. “That's normal?” he asked, already raising a hand.

“No,” Sethos said, his tone sharper and more worried than Alhaitham had heard him talk before. “That’s never happened before.”

Then came the voice. Cold and resonant, in a language too ancient for memory, and yet Alhaitham recognized it. 

“Identification: Intruder. Identification: Inheritor.”

“Conclusion: Unresolved.”

Alhaitham felt it — the temple straining against its own rules. Recognition fought protocol. Memory battled the present.

He didn’t move. Data always resolved eventually. This would too. But his hand involuntarily twitched towards his sword. 

The gates pulsed once more. Then everything shifted.

The gates glowed. Sand peeled back like fabric. Primal constructs emerged from the ground — ivory and gold humming with ancient code.

Wanderer and Sethos immediately stood back to back, ready to attack, their eyes scrutinizing which one to take out first. 

The constructs formed a ring… but did not aim.

They simply watched.

“This is very strange,” Sethos muttered, weapon ready in his hand, “These primal constructs aren’t attacking, it’s… it’s almost as if it’s protecting us from something…” 

The Wanderer was staring at the gate. “I’ve seen some of these before.” His sharp gaze fell on Alhaitham. “Use your elemental signature.” 

Alhaitham stepped forward, and with his dendro energy flaring on the tip of his fingers, touched the gate. 

The temple roared.

Crimson light flared across the archway. Runes burst from the gate like data shards — spiraling, cascading, resolving around Alhaitham’s form. They covered him in sigils, flickering across his skin like the echo of a memory.

Above his head, a crown of red and gold light: ten-pointed sun, blue diamond eye, red pupil at its core.

Alhaitham’s jaw tightened. He’d seen that shape before. He’d seen it everywhere. On every ruin. Every mural. Every discarded fragment of a dying king’s civilization.

Every time he looked into a mirror and stared at his own eyes, telling himself it was nothing but a coincidence when he saw it watching back.

But nothing compared to seeing it now, cast above his head like some divine claim.

The Eye of Deshret.

The voice returned, lower this time. Absolute.

“Essence recognized. Pattern incomplete. Vessel… accepted.”

The doors parted.

Scribes inside dropped to their knees — one by one — hands to hearts, heads bowed low, together, reverent and unwavering as the ancient voice announced:

“We bow to the Master of the Red Sands, the Descendant of Flame. We rejoice at the return of our Eternal Lord Amun, and pray for him to break our silence.”

Alhaitham froze. This was not what he wanted to hear. This was not something he ever thought he would hear. He turned to Sethos to get some explanation on what was happening.

But Sethos was already on his knees, a hand to his heart. 

Alhaitham said nothing. He watched the crown of glyphs flicker — then vanish. He felt their echo, burned into his memory.

Only the Wanderer stayed upright, his sharp indigo eyes fixed on Alhaitham’s irises, his lips parted in disbelief before he scoffed.

“Told you you were weird.”

Chapter Text

“Please don’t ever do that again,” Alhaitham said flatly, the words directed at Sethos and the Temple elders as they sat in the private meeting hall of the Temple, a long chamber of sandstone and shadow. The ceiling arched high above was carved with faded glyphs of Deshret’s reign; the air was heavy with incense and the lingering hum of the awakened glyphs. A half-circle of elders sat in silence along the walls, their eyes fixed on him with reverence that felt more like scrutiny. Alhaitham had refused the open gathering the priests had suggested and insisted on this instead—contained, private, without spectacle. No speeches, no rituals. Just words, and clarity.

His arms were folded, and his tone left little ambiguity. “I’m just a scholar. I came here to study, not to be worshipped.”

Sethos only grinned, unrepentant, leaning back with casual ease that stood in contrast to the solemn stillness of the elders. “There’s a saying in Sumeru you must already know, Acting Grand Sage. Treat your guests like you treat gods.” His green eyes glinted with mischief, but beneath it was the spark of genuine curiosity. “This time, we took it a little seriously.”

Alhaitham’s jaw tightened, his gaze sweeping the stonework rather than the people before him. “Please stop. I am neither.”

The Temple Elders shifted uneasily in the shadows of the chamber, but Sethos leaned forward, voice carrying a different weight now. “But the Temple has recognized you as King Deshret’s heir. Even the glyphs crowned you.”

“A rare error in their system,” Alhaitham replied, schooling his features to appear as unbothered as possible. “Nothing more than residual programming responding to a false positive. Treat me as you would anyone else.”

The Wanderer, lounging against the wall with arms crossed, clicked his tongue. “Fascinating. Despite you being a person of the rainforest, even the desert thinks you’re more than you admit—and you still try to file it away like broken data.” His smirk was razor sharp. “Denial suits you.”

Alhaitham ignored him, as he always did.

Sethos wasn’t so easily dismissed. “Why you? Why now? After millenia of silence, why does the Temple bow to you?”

“I don’t know.” Alhaitham sighed. “But perhaps the archives will.”

The next several days were spent buried in scrolls and tablets, preserved by the Temple’s careful hands. Records of Deshret and the Goddess of Flowers. Their bond. Her death, and the obsession it left behind. The first whispers of forbidden knowledge that seeped into the desert, and the cataclysm it birthed.

Alhaitham recognized some of it. Not because he had read it before—but because he remembered it. Fragments of memory that weren’t his own. Memories of a dying king, offering up his life to stop the spread of corruption. But the accounts were inconsistent, incomplete.

Why him? Why now? The same questions repeated. 

If Deshret had died thousands of years ago, then what was Alhaitham seeing? If he was indeed some kind of reincarnation, surely there had been others before him. Yet the records showed no such precedent.

“Has anyone else ever reported visions like mine?” Alhaitham asked one evening, eyes still on the fading ink of a manuscript.

Sethos hesitated. “There are always a bunch of people claiming to be the Scarlet King or seeing them in visions. The reports increased when the forbidden knowledge capsules came over to the hands of the eremites. But in the end, they always turned out to be some sort of attention grabbing scheme.”

“Hoaxes then,” Alhaitham dismissed. But Sethos’s silence lingered.

“If King Deshret really did reincarnate, wouldn’t he have done so in his actual descendents? Especially the people from Aaru Village?” 

“I’m not an expert in samsara theory,” Wanderer said, idly toying a quill in his hand, “But I doubt souls have the freedom to choose their vessels.”

“Yeah, that makes sense…” Sethos murmured, “But it really is strange that this was the first confirmed presence of the essence of the Scarlet King since… since his death.”

The room was quiet. 

Then Alhaitham declared, “Let’s consult Candace on this.”

Their next destination was clear. Aaru Village.

The Wanderer had already left towards Sumeru City, muttering something about being “done with desert drama.” Alhaitham had let him go without objection. Fewer distractions meant fewer variables to manage.

The desert stretched endlessly as Alhaitham and Sethos set off across the dunes, heat shimmering in the air, the sand whispering with every step. Sethos walked with the ease of someone born to the desert, the sun glinting off his bow as he twirled it idly, occasionally cutting through the silence with chatter.

“You know,” Sethos began, nudging a stray pebble down the slope of a dune, “I’m curious. How was it, traveling with him?”

“With who?”

“The short, sharp-tongued one. Flies instead of walks. Makes every sentence sound like a death threat.” Sethos grinned. “Hat Guy. Interesting fellow. Or is ‘infuriating’ the better word?”

Alhaitham wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Both apply.”

Sethos laughed. “I thought so. He’s the kind of person you keep around just to see what he’ll say next. A bit like a puzzle box that insults you while you try to open it.”

Alhaitham hummed in vague agreement.

They crested another dune. A cluster of Eremites emerged from the ridge below, poorly armed and clearly desperate. Sethos sighed, releasing his electro infused arrows in quick succession before launching himself into the fray. Alhaitham followed, methodical as ever. Joints disabled, blades parried, momentum redirected. The fight lasted only minutes before the raiders scattered into the dunes.

Sethos wiped the sand from his brow, grinning. “Efficient as always. You really do know how to ruin someone’s day.”

“I prefer to think of it as reducing future inconvenience,” Alhaitham replied, wiping his sweaty fingers on a spare cloth.

Sethos chuckled and fell back into step beside him. “Tell me—how’s Cyno these days? Still playing the arbiter, carrying the weight of Sumeru’s laws on those shoulders?”

“As much as ever.”

“Mm. Figures. Reliable man. Dangerous, too. The kind you want on your side.” Sethos shot him a sidelong glance. “So what’s your relationship with him like these days? Professional? Or does he loosen that death-glare when he’s off duty?”

Alhaitham’s mouth tugged faintly, not quite a smile. “It used to be strained. Different methodologies. Different philosophies. But now… we play cards.”

Sethos blinked. “Cards?”

“Genius Invokation.”

“Oh.” Sethos snorted. “That explains a lot. So the Mahamatra—the terror of lawbreakers, scourge of desert bandits—spends his evenings pushing around tiny paper figurines with you?”

“Accurate,” Alhaitham said flatly.

Sethos barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s incredible. What’s he like when he plays? As serious as when he sentences people?”

“More,” Alhaitham said, tone bone-dry.

That gave Sethos pause. “…More?”

“He knows every card number, every ruling, every strategy. And he explains them. At length.”

Sethos whistled low. “That sounds… intense.” He tilted his head, amusement sparking in his eyes. “Think he’d let me join you sometime? You know, see the great Mahamatra relax?”

Alhaitham gave him a flat look. “If by relax you mean spending three hours lecturing you on the optimal deck composition before you’ve even drawn your first hand—then yes.”

Sethos laughed, a little nervously this time. “Maybe I’ll pass. I like my games fun, not terrifying.”

Alhaitham let the corner of his mouth twitch upward, just briefly.

Sethos glanced at him, noting it with a grin before continuing. “And what about your… housemate? The infamous architect Kaveh. Does he know about any of this?”

Alhaitham’s steps slowed slightly. His little smile faltered, his thoughts caught on the name like a burr.

Kaveh—brilliant, fragile, too open-hearted for his own good. Idealistic to the point of ruin, reckless when cornered, and incapable of keeping secrets if pressed the right way. He would throw himself into the fire if someone else asked him to, and call it virtue. If he knew about the temple, about the visions, about Deshret’s inheritance… he’d surely try to share the weight. And Deshret’s secrets had the power to crush them both.

“No,” Alhaitham said at last, voice even. “And it’s better that way.”

Sethos arched a brow. “Protective, aren’t we?”

Alhaitham didn’t reply. He only kept walking, though the guilt lingered—a quiet acknowledgment that Kaveh would call it dishonesty, even betrayal. But Alhaitham knew better. Some truths served no one but the grave.

Sethos let the silence stretch, then finally shrugged. “You’re a hard man to read sometimes, Alhaitham. But I suppose we all have people we’d rather shield from the worst of things.”

By the time the sun began to dip lower, the sandstone walls of Aaru Village came into view. Relief and civilization—an oasis of life carved out of the endless sand.

Candace met them at the gates, spear in hand, her calm presence carrying as much weight as her weapon. She welcomed them inside, offering cool water and bread as they settled within her home.

Only once the story was told and the silence had stretched comfortably did she fix her gaze on Alhaitham, her tone steady, measured.

“You’ve seen visions,” she said. “Dreams. Memories. Pretenders have made similar claims before. But your description… this is different.”

“I assume you’ve seen nothing like it.”

Candace shook her head. “No. But there were whispers—dangerous ones. Individuals who carried echoes of the Red Lord. Always after contact with forbidden knowledge. And always ending the same, horrible way.”

“They were corrupted,” Alhaitham said.

She inclined her head. “Indeed. None endured. You are the first person to bring up the Scarlet King’s memories since the purge of forbidden knowledge. You said this came to you after a leyline leak? Then it may be some sort of knowledge overdose.” Her gaze turned concerned, “If any remnant of forbidden knowledge lingers within you, your own mind, and your identity, may already be at risk.”

Alhaitham’s lips pressed into a thin line. He said nothing, processing the weight of her words.

Sethos leaned back, breaking the tension. “Then perhaps the Mausoleum is our answer. It was the heart of his ambition, his legacy. If anything could jog—”

“No,” Candace interrupted sharply. “This isn’t about ambition. It’s about identity. And the Mausoleum holds none of that truth. If his dreams point anywhere, it is toward Mount Damavand.”

Alhaitham lifted a brow. “The vortex beneath the Celestial Nail?”

Candace nodded. “That is where the heart of the matter lies.”

Now this promised to be more than an uphill journey. “No one in living memory has ever seen the nail with their own eyes. The storm is impenetrable. And the mountain swarms with Eremites.” Alhaitham’s voice was flat, analytical. “How exactly am I supposed to walk into that? You’re asking me to do the impossible.”

“I’m not sure,” Candace’s eyes softened, though her tone remained firm. “But if I’m sure of one thing, Alhaitham, it’s that you’ll always find a way to do the impossible.” 

“I’m a man of reason, Candace. Not a man of miracles.” 

“I’d have to disagree on that bit,” Sethos interjected. 

“You’ve brought in a lot of positive changes in Aaru Village since your appointment as Acting Grand Sage, Alhaitham," said Candace, "For that, I owe you my sincerest gratitude. I only wish I could assist you in your journey, but I cannot leave Aaru Village unprotected in these times. However, I know someone else who can accompany you.”

At that moment, the door opened.

With a claymore over her shoulder and the same confident stride, Dehya stepped in.

“Candace, you called—” Her smoky eyes widened. “Alhaitham? Sethos? What are you two doing here?”

Before Alhaitham could answer, Candace rose to her feet.

“Dehya, Alhaitham would like to request your services as a bodyguard.”

Chapter Text

The divine golden-haired woman next to him took a deep breath.

“You once asked me why I always sigh. Tonight, while the moon is bright, let me speak to you of things long past.”

They were sitting on the lip of a cliff that jutted out over an oasis like a blade of stone. Below, black water shimmered with streaks of silver where the moonlight touched it, ringed by palms whose fronds whispered softly in the wind. The air smelled faintly of crushed herbs and damp earth, a rarity in the desert’s endless dry breath. Fireflies drifted above the reeds like sparks of gold. Beyond the oasis stretched dunes and jagged ridges fading into shadow, their edges glinting faintly as if dusted with powdered glass. The sky overhead was a vault of deep indigo, pricked with countless stars; distant, untouchable, yet somehow heavy with watchfulness.

She looked up at that sky.

"It was a faraway time of calm and peace. Divine envoys spoke openly with the people then, bringing them the word from the heavens. But, in time, invaders descended from beyond the firmament, bringing with them destruction, overturning rivers, spreading plagues. And though the invaders brought war to my former kin, they also brought about illusions that could break through shackles to the land.”

He watched the sorrow etch deeper into her face, each word shaping itself like a scar across her calm composure, her beauty drawn taut over centuries of grief she no longer tried to hide.

“The master of the heavens, consumed by fear for the rising tide of delusion and breakthroughs, sent down the divine nails to mend the land, laying waste to the mortal realm. We then suffered the torment of exile. Stripped was our connection to heaven, to our powers of enlightenment.”

A tear ran down her cheek, catching the moonlight like a jewel before falling into the dust.

"Since the disaster, I have long been cursed to never again look upon the heavens. It is my fortune that I have been able to maintain myself till now..."

He felt a deep sadness and red-hot anger coil low in his chest. How dare they make her suffer so much? Wiping clean the tears of his companion beneath the moon's gaze, he spoke then of his own desires to the Goddess of Flowers:

"...Have these so-called gods not been superfluous to you since the beginning?"

Her lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes — the kind born not of joy, but of someone who had seen the same tragedy unfold too many times to still be surprised by it.

“I admit I find a most admirable rebellion burning within your ambitions, Red Lord. But you cannot survive on the strength of your individual will alone.”

“Which is why I need you. Your fate is no riddle, but the key to opening a mysterious door.”

She sighed, her eyes brimming with fondness as she looked towards him. Alhaitham couldn’t help but feel a tug within his heart at the sight of it. 

"I shall keep your secrets on account of the feelings my heart holds for you and the Lord of Wisdom,” she said. “I shall fashion you a bridge to allow you to slake your deepest wants. But you must fear not the crystalline sapphire nail..."

“I do not.”

She glowed faintly, the air around her shimmering as if bending under invisible heat. Her hands rose to his shoulders, soft yet steady, and she cupped his face, looking directly into his eyes.

"Then, I will deliver you unto higher knowledge. But as I have warned, you are fated to lose much in this exchange..."

Her expression shifted, desperation flickering across her features, as if she were about to say something vital but then chose silence instead.

“Mallika…” he started, wondering what it was that she said he was going to lose.

"Nevertheless, hide my lesson in your heart. Remember the punishment that once was inflicted on the fallen envoys of heaven."

“You worry too much,” he tried to reassure her, “I am not a powerless creature to fear the heaven’s wrath. With the knowledge I seek to obtain, I can transcend what mere mortals cannot even hope to imagine. I can bring back our land from the dominion of the invaders and restore it back to the people. Everyone will stand to gain much from this great work.”

The Goddess of Flowers wrapped her slender arms around him. Up this close, her beauty was dizzying to behold. Her warmth smelled of blossoms he could no longer name. Alhaitham leaned into the hug, but the contact blurred like mist. Her body thinned into a wisp of gold, slipping from his grasp. The cliff gave way beneath his feet. His heart skipped a few beats as he fell into a cavern vast and hollow, its walls ridged like ribs, its maw lined with teeth of stone.

Agony rippled through him as he fell — not sharp, but endless, like the echo of every regret ever carved into the bones of the world. It wasn’t his memory, yet it hollowed him all the same.

Her voice rang out through the darkness, echoing like a bell underwater:

"My dearest, know this in your heart: if there is to be hope in this world, it will be found kindling within mortals most ordinary."

—

Alhaitham woke up with a start.

The dim evening light seeped through the lattice windows of the guesthouse, painting the walls in soft gold and dust. His pulse still raced from the remnants of the dream. Not just visions this time, but sensations. The echo of a hammering heart that wasn’t his, the sting of guilt that felt far too personal. Sweat clung to his skin, his breathing remained shallow.

He sat up slowly, pressing a hand to his temple. The dream’s weight lingered, and he couldn’t help but feel the hollow ache of leaving someone behind for the sake of ambition.

His thoughts drifted, inevitably, to Kaveh.

It had been over a week since he’d left Sumeru City. He had told Kaveh it would be two or three days. Rationally, he knew the architect would be furious when he returned. Kaveh always was angry when plans slipped, though Alhaitham supposed it came from concern, not control. Still, this delay was longer than any before.

Perhaps Kaveh had started to worry about him by now.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It’s fine. He’ll understand. I’ll buy him another crate of wine and he’ll forget halfway through the first bottle.

But the truth was less simple. Kaveh aside, these dreams — Deshret’s dreams — were beginning to wear him down. Every night, they grew stronger. It seemed less of memories and more of an inheritance of troubling knowledge and emotions that did not belong to him. He hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in two days, and the fatigue was beginning to sink into his bones, dull and persistent.

He rose, pushing open the shutters.

Outside, the village was alive again. Children were chasing one another through narrow streets, merchants were calling out their wares, the air was rich with spice and dust. The horizon glowed with the last traces of sunlight, the desert shifting from gold to amber. 

It was time. Candace had advised they depart after sundown, when the heat waned and the wind turned kind.

He didn’t feel rested in the slightest. If anything, sleep had left him emptier. Each dream carved away something small: patience, perhaps, or composure. He’d noticed himself growing more irritable, quick to frustration in ways that didn’t feel like him.

He washed his face in the basin, the water shockingly cold against his skin, and downed the last of his flask. Then, retrieving his satchel, he stepped out into the evening air.

The chief’s house wasn’t far. Candace, Sethos, and Dehya would be waiting — and with luck, they could reach Mount Damavand by nightfall tomorrow.

He just wanted this over with. The dreams, the voices, the crown of light that haunted his mind — all of it. Logic dictated that once he found the source and dealt with it, the symptoms would cease.

He hoped logic still applied.

—

It was noon, and the air shimmered with heat.

Kaveh jogged up the long stone ramp toward the Sanctuary of Surasthana, the sound of his boots echoing in the still air. Cyno walked ahead, composed and focused, as always. Kaveh was not. He was winded, overheated, and deeply irritated that Cyno dragged him out of his home without any explanation as to why he had received a summon from Lesser Lord Kusanali herself.

“Can you at least tell me what this is all about?” he demanded, half-breathless.

“I don’t know myself,” Cyno replied without looking back. “I’m carrying out orders.”

Kaveh groaned. “That sounds terrifying. You say it like it’s nothing! When an Archon summons you without explanation, it usually means someone’s life is about to change. Or end.”

“Lesser Lord Kusanali does not deserve the latter assumption,” Cyno said simply. 

At the top of the ramp, near the entrance to the Sanctuary, stood a familiar figure: tall ears, calm eyes, folded arms.

“Tighnari?” Kaveh blinked. “You’re here too?”

“I came earlier,” Tighnari said, his tone even, though the fur at his tail’s edge twitched slightly. “I was waiting for Cyno to bring you. You sure took your time.”

“This was the fastest I could manage in such a short notice,” Kaveh muttered, trying to catch his breath. “It’s not everyday I have the General Mahamatra knocking at my door for official business.” 

“Stay here while I go announce our arrival,” Cyno directed them and went inside without waiting for an answer.

Kaveh rubbed his temples and turned to Tighnari. “Were you summoned too?”

“I was.” Tighnari paused and continued, “And if you’re here, that likely means this concerns Alhaitham.”

The name hit like a jolt. Kaveh swallowed. 

“He’s still not back, is he?” Tighnari asked.

“No.”

“How long has it been?”

“A week.” He sighed. “He said he’d be gone for two, maybe three days. He usually keeps his word with these things. He’s annoyingly consistent.”

“You don’t know where he went?”

“No.” Kaveh’s tone turned bitter. “He never tells me anything beyond what he deems ‘necessary context.’ I got used to it.”

“Hmm.” Tighnari’s gaze sharpened. “And yet you’re here.”

Kaveh looked away. “He’s my—” He stopped. “He’s my… roommate. And a perpetual headache. If something’s happened, I should at least know.”

Before Tighnari could reply, Cyno reappeared, his expression as unreadable as ever. “You both can come in.”

The air inside the Sanctuary was cooler, fragrant like sandalwood and freshly cut grass, brightly lit by the filtered green light spilling from the domed ceiling. The hum of ancient energy filled the space, soft and constant, like a heartbeat.

At the center stood Lesser Lord Kusanali.

And beside her was… Hat Guy, looking far too smug for someone who radiated chaos just by standing still.

Kaveh’s stomach tightened. Nothing good ever started with that expression.

“Thank you for coming,” Nahida said, her voice soft but serious. “There’s… something you all need to hear.”

Hat Guy’s smirk widened. “Oh, this one’s going to ruin your lunch.”

“Hat Guy—” Nahida said warningly, trying to stop him, but the Inazuman student went ahead anyway.

“Your Acting Grand Sage just got crowned heir of King Deshret by the Temple of Silence.”

The words dropped like a thunderclap.

“What?” Kaveh said first, too loud, too shocked. Cyno stiffened, taking in a sharp breath. Tighnari’s ears flicked up, his eyes widening.

“That’s no way to deliver the news,” Nahida scolded, but Hat Guy only shrugged. 

“You wanted the truth, I gave it. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

He began recounting the events in his flat, cutting tone: the Temple’s reaction, the glowing glyphs, the crown of light. Every detail was a knife twisting itself into Kaveh’s gut deeper and deeper.

Cyno’s composure cracked first. “That’s impossible.” His tone was cold, clipped, but Kaveh saw the faint tremor in his hand. “The Temple of Silence doesn’t do that. No one outside the priesthood has ever been recognized by it. It wouldn’t happen without cause, or corruption.”

Hat Guy tilted his head. “Call it cause, corruption, or cosmic joke. I saw it myself.”

Tighnari’s ears flattened slightly. “A temple that ancient, recognizing someone born in the rainforest? That defies common sense. Are you sure it wasn’t a side effect of leyline distortion?”

“If it was a glitch, it was a very dramatic one,” Hat Guy refuted with a smirk, “The glyphs lit up, the sand moved, the constructs bowed. Whole place started chanting. You don’t get that for free.”

Cyno’s jaw clenched. “That temple hasn’t awakened in centuries. I trained under its silence for years and no one’s ever made it react that way.” He turned toward Nahida, eyes flashing. “What did he do?”

Nahida’s voice was calm, but she seemed to be lost deep in thought. “He didn’t do anything. The temple recognized him.”

Kaveh gaped at them. The most disturbing fact was that he could see it — Alhaitham standing amidst the dunes, calm as ever, while ancient stone and sand bent to him. The image felt impossible. And yet somehow, he could still see it. 

Kaveh swallowed hard, trying to remove that image out of his mind. “That’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even believe in that sort of thing. He’s probably arguing with them about the definition of the word heir right now.”

“That did happen,” Hat Guy said lazily, “But the others didn’t seem to care what he believed. It was quite funny, really.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Cyno snapped, his voice sharper than lightning. “The Temple of Silence guards relics from Deshret’s age. If it declared him heir—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

Tighnari’s tail flicked, betraying unease. “Maybe there’s an explanation. A fragment of old data, leyline interference, a misread signature…”

“Then it’s one hell of a misread,” Hat Guy interrupted. “Because the temple called him by name — not his, mind you, but Deshret’s. ‘Heir of the Red Sands. Descendant of Flame.’ Very dramatic.”

Cyno looked as though the air had been punched out of him. For so long, his life had been spent under the quiet shadow of that temple, its rules, its legends, its silence. To hear it had broken that silence for Alhaitham of all people… it was unthinkable.

Finally, he said, quieter this time: “If the Temple truly acknowledged him, that means… Deshret’s essence is not gone. It’s active.”

Nahida took over, her voice quiet but steady.

“There’s something you should know,” she said. “Something I didn’t expect to become relevant again.”

Everyone looked at her in silence.

She took a deep breath. “Some time ago, I journeyed into the depths of Mt. Damavand to meet Apep, the Dendro Dragon Sovereign, once the ruler of Sumeru’s wilderness. Apep had made an agreement with King Deshret— she’d let him establish a grand empire of his dreams in the great red sands while she’d consume his soul upon his death to absorb the vast knowledge and experience he had collected.”

“Seems mutually beneficial,” Hat Guy commented. 

“It did from the outside,” Nahida continued, “But King Deshret had already seen the devastation forbidden knowledge brought to his people. While I apparently helped him temper the corruption from spreading across the land, the forbidden knowledge in his person still remained.” 

Nahida’s expression crumpled. “This must have caused him a lot of agony, which he probably held at bay through sheer strength and willpower. But even someone as powerful as him can only do so much. There was no guarantee that the forbidden knowledge within him wouldn’t spread across the lands after his death. So he struck that deal with Apep, transferring his corruption to stay contained inside another immortal being even after his death.” 

“You mean to say he used Apep for his own scheme?” Tighnari asked, eyes narrowing. 

“Indeed he did,” Nahida nodded gravely. “Apep fell into his trap. Souls can never be confined, and I don’t think she knew it. When she consumed Deshret’s soul, she could only retain his energy and memories and of course, the forbidden knowledge.The soul itself broke free to continue another samsara in this world, but the corruption spread across her body and mind, blighting her with agony and poison for millenia.” 

“When I cleansed Apep, I thought I had brought her peace,” Nahida continued, her expression growing more and more concerned, “But it seems like the void it left meant that other things buried deep inside finally saw the light of day. When the corruption was purged, the remnants of King Deshret’s power and his memories, long trapped within Apep, were probably released into the ley lines. And those remnants have found their way to someone who shares his resonance… probably his soul.”

“…Soul?” Cyno repeated in disbelief. 

“The reason we’ve never encountered such a phenomenon is simple; for millennia, there were no memories bound to King Deshret’s soul. They were trapped within Apep all this time. Deshret’s memories and elemental energy possess immense power, the kind that resists even the erosion of ages. And because they were severed from his soul, they never faded through the cycles of samsara. Preserved within Apep’s being, dormant and unspent, they have now returned, carried through the ley lines, to reunite with the soul they once belonged to.”

She paused, expression shadowed by a terrifying realization. Kaveh felt his mouth go dry.

“...Oh no,” Lesser Lord Kusanali muttered.

“What is it now?” Hat Guy asked her, his indigo eyes narrowing. 

“Apep may be freed from her suffering,” Nahida said, her tone carrying a rare edge of urgency, “but she is far from free of her rage. She believes King Deshret betrayed her. By now, she must have realized that the memories she suffered millennia to preserve no longer remain within her. If she senses even a trace of Deshret’s essence— the one she blames for her endless torment— in anyone who nears her lair…” Nahida’s small hands tightened at her sides. “I fear her fury will be swift… and merciless.”

The world seemed to tilt. Kaveh’s mind stopped working. He opened his mouth to say something but no words came out. 

Cyno’s voice cut through the haze. “If this is true, he’s in great danger. What do you believe his next move will be?”

Nahida hesitated. “Mount Damavand,” she said at last. “It’s a day and a half from here. That is where the Celestial Nail fell — and where Apep slumbers. If Alhaitham’s dreams are connected to Deshret’s essence, that is where they’ll eventually lead him.”

Kaveh blinked. “You mean he’s heading straight toward the dragon that swallowed King Deshret?”

“Likely,” Nahida said. “Though I doubt he realizes what awaits him.”

Kaveh’s stomach turned cold. He could barely breathe. Vivid images flashed before his eyes: Alhaitham, struck down by a serpent of emerald scales and ancient fury, erased as though he’d never existed. The thought clawed at his chest. 

Guilt pressed down on him like a physical weight. He should have somehow stopped Alhaitham from going. He should have noticed something was wrong. He should have been there. The world felt suddenly too bright, too sharp, too cruelly alive while Alhaitham was out there, facing something born from the dawn of creation—and utterly alone.

Cyno’s decision came fast. “Then I’m going after him.”

Tighnari frowned. “Not alone.”

“You shouldn’t come,” Cyno replied. “The desert’s harsh terrain—”

“I crossed it once to find you,” Tighnari interrupted. “Don’t think I won’t do it again.”

They locked eyes, two immovable wills, until Cyno finally relented with a sigh.

Then Kaveh spoke. “I’m coming too.”

They both turned to him. “No,” Cyno said immediately.

“Absolutely not,” Tighnari echoed.

Kaveh squared his shoulders. “You don’t get to decide that. You think I can just sit in Sumeru City twiddling my thumbs while he’s out there? He’s…” He faltered, then forced the words out. “He’s infuriating, an egoistical prick who thinks that he can do everything by himself but...” all the deep breaths he took did not stop his voice from cracking, “...he’s my friend. And I care for him. That should count for something.”  

“Kaveh,” Tighnari said gently, “you’re not trained for combat.”

“I have Mehrak and my claymore,” Kaveh shot back. “And I’m not useless. I can build, I can analyze terrain, I can help you out! Just please, don’t leave me out of this,” he begged, “I’ve known Alhaitham the longest here, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to him and I did nothing about it.” 

The silence that followed was heavy.

Cyno studied him for a long moment. “If you come, you stay close. You follow orders. No improvisation.”

Kaveh almost smiled through the tightness in his throat. “Thank you, Cyno.”

Nahida stepped forward then, her small hands folded over her heart. “I’ll watch over you from here. May the wisdom of the forest and the strength of the desert guide you all.”

They left Sumeru City at dusk.

While Tighnari and Cyno discussed the shortest route to Mt. Damavand, Kaveh’s thoughts were scattered with too many questions, none of them helpful. He remembered Alhaitham’s growing silence, the faint fatigue in his eyes before he left. How Kaveh had teased him about overworking. How he’d brushed it off.

How did I miss it?

He felt something twist painfully in his chest. He must have been suffering, and I didn’t notice.

The green glow of the lotus lamps faded behind them as the path curved deeper into the forest. Kaveh glanced back once at Sumeru City’s fading light. The guilt in his chest flared again, a heavy, unrelenting ache.

Please, Alhaitham, he thought. Don’t go too far ahead. I’m coming.

The wind shifted as the night got colder. And as the three figures disappeared into the horizon, the first stars began to appear, distant and watching.

Chapter Text

They left Aaru Village under a sky the color of burnt gold — that brief window where the desert held its breath between heat and cold. The dunes glowed like molten glass cooling under a forge. Long shadows stretched across the sand, sharp as blades. Dehya adjusted the strap of her claymore, Sethos was humming cheerfully, and off-key, as if they weren’t heading straight into one of the most treacherous stretches of land in all of Sumeru. And Alhaitham told himself this was all manageable.

The sand in his shoes disagreed immediately.

“Still hate the desert?” Dehya asked without glancing back, her grin audible in her voice.

“I fail to see how anyone enjoys walking through a landscape designed specifically to erode footwear,” Alhaitham said.

“Oh, he’s cranky already,” Sethos observed brightly. “We haven’t even crossed the first dune.”

Dehya snorted. “It’s going to be a long trip.”

“Only if you continue narrating it,” Alhaitham replied grumpily. 

Night folded around them quickly. The temperature plummeted. The dunes glittered under starlight, their curves almost luminescent. Sethos led them along a winding path that hugged the curving rocks.

“Cliff path to the left,” he said, pointing with his bow. “Avoids the Hilichurls ahead. They’re having a campfire. Probably roasting something questionably edible.”

“You can see them from here?” Dehya squinted.

“Nope. I can smell the smoke.” He puffed his chest a little. “Desert instincts.”

Alhaitham raised a brow. “What does their dinner have to do with your sense of direction?”

“Everything. Odors, airflow, temperature — all clues.” Sethos grinned. “If you pay attention to the desert, the desert talks back.”

But trouble found them soon enough. 

As they made their way ahead, a cluster of fungi, unusually active under the moonlight, burst from the sand ahead. Dehya sprang forward, swinging her claymore with fluid brutality. One strike — and the fungi exploded into harmless spores.

“That all?” she asked, stretching. “Too easy.”

“Scorpions,” Sethos warned.

Right on cue, several erupted from the sand, claws clicking.

Alhaitham frowned, “How do you sense these things before they—”

He stepped back a fraction of a second before one snapped at his ankle. Sethos’s electro arrow struck the sand with a sharp crackle, frying one instantly. Alhaitham’s mirrors shot out in a geometric burst and skewered the rest in a clean swoop.

Dehya sheathed her blade, unimpressed. “Easy warm-up.”

“If this is the extent of our obstacles,” Alhaitham said, brushing sand off his cloak, “then the journey should be tolerable.”

“Oh no,” Sethos said solemnly. “You shouldn’t have said that out loud.”

The wind shifted.

A sandstorm rose without warning — a wall of roaring, biting grit. Visibility dropped instantly, reminding Alhaitham of the time when he and Cyno were facing off against each other at Aaru Village. It seemed a lifetime ago. 

“Stay close!” Dehya shouted over the wind.

Sethos grabbed the back of Alhaitham’s cloak to keep them connected. “This is why people travel in groups!”

Alhaitham gritted his teeth. “I’m beginning to understand why.”

The storm thinned just enough for Dehya to see ahead. She cursed.

“Big hole! REALLY big hole!”

“What kind of description is—?” Alhaitham began.

The storm thinned just enough to reveal a massive pit that yawned before them. Its edges shimmered with fiery fragments, like tiny fireworks popping out of the depths of the earth.

The storm shoved them forward.

Alhaitham’s footing slid. One second he was upright, and the next — the sand gave way.

“Alhaitham!” Sethos shouted.

But Dehya was faster. She lunged through the blinding sand, seized Alhaitham’s wrist, dug her heels into the shifting ground, and hauled him back with a force that nearly dislocated his shoulder.

They all crashed backward onto stable sand.

The storm screamed past them, as if frustrated it missed its chosen victim.

Sethos lay sprawled beside them, panting. “Well… that’s one way to warm up.”

Alhaitham stared at the pit, pulse jittering, breath shallow. Something echoed in his chest — fear, annoyance, and a strange flicker of déjà vu. Too close. Far too close.

“This terrain is dangerously unstable,” he said tightly. “We should reroute.”

Dehya shook sand off her hair. “You don’t say.”

There was a long, begrudging pause before Alhaitham added, “Thank you.”

“For saving your scholarly ass?” Dehya smirked. “Anytime.”

Sethos clutched his chest. “Beautiful. He said thank you. I might cry.”

Alhaitham rolled his eyes. “Please don’t.”

They climbed the steep ridge of a vast dune, each step sinking half a foot into the sand. Even with Dehya and Sethos guiding them along the easier paths, Alhaitham felt the weight of sleeplessness dragging at him, the dream’s hollow ache pulsing behind his thoughts.

When they reached the summit, the world opened.

The light of the shimmering stars streaked across the onyx skies, revealing the Mausoleum of King Deshret in the distance. It rose from the sands like the fossilized crown of a fallen colossus — geometric, austere, glittering faintly where its gilded surfaces caught the moonlight.

Sethos let out a low whistle. “Never gets old.”

Dehya exhaled. “Beautiful.”

Alhaitham stared down at it, and the memories tugged — a whisper of stone, a shimmer of stained glass, faint warmth of a dying god leaning on ancient pillars. His chest tightened.

Not mine, he told himself. Not real.

But the ache persisted.

“We should move,” he said, turning away.

They descended the ridge’s opposite side, only to find the path cut off by a sheer drop — far too steep to climb.

Sethos peered down. “Ah. Yes. The cliff that likes to appear out of nowhere.”

Dehya squinted. “We’ll have to circle around. Long way.”

Alhaitham sighed. “Wonderful.”

“You’re adorable when you’re grumpy,” Sethos said.

“I’m not grumpy.”

“You’re grumpier now,” Dehya added.

Alhaitham stared flatly at both of them. “Let’s go.”

They followed the cliffs as the dawn broke and the sun rose higher, their shadows stretching long behind them. Scattered ruins appeared now and then — half-buried archways, columns snapped by time, relic signs of a civilization swallowed by sand.

Periodically, a scorpion would launch itself from behind a dune.

Sethos warned every time. Dehya teased him every time. And Alhaitham pretended, very carefully, not to find it even remotely amusing.

By the time the sun reached its zenith, their shadows shrank to nothing. Heat shimmered across the desert in rippling waves, turning the air itself into a mirage.

They reached a ruined outpost just before Hadramaveth’s vast expanse — shattered stone walls, chunks of pillars, and sand endlessly shifting beyond in a colossal glowing tornado.

Dehya dropped her bag with a grunt. “We rest here. Travel any further and we’ll cook from the inside out.”

Sethos dramatically collapsed against a broken column. “I’m halfway cooked already. My bones are tender.”

As Dehya dug through her supplies, muttering about ration schedules, Alhaitham sank down beside a weathered wall. He was aware of every grain of sand sticking to his skin, every bead of sweat pouring from his forehead and every lingering throb behind his eyes. To make it worse, he felt nauseous, like all the heat had boiled the blood inside his veins. 

He could barely muster a thanks as he took the waterskin that Sethos offered him. What did Sethos say before handing it over to him? He couldn’t hear the words that came out of his mouth through the rush of blood ringing in his ears. Either way, he tilted his head back and savoured the coolness of the water as it trickled down over his parched lips. 

His vision, the literal one, pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat on his aching shoulder.

Alhaitham closed his eyes briefly, breathing through the swell of fatigue.

A call tugged at him, faint but insistent.

Mt. Damavand.

As if something ancient and familiar was pulling him by the soul.

He braced an elbow on his knee and exhaled slowly.

What exactly waits for me there?

By the time the sun had started sinking in the horizon, painting Hadramaveth in deep amber and violet, Dehya had dozed lightly against her pack. The desert was quiet again, save for the sighing wind and the distant hum of sand shifting in the depths.

Alhaitham and Sethos had their fair share of sleep earlier, their fair share being a few measly hours that left Alhaitham more tired than refreshed. Sethos sat a few feet away, fiddling with a small, carved token he’d found half-buried near the ruins.

He glanced up. “You look like you’re thinking too much again.”

“I’m always thinking.”

“Ah, but this is the sad kind. The ‘what if’ kinda thinking.”

Alhaitham didn’t respond. Sethos had pinpointed his concerns accurately. With the dreams and all the people he had inconvenienced, and even more people he’d left worried back at home, he felt a strange sense of guilt within him. 

Sethos’s tone softened, sincere. “Hey. You don’t have to explain anything. But you should know… you’re not dragging us into something we don’t want to be part of.”

“This isn’t your responsibility,” Alhaitham said quietly.

Sethos chuckled. “You sound like my grandfather right now.”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be meaningful context?”

“It is,” Sethos said, smiling faintly. “He used to say the same thing whenever he thought he was inconveniencing people. Meaning: constantly.”

“You don’t resemble him.”

“I know,” Sethos laughed, soft and nostalgic. “I don’t remember my birth parents, but Grandfather Bamoun raised me. Saved me, really. So if there was danger, I went. No questions asked.”

Alhaitham shifted slightly. Here was another guy with no memories of his birth parents, raised by a single grandparent whose teachings and guidance forever cemented the trajectory of his life and values. 

In a way, Sethos seemed similar to him. 

“I see.”

“You don’t, actually,” Sethos teased lightly. Then: “But you… remind me a little of him.”

Alhaitham blinked, clearly not expecting that. “How so?”

“You both pretend not to care as much as you do,” Sethos said, shrugging lightly. “But actions don’t lie.” He pointed at him with the carved token. “Look at you. Exhausted, stressed, mildly homicidal—”

“I’m not homicidal.”

“—and still pushing forward because you’re trying to solve something alone.” Sethos’s smile softened. “So let me say this once: you don’t need to carry the desert on your back. We’re here. I’m here. Deal with it.”

The desert wind brushed past them, warm and strangely gentle.

For a moment, Alhaitham said nothing.

Then, quietly:

“…Thank you for your support. I’ll make sure this is dealt with as swiftly as possible.”

Sethos broke into a pleased grin. “Two thank-yous in one day. If I get a third, I might ascend.”

“That won’t happen.”

“Earnest thanks are always given thrice. We’ll see.”

The words brought back a fresh twinge of guilt, and Alhaitham thought of Kaveh. What must he be doing right now? Did he finally notice that his roommate was missing for way too long? Had he started worrying sick about him already? What explanation will he even give Kaveh once he’s back? 

Sethos leaned back, gazing out at the deepening purple horizon. “We’ll reach Damavand just before dawn if we push hard. The desert’s tough, but we’re tougher.” Then, after a beat: “Just… don’t fall into any more glowing pits, okay? I don’t think Dehya can drag you out twice.”

A short, almost imperceptible huff escaped Alhaitham — the closest he ever got to amusement in public.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The night deepened around them, and though the weight in Alhaitham’s chest remained, it felt… a little less heavy.

For now.

Chapter Text

Kaveh, Tighnari and Cyno crossed Yazadaha Pool as the sun kissed the horizon, the waters reflecting a molten orange glow. Tighnari flagged down the first small ferry-boat headed across Sumeru Port, his tone brisk and commanding enough that even the rower straightened under it.

Once aboard, the three of them sat in heavy silence as the boat rocked gently across the still surface. A flock of dusk birds took flight overhead, wheeling in lazy arcs.

Kaveh wasn’t looking at the birds. He stared at the rippling water beside them, seeing instead Alhaitham’s expression in their last proper conversation in the hospital — aloof, in pain and hiding something important that he did not deem necessary to share with Kaveh.

Will be back in two to three days, he’d said in the letter he’d left for him.

That liar.

Kaveh swallowed hard.

When they crossed Yazadaha Pool and stepped onto the warm soil, the moment lasted all of two breaths before—

“Travelers,” a rough voice called out. “Hold it right there. We’re wondering if you can show us any interesting merchandise you’ve brought from the city.”

Eremites. Four of them. Two blocking the ramp, two circling from the back.

Tighnari didn’t sigh — he exhaled a warning. “We don’t have time for this.”

“We’re not looking for trouble,” Cyno said, tone dangerously mild.

“Then hand over anything valuable.”

“Oh?” Cyno answered, “You dare steal from the General Mahamatra himself?”

The air between them vibrated, tension like a bowstring pulled taut. Hearing the term ‘General Mahamatra’, the Eremites turned pale. Before the Eremite captain could step forward, Tighnari barked:

“Kaveh — left!”

Kaveh dodged an incoming spear by inches while Cyno leapt forward with quick, precise strikes. Electro burst in crackling arcs. Tighnari used his bow to swiftly knock two opponents down, expression sharp and calm even in motion.

The fight was short and efficient. The Eremites fled, limping and cursing.

Tighnari lowered his bow. “We continue. Quickly.”

Kaveh nodded, sheathing his claymore. He was so lost in his thoughts about Alhaitham that he had almost missed the electro spear zooming inches away from his face.

He felt Tighnari watching him with narrowed eyes, observing him silently. Understanding. The way only a few people ever had.

The way Alhaitham never bothered to.

They left the port behind as twilight crept into the canopy, shadows growing long and dense. And the path ahead — crawling with more camps, more hours — stretched endlessly before them.

And Kaveh kept pace, because stopping meant thinking.

And thinking meant remembering.

—

The forest thickened as they pressed inland, the air growing heavier, the filtered light thinning into dim, mossy green. Their shoes squelched quietly on damp soil. Every sound felt sharper out here: the rustle of leaves, the distant bubbling of a swamp, the occasional cry of some unseen bird.

Tighnari moved fast, almost gliding across the uneven terrain. His ears flicked constantly — angled forward, swiveling sideways, flattening briefly when something in the underbrush shifted. Alert, responsive, and entirely in his element.

“Three Eremite camps in this stretch,” he murmured without looking back. “Two we can skirt around. One we’ll have to pass near; they’ve spread too wide.”

“Fantastic,” Kaveh muttered.

Tighnari raised a hand suddenly — a signal. The three of them halted behind a thick curtain of leaves.

Below, in a clearing, an Eremite group lounged around dying campfires, their voices carrying up the slope. Their weapons were scattered across crates and tree roots. Smoke draped the air like a veil.

Tighnari lowered his voice. “We go around the ridge. Quietly. No sudden movement.”

Cyno nodded. Kaveh followed.

The ascent was steep. Roots jutted like ribs, and the soil crumbled under their weight. Above them, the canopy shifted in darkening shades of green as the sun slid further down the horizon. Tighnari threaded them between bushes and knotted roots with an ease Kaveh envied bitterly.

“How are you even seeing your way?” Kaveh whispered.

“Smell,” Tighnari replied.

“…What?”

“Eremite camps reek of poorly cured leather and intense spices. Not hard to locate.”

Cyno nodded. “He once tracked me through the forest by smell alone.”

Kaveh blinked. “Should I… be impressed or disturbed?”

“Yes,” Tighnari said.

They continued upward. The path broadened as the forest thinned, and ruins began to emerge on the valley on the side of their hill — half-sunken stone blocks, broken stairs leading nowhere, relics of some structure swallowed by the jungle long before the Akademiya existed. The last red of sunset bled through the leaves, setting the stone edges aglow.

Kaveh barely had time to appreciate the architecture before a low, throaty rumble rolled through the clearing.

Tighnari’s ears shot upright. Cyno’s hand went to his polearm.

“Kaveh—move!” Tighnari shouted.

A blur of amber and black leapt from the branches.

The Rishboland tiger landed between them with enough force to shake the ground. Its eyes glowed with sharp, predatory focus, trained directly on Kaveh.

He slid back, boots scraping against rock.

Cyno was already moving. He darted forward, swift and lethal, electro crackling along the edge of his spear. The tiger lunged, claws scraping sparks on stone, but Cyno intercepted it mid-leap, dealing a precise blow to its flank. It spun, snarling, injured but not yet defeated.

Before it could pounce again, Tighnari threw his Vijnana Stormheart ball near the tiger, which exploded in a burst of dendro illusions, confusing the territorial animal. Cyno struck one final time, and the great beast collapsed with a dull thud, the jungle falling abruptly silent.

Kaveh exhaled shakily.

“You’re hurt,” Cyno said immediately.

“It grazed me,” Kaveh said, looking at the bleeding line across his arm. “Just a scratch.”

Tighnari was already at his side, pulling salve from his bag. “Rishboland claws carry bacteria. Infection sets in fast. Sit.”

Kaveh sat. He didn’t protest — because the sting hadn’t shaken him nearly as badly as the realization that his mind had wandered enough for a tiger to ambush him.

That could’ve gotten him killed.

Tighnari cleaned the wound briskly, with practiced efficiency. “You need to stay present, Kaveh.”

“I am trying.”

“No,” Tighnari said plainly, “I see you. You’re trying to distract yourself as much as possible. You’re running through a mental maze with no exit. That’s dangerous — for all of us.”

Kaveh swallowed against the rising knot in his throat.

He didn’t argue.

He couldn’t.

The three of them moved on, shadows stretching long through the path.

They bypassed a Treasure Hoarder camp tucked beneath a winding stem — Cyno spotted their torches first, Tighnari smelled the smoke second, and Kaveh almost stumbled straight into sight lines before Cyno yanked him back by the collar.

They didn’t have the time to fight. The clock was ticking far too quickly.

As the last of the twilight thinned and night finally devoured the sky, an oppressive weight settled over the air.

This time, Kaveh could smell it too. A sweet, rotting smell. An ominous dark haze.

Withering.

Tighnari’s entire posture changed.

“Stop,” he said sharply.

Cyno bristled. “We can skirt around—”

“No,” Tighnari cut in. “It’s spreading. If we leave it, someone will wander into it by morning.” His voice hardened. “Support me.”

Kaveh’s chest tightened. The memory of the withering devastating his almost-constructed Palace of Alcazarzaray was still fresh in his mind — the helplessness and despair he had felt that night as he had tried to fight back to save his beloved creation, the choking air, the sickening scent of decay all too familiar.

Tighnari had already stepped forward.

The corrupted fungi pulsed in diseased reds and purples, tendrils of miasma stretching through the trees like veins. Tighnari’s arrows found each tumor in swift succession, bursting in cleansing bursts of Dendro. Cyno struck down the frenzied dendroshrooms rushing out of the dark.

Kaveh swung Mehrak when needed — hard, focused, precise — helping clear the smaller threats, refusing to be deadweight, even as every breath burned down his throat.

Soon, they purged the zone.

But the air around them still tasted wrong, thick with residue that sank deep into the lungs.

By the time they staggered out the other side, Kaveh’s head throbbed, Cyno’s breaths were tight, and Tighnari was trembling slightly in his fingers — the only sign he ever let slip of strain.

“Short rest,” Tighnari said hoarsely. “We’ll recover faster if we stay put for half an hour.”

They collapsed near the roots of a large aranakula tree, its trunk glowing faintly in the moonlight. Tighnari handed each of them water and pressed small medicinal herbs into their palms.

Kaveh downed it. It was bitter, cold and grounding.

His heartbeat slowed gradually, but his thoughts still refused to.

Despite Tighnari leading them towards the desert as fast as he could, their progress has still been so slow. 

Alhaitham must be walking alone in the desert right now. Maybe he has already reached Hadramaveth. How was he faring in the desert? He was never a fan of that place from the beginning, only bothering to go there if it involved serious academic research. 

That stupid man. How could he leave him like this when he was probably off there alone, researching his origins. And he didn’t even think of asking Kaveh for help. Kaveh almost hoped Alhaitham hated every single minute of his research trip. 

He pressed a palm over his forehead. What was he even angry about? Alhaitham probably had his own reasons for not telling him about it. What would he have even said? Hey Kaveh, I think I’m King Deshret reincarnated. Rejoice. As if he would have even believed something so ridiculous. 

Guilt and worry churned inside him like a storm. This is not the time to wallow in regrets or anger, he told himself. Alhaitham is in grave danger and all you can think about is your own feelings. 

He was a failure, through and through. 

“Ready,” Cyno said after a while.

“Ready,” Kaveh echoed, though it came out a little hollow.

Tighnari nodded and rose. “Good. Because we’re not even halfway there yet.”

They moved out again under the cover of night — deeper into the forest, toward the swamps and luminescent groves waiting ahead.

A few more hours until they reached the borders of the desert.
And one more day and night till they reached wherever Alhaitham was supposed to be.
If they didn’t slow down, that is. 

And none of them had any intention of slowing down.

—

The forest changed again as they pressed deeper, the ground sinking into muck. Humidity wrapped around them, heavy as wet cloth. Fireflies drifted between the ferns in languid arcs, their light dim and ghostly.

Tighnari slowed his pace. “Watch your step. The earth here is deceptive.”

Almost on cue, Cyno tested the ground ahead with his spear. The mud swallowed the blade up to its haft.

Kaveh stared. “…Aren’t swamps supposed to look like swamps?”

Tighnari gave him a sidelong glance. “That applies only to swamps that want to be found. This one enjoys trying to murder people.”

"Wonderful.”

“This region is unpredictable,” Tighnari continued. “Stay close. If the ground lightens in color, step back immediately.”

They waded through the swamp’s edge. Water pooled in uneven patches, reflecting the pale moonlight. Every splash, every ripple felt loud in the thick, humid silence.

A grounded hydroshroom pulsed like a beating heart beside a half-sunken log.

Tighnari’s tail stiffened. “Don’t go near it. They get mad when startled.”

Cyno muttered, “So do scholars.”

Kaveh shot him an exhausted glare, but the corner of Cyno’s mouth twitched just barely — a strange comfort in all this suffocating darkness.

Their path veered upward next, toward a clearing where the forest opened as if someone had carved a chamber out of living wood. Luminescent plants glowed along the roots and rocks, bathing the area in soft teal light. A trickle of wind stirred the leaves, cool and soothing after hours of stale humidity.

Kaveh looked up and caught his breath.

Great trunks spiraled overhead, ancient trees fused to mossy rocks, forming a natural curve that rose like the stern of a colossal, sunken ship reaching back toward the sky.

The place felt sacred. Old. Wild in a way the Akademiya would never understand.

“It’s beautiful,” Kaveh murmured without thinking.

Tighnari nodded once. “This part of the forest survived untouched for centuries. Nature protects its own when left alone.”

The sky started to lighten as the three of them walked in relative peace. Their footsteps echoed softly beneath the enormous arches, each of them dwarfed by the scale of the living cathedral overhead.

But the calm didn’t last.

A low growl rippled through the air — steady, rhythmic, and getting closer.

Tighnari stopped dead in his tracks. His ears flattened.

“…No,” he whispered, more annoyed than afraid. “Not again.”

Cyno’s stance shifted instantly. “Rishboland?”

“Two,” Tighnari said grimly. “And angry that we’ve stepped on their territory.”

Kaveh barely had time to register the warning before something massive jumped down from the arch ahead of them. Then another from the left. Their roar echoed through the thicket, shaking loose leaves from the canopy.

“Run!” Tighnari snapped.

And they did.

The ground sloped upward sharply, forcing them into a narrow passage between two massive boulders. Wind whipped through the gap, dryer and hotter than before..

The tigers barreled after them, claws scraping stone, snarls vibrating through Kaveh’s bones. Cyno fell back in formation, covering the rear, occasionally striking with sharp bursts to keep the beasts at bay. Tighnari zigzagged in front, intercepting the tighter angles, calling warnings over his shoulder.

“Right side—move!”

“Branch overhead, duck—!”

“Kaveh, stay center!”

He obeyed — or tried to. Every breath burned, his injured arm throbbed, and the weight of exhaustion made running feel like wading through syrup.

This is nothing, he scolded himself. Alhaitham could be dying somewhere in that desert, and you’re complaining about being out of breath?

The passage widened at last. The tigers lunged—

“Mehrak, cover us!” Kaveh yelled as he flung it at their pursuers.

His toolbox immediately projected a shield of green that the tigers bounced off. Cyno seized the opening and lunged in a high-speed dash, firing a harsh Electro pulse that cracked against the stone and sent the tigers scrambling back, disoriented.

They vanished into the thicket.

Once they were certian that they were safe, Kaveh bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. His breath shook, but he forced it steady.

Breathe, he told himself. Keep moving. Don’t be the burden.

Tighnari approached him, studying him with eyes that saw far too much.

“You’re still bleeding a bit. Later, I’ll rewrap it.”

“I’m fine,” Kaveh said.

Tighnari didn’t argue. His silence said enough.

The forest ended abruptly.

Grass yellowed beneath their feet. The air turned dry, biting at their skin. A distant wind moaned across unseen dunes. A few meters away, a Sumpter beast lumbered lazily across a sandy path.

And ahead, towering like a sleeping giant against the dawn:

The extensions of the Wall of Samiel.

It rose so high it blotted out a portion of the sunrise, a colossal barricade of stone. 

Tighnari squinted toward the horizon. “We’re close to the Samiel barrier. The wind carries sand from here on. Cover your mouths.”

They wrapped scarves around their faces and moved toward a crumbled structure leaning against the wall — an abandoned Treasure Hoarder camp, covered by the stone barriers like a dome. Torn cloth hung like wilted petals from splintered poles, the tents seemed untouched for a while, and scattered crates lay half-buried in sand.

Cyno swept the area first, efficient and silent.

“Clear,” he announced.

Their exhaustion hit all at once.

Tighnari dropped his pack. Cyno took the first watch immediately, positioning himself atop a chunk of broken column, his silhouette rigid against the starline.

Kaveh sank onto a tattered mat beneath a slanted bit of canvas. His limbs buzzed with fatigue. His heart hammered with exhaustion and dread as he listened to the whistle of the sandstorm beyond.

Why didn’t I see it?

Why didn’t I ask?

Why didn’t I—

Why didn’t you tell me anything, you infuriating man?

Why did you have to go alone to where even the Dendro Archon can’t save you?

“Kaveh.”

Tighnari sat beside him, close but not crowding. His ears were lowered slightly — the equivalent of a concerned frown.

“You’re spiraling again.”

Kaveh pressed a hand to his face. He felt transparent. “I’m just… thinking.”

“Thinking,” Tighnari repeated. “If that were true, I’d let you. But you’re not. You’re catastrophizing.”

Kaveh bit his lip. Hard.

Tighnari’s tone softened — not gentle, but honest. The kind of voice someone used when they refused to sugarcoat the truth, but still spoke with empathy.

“You’re blaming yourself for not knowing what Alhaitham was going through, aren’t you?”

After a heavy pause, he continued.

“But Kaveh… even if you had known, you couldn’t have prevented any of this.”

Kaveh’s throat tightened painfully. “I should’ve asked him. I should’ve… gone with him.”

Tighnari shook his head. “You can’t force someone to share burdens they aren’t ready to share.”

“That doesn’t make it any less—”

“Kaveh, listen.”

Kaveh fell silent.

Tighnari’s gaze was steady, unflinching, unwavering. It was the gaze of someone used to cutting through fog, literal and metaphorical.

“You care deeply. That’s good. But caring without clarity is simply self-inflicted cruelty.”

He leaned back, tail fluffing slightly as he settled.

“You want to help him now? Then stop drowning in your guilt and be present in the moment to help him tomorrow. Ease your mind and know that worrying does nothing but sap your energy when you need it the most. And know that you’re not the only one concerned about that lummox. We’re in this together. Neither the rainforest, nor the desert can stop us from getting him back.”

Tighnari’s words grounded him, relieving the vice-like grip of his anxiety over his mind a little.

Kaveh looked down at his hands. They were still trembling faintly.

“…Then I’ll try my best to heed your professional advice, Forest Watcher.”

“It’s my advice as your friend,” Tighnari said simply.

The tightness in his chest eased just a little. Enough that he could breathe without feeling crushed.

“Thank you,” Kaveh murmured.

Tighnari shrugged lightly. “Get what sleep you can. You’ll need it. The desert is unforgiving.”

Cyno’s voice drifted from the shadows: “And loud.”

Kaveh huffed a tired laugh despite himself.

The desert wind howled softly beyond the curving walls. The weight of a thousand worries still pressed against Kaveh’s ribs, but it no longer felt like it would break him.

Tomorrow, they would cross into the desert.

Tomorrow, they would be closer to Alhaitham.

Chapter Text

All around him was searing wind. He was towering—no, someone else was towering—casting a shadow that swallowed a city whole. Before him stood a presence vast and coiled, its form only half-glimpsed through heat haze and drifting sand. Scales the color of tarnished emerald. Eyes like molten gold sunk deep in a skull too large to comprehend.

You are part of our family, the voice he wore had said, calm and resolute even in the face of annihilation. This covenant is agreeable to me. I will accept it—so long as you help me protect my people.

The response had come not with words at first, but with laughter.

Cold, resonant and amused.

Neither your life nor that of the puny humans are of any value to me, the voice replied at last, echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once. But I am willing to entertain this bargain… as long as you keep your end.

A mouth opened in the dark.

Too big. Too wide. Too many teeth.

They gleamed as they drew closer, closer—

Alhaitham jolted awake.

The desert evening rushed back in: cool air, the muted hiss of sand shifting, the low crackle of embers nearby. Something beside him startled violently.

“Whoa—!” Dehya scrambled upright, hand flying to her weapon out of reflex before she caught herself. “Alhaitham, damn it—you scared the hell out of me.”

He sat up, breath uneven, heart still hammering as if it were trying to escape his ribs.

“…Apologies,” he said after a moment. His voice sounded rougher than he liked. “It was just another nightmare.”

Dehya studied him in the dim light, amber eyes sharp with concern. “That bad, huh?”

His head throbbed, a deep, punishing ache that pulsed behind his eyes. Every thought felt like it scraped against raw nerves.

It’s unforgivable, he thought bitterly. They haven’t let me sleep properly for days.

He pressed his fingers briefly to his temple, then lowered his hand. “I’m fine.”

Dehya snorted softly, unconvinced, and shifted closer. One gloved hand came to rest between his shoulder blades, steady and warm.

“Don’t worry,” she said, rubbing slow circles against his back. “Once we find whatever’s causing these dreams, we’ll put an end to it. You’ll be back to your usual insufferably calm self in no time.”

He exhaled through his nose and accepted the waterskin she offered, drinking deeply. The water was cool, grounding. It helped—somewhat.

Footsteps approached, light and unhurried.

“I thought I heard something exciting happening,” Sethos said cheerfully as he emerged from the edge of the firelight. “Guess not. You two are already up—perfect timing. Sun’s about to set.”

He glanced at Alhaitham, head tilting slightly. “Rough night?”

“Define rough,” Alhaitham replied flatly.

Sethos grinned apologetically. “Ah. One of those.”

They ate quickly, the three of them crouched around their small fire. Dried meat, flatbread, dates—nothing luxurious, but enough. Alhaitham forced himself to eat despite the lingering nausea, knowing better than to skip a meal out here.

When they finished, he wiped his hands on a cloth and spoke, more to the open desert than to either of them.

“I still don’t understand where the end point of this is supposed to be.”

Dehya leaned back on her hands, gaze fixed on the dark horizon where Hadramaveth loomed unseen. “I thought the goal was the eye of the storm.”

“Yes,” he said, “but that’s not a plan. That’s an outcome. We still don’t know how we’re supposed to get there.” He shot her a look. “You think I can just walk into a sandstorm of that magnitude without getting blown halfway across the desert?”

Sethos laughed. “Honestly? After what happened at the Temple of Silence, I wouldn’t be surprised if the storm politely parted to let you through.”

“I cannot stress enough,” Alhaitham replied, irritation sharpening his tone, “that I do not have control over these phenomena.”

That was the most infuriating part of all this: the way things moved around him now, responded to him, expected something of him he neither wanted nor understood.

Dehya hummed thoughtfully. “There are ruins near the inner edge of Hadramaveth. Some old ones. If we’re lucky, one of them might have a passage that leads closer without exposing us directly.”

“That’s optimistic,” Alhaitham said. “We need a backup plan.”

“As it happens,” Sethos said, already packing up their supplies, “we’re still only on the outskirts. Plenty of time to argue strategy while we walk.”

They set off as the sun dipped fully below the horizon.

They hadn’t gone far when the sand behind a boulder shifted violently.

Alhaitham barely had time to turn before a ruin drake burst from cover, metal wings screaming as it launched itself at them.

“Behind—!” Sethos shouted.

Alhaitham reacted a fraction too slowly.

The drake’s tail slammed into his abdomen with crushing force, knocking the breath from his lungs and sending him skidding across the sand. Pain exploded through his core, sharp and nauseating.

Dehya swore viciously and surged forward, her fists igniting as she struck with bone-shaking force. Sethos loosened arrow after arrow, Electro crackling as it tore into exposed joints.

Alhaitham stayed where he was for a moment, forcing air back into his lungs, teeth clenched. His abdomen throbbed with every breath.

“You’re sitting this one out,” Dehya said firmly, already assessing him.

“I had no intention of—” He stopped, straightening with visible effort. “…Arguing.”

And truly, there was no need. Dehya and Sethos handled the rest with practiced ease. They were desert-born; this was their element.

The fight was brutal and brief, ending with the drake collapsing in a cloud of sand and sparks.

They continued on, but the fatigue caught up to him quickly.

The sweat—even at night—rolled across his skin. Sand dragged at his boots, muscles aching with every step. His body pulsed dully where the drake had struck him, and keeping pace with the other two became an exercise in sheer stubbornness.

He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but by the time the triangular gates of Gurabad rose before them, he was at his limit.

“I’m… taking a break,” he said, attempting to sit on a nearby boulder.

His knees buckled.

Dehya caught him instantly. “Alhaitham—don’t push yourself—”

“Halt!” a voice barked.

He heard weapons scraped free of sheaths. In front of them were two Eremite guards.

“Who are you, and what business do you have in Tanit territory?”

Alhaitham straightened with visible effort, ignoring the way the world tilted. “Just travelers passing through. We mean no trouble.”

“Yeah?” one of the Eremites sneered. “You look like Akademiya filth to me.”

“Idiot,” the other hissed, staring hard at Dehya’s flaming gauntlet. “Don’t you recognize her? That’s Flame-Mane.”

The man froze. “…It is.”

He laughed awkwardly and lowered his weapon. “My apologies. Didn’t realize we were hosting a legend.”

“It’s not like you could do much against me anyway,” Dehya said dryly.

The Eremite coughed. “Fair enough. What brings you here, Flame-Mane?”

“I’m escorting a client for research,” she said smoothly. “We’ll pass through without disturbing Tanit affairs.”

Alhaitham’s stomach lurched violently.

He clutched the boulder and retched, vision swimming.

“Al—” Dehya caught herself. “…Kaveh? Kaveh, are you alright?”

The name rang through him like a bell.

Kaveh?

For a dizzy moment, he thought—

No. No one was there.

Dehya leaned closer, her voice low. “Your name is Kaveh for now.”

Understanding clicked sluggishly into place. Things might get messy if the Eremites came to know that he was the Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya that they hated so much. 

The Eremite snorted, unimpressed. “Doesn’t look like he’s got the stomach for the desert,” he said, eyeing Alhaitham with open disdain. “Takes a different kind of strength to live out here. Not the bookish sort.”

Sethos let out a short, awkward laugh, the sound carefully measured. “True enough. We desert folk grow up with the sun trying to kill us every day. Builds character.” He tilted his head slightly, easy smile in place. “Not everyone gets used to it.”

Dehya’s jaw tightened. The muscles in her neck stood out sharply, but she didn’t rise to it. Not yet.

One of the Eremites turned his attention to Sethos instead, gaze narrowing. “And you? You don’t look like you belong to any camp I know.”

Sethos met the scrutiny without blinking. “Name’s Djer,” he said smoothly. “Ruin specialist. Scholars hire me to decipher old inscriptions—King Deshret era. I also keep them from getting themselves killed.”

“Making money off the ruins, huh?” The man grunted, interest flickering briefly before dying just as fast. “Figures.”

The scrutiny faded. Whatever suspicions lingered seemed to dissolve under Dehya’s presence like sand beneath a tide.

After a brief exchange between themselves, the Eremites turned back to them.

“Your client looks quite pale if you ask me. In the desert, a man like that is more trouble than he’s worth. But since Flame Mane is here, I can negotiate with Azariq to offer you three some refuge and supplies at our camp. But keep in mind, it’s going to cost you some steep Mora.”

“We can give it a thought,” Dehya said. 

Alhaitham did not protest. It was clear to them all that he was going nowhere in this state without some proper rest. 

—

Tanit territory opened up before them like a living organism.

Tents clustered close together, stitched hides glowing amber in firelight. Smoke curled lazily into the darkening sky, heavy with the scent of spiced meat and resin. Children darted between campfires. Warriors sharpened blades or laughed loudly over shared cups. Dozens of eyes tracked their arrival—not hostile, but keen. Assessing.

Too many eyes.

Azariq met them near the center of camp, a tall, well built man with a rigid posture and an expression as sharp as broken stone. He questioned Dehya briskly, voice clipped, fingers drumming against his belt as he negotiated the price of shelter and supplies.

“It’s fortunate you found us, Flame-Mane,” he said at last. “This region grows more dangerous by the day.”

“We won’t trouble you long,” Dehya replied evenly. “Just passing through.”

Azariq’s mouth curved into something like a smile. “Nonsense. Anyone of your reputation is a guest here.”

He gestured sharply. “A tent for them. Water. Heat treatments.”

Then he turned to Dehya. “You’re renowned here. The Matriarch will wish to meet you.”

Dehya hesitated only a fraction of a second before nodding. “I’ll return shortly.”

She followed Azariq away, boots crunching over packed sand.

The other two were guided deeper into the Tanit camp, away from the central thoroughfare and toward a cluster of larger tents set near a broad firepit. A spacious tent was cleared for them, its interior lined with layered rugs and cushions meant for guests of status. Waterskins were pressed into their hands, cool and blessedly full, and they were ushered to sit around the fire outside while arrangements were finalized.

The moment they settled, curiosity descended.

People drifted closer in ones and twos, then in clusters — faces illuminated by firelight, eyes bright and openly inquisitive.

“Is it true you both came here with Flame-Mane?”

“And how long have you been traveling together?”

“How expensive was she to hire?” someone asked with a grin, nudging their companion.

“What are you looking for out here, anyway?” another chimed in. “There’s nothing but ruins and death past Gurabad.”

Alhaitham kept his posture slightly hunched, hands wrapped around the waterskin as if grounding himself. He answered little, letting Sethos take the brunt of it, nodding along when necessary, offering vague half-responses that gave nothing away.

One of the Eremites leaned closer to Sethos, squinting. “Have I seen you before?” he asked slowly. “What tribe are you from?”

Sethos didn’t hesitate. “Aaru Village,” he replied easily. “But I moved to Sumeru City a while back. I guide people between regions — scholars, merchants, adventurers. Wouldn’t be surprised if we crossed paths somewhere.”

The man hummed, apparently satisfied, and leaned back.

The questions continued for a while longer — friendly, almost festive — until footsteps announced Dehya’s return.

She approached with two additional healers in tow, their arms laden with satchels and bundled cloth.

“I just met Matriarch Babel,” Dehya said as she crouched beside them, voice lowered but steady. “She knows I’m close to Candace. Wanted to make introductions.” A faint, humorless huff left her. “She seemed pleased about the unexpected opportunity. She’s also sent these healers to help us recover faster before we continue.”

The healers wasted no time.

Incense was lit, smoke curling thick and fragrant through the air. Salves were warmed between palms and applied with practiced hands.

Dehya sat still as her knuckles were carefully iced and wrapped. “Prevent swelling,” one healer explained. Dehya scoffed quietly but didn’t argue.

Sethos winced as a strong-smelling salve was pressed into a blister along his heel. “That burns,” he muttered.

“That means it’s working,” came the dry reply.

When they turned to Alhaitham, cool compresses were placed along his temples, his neck, his abdomen. The relief was immediate — cold sinking into overheated muscles, easing the ache that had been building for days.

It felt… too good.

His limbs grew heavy. His thoughts softened at the edges.

The healers finished, offered a few murmured instructions, and withdrew. Dehya stood and pulled the heavy tent flap closed behind them, cutting off the firelight and the noise of the camp.

She stretched, rolling her shoulders. “I feel a hell of a lot better already,” she said, flexing her wrapped hands. “You need to rest, Alhaitham. And Sethos—” she shot him a look, “—I thought you were insulting him back there with those Eremites.”

Sethos raised his hands defensively. “I was improvising.”

“Well,” Dehya sighed, “I’m glad it worked out.”

Alhaitham didn’t hear the rest.

Sleep took him mid-sentence.

This time, the dream was sharper. Overwhelming in grief.

Grief so vast it hollowed the world. He mourned the death of his beloved. Her radiant smile, her soft voice, her lithe limbs, her purple flowers, her heart of gold. He watched a city mourning beneath a sky that no longer answered prayers. Not his own, anyways. He stood alone with blood on his hands, as he gazed upon the swirling white celestial nail above him. 

He will have her preserved. He will harness the very power that had destroyed her — to keep her memory eternal.

The nail shifted at his thoughts. And then he was falling.

He woke with a violent jolt.

Sand slammed into his back. The breath punched from his lungs. Had his dreams turned real? 

A weighted net pressed down over him, rough and unforgiving.

“—What the—!”

Dehya was beside him. Sethos too. All three of them tangled together in a pit, disoriented with sleep, heartbeats thundering.

Alhaitham reached instinctively for his Vision.

Nothing.

His weapons — gone. Theirs too.

Panic flared hot and sharp. How could this happen? They were agile. Alert. Light sleepers. For someone to have disarmed them completely, there was only one explanation.

They had been drugged.

Light flared above them as a torch lit the tent— no, the trap. 

A woman stepped into view, regal and haughty, looking down with measured calm.

“Flame-Mane Dehya… forgive the deception,” Matriarch Babel said smoothly. “You must know we do respect you, but we needed all of you alive.”

Her gaze shifted — and locked onto Alhaitham.

“Grand Sage Alhaitham,” she continued softly, satisfaction threading every syllable. “Did you truly think you could hide behind ordinary clothing and a false name?”