Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kaveh should have never taken this client.

But rent was due, and his bank account was teetering on the edge of oblivion, so here he was—sitting in a too-pricey café, forcing a polite smile as a very wealthy man explained the impossible vision he wanted for his newest project.

“I want something grand, but subtle. Elegant, but not too extravagant. Modern, but with a touch of old-world charm. And of course, it must stand out, but not be too flashy. You understand?"

A walking contradiction that Kaveh was somehow expected to materialize.

"Like…uh…the Villa del Balbianello!”

Who would ever call the Villa del Balbianello SUBTLE? Kaveh tried to quell an oncoming headache.

With the patience of a saint, he nodded. "Of course. Subtle but grand. Elegant but not extravagant. Modern but traditional. Simple yet eye-catching." He smiled, hoping it passed as genuine. "Have you considered building a paradox?"

The client chuckled, completely missing the sarcasm.

Kaveh was so tired.

Where would his client even have the land for a place that big?

By the time he finally escaped, he was already late to meet Cyno and Tighnari for drinks. Not that they’d mind—Cyno would probably make some deadpan joke about Kaveh’s "artistic suffering," and Tighnari would give him his usual "I told you so" about dealing with difficult clients.

Tonight, however, there was an extra person waiting when he arrived.

“Kaveh! Long time no see!” the blond smiled, shuffling over to make room.

“Aether, good to see you!” Kaveh greeted the other man. “How long are you in the country for this time?”

Kaveh had seen him around a handful of times—always passing through, quick and fleeting. One day he’d be helping Cyno at the police station, the next he’d be off untangling some political mess in another nation. He’d meet with nobles in Old Inazuma, disappear again, then suddenly show up in a bar like today, drinking like a college student on the verge of graduation.

Kaveh had no idea what Aether actually did for a living—he just did everything.

And tonight, he was talking about Rukkhadevata. The ruler of Old Sumeru who died more than a decade ago. Kaveh didn’t know much, just that he was born there before leaving for Fontaine with his mom. Still, he heard the whispers.

How there was some coup. How the royalty was murdered. But no one knew for certain. It seemed like a topic shrouded in silence, a ghost that no one dared to summon.

And judging from how Tighnari and Cyno left the nation right after it happened, it seemed like no one from the country knew much about that night either.

“I need to find her heir,” Aether said, voice calm but certain.

Cyno frowned slightly. “Wasn’t Her Majesty eliminated along with her child?”

Aether just swirled his drink. “Hmm.”

Kaveh, already two drinks in, sighed. Aether always seemed to be after something. He remembered how, years ago, Aether had mentioned searching for his sister.

He was still looking today.

“I hope you...find your peace, Aether,” Kaveh said, slurring his words.

“Thanks, Kaveh,” the blond smiled his usual golden retriever smile.

Somewhere between their third and fourth round of drinks, Kaveh had managed to spill his drink on himself, cursing the wetness on his already-worn-out shirt. Aether, ever the nice guy, had just shrugged and tossed his own jacket over Kaveh’s shoulders. Kaveh had waved him off at first but kept it on anyway—it was warm, and, well, he wasn’t about to refuse a free coat in the cold weather.

Tighnari had laughed, teasing him about how he looked like a lost kid. Cyno had added in one of his puns: "Looks like Kaveh needed a little... cover-age." Kaveh had rolled his eyes, muttering something about how ridiculous that was.

Another hour passed. They drank. They talked. Then, they all went their separate ways. Kaveh stumbled back after assuring Tighnari that he was fine.

The road was dimly lit, the lights blurry and warm, but Kaveh still knew where to go. His head was full of architecture and nonsense, and he wanted to sleep before thinking of his client again. He turned a corner, noting briefly that it seemed darker than usual.

That was the last thing he remembered before the world turned dark.

Kaveh woke up to the distinct feeling that something was very, very wrong.

For one, his head was pounding. That was to be expected—he had been drinking with Tighnari, Cyno, and Aether. He had been walking home, thinking about his latest architectural project and his rapidly depleting bank account.

And then—

Cement. He opened his eyes to see the familiar grey of unpolished cement above him. Shifting, he felt the cold, hard floor under him. Looking around, he took in an unfamiliar cell, the dim overhead light flickering slightly.

That was not how he remembered ending his night.

What the hell?

He tapped his pockets. His phone was missing. His wallet was missing. He turned everywhere, frantic. Rough cement walls. Bars.

Was he in some sort of cell? Did he do something illegal last night?

He can’t believe Cyno put him behind BARS.

Then, he noticed a man standing outside the bars, watching him with a look of sheer, bone-deep exhaustion. A tall figure with steel-gray hair and sharp teal eyes. Clad in all black. He didn’t say anything. He just… stared.

Kaveh blinked at him.

The man sighed. Then turned around and walked away.

Kaveh sat up immediately. “Wait-”

As soon as the guy was out of sight, hushed voices broke out just beyond the doorway.

“—That’s the wrong one.”

“But he’s blond!”

“You’re blond too. Are you who we’re targeting?”

“…Um. No, sir.”

Another voice chimed in. “But the jacket matched what he was wearing all night!”

Kaveh just stared.

A slow, horrifying realization crept over him.

He had been accidentally kidnapped. Kidnapped by idiots.

His eye twitched. He looked at the jacket he was still wearing. Aether’s jacket.

Once again, he wondered what exactly Aether did for a living. Because why is this man supposed to get kidnapped?

And now—

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t have time for this. He had deadlines. He had client meetings. He had a very precise schedule—

The gray-haired guy walked back in, looking even more tired than before.

Kaveh stared at him. The guy stared back.

And then, he frowned. Like Kaveh was at fault or something.

And then Kaveh’s mouth started running before he could stop it.

“Hi. So, do I at least get an explanation for this? Or are you the kind of criminals that just grab random people off the street and hope it works out?”

Silence.

Kaveh pressed on. “Let me guess. Human trafficking? Or no—an illegal organ trade? Am I about to wake up in a bathtub full of ice? Because I have to tell you, my kidneys are not in peak condition after years of coffee and alcohol, you’re not getting a good price for them. Maybe if you had gotten the right person, it’d pay off better.”

More silence. The same judge-y stare.

“…Oh my god, are you one of those broody, emotionless criminals who think they’re smarter than everyone else?” Kaveh groaned, exasperated. “I bet you’re the type to read philosophy books in the original language and act all superior about it.”

The man let out the deepest, most put-upon sigh Kaveh had ever heard in his life.

Honestly, Kaveh was offended. He was the one kidnapped.

Then the guy turned around and left again.

Kaveh gaped. “Hey—don’t just walk away! Come back here, you coward—”

Kaveh sat on the cold floor, arms crossed, his expression a mix of irritation and resignation. He’d been in this godforsaken cell for what—two days? Three? The days blurred together in a cycle of stale air and growing frustration.

He didn’t even know what time it was anymore. His hair felt greasy, his clothes were wrinkled, and he was pretty sure if he had to sit in this same position for another hour, his spine would snap.

And then he walked in again.

The tall, broad-shouldered man with the stupid grey hair and those stupid teal eyes. Looking pristine, as if he hadn’t been stuck underground in a musty, glorified storage room like Kaveh. His shirt was crisp, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing strong wrists. Unfair.

Kaveh scowled immediately. “Oh, fantastic. It’s you again.”

Alhaitham—Kaveh had finally caught his name in the midst of hushed conversations outside his cell—gave him a single unreadable glance before sitting on a chair. He barely reacted to Kaveh’s snide remark, which somehow made it even more infuriating.

“We’ll be holding you as a hostage,” Alhaitham said, voice clipped and businesslike. “We’ve already sent one of your earrings to one Commissioner Cyno as proof.”

Kaveh inhaled sharply, hands raising to an empty ear. It was on him just yesterday! Did they sneak into his cell and take it off? Those bastards—

But before his anger could even fully bloom, a much more important realization crashed over him.

“Oh. Okay. That’s good news for me, no?”

Alhaitham narrowed his eyes slightly. “Excuse me?”

Kaveh leaned back against the wall, exhaling loudly. “It means they’re going to get me out of here. Though, hmm...”

Alhaitham’s expression remained unreadable. “It may take them longer than you expect.”

“They’re efficient.” Kaveh waved a hand like he didn’t mind. “I can wait.”

Except he couldn’t.

Because these idiots had kidnapped the wrong person, and now he was stuck here, unable to work on his project, unable to meet deadlines, unable to make money.

He had already missed a follow-up meeting with a client—yesterday.

Which meant rent? Gone. Food? Gone. His life? Spiraling into complete and utter ruin.

He’s absolutely freaking out.

Kaveh pursed his lips, trying not to let it show. “Actually, while I wait, can I get a shower or something?”

Alhaitham's eye twitched. “Do you…understand the position you’re in?”

“I do,” Kaveh deadpanned. “You people are amateurs. You weren’t even supposed to kidnap me, were you?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer. But the way his lips pressed together ever so slightly, like he was holding back the smallest smirk—

It pissed Kaveh off. The sheer audacity.

He groaned, dropping his head back against the wall. “Look. At least let me have some dignity while I’m stuck here.”

Alhaitham stared at him for a long moment, as if weighing his options, then simply turned and walked out without a word.

Kaveh watched him go, jaw clenched. “Oh, come on—”

The door shut.

Kaveh sat there, fuming.

Unbelievable.

Absolutely unbelievable.

Kaveh counted every creak in the room from his dingy cell, rubbing at his face with a groan.

Only twenty-nine. He counted again.

He was so bored.

Then, while he was in the middle of counting the number of times the light flickered in the last hour, he heard footsteps. The door creaked open and he sighed dramatically before even looking up.

Another day in this dingy cell, another visit from his captor. It was almost routine now, except the routine was annoying as hell.

Alhaitham stepped in, looking as put-together as ever, which only served to deepen Kaveh’s irritation. It was absolutely unfair how this man always looked like he belonged in a fashion magazine while Kaveh was stuck in the same stained clothes, his hair a tangled mess.

“Morning, Alhaitham,” Kaveh drawled, stretching exaggeratedly as he leaned back against the wall. “That is your name, right?” He cocked his head. “I have a request.”

Alhaitham’s lips tightened, barely. “You’re in no position to make requests.”

“I haven’t showered.”

A pause. Then, without a word, Alhaitham turned on his heel and left. Kaveh blinked. Huffed.

A few minutes later, the door opened again, and Alhaitham tossed a neatly folded set of clothes in front of the cell. Kaveh eyed them, then looked up. “Great, thanks. But I still haven’t showered.”

Alhaitham merely raised an eyebrow before stepping out again, leaving Kaveh to grumble as he changed into the clean outfit anyway. After the alcohol stain, his sweat, the smell, the dirt on the wall—anything was better than his clothes.

When Alhaitham returned again, his sharp gaze swept over Kaveh, and Kaveh swore he saw judgment in those teal eyes.

“What now?” Kaveh huffed, crossing his arms.

Alhaitham pulled out a tablet, tapping a few times before speaking in a dry, impassive tone. “Kaveh. 24. Architect. Fontaine-accredited. Designed the renowned Palace of Alcazarzaray in New Sumeru and Tower of Putra in Persia—yet somehow managed to land himself in massive debt after their completion.”

Kaveh twitched. “Oh, amazing. Are you going to start reading my horoscope next?”

Ignoring him, Alhaitham continued. “Ongoing payments totaling an amount that exceeds your current income. Declined for at least three loan applications in the past year. Frequently overdrafted accounts. Oh, and this one is most intriguing—” he scrolled, his lips curving slightly, “—once filed a complaint against a client for refusing to pay and got counter-sued instead.”

Kaveh groaned, throwing his head back. “I know. Shut up.”

Alhaitham lowered the tablet. “Why were you at the site of the kidnapping?”

Kaveh scoffed, leaning back against the wall. “Like I’d tell you.”

Alhaitham didn’t react. Instead, he scrolled again and said, “Graduated with high honors. Your final thesis was on Sustainable Utopian Architecture and Its Viability in the Modern Era—” he paused, raised an eyebrow, “—idealistic.”

Kaveh’s eyes snapped up. “Excuse me?”

“You’re an architect in a city run by money, not morals,” Alhaitham said plainly. “Your thesis argues for a system that values artistry over profit. Your solution was beautiful but flawed. You underestimated the realities of cost and human self-interest.”

Kaveh bristled, standing up. “You didn’t even read it. You’re just making assumptions based on the title.”

“I read the abstract,” Alhaitham corrected, his head tilting slightly in thought. Or maybe in more judgement. Kaveh couldn't place it. “And your references. I didn’t need to read the rest to know what your argument boiled down to.”

Kaveh narrowed his eyes. “Then you wouldn’t know I accounted for cost. I designed models that proved sustainable architecture can be profitable—”

“Only in theory. Your practical applications lacked funding, and your case studies didn’t account for economic downturns.”

Kaveh was stunned silent for a moment. This was the most his captor had spoken. He hadn’t expected this guy to actually engage with his work. And worse—he had counterpoints.

He opened his mouth to argue back, but before he could, Alhaitham turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

Kaveh scowled. “Oh, of course. You always leave the moment the conversation gets interesting.”

Alhaitham paused briefly at the doorway. “No. I leave when you become predictable.”

And then he was gone.

Kaveh stared at the door, fists clenched, jaw tight.

He had never wanted to win an argument so badly in his life.

Kaveh had officially reached his limit.

At first, he'd tried to remain calm, rationalizing that he would be rescued soon. After all, it wasn’t like Cyno, Tighnari, and the rest of his friends would just let him rot here.

But it’s been a week. A whole week! What were his friends doing? Had they forgotten him? They managed to escape a whole corrupted nation before, surely they could handle this!

Kaveh groaned, sprawled out on the pathetic excuse of a cot in his cell, staring up at the ceiling. His deadline had passed. His client was probably furious. He wasn’t getting paid, which meant he was going to simply die. Wonderful.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Kaveh didn't even bother to sit up.

“Are you finally seeing the pleasure of silence?” Alhaitham’s voice was as dry as ever.

Kaveh let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, I’m having the time of my life, can’t you see? I love being held hostage by absolute morons.”

Alhaitham didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he lifted something in his hands. A small chess piece. A knight.

“Aside from model buildings," he said, as if reading from a file in his mind. "You also won a few chess tournaments when you were in Fontaine.”

Kaveh eyed him warily. “Yeah, so?”

Alhaitham tilted his head slightly, regarding Kaveh like he was some puzzle that had yet to be solved. “I propose a deal.”

“Why?”

Alhaitham ignored him. “If you win three consecutive games, you get what you’ve always asked for. If I win, you answer a question about the people you associate with.”

“You mean my friends?” Kaveh scoffed. Alhaitham probably didn’t even know what those were. “And what do you mean what I’ve always asked for?”

“A shower.”

Kaveh sat up properly, frowning. His hair was a mess. He was disgusting. So it did sound tempting. But—

“Oh, yeah, sure, and what? You’ll cheat somehow and force information out of me?”

Alhaitham simply hummed, already turning to leave. 

And that was so frustrating. Kaveh felt like he was being toyed with. For days.

Kaveh ground his teeth. his mind whirring. The chess and shower offer was bait—Alhaitham knew he’d want it. And the alternative? Sitting here. Doing nothing. Letting Alhaitham win without ever moving a single piece.

Kaveh groaned, throwing his head back. “Wait—ugh, fine. All I have to do is beat you, right?”

Alhaitham turned back around. “That’s how chess works, yes.”

Kaveh rolled his eyes.

Two hours later, Kaveh leapt to his feet, arms raised in victory like he’d just conquered an empire.

“HA! I WON! I GET TO SHOWER!”

Alhaitham, meanwhile, simply leaned back on the floor, arms crossed, eyes flicking over the board as if replaying their entire game in his head. “Not bad.”

Kaveh pointed at Alhaitham, a victorious smirk stretching across his face. “Not bad? I destroyed you! You didn’t even win once!”

Alhaitham merely regarded him with a flat stare. “Congratulations,” he said, voice as dry as the desert. “You get your prize. Go shower before I start regretting this arrangement.”

Kaveh scowled as two guards came into the room with blindfolds and handcuffs, but he was too elated to properly argue. He was free—well, not actually free, but free enough to escape the confines of his disgusting cell and wash off the grime of captivity.

And then the next night, Alhaitham won.

Kaveh had slumped back, arms crossed, glaring at the board like it had personally betrayed him. “You cheated.”

Alhaitham raised an unimpressed brow. “How does one cheat at chess?”

“You used an illegal move when I wasn’t looking. You must have.”

“Or maybe you just made a mistake.”

Kaveh scoffed. “Unlikely.”

“Tell me something about the Traveler,” Alhaitham prompted, leaning forward slightly.

“Traveler?”

“The man who’s jacket you wore when you arrived.”

Kaveh groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But I don’t actually know much about him, okay? I see him like once every few months. We were just drinking that night. All I know is that he’s looking for someone.”

He wasn't about to tell this stoic jerk about Aether's missing sister. So instead, he said, “Probably related to the whole Rukkhadevata thing a few years ago.”

Alhaitham hummed, contemplating as he reset the board.

“And what do you know about the…Rukkhadevata thing?”

Kaveh narrowed his eyes. “I thought it’s one game per day.”

“You can ask for another shower if you win.”

And so it began.

Every night, they played. Sometimes Kaveh won, sometimes Alhaitham did. But regardless of the outcome, the banter never stopped. It wasn’t long before the guards started learning to avoid the room whenever they spotted a chess board in Alhaitham’s hands—because if those two were playing, it was only a matter of time before an argument broke out.

When Kaveh won next, he asked for pillows. The next time, he asked for paper and pencils. Though he never got the pencils. Instead, they had the audacity to hand him crayons.

Crayons. Like he was a kindergartener.

When he held them up in disgust, Alhaitham had merely blinked at him and said, “To avoid potential assaults.”

“You think I’m going to stab you with a pencil?” Kaveh had scoffed, scowling as he grudgingly took the box.

“Statistically, it’s a possibility.”

“You are unbelievable.”

The worst part was that his captor kept criticizing Kaveh while they played.

It started when Kaveh lost another game after sacrificing his queen. Alhaitham simply said, “You rely too much on self-sacrificial strategies.”

“It’s called betting on a different outcome,” Kaveh snapped, arms crossed. “I had my bishop lined up. I thought your knight wouldn’t move there.”

“You make it a habit of prioritizing your queen wherever you move. It’s reckless.”

“Well, why don’t you ever use your queen to take my pieces?"

“I prefer using every piece on the board.”

His fingers lingered on his queen piece for half a second longer than necessary, his gaze flicking up to meet Kaveh’s. “In many cases,” he added, “even a pawn can check the king.”

Kaveh scoffed, crossing his arms. He was still grumbling about it when Alhaitham—because he was the worst—effortlessly transitioned into his winning question.

“Why is the Traveler looking into Rukkhadevata?”

Kaveh blinked. “What?”

Alhaitham glanced at him. “You were there when he brought it up that night. At the bar. I assume you have thoughts.”

Kaveh frowned, shifting in his seat. Had Alhaitham’s men been listening that night?

“I don’t know,” he said. Alhaitham shot him a look. “No, really. I don’t know much about anything aside from what he said and what the rumors have said.”

“And what exactly have the rumors said?”

“Well…” Kaveh hesitated. “That she was murdered and some corrupt government took over.”

Alhaitham started to reset the pieces. “Weren’t you born in Old Sumeru? Shouldn’t you know more?”

“Yeah, but I moved to Fontaine after that. Even before the murder.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “You know that. You read my files.”

Alhaitham didn’t say anything. He simply began the game, moving his pawn. Kaveh made a frustrated noise and turned back to the board.

A few moves passed in silence before Kaveh spoke again. “What do you know about Rukkhadevata?”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow.

Kaveh gestured vaguely. “Since you’re so interested in the topic.”

Alhaitham studied him for a moment. “She was a ruler who tried to balance power between the people and the nobility. For a while, it worked. But eventually, her own people rioted against her. Or so they say.” He idly adjusted his knight. “The politicians—the sages—who were meant to protect her turned their backs. And when she was at her weakest, they eliminated her entire family.”

Kaveh’s hand stilled over his next move. “Her weakest?”

“Right after she gave birth. The moment the child was born.”

The chessboard between them remained untouched for a long moment.

“…That’s horrible,” Kaveh muttered, the words settling uneasily in his chest. “And the child?”

Alhaitham’s gaze flickered toward him, then back to the board. A chill crawled up Kaveh’s spine. He didn’t want to ask, but the silence between them seemed to demand it.

“It’s said they took the child first. As insurance,” Alhaitham said. “Rukkhadevata surrendered herself willingly, asked to at least spare the baby. They paraded her through the city as a traitor. And when the people—her own people—threw stones at her, the sages didn’t stop them.”

Kaveh felt an odd tightness in his throat.

“When she could barely stand, they dragged her to the throne room. Made her kneel before the very council that once swore loyalty to her. And right as they pronounced her ‘unfit to rule’—” His voice was eerily measured. “They placed the child in her arms.”

Kaveh exhaled sharply. “…they killed them both?”

A beat of silence.

Alhaitham shrugged. “Well, it is all alleged.” Something flickered in his eyes as he waited for Kaveh to move his piece. “Nobody actually knows.”

Kaveh swallowed. Moved his pawn. His hands shook. “Is that why you’re wondering what the Traveler knows?”

Silence.

Alhaitham took his pawn. “Perhaps.”

Kaveh exhaled. He couldn’t even find it in him to be annoyed at the vague answer. The game resumed, but something in his stomach felt unsettled.

The days passed in a blur of arguments and chess pieces.

The next time, instead of a shower or more crayons (insulting, truly), he asked for some music. Anything, really—a radio, a speaker, whatever could make the mind-numbing boredom of this stupid cell a little more tolerable.

Because his friends were taking their sweet ass time.

Because as much as he'd rather die than admit it, the only thing even remotely engaging in this hellhole was Alhaitham.

And unfortunately, Alhaitham had other things to do besides humor him with chess matches all day.

So, when a guard eventually came to take him out of his cell, Kaveh was actually hopeful. He should've known better.

The guard took off his blindfolds and Kaveh found himself in—of all things—a music room. Grand piano, shelves lined with various string and wind instruments, even an old vinyl player in the corner. No vinyls, though.

Kaveh stared. Then he scowled.

"This is not a radio," he deadpanned.

"No, it’s not," Alhaitham's insufferable voice came from behind him. Kaveh turned to see him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, looking as blasé as ever. "But you asked for music. Play something, if you’re that bored."

Kaveh groaned dramatically. "Gods, you are so—fine, whatever. At least I won’t have to sit in that cell doing nothing."

He hesitated for a moment, eyes scanning the room, before walking over to the grand piano. It had been years, but he still remembered a little from his childhood—his mother had taught him a few songs. He pressed a key, letting the sound ring out, then started on a simple melody.

He faltered the second he remembered his captor watching. His shoulders tensed, jaw tightening as if bracing for mockery.

"You’re terrible," Alhaitham said.

Kaveh's hands slammed down on the keys in an ugly, discordant mess. He turned to glare at the man. "You don’t have to stay."

A knock at the door interrupted their bickering. One of the guards leaned in, addressing Alhaitham. Whispering something about sages.

Alhaitham sighed, straightening. "Try not to make too much noise," he said dryly. "And don't bother trying to escape. The acoustics in here won't mask any...attempts."

Kaveh huffed, rolling his eyes as his source of annoyance left. Finally, peace.

He exhaled, flexing his fingers before placing them back on the keys. He might as well enjoy this while he could—because if his timeline was right, he had a meeting with a very annoying rich client in two days.

And if Cyno and the others didn’t hurry up, he was going to miss it. Then he really would be screwed.

Kaveh barely had time to react when his cell was slammed open one day, rough hands grabbing him, shoving a blindfold over his eyes.

“Wait! Where are you taking me?” he yelped, twisting in the guards' grip. “My blueprints!”

A pause. Then, an exasperated sigh—one Kaveh had come to associate with a particular grey-haired menace.

“I have a meeting tomorrow! I need them! Even if they’re drawn with crayons!” he continued, ignoring the cuffs on his hands. “If you leave them behind, I swear I’ll make such a ruckus—”

“I can stab him,” one of the guards muttered. “Might give the Traveler more incentive.”

“What the fuck?!” Kaveh sputtered.

“No.” Alhaitham's voice, clipped and irritated. And then—nothing.

Blackness.

Kaveh woke up to someone shaking him.

“Kaveh! Kaveh, wake up!”

His vision swam, head throbbing from whatever they’d knocked him out with. He was going to throw the chess board at Alhaitham next time.

Blinking groggily, he registered a dim, cavernous space—rough stone walls and the flickering light of torches. There was a figure above him, ears twitching slightly, green eyes filled with relief and concern.

"Tighnari?" Kaveh croaked, still disoriented.

“Oh, thank god! Are you okay? What did they do to you?" Tighnari asked, his voice laced with worry as he helps Kaveh sit up.

Kaveh groaned. "What took you guys so long? I was about to start paying rent for my cell."

Tighnari’s expression flickered between relief and exasperation. “That’s what you’re worried about?!”

Before Kaveh can retort, Cyno’s voice cut through the air. “No time for this. We need to leave. Now. Before Aether’s reinforcements bury the place.”

“Reinforcements?”

A deafening explosion rattled the underground tunnels.

“Klee,” Tighnari muttered grimly. “And Albedo. But mostly Klee.”

“Oh for the love of—”

Kaveh’s eyes darted around, trying to take in where he is and what threats they were running from, and that’s when he saw him.

Alhaitham. Several feet away. Unconscious, slumped against a rock, debris from the collapsing tunnels around him.

And in his shirt pocket, barely peeking out, were several crumpled, folded pieces of paper.

Kaveh’s blueprints.

Something flickered in Kaveh’s chest—an emotion he didn’t have the time or energy to examine right now. He clenched his jaw, forced himself to his feet, and stumbled toward Alhaitham, ignoring Tighnari yelling after him.

Kaveh lunged forward, hauling Alhaitham up just as another section of the tunnel ceiling collapsed behind them.

“Kaveh, what are you—”

“Tighnari, help me!”

“He’s the enemy!”

“I’m not letting him get crushed!”

His best friend sighed, a mix of long-suffering and urgency, then helped him drag the grey-haired man out of the caverns. Kaveh realized now it probably was an old mining factory.

Once out, they set Alhaitham down on the ground. Before he knew what he was doing, he crouched down and tugged his papers from Alhaitham’s inner pocket, fingers ghosting over the creased edges.

And this close to the unconscious man, Alhaitham suddenly looked… young. So much younger than the calculating, infuriating person who had driven him crazy these past few days.

Then, with a torn piece of another sheet, he hurriedly scribbled a crude little pawn piece and shoved it back into Alhaitham’s pocket.

He’s not sure why. Maybe as a farewell. Maybe as a thank-you for the board games. Maybe to show that Kaveh won one last time. Maybe because, passed out like this, Alhaitham didn’t look like a criminal—just a kid, barely younger than Kaveh himself, tangled up in something far bigger than him.

He didn’t let himself think about it any further.

“Guys, let's go!” Cyno barked from inside the cave.

Kaveh took one last look at Alhaitham, then felt himself being yanked by Tighnari. He ran, following the others through the underground tunnels.

The boat rocked gently on the dark waters, but the atmosphere on board was anything but calm. Kaveh sat between Tighnari and Albedo, wrapped in a blanket, still slightly damp from crawling through the underground tunnels. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving only exhaustion—and the weight of the conversation pressing down on him.

“How long has it been?”

Cyno answered. “Almost two weeks, I believe.”

Kaveh pouted, leaned against Tighnari’s side. He thought of all the work he’d missed. The food in his apartment that had for sure went bad. The phone and wallet he’ll have to replace. He had no budget.

“Oh, don’t think you’re off the hook,” Tighnari said, and immediately started berating him. “What were you thinking running to that man?! You could’ve died, Kaveh! Do you know how reckless—”

"Okay, okay! I get it! I’m sorry," Kaveh groans. Then, against Tighnari’s shoulder, he muttered, whining, "…but seriously, you guys took forever to find some amateurs.”

Tighnari hummed something questioning. Cyno and Albedo exchanged a glance. Klee stopped playing with her toy gun.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, Cyno, ever the serious one, said, “Kaveh. Those weren't amateurs.”

Kaveh sat back up. “They kidnapped me instead of Aether!”

“Yes, a mistake,” Tighnari spoke. "But Kaveh, they're—" He hesitated. "Do you even know where we are?"

Kaveh blinked. “No?”

Tighnari exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. He and Cyno exchanged looks before Tighnari sighed again, shifting and looking straight at Kaveh.

“We're in Old Sumeru. The nation where Rukkhadevata was murdered.”

Kaveh blinked again.

Tighnari frowned. “You remember the crime organization Aether’s been looking into?”

Kaveh did remember.

Tighnari continued, voice quiet but heavy. "The sages—the people running that country now—they’re not just any criminals, Kaveh. They took out their own monarchy. They're tied to half of the world’s underground networks.”

Cyno nodded. “They didn’t stop at the murder of Her Majesty. The assassinations of the visiting Snezhnayan ambassadors three years ago? The disappearance of the royal family members in Kampuchea? Illegal exports. Organ trafficking. Weapons trades. Their people infiltrate every sector."

Kaveh’s stomach turned. He opened his mouth to protest—to say that it couldn’t be. There was no way. The people he was around didn’t seem—Alhaitham didn’t seem—

“They were said to have been involved with her parents’ disappearance too,” Albedo added, voice low, looking right at Klee. The little girl just fiddled with her toy gun, looking out into the sea.

And Kaveh momentarily recalled the cell, the stale air thick with the scent of dust. The click of the chess pieces. The distant melody from the music room. He felt a wave of nausea.

“They could have killed you.” Tighnari poked his shoulder. “We didn’t even know if coming here was a good idea because we had no way of knowing if you were still alive.”

He'd been locked away in the heart of one of the world's most dangerous criminal syndicates, and the horrifying truth was: he hadn't even realized it. He’d been bantering over board games with someone who was likely deeply involved in all of it. And yet—

He remembered Alhaitham’s sharp gaze, his sighs of exasperation, the way he indulged Kaveh’s complaints with little allowances. It didn’t seem like Kaveh was in danger, not really.

How stupid.

“Oh.” Kaveh exhaled heavily. “That’s kind of bad, huh?”

The others just gave him grim smiles.

He bit the inside of his lips, leaning back against the hard of the boat. He momentarily remembered his conversation with Alhaitham about Rukkhadevata. Wondered now if the story he heard from him was the real turn of events.

He shuddered to think how much worse his kidnapping could have been. Yet, remarkably, the only injuries he sustained were the cuts and grazes from his escape.

“I think I need a drink.”

Tighnari groaned. “No, you need to sleep. We all do.”

But Kaveh wasn't thinking about rest. He couldn't. His mind raced, a chaotic jumble of damp blueprints, missed meetings, the fallen monarchy, and the crumpled paper he’d stuffed into Alhaitham’s pocket before escaping.

The fact that he was all the way in Old Sumeru—a land nobody visited.

Kaveh wasn't making the meeting with the Villa del Balbianello client tomorrow. That was for sure.

Chapter Text

Kaveh didn’t think about the kidnapping.

He didn’t think about the mines. Or the escape. Or the very real, very concerning conspiracy he’d somehow been dragged into by association.

No. Kaveh had finally, finally, gotten back to work.

Sure, one annoyingly rich client broke things off, citing “creative differences” (read: Kaveh politely refusing to make a marble koi pond suspended on a roofless roof), but it didn’t matter.

His other client, the one he ghosted mid-kidnapping, had been surprisingly kind about the whole thing. Apparently, Tighnari told them Kaveh was helping the police on a discreet case out of town.

Which was true! Technically. Except the ‘helping’ part was more like ‘got abducted by a criminal organization’ and the ‘discreet case’ was…also ‘got abducted by a criminal organization’.

Details.

And so, he was back to regular life. Kind of.

He still had an extremely tedious trip to the district office and bank to think about. But he had other things to prioritize—like his next client meeting in two days.

So here he was, at the Rayy Persia Akademiya library, clutching a pencil and ruler, trying to redraw elevations for a project. He was fine. He definitely didn't google “how to sue a foreign crime syndicate” at 3 am last night.

He institutively glanced up at the sound of footsteps entering the archive.

And—

Kaveh froze mid-drawing.

What.

What.

Casually strolling through the main corridor, like he belonged there. Like he wasn’t supposed to be part of an underground organization. Like he wasn’t someone Kaveh realized now was actually dangerous and should be in a whole different nation.

Alhaitham.

“What the fuck—” Kaveh whispered under his breath.

How did he even get in? You needed an alumni pass and five forms of ID and a willingness to argue with a desk clerk named Parvin who took her job very seriously. Kaveh would know. His pass was in his wallet which was GONE.

His first instinct was to run.

Actually, no—his first instinct was to throw a chair, then run. Preferably in that order.

Kaveh was halfway to bolting when Alhaitham passed by him with barely a glance.

“Public Garden. Chess,” Alhaitham murmured.

Kaveh gawked. “You have got to be joking.”

Alhaitham didn’t slow down. “Ten minutes.”

And then he kept walking. Cool as anything. Like he hadn’t broken any laws. Like he was just another student. Like he wasn’t the root cause of Kaveh’s new caffeine-induced eye twitch.

Kaveh sat there, fuming.

What kind of villain left vague one-liners in libraries?

He told himself he wasn’t going. He wasn’t about to be kidnapped again. Cyno and Tighnari would actually leave him behind this time and he wouldn’t even blame them.

And then ten minutes later, he was at the Akademiya’s public gardens.

Because he was a moron.

Because his curiosity was stronger than his self-preservation.

The garden wasn’t crowded. Late afternoon sun filtered through the ivy arches and spilled across several stone chess tables. And there he was. Impeccable grey hair, sleek dark suit, just sitting at one of the boards, looking down at weathered chess pieces. As if this were just a normal Tuesday.

The game was already half set up. Kaveh sat down slowly, watching him with suspicion.

They didn’t speak.

Alhaitham just moved his pawn. Kaveh did too.

The silence stretched.

And then, too casually, Alhaitham slid a file across the table.

Kaveh stared at it, then frowned. “…I’m not opening something from a criminal. For all I know, there’s a bug in there.”

Alhaitham sighed, like Kaveh was being so dramatic. He reached into the folder, pulled out its contents, and set them gently on the table.

A familiar wallet. A familiar phone.

“Oh my god! My stuff!”

Kaveh snatched them before his brain could catch up, flipping open the wallet and rifling through it. Then paused. “Hmm…all my cash is still here?”

“You had ten dollars.”

“Which I earned,” Kaveh said indignantly, clutching the wallet like it was sacred. “That’s three coffees! Or one and a half, if I’m feeling decadent.”

Alhaitham didn’t reply. Instead, he reached into the folder again, pulled out a second item, and slid it across.

Another phone. Old model. Very old. Basic.

A burner.

Kaveh blinked at it. “…what is this?”

Alhaitham didn’t look at him. “If you need anything.”

Kaveh’s jaw clenched. “Is this some kind of spy recruitment attempt? Because I’m not interested in any type of—”

“It’s a repayment,” Alhaitham interrupted, irritation barely visible as his lips pressed together. “For the mines.”

The memory hit hard and fast: the rubble, the dark, the sound of the ceiling giving way.

Kaveh stared at him. Then down at the burner phone. Then back up again.

He scowled. Crossed his arms. “I didn’t do it for you. It was basic humanity. Decency.”

Alhaitham didn’t argue.

He simply stood, turned, and walked away—leaving the burner behind on the table like it was just another chess piece in play.

Kaveh stared after him, unsure if he was more annoyed or confused. Probably annoyed.

With no one else to blame, he glared at the burner phone.

Weeks passed before Kaveh even looked at the burner phone again.

He didn’t tell Cyno. Didn’t tell Tighnari. They’d done enough already—dragging him out of the mines, patching him up, lying to the authorities. He wasn’t about to dump more weirdness on their plates just because a suspiciously good-looking criminal slid him a discount Nokia.

So he ignored it. Hid it in the back of a drawer, behind broken pencils and receipts he’d never file. It didn’t stop haunting him.

Until the next time he met up with the others—Aether was there again, and after he apologized to Kaveh for the mix up, he hovered near Cyno, muttering about ‘Old Sumeru’ and ‘Rukkhadevata’ and ‘impossible bloodlines’.

And Kaveh thought, hesitantly: I could help. I have this damn phone.

He waited until later that night, alone in his studio, when the glow of the city lights was soft and his resolve sharp.

He picked up the burner and dialed the only number it could.

It rang. Once. Twice.

An answering click.

“Garden. Chess. Two days from now, 5 p.m.,” Kaveh said, teeth gritted like it was a hostage negotiation.

Another click.

“Um. Hello?”

Nothing. That was it.

No confirmation. No reply. Just silence.

He stared at the phone like it had personally offended him. “Rude.”

But two days later, when he passed the public garden with his sketchbook under one arm, there Alhaitham was.

In another expensive suit, of course. Twirling a pawn between his fingers like he’s just waiting for a coffee.

Kaveh set down his bag and exhaled hard. “Hi. Okay. Let’s just—let’s just play.”

The board was silent, save for the clink of stone on stone. It took several turns before Alhaitham spoke.

“That phone was for emergencies,” he said without looking up. “Assassinations. Black market intel. Disposing bodies.”

Kaveh slammed a piece into place. “WHAT DO YOU THINK I DO FOR A LIVING?”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Then why did you call?”

Kaveh hesitated. Hummed. Shook his head. Took a deep breath. “Was…was everything you said about Rukkhadevata…true?”

A long pause.

When Alhaitham merely stared at him, the silence stretching far too long for Kaveh’s liking, he huffed and clicked his tongue. “Okay, fine. Three consecutive wins. Like before. If I win, you answer.”

They played.

Kaveh lost.

He groaned, forehead dropping to the table. “You cheated. Somehow. I don’t know how but you cheated.”

Alhaitham smirked slightly. Kaveh hated it.

The criminal leaned back, studying him. And then—

“It’s not all true,” Alhaitham said. “The story. Not entirely.”

Kaveh blinked, then scowled. “You could’ve just said that.”

He watched Alhaitham gather the pieces, methodical as ever. He could have gotten this over with quickly. He could have skipped the game. But he played anyway. Why? It had Kaveh wondering—

Was it the competition? The routine?

Or, Kaveh entertained—

Was Alhaitham maybe…just…lonely?

The thought was strange. Unsettling.

He brushed it off. No. It wasn’t his problem.

Kaveh blinked at Alhaitham again. “Well, thanks, anyways for…” Wait. For what even? Kaveh just had his information debunked. He sighed.

Should he ask Alhaitham about it?

The criminal just nodded and stood to leave, but before he could get far, Kaveh stupidly blurted, “If you’re ever around and want to play again, just let me know! Or something.”

Alhaitham paused. His brows twisted into something like a frown. “My debt is paid.”

Kaveh bit the inside of his cheek. Huffed. “…I know.”

Silence.

Then, a faint scoff as Alhaitham walked off, hands in his pockets.

Kaveh wasn’t expecting to see him again.

He’d chalked the burner phone and the chess game up to a one-time karmic loop—the universe balancing itself. Weird, emotionally stunted closure.

But then one afternoon, on his way to the Akademiya library, arms full of overdue blueprints and barely-caffeinated rage, he used his usual route passing the garden.

And froze.

Same tailored suit. Same grey hair catching the light. Same stupidly broad shoulders hunched over a chess table like he had nothing better to do than play against himself.

No one else found it weird.

Of course no one else found it weird.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Kaveh hissed, storming up.

Alhaitham didn’t look up. “You’re late.”

Kaveh blinked. “Late? Late?! I didn’t even know there was a—this isn’t a—there was no meeting, you—”

He cut himself off.

...Did anyone here even know what this guy looked like? Was there an APB on him? Would Kaveh be arrested for sitting across from a known criminal in broad daylight? Would it count if the guy was hot?

Alhaitham finally looked up. Calm. Expectant.

Kaveh was momentarily reminded of the unconscious boy he dragged out of the mines, the one who looked too young.

And, against his better judgment, Kaveh sighed and sat down.

They played in silence for a few moves.

Then: “The Traveler,” Alhaitham said lightly. “Are they still around often?”

Kaveh nearly knocked over his own bishop. “No way. I’m not helping you with any of your secret criminal plans, thank you.”

A hum. Unbothered.

“Then perhaps our usual challenge?” Alhaitham suggested. “Three wins for one answer.”

Kaveh scoffed. “I’m not giving you intel like it’s a poker night. What do you even want with him?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t answer.

He just made another move—clean, ruthless, brilliant. Cornered Kaveh’s only knight. And said, almost lazily, “No matter. I’ll find someone more cooperative.”

Pause.

“A certain fox-eared doctor, perhaps? He works closely with the Commissioner, doesn’t he?”

The casualness of his movement did nothing to soften the underlying threat in his voice.

The blood drained from Kaveh’s face. And as he frowned up at Alhaitham, he sees the hardness in his eyes. The small smirk on his lips, something wicked. When the grey-haired man tilted his head, gaze sharp, the chill that ran down Kaveh’s spine had nothing to do with the cold dusk air.

His fingers curled into a fist under the table, nails biting into his palm.

Right. Right. This wasn’t just an annoying man with god-tier chess skills and no social etiquette. This was a criminal. His literal kidnapper. A syndicate member. A threat.

Kaveh’s jaw clenched. His next move was sharp, angry.

Alhaitham just raised an eyebrow, slow and knowing.

Kaveh hated that he had no other choice. The last thing he wanted was for Alhaitham to hurt someone else. “Fine. Same rules?”

Alhaitham nodded, satisfied.

And so, they played.

Kaveh really didn’t think he’d run into the criminal as often as he did.

But then Alhaitham started showing up at the Akademiya gardens consistently. Always at the chess tables. Always with the same deadpan look and that same stupid suit that was way too expensive to not be tailored.

At first, Kaveh thought it was a coincidence. Maybe he’s in the nation for his criminal tasks and was killing two birds at once. But then twice became three times, and three times became every month.

“You again?” Kaveh muttered one afternoon, arms crossed as he eyed the man already seated and setting up the board. “Shouldn’t you be—I don’t know—two countries away committing high-level crimes?”

Alhaitham glanced up. “You’re late. Again.”

“How was I supposed to know we had a standing appointment?”

No reply. Just that infuriating nonchalance. Kaveh huffed and sat. They played.

Some games, Kaveh won. Other times, Alhaitham won, and Kaveh had to work hard not to accidentally spill anything about Aether—it wasn’t hard, he really didn’t know much. Alhaitham seemed convinced he did.

One day, Kaveh spotted a research book on the bench.

A thick academic tome, open and half-marked with Post-its. “Did you steal that from the library?”

“I borrowed it,” Alhaitham replied dryly. Like it was so obvious.

Kaveh squinted. “Is that…Volume VI of Synthesis and Urban Integration Studies?”

Alhaitham hummed.

“Oh of course you’d read that trash. You probably agree with their whole anti-interventionist theory too, don’t you?”

“I find it compelling.”

“It’s literally just pseudoscience with better footnotes!”

They argued for thirty minutes. They didn’t get to play chess.

Kaveh went home ranting to himself about how yes, humanitarian intervention is justified because the international community has a moral duty and Alhaitham is absolutely infuriating.

Some days, Alhaitham asked about Aether or local politics, and Kaveh found the best way to deflect. He patted himself on the back for it. He used his architectural complaints instead.

“Oh you want to know about the Rayy Persia Bank? My client works for Rayy Persia Bank, and she wants to paint her entire villa yellow. Like, not soft sunflower. I mean hospital-wall mustard. You know the color of—never mind. It’s horrifying.”

Alhaitham, unfazed: “Complementary to navy. Perhaps her house has darker borders.”

Kaveh can’t help but be stunned at his response. “…you’ve thought about this.”

Alhaitham simply blinked at him at moved his rook. “You won the last game because I moved my bishop too early.”

Kaveh stared. “Are you—did you just change the subject to deflect from your exterior design crimes?!”

And then, in one game several months later, Alhaitham made a blatant chess blunder.

Kaveh stared at the board. Then at Alhaitham. “You let me win.”

“I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did. You could’ve ended me four moves ago. Your queen was in check!”

“And you moved your king.”

“You could’ve still—”

Kaveh huffed in frustration. Placed the pieces back on the board. Showed Alhaitham how he should’ve continued. “No, look. Here. After I moved my king, you had this opening—” He shifted a pawn and adjusted a bishop. “If you’d kept checking me like this, I wouldn’t have had time to set this up.”

Alhaitham leaned forward, resting his chin against the back of his fingers as he watched Kaveh’s mini-lecture. “Mm.”

Kaveh continued, quick and precise. “See? I moved the knight in between, and you moved this—wrong again—and so I took your queen. Boom. Down goes your entire plan.”

Alhaitham nodded, then reached for one of his own pieces. “If I’d followed through with this, you’d still have taken my queen on the next turn. You had too many pieces crowding me.”

“I did?”

“A knight. Two pawns. One rook on f7. Which would have taken my queen if I kept following your king.”

Kaveh paused, blinking as he counted them out. “Huh.”

They both sat in quiet contemplation for a moment, the board halfway reset, their hands still moving pieces like muscle memory.

Then, Alhaitham tilted his head. “Why do you assume I blundered on purpose? You’ve won several championships.”

Kaveh blinked. And then, his mind screamed because—

Is that Alhaitham’s way of saying Kaveh is a GOOD PLAYER?

He was not flustered. But he didn’t know how to respond. So he just scowled—his default expression with Alhaitham. “Don’t get soft on me now.”

Alhaitham didn’t respond. But he didn’t correct him, either.

Their weird chess-buddies limbo became concrete on a random day. When they both stopped their own game to watch two kids—no older than eight—playing on another chess table in the gardens.

Kaveh leaned on his elbow, watching with mild interest. “They’re not bad.”

“They’re terrible.”

“They’re kids.”

“They’re still terrible.”

Kaveh sighed. “Okay, but they’re pretty okay for kids.”

Alhaitham clicked his tongue but didn’t argue. The game wasn’t exactly high-level, but it was interesting enough—one kid, a boy with messy hair, had decent strategy but lacked patience. The other was more careful, but not bold enough to go for a win.

It was like watching a smaller, less competent version of their own matches.

They were too focused, apparently, because suddenly, one of the kids—the messy-haired one—marched over and stopped in front of them.

“Why are you guys staring at us?” he demanded.

Kaveh jolted, suddenly feeling like he'd been caught red-handed. “Oh, uh—”

Alhaitham, opposite him, was already narrowing his eyes at the kid. Worried the criminal might actually snap a child’s neck in broad daylight, Kaveh rushed to answer.

“We were just… invested in your game!”

The kid squinted at them for a long moment.

Then, “Wanna play with me?”

Kaveh was about to decline when he realized the kid looking past him. At the grey-haired man sitting opposite him.

Alhaitham blinked. Once. Slowly.

Kaveh, for safety reasons, quickly answered for him. “Yes.”

Alhaitham side-eyed him. Kaveh gave a small shrug. Trying to convey something like ‘what’s the harm?’. Hoped Alhaitham didn’t decide to kidnap him again afterwards. Alhaitham gave a sigh but didn’t protest as he began to set up his side of the board.

Not even a few minutes later—Alhaitham mercilessly crushed the kid in under ten moves.

The boy sat in stunned silence, staring at the board, like he couldn’t believe the crime that had just been committed against him.

Kaveh smiled pitifully, patting the kid’s shoulder. “It’s okay. He does this all the time.”

The boy frowned. “You’re so…mean.”

Alhaitham pursed his lips. “If winning makes someone mean, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

“I want a rematch!”

“I don’t think you’re worth my time.”

“You…cheated! There’s no way you won that fast!”

“I think it would be harder to find a way to cheat than to win against you.”

Kaveh almost found the situation funny. Here sat a member of one of the scariest syndicates, arguing against a kid not even half his age.

The kid balled his fists, cheeks puffed with childish fury, and turned to Kaveh. “How are you friends with this guy?”

Kaveh opened his mouth, then hesitated. They’re not exactly friends.

But before he could clarify, the kid grumbled. “Oh, is he a rival? I have a rival. Kotaro—the one I played with just now. He’s good too.” His expression darkened. “I’ll beat him someday.”

Then, as if Alhaitham just ceased to exist, the kid pointed at Kaveh. “Now, you!”

Kaveh blinked. “Me?”

For the first time since Kaveh had met him, Alhaitham let out a short, irritated huff—a sound so purely annoyed that Kaveh had to cover his grin.

Before the kid could aggravate the situation further, Kaveh gently coaxed him to go home since it was getting late. He took a while to search the gardens, then sent the kid off to his parents before he could start demanding another match. Alhaitham stayed behind because of course he did.

As he walked back to the chessboards, Kaveh thought about what the kid had said. Friends.

That…wasn’t what he and Alhaitham were. Right? This man literally kidnapped him. This man is his friend’s enemy.

But then again, they did play chess together every time they saw each other. They talked. Argued. Kind of hung out. Could Kaveh call that—

No.

It was a weird thought.

Stomach grumbling, Kaveh mindlessly stopped by a Takoyaki stand by the exit and grabbed two sticks before heading back to the chess tables.

Alhaitham was still at the chess table, arms crossed, like he was contemplating hunting down that kid just to beat him again.

Kaveh plopped down in front of him and handed him one of the Takoyaki skewers.

Alhaitham frowned at it. Then at him. Then back at the food. “What is this.”

“Taste of friendship,” Kaveh said, popping one into his mouth.

Alhaitham narrowed his eyes but took it anyway.

Kaveh chewed thoughtfully. Studied the criminal who was turning the Takoyaki over like it was a weapon. He couldn’t be more than several years younger than Kaveh.

“How old are you?”

“Old enough to appreciate the futility of such personal inquiries.”

Kaveh nodded. Then, casually, he asked, “Do you have friends?”

Alhaitham’s eyes twitched. “I don’t see the point of this question.”

“Mm.” Kaveh hummed, unconvinced. “Sounds like something someone friendless would say.”

Alhaitham’s eyebrows met together in something like a scowl.

Kaveh just smiled around his food. Gathered the courage to ask: “…is that why you play chess with me so much? Don’t think I haven’t noticed that your questions aren’t even about the authorities, sometimes.”

Alhaitham abruptly stood up. Turned.

“No, wait!” Kaveh caught up to him, hiding a grin. “I’m just saying.”

Alhaitham shot him an unimpressed look.

“I’m just saying.” Kaveh smiled as he stepped in front of Alhaitham. “I don’t mind if we’re friends.”

A beat passed.

Alhaitham simply exhaled and rolled his eyes. “I don’t need friends.”

And he turned and walked away. Maybe a bit too quickly.

Kaveh watched him go, finishing the last bite of his Takoyaki.

Then, he noticed—

Alhaitham had taken the one he gave him.

Kaveh let out a quiet laugh. Yeah, he so made Alhaitham his friend.

A second later, he frowned because that probably shouldn’t have happened.

After months of randomly playing chess whenever Alhaitham would show up at the gardens, Kaveh maybe started thinking Alhaitham wasn’t too bad. He could be nice. Considerate. Weirdly enough.

Because one evening, Kaveh showed up later than usual, exhaustion dragging at his limbs. His clothes were rumpled, his hair pins loose, and his head ached from too many hours spent drafting in the library.

And Alhaitham’s eyes flickered over him, unreadable. Then, flatly—“Go home.”

“Okay, rude.”

Alhaitham just arched a perfect eyebrow. “You look terrible.”

Kaveh scowled. “Thanks.”

Alhaitham placed his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand. His voice was smooth, almost lazy. “It’s no matter. I’ll take care of things.”

Kaveh hummed questioningly. Take care of what? The chess game?

And then he frowned. Stiffened. The words felt too familiar. His mind flashed back to the first time Alhaitham proposed their deal in these same gardens. How he brought up Tighnari and Cyno.

“You mean you’ll find someone else to threaten and play with?”

Alhaitham raised a brow. Blinked. Then smirked, slow, small. “Oh? Would you rather I saved all my matches for you?”

Kaveh’s face heated up. In anger, obviously. The criminal was so stupid.

“It’s not like that!” His hands fisted against the board. “I was worried you’d—hurt someone!”

Alhaitham watched him for a long moment before shrugging, leaning back dismissively. “Torture isn’t necessary for this level of information.” Then, with that infuriating lilt to his voice, “Is that truly the only reason you’ve been playing?”

Kaveh nearly flipped the damn table. “I’m going home.”

When Kaveh returned to his apartment, he found a box of expensive calming tea leaves and honey on his kitchen table.

And, nestled between them—

A queen chess piece.

Kaveh exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. He was supposed to be angry. Or maybe even scared—because it meant that stupid grey-haired annoyance had broken into his home. Effortlessly. Without a trace.

Instead, he just muttered, “…stupid.”

He did not smile. That would be a betrayal. He was clearly ill.

Three days later, whilst in the midst of a match, he muttered a quiet, “Thanks for the tea.”

Alhaitham shrugged. “Consider it my charity for the week.”

Kaveh clenched his jaw. He wanted to strangle the criminal. With his stupid tea leaves.

Kaveh didn’t expect to see him the next time. Because it wasn’t in the gardens, no.

It was in the Akademiya library.

Kaveh knew Alhaitham allegedly borrowed books from here. So he knew Alhaitham has been in here several times.

But he was just so casually browsing the top row of the history section like he owned the entire archive. Like he belonged there. Kaveh nearly dropped the books in his arms.

“What are you doing here?”

Alhaitham barely spared him a glance. As if he saw Kaveh coming from a mile away. “Browsing.”

Kaveh blinked. “Do you actually have a pass?”

Alhaitham, utterly calm, pulled a sleek ID card from his pocket and held it up lazily.

“Oh my god. You actually have one.”

“Yes.”

Kaveh gawked. “That is—unbelievably corrupt.” Kaveh muttered, adjusting the books in his arms. “Criminals getting access to top-level archives while the rest of us fight over funding—honestly.”

“Mmm.”

Kaveh narrowed his eyes at him, then turned back to the shelves with a dramatic huff. He was here for research, not whatever this nonsense was. He scanned the titles, found the one he needed—top shelf, naturally—and rose to his toes. Tried to grab it.

The pile of books in his arms shifted threateningly. He made a noise of frustration.

Then—

A hand reached past him. Effortlessly plucked the book from the shelf.

Kaveh froze.

Alhaitham held it out, expression unreadable. Right next to Kaveh. And when he spoke, his voice was low. “You looked like you were about to die.”

“I—I had it,” Kaveh muttered, snatching it. Stepping back. “Thanks. But we’re the same height, you know.”

“You were wobbling.”

“I wasn’t wobbling. It’s called balance.”

“It’s called delusion,” Alhaitham replied. Then— “Are we going to the garden then after this?”

Kaveh blinked at him. “What?”

“For chess,” Alhaitham said simply.

Kaveh’s pulse should not have reacted to that. It was the acoustics. The library was just stupidly quiet. That’s the only reason Alhaitham’s voice suddenly sounded like it was echoing from the depths of a canyon.

He cleared his throat. Clutched his books tighter. “I…have a final draft due tomorrow.”

Alhaitham tilted his head. Asked again, in that voice, “The bank lady or the rich family?”

“No,” Kaveh said, too quickly. “I mean—Ms. Asenath. The bank lady. Stop asking me questions!”

Alhaitham just quirked an eyebrow, like Kaveh was acting so weird. Kaveh turned on his heel and walked off before the floor could open up and swallow him.

And two hours later, they were walking to the gardens. It was totally because they coincidentally finished their work at the same time.

But—weirdly enough—the public chess tables were completely occupied this time around. Crowds milling, students laughing over snacks, and a couple of intense matches already underway.

The two of them just stood in silence for a moment. Contemplating.

“Oookay then,” Kaveh said, turning to Alhaitham. Before the criminal could say anything, Kaveh grabbed him by the wrist and unceremoniously dragged him away.

Alhaitham just paused momentarily before allowing himself to be pulled along.

The city buzzed with its usual life—light spilling from late-night bookstores, smell of fried food in the air, someone busking with an out-of-tune flute. Kaveh wove them through the crowd, not explaining a thing.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a little board game café wedged between a language school and a stationery shop. The windows were foggy with warmth, a handwritten sign on the door read FALLING MONKEYS NIGHT - half-price drinks!

Alhaitham stared. “This is your idea of a replacement?”

Kaveh grinned and shoved him inside. The shelves were lined with every board game imaginable. The tables were packed with groups deep in competition.

Before Alhaitham could retreat, Kaveh shoved a box into his hands.

Alhaitham looked down, disapproval already filling his voice. “Falling Monkeys?”

Kaveh was already claiming a table. “It’s the game of the day. It’s fun.”

Alhaitham flipped the box over, scanning the cartoon illustrations with disdain. “This game is purely up to chance. No strategy.”

“That sounds like what a sore loser would say,” Kaveh sang, setting up the plastic jungle tower with far too much glee.

Alhaitham gave him a look.

Fifteen minutes later, to Alhaitham’s horror, he lost.

Monkeys rained from the tree like confetti. Kaveh never thought he’d see the criminal look so bewildered. He burst out laughing—sharp, genuine, hand clutching his side. “Oh my god. You lost. To monkeys.”

Alhaitham exhaled sharply and crossed his arms. "This is a ridiculous game."

Kaveh was still grinning. "Oh? Wanna play again?"

Alhaitham shot him a glare, but the corner of his lips twitched—just a little.

By the time they left, the score was five to one. Alhaitham looked like he was recalculating the probability of stick-pull mechanics, and Kaveh had never laughed more for an hour straight—and he only had one drink!

As they parted ways, Kaveh thought he glimpsed a small curve on Alhaitham’s lips. Something like a smile. And, strangely enough, even after all their contests—Kaveh had never felt more victorious in his life.

Two weeks later, Kaveh was hiding in the shadows of a potted plant in the middle of a bank, his arms clutched tightly around the documents he’d come to beg about—some form, some overdraft. Typical.

The bank? In chaos.

People were screaming, ducking behind teller counters and marble pillars. Several men in masks circled the ground floor, shouting instructions, guns pointed everywhere.

Kaveh sighed. Checked his phone quickly to see a text from Tighnari: ‘Cyno&dept OTW.’

Kaveh leaned against the pillars on the first floor, debating whether to bolt, when he caught a flicker of movement through the frosted glass of a side office.

And of course. Of course. Because why wouldn’t he be here.

Alhaitham. Inside a private chamber like he owned the place. But he wasn’t stealing money. He was thumbing through—definitely restricted—files with the disinterest of someone choosing a bottle of wine. No urgency. No panic. Just—flipping pages. Glancing at folders.

Like the robbery wasn’t even happening.

Kaveh’s mouth parted in disbelief.

Then their eyes met through the glass.

Alhaitham blinked slowly. Tipped his head.

And walked out.

“Are you serious right now—” Kaveh hissed, springing after him. “Hey!”

Alhaitham didn’t stop. He moved through the back corridors like he already knew the layout, slipping through an unmarked door and into the stairwell.

Kaveh followed, heart pounding—not from fear. From rage. And confusion. And—what the hell?

He caught up to him two flights up, where Alhaitham finally paused near a window, clutching a thick envelope under one arm. His other hand was checking his watch.

“Are you seriously robbing a bank?” Kaveh panted.

Alhaitham looked at him, unbothered. “Technically, I’m robbing a private security vault inside a corrupt institution laundering foreign aid funds.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” Kaveh spluttered. “You can’t just—just take things!"

Alhaitham raised a brow. “Why not? You let me take wins on the chessboard all the time.”

“That’s completely different!”

“You’re right. This is less embarrassing for you.”

Kaveh made an outraged noise. “Do you hear yourself? Do you even care what happens to—wait. The shooters down there—are they yours?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer. Just checked his watch again.

Police car sirens rang in the distance.

“You’re unbelievable,” Kaveh seethed. “I should turn you in.”

Alhaitham finally looked up at that. “Then why haven’t you?”

That gave Kaveh pause.

He faltered on the stairs, fingers flexing against the railing. Alhaitham stood a few paces above, the light from the window cutting sharp angles across his face. A small smirk on his lips.

Just watching. Quiet. Waiting.

Kaveh gaped for a moment. Then frowned. “I’m still thinking about it.”

Something flickered behind Alhaitham’s eyes. Not surprise. Not worry. Just calculation.

He took a step down the stairs. Then another.

Alhaitham tilted his head. Too calm. Too knowing. It felt more intense now, a sharp focus that made the chaotic sounds from below fade slightly.

Then, in a soft voice, he asked, “Am I not as bad as you thought I was, Kaveh?”

Kaveh’s pulse was pounding. He didn’t know from what. Probably the robbery and running up the stairs.

“You’re a criminal.”

“And yet you keep chasing me.”

Kaveh opened his mouth to argue—but then Alhaitham took another two steps down.

They were eye-level now. Too close. Kaveh could see the flecks of gold in Alhaitham’s teal eyes, the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. The air suddenly felt thick.

Kaveh’s breath caught. But he narrowed his eyes. “What—you—you think you can talk your way out of this?”

Alhaitham didn’t reply. His eyes just quickly flickered to his watch. Again.

And Kaveh caught it. So he grabbed Alhaitham’s wrist. Pulled it down. Pressed forward.

“You know what? You’re not going anywhere. I’ll stall you if I have to. Cyno’s already on his way and you? You don’t scare me, you smug—”

A sigh cut him off.

Well, actually, no—

Lips did.

It was brief. No warning. No prelude. No real softness, either. Just a precise press of lips that landed in the middle of Kaveh’s rant like a sudden power outage.

A move so quick that, for a moment, Kaveh wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it.

For a second—everything shorted out.

Kaveh blinked, stunned, every single synapse in his brain screaming What—

But by the time he processed what happened—Alhaitham was already gone.

Kaveh’s hand was curled around nothing. He turned and just caught a shadow already moving toward the next landing, a flick of a coat disappearing around the corner.

He stood frozen, heart hammering, heat rushing to his face.

What. The. Hell.

He touched his mouth.

The sirens were screaming now, police flooding the building, voices echoing up the stairwell. Kaveh couldn’t hear them. Could barely hear himself. Just the dull thud of his heart pounding somewhere in his ears.

“What the actual—” His voice cracked.

He stared at the empty stairs.

Then, he scowled. Stormed back down the stairs.

Didn’t even look at the chaos in the lobby as he shoved open the doors. Didn’t care about the crowd, or the authorities, or the forms he dropped somewhere along the way.

Cool air hit his face.

Kaveh exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the second floor. His pulse still raced. From adrenaline. Obviously. From the robbery. Not from the—

Whatever. Gods, definitely not.

He dragged a hand through his hair and kept walking. Fast. Determined. Furiously confused.

Stupid criminal. Stupid.

Kaveh was going to throw a chess piece at his forehead next time.

Except there wasn’t a next time. Because the next few months, Kaveh didn’t hear from him.

No grey-haired menace at the gardens.

No chess games.

No smug little comments.

Alhaitham had just disappeared.

Chapter Text

Three months.

That was how long it had been.

Kaveh wasn’t counting, obviously.

He also told himself that he wasn’t worried.

That would be stupid.

Alhaitham was a criminal. And they never actually had a schedule. Alhaitham would disappear, and then show up again one day. It wasn’t anything new.

And yet—

Kaveh found himself checking their usual spot. Found himself glancing at the Akademiya library doors. Found himself double taking at every man in an expensive suit he passed by on the street.

Found himself staring at the queen chess piece on his shelf, fingers itching to throw it into a drawer and forget it existed.

He hadn't told anyone too.

What was he supposed to say? That he’d seen his kidnapper rob a bank, got kissed—no, it was a surprise attack, an ambush—and then the man disappeared into thin air like some kind of smug criminal vigilante? He’d also spent months just playing chess with him. Yeah. No, thank you.

So instead, he was at drinks with Tighnari and Cyno, picking at fries and staring at the condensation ring his glass was leaving on the table.

“You’ve been staring into that drink like it owes you money,” Tighnari said mildly.

Kaveh blinked. “Hm?”

Cyno leaned in. “We asked how your week’s been. You spaced out.”

“Oh. Sorry. Just tired,” Kaveh said, offering a faint smile. It wasn’t a lie.

He’d finished two entire projects—one for the bank lady and another for a sweet family who cried when he showed them their new house. He was supposed to be getting a short break. Maybe even a weekend to himself.

Except now he had a last-minute meeting with some corporate overlord tomorrow morning.

In New Liyue.

He had to catch a red-eye flight and everything.

And the worst part? It was a corporate contract.

Kaveh hated working with corporations. Every single time, they ended in lawsuits or sinkholes or haunted supply closets—he wasn’t even joking about that last one.

He sighed into his drink.

“Just one of those mega-rich projects. I have to meet the person in charge. Whole thing’s happening in a tower with golden trim. Like—what is that. Why does your building need to shimmer.”

Cyno hummed. “Because they can afford it?”

“Exactly! It's stupid—it’s not sustainable at all!”

The next morning, Kaveh was already regretting everything.

The flight had been bumpy. He hadn’t slept. The hotel gave him a scented pillow that somehow gave him a headache, and he was now standing in a gleaming corporate skyscraper with guards at every turn and a fountain shaped like the Qixing constellation in the lobby.

It was absurd.

He was ushered up to the top floor, where floor-to-ceiling windows glared down at the city. A woman stood by a table set with tea, her gaze sharp and unreadable.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Kaveh nodded stiffly. “Of course.”

They sat. She began laying out blueprints—an expansion project, a vision of branching into Persia with a sleek new design. Kaveh asked questions, jotted notes. He was starting to forget his exhaustion when a staff member brought in drinks.

Iced tea. Chilled. Nothing suspicious.

He took a sip.

So did the engineer beside him.

And that was it.

He woke to beeping. Blinding white light.

Voices.

“Kaveh?” Tighnari’s voice, sharp. 

Kaveh closed his eyes. Opened them again. “What—”

He stopped, squinting sharply in pain at the hoarseness of his voice. There was a knife in his throat. There had to be.

A cup of water was raised to his lips. Kaveh drank. Flinched. His throat burned.

When he blinked and registered the world again, Tighnari was placing the cup down. Cyno sat beside him, arms crossed.

And then, flatly—

“You were poisoned.”

Kaveh wanted to yell out a ‘What?’ but his throat didn’t let him. Instead, he widened his eyes outrageously.

“Some kind of rare compound. Undetectable in standard tests,” Cyno explained. “You and another engineer drank it. Lady Ningguang hadn’t touched hers yet.”

Kaveh’s brain reeled. He cleared his throat, tried to speak. “Someone…tried—” he made a slicing motion against his throat. “Her?”

Cyno sighed. “They’re still investigating. But most probably. There have been attempts before. The police are just wondering why the security was so lax.”

There was a pause.

Then, Tighnari sat against his bed. And up close, Kaveh noticed his eyes rimmed slightly red. He looked straight at Kaveh with a mix of worry and…suspicion?

“Kaveh,” he started, voice lower. “When you arrived here. There was, um…” He trailed off, looking at Cyno, who just nodded. “Well…there was actually...no cure.”

Kaveh blinked.

“The doctors didn’t know what it was. The Intelligence Agency Lady Ningguang brought in also couldn’t figure out—not fast enough at least. We were told you were dying. I had to call your mom—” Tighnari laughed, strangled. “Honestly, why do you get yourself in these situations.”

Kaveh managed an embarrassed smile. He patted Tighnari’s hand, hoping it translated as an apology. Tighnari just smiled warily.

“But then…” he continued. “An anonymous package arrived. Addressed to your room. Well, your bed, actually.”

Kaveh felt dread slowly well up in him.

“It was the antidote. An exact amount. 10ml,” Cyno said from his seat. “Just enough for you. The lab had to confiscate it and run some tests to duplicate it for the engineer.”

Tighnari nodded. “They took too long, I guess, because another package arrived. Same like the first one. It’s just your bed number was circled even more times.”

Kaveh’s breath caught.

He didn’t want to think about it.

He didn’t want to wonder.

“Do you…know anything about this?” Tighnari asked gently.

Kaveh had a good guess about who sent it.

A very good guess, actually.

He laid back against the pillow. Stared at the ceiling.

“…Stupid criminal,” he muttered, voice box in grating pain.

Tighnari raised a brow. “What?”

Kaveh just looked at his friends for a moment. He sighed, grabbed his phone, and quickly typed out ‘will you guys listen to me?’

Two weeks later, Kaveh was discharged.

He went back to the Akademiya. Back to the library. Walked past the gardens.

But no suit. No message. No chess piece.

Alhaitham was still gone.

The conversation happened after Kaveh was discharged. In Tighnari’s house. Away from any prying ears.

Kaveh would explain Alhaitham to his friends. Or, well… gesture vaguely at the truth while dramatically sighing.

Tighnari scolded him. Cyno looked like he was writing up a report on Kaveh’s life choices.

“You let him get away?” Tighnari shrieked.
Kaveh blinked. “I was cornered, Tighnari. I didn’t exactly have a net and a whistle.”
“He kidnapped you.”
“Okay but like…nicely.”
“Nicely?!”
Cyno crossed his arms. “He destabilized a bank.”
Kaveh groaned and flopped back on the couch. “Can I not get grilled while my organs are still recovering from poison?”

There was a beat of silence.

“He gave you an antidote,” Cyno said at last.
Kaveh lifted his head. “See? Not that bad.”
“Which also means…he probably gave the poison to Lady Ningguang.”
Kaveh stared at him. Then slowly sat up.
“Oh no,” he whispered.
“I can’t stay quiet about that,” Cyno said, not too apologetic.
“Oh my god. You outed the Old Sumeru Syndicate to the Liyue Qixing,” Tighnari said, horrified.
“I didn’t mean to!”
“You’re going to get killed.”

Kaveh did not tell them about the kiss. That was a whole different flavor of problem.

Instead, Kaveh just waved a shaky hand and muttered something about how Alhaitham had ghosted him for three months anyway, so clearly their weird…chess company…whatever-that-was…had fizzled out.

Naturally. Totally mutual.

Kaveh truly was not a problem. He never wanted to get kidnapped, never wanted to get poisoned. He just wanted to live his life, get money, and relax.

He hadn’t even meant to be here—he was supposed to be with Collei and Tighnari, collecting specimens near the marshes of New Sumeru. He was supposed to be on a break. A normal, boring, botany-filled break.

But then Aether had shown up. With Albedo and Cyno in tow.

And somehow, somehow (read: because Aether is a trouble magnet), Kaveh had ended up shoved into a shady van headed toward a potential syndicate hideout.

Not on purpose!

He’d tried to get out with Collei, he really had—he was sat right next to her by the door and everything! But someone slammed the door shut before he could slide out and now he was here, surrounded by armed strangers and the tension of an undercover mission he was never meant to be part of.

“This is just recon,” Cyno had said. “Observe, document, fall back.”

Yeah. Sure.

The second the group stepped inside, they were found.

Guns lifted. Voices rose. And in the chaos, Kaveh saw—

Him.

Alhaitham.

Calm, silent, standing on a platform a level above them, near the far corner. He didn’t have a gun in hand, just had arms crossed over and watching his men round them up, as if it happened too often. His gaze swept across the group—and right past Kaveh. Like he didn’t recognize him at all.

No knowing glint. No infuriating arch of his eyebrow. Kaveh nearly shouted in frustration.

Oh, so they were strangers now. Right. Three months of silence. And now—

Kaveh noticed Albedo and Aether exchange a glance from the corner of his eyes. Then, too quickly, Albedo raised his gun toward Alhaitham.

They weren’t supposed to fight. They were literally outnumbered.

Kaveh moved without thinking— “Wait, don’t—!”

He shoved Albedo’s hand just as the shot rang out. It clipped the wall. Someone on the enemy side screamed.

Alhaitham’s gaze flickered, briefly, to Kaveh.

And then everything devolved into fistfights and gunfire.

He was thrown back against the ground, hard. Bullets whizzed above his head. Someone shouted Cyno’s name. Albedo yelled something about cover. Tighnari said something, turning to Kaveh, and he barely had time to breathe before he saw the glint of another gun trained on Tighnari’s back.

Kaveh’s body reacted before his mind did.

“Nari—!”

The bullet slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs—

Pain exploded across his arm as he collided with the ground again. The impact was hot. His ears were ringing. Kaveh has never been shot at before.

For a split second, he thought he was dead.

Smoke. Screams. Tighnari’s panicked voice.

Kaveh crawled, gasping, trying to find cover.

Then—through the chaos, hands grabbed him, yanking him out of the fight.

Kaveh barely had time to process his pain before he was shoved into a dim, makeshift infirmary tucked somewhere in the warehouse. The walls were thin, and the gunfire outside had faded to distant echoes.

His arm throbbed like hell now—hot and sticky and definitely not okay.

“What were you thinking?” Alhaitham snapped, already rolling up the ruined sleeve of Kaveh’s shirt.

“I wasn’t!” Kaveh spat back. “I didn’t want to be here!”

“And yet you are.”

“I was picking plants, you absolute—OW—!” Kaveh flinched hard as Alhaitham cleaned the bullet wound with zero bedside manner. “You could warn me first, you psychopath!”

Alhaitham didn’t even blink. “You’re lucky it was a clean shot. Any lower and you’d be losing muscle mass.”

Kaveh gaped at him. “Oh, thank you, Doctor Doom! I totally meant to get a bullet right there.” He winced again when Alhaitham dabbed alcohol on the HOLE in his arm. “Ow!”

“Stay still.”

Kaveh grit his teeth as Alhaitham patted more blood on his arm. And Kaveh tried not to ask. But maybe losing blood was taking a toll on him. Yeah. It must be the pain and blood.

“Hey—where the hell were you? You just disappeared.”

Alhaitham didn’t answer right away. His hands wiped at the torn skin like this was just another day at the office. It probably was for him.

“I wasn’t aware I had to file a report.”

Kaveh huffed. “Seriously? You ghost me and now suddenly you’re playing field medic?”

“You’re sulking.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“I am bleeding,” Kaveh hissed. “And you’re infuriating.”

He tried to sit up, to swing his legs off the cot, but Alhaitham immediately pushed him back down with a firm hand.

“I’m not done cleaning your arm.”

“My friends are out there!”

“They seem skilled. Unlike you.”

“You—” Kaveh groaned in frustration. “You are the most annoying, arrogant, stupid criminal I’ve ever met!”

“You know other criminals?”

Kaveh just choked back an outraged noise.

Alhaitham smirked, small. Then he muttered, under his breath, almost too quiet to catch. “It’s not enough to be poisoned.”

Kaveh’s breath hitched.

“…So it was you. You were the one trying to poison the Tianquan?”

Alhaitham didn’t respond. Just reached for the bandage, quietly wrapping it around Kaveh’s bicep like they weren’t talking about his attempted murder plan.

Kaveh glared. “I’m talking to you.”

“And I’m trying to stop you from bleeding out. Could you stop flailing for five seconds?”

“No. Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be out there, shooting people?”

Alhaitham’s jaw twitched. “Kaveh.”

Something about the way he said it—quiet, warning—made Kaveh pause. He suddenly realized how close they were. Alhaitham’s hands still on his arm. His knee brushing Kaveh’s. Warm breath fanning over his face.

Kaveh swallowed.

He dropped his voice. “Why did you save me?”

A pause.

“Does it matter?”

Kaveh blinked. “Of course it—God, you’re impossible.”

He shifted again, trying to stand, but Alhaitham’s grip tightened just slightly.

Kaveh glared up at him. Alhaitham glared back. “You care enough to throw yourself into gunfire for your friends?”

“Oh, you know what—” Kaveh scoffed, offended. “What right do you even have to say that to me? After what you did?”

That made Alhaitham pause. His eyes fixed on Kaveh. Dark. Intent. Unreadable.

Too close.

“…And what exactly did I do?”

Kaveh’s throat felt dry. “You know.”

Alhaitham just raised a questioning eyebrow. No—a taunting eyebrow. Kaveh hated it.

A flush crept up his neck, hot and mortifying. For a moment, he justified what he was going to do next.

He was bleeding out. He was dizzy.

And before he could talk himself out of it, before his brain could catch up with his mouth, he leaned in and kissed Alhaitham.

Fast. Firm. Intentional.

He pulled back just as quickly, blood pounding in his ears.

“That’s what you did,” Kaveh said, sharp. “Asshole.”

Alhaitham blinked, gaze unreadable. There was just a very minuscule pause against Kaveh’s arm—but then he turned away. Worked on the bandages like nothing had happened.

Kaveh scowled. “You’re not going to say anything?”

Silence.

“Oh my god,” he snapped, shifting his arm out of pure frustration. “You absolute jerk—”

Alhaitham sighed—deep, tired, reminiscent of the stairwell—

And kissed him again.

Slower. More measured.

A kiss that didn’t ask for permission, but didn’t rush either. A kiss that swallowed breath and sense and every complaint Kaveh had been lining up to throw at him. Through the loud heartbeats hammering in his ears, Kaveh barely had time to think—just felt.

Alhaitham’s lips were warmer than expected, dry at first, then softer. And Kaveh might’ve leaned back in without realizing.

Then—just as suddenly—

“Ah—!”

Alhaitham tightened the bandage around Kaveh with a sharp tug.

“What the hell—” Kaveh yelped, jerking back.

Alhaitham, unbothered, looking almost amused, just tilted his head. “Worked a second time.”

Kaveh’s eyes widened. His mind was still reeling from the kiss. His lips still tingling. He just watched as Alhaitham placed tape on his bandages. Like nothing happened.

“…second time?”

Kaveh blinked. Realized. Alhaitham shrugged.

“You—you kissed me as a tactical move?!”

Kaveh could feel his pulse in his ears. He was going to commit a felony. Against a felon.

But first—he had to leave.

Kaveh yanked his arm back the moment the last piece of tape was secured. Winced in pain. Pretended he was fine. “Okay. I’m going.”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

“Anywhere.” Because anywhere was better than here. Being near him. “To find my friends.”

He wasn’t even sure where here was, but he knew if he stayed in this room a second longer, he’d do something stupid again. Or worse—Alhaitham wouldn’t do anything, and Kaveh would just be left spiraling into the void of emotional purgatory.

Alhaitham didn’t move. But his expression shifted, just slightly. A faint crease between his brows.

Kaveh scowled and shoved at the immovable wall of Alhaitham’s chest. “Move.”

“…Is this still about my disappearance?” Alhaitham asked instead. “Were you that upset at not playing chess?”

Kaveh whipped up at him, eyes wide. He growled in frustration, shoving the criminal again with his working arm. “You absolute—ugh—” His voice broke, and before he could swallow the words, they tumbled out. “I was worried!”

Alhaitham caught his wrist this time, stopping him mid-motion.

A beat of silence.

Kaveh blinked. He hadn’t meant to say it. Not like that. But it hung there now, thick in the air.

Alhaitham’s frown faltered. His gaze flickered, something unreadable flashing through his teal eyes—gone too fast for Kaveh to place.

“Why?”

Kaveh shifted his gaze away, heart thudding. “I don’t know. We’re friends, right?” His voice faltered. “Well. Were. Whatever.”

And—God—he regretted that too right after saying it. Not the truth of it, but the way it cracked out of him, small and stupid and bare. He was smashing his head against a makeshift wall.

He expected Alhaitham to scoff. To roll his eyes. Say something cutting or dry or so snarky Kaveh would want to launch him across the room.

But he didn’t.

He just looked at Kaveh. Still holding his wrist. Like he didn’t understand the shape of the words, like they were some strange equation he couldn’t solve. Soft, baffled, almost.

Kaveh looked back at him, breath stuttering. And for a moment—just a moment—he wondered if maybe—

Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-THUNK—

Bootsteps skidded past the infirmary door. A blur shot past the open frame.

Then—halted. Backpedaled. Double take.

Aether appeared, panting, blinking wildly at them both. “What the hell?!”

Kaveh jumped out of the cot.

Alhaitham stepped away so fast like Kaveh had burned him.

Aether stepped into the room, gun immediately pointed at Alhaitham. “Stay back.”

Kaveh, stupidly, stepped in front of him, raising his good arm. “Wait—no, it’s fine!”

Aether’s eyes bulged so far out. “Kaveh! What are you—you were shot! And then you disappeared!”

Alhaitham crossed his arms, cool and unreadable again. Looked away.

Perfect. Back to factory settings.

“I’m sorry,” Kaveh said, wincing as he stepped forward. “I can explain. Is everyone okay?”

Aether didn’t lower the gun. His gaze flicked between Alhaitham and Kaveh. Frowning. Hesitating.

Kaveh could see it—the gears turning. The question forming. Why were you here? Why were you with him? Why were you—?

Before Aether could speak, another shape sprinted up the hall—Cyno, breathless, wide-eyed.

“Aether—did you—oh, Kaveh, thank God—”

Then he froze. His gaze locked on Alhaitham.

The temperature dropped several degrees.

They all stood there.
Cyno. Aether. Kaveh. Alhaitham.
A four-way standoff of shock, confusion, and mutual distrust.

Kaveh swallowed. Blinked too fast. Thought of how he was going to explain this to them. Shit, Tighnari was going to be so mad.

Then Alhaitham exhaled—low, steady, almost bored.

“Don’t you all have somewhere to be?”

Cyno blinked. Aether flinched.

Kaveh nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes, we do. Absolutely. We’re going.”

He practically shoved Aether ahead, and shot a quick desperate glance at Cyno, who gave Alhaitham one last narrow-eyed glare before turning.

Kaveh hesitated a moment longer. Glanced back.

Alhaitham was looking straight at him.

And Kaveh—heart still pounding, arm still aching, and mouth still buzzing with the memory—knew he was so, so screwed.

The air in the van was tense. No one spoke for a full minute.

Kaveh sat with his back straight, eyes fixed on the passing streetlights through the window, desperately pretending this was fine. Totally fine. Just another night that he didn’t ask for.

Then—

“So, just to recap,” Aether started too casually from across the van, breaking the silence. “We were panicking. Running around, because we thought you were dying, right? Bleeding out. In an enemy base. Right?”

Kaveh closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“And then,” Aether continued, voice rising, "we find you. And you’re—what, exactly? Playing doctor with the enemy?"

“We were not!”

“You were ON TOP OF EACH OTHER!” Aether flailed his arms. “He was holding your hand!”

There was a gasp somewhere.

Kaveh wanted to jump out of the moving vehicle.

Aether, ruthless, continued, “I’m sorry but from my angle? That was foreplay, man!”

“He was bandaging my arm!” Kaveh practically screeched.

There was a pause.

Then—

Tighnari, frowning with his arms crossed: “He bandaged your arm? That’s...somehow worse.”

“Oh,” Albedo perked up. “Kaveh has an admirer?”

“No! Absolutely not!” Kaveh gestured wildly. “I don’t even know him like that!”

“You’ve known him for eight months,” Cyno added flatly.

“We just—play chess!"

“Chess dates. Wow,” Aether said, eyes narrowing, “with the enemy?"

Tighnari made the sound of someone losing faith in humanity. “I can’t believe I have to say this, but casual chess with suspicious, corrupt government agents is not a form of self-care.”

Albedo, completely unbothered, looked up from his tablet. Blinked at Kaveh. “Hmm. Maybe we can use him.”

“There’s nothing to use!” Kaveh shouted.

Albedo gestured vaguely toward Kaveh’s arm. “That’s a very efficient bandage for the given time frame.”

Kaveh stared at the ceiling of the van. “I want to die.”

Cyno finally sighed. “Next time Alhaitham shows up and you don’t report it,” he says, “I’m arresting you.”

“I'm your friend.”

“I’m the Commissioner. Don't make me commission you to a nice, quiet holding cell for the night.”

Tighnari groaned. “Not the puns.”

“You brought him along,” Kaveh muttered.

“I do think we can use you if you date him,” Albedo added, ignoring Cyno completely.

“No—you all have it SO wrong!” Kaveh yelled, flushed down to his chest. “It’s not like that! He doesn’t—he doesn’t even like me!"

And suddenly, Aether, who hadn’t spoken in a while—

“No.”

Everyone turned to him. His voice was different now. Serious. Gaze focused.

“No,” he repeated slowly. “We can’t use Kaveh.”

Silence. The whirring of the van droned in the background.

Kaveh blinks. “What?”

Aether leaned forward, eyes narrowed in thought. “I…I think I recognize him. That man. Now that I think about it, he’s familiar. I’ve seen him before.”

The van went still. Cyno frowned. Tighnari’s ear twitched.

Aether turned to Kaveh, a grimace on his face. “You say you’re not close with him?”

Kaveh, unnerved, nodded. “Yeah. We talk, but we’re not—he doesn’t tell me anything.”

Aether nodded back. Once. He looked back at the floor, tapping a finger against his knee. Then his voice dropped: “Good. Because remember when Rukkhadevata was executed? When the Sages took control?”

The whole van went cold.

“There are six of them. Six sages, right?” Aether said. “And from what I’ve heard… they haven’t changed in ten years. And tonight, we came here because there was information one of them would be here.”

Albedo and Cyno nodded.

Kaveh’s heart stuttered. A pit opened in his stomach.

Aether turned, and looked him dead in the eye.

“Kaveh.” Aether’s voice was quiet but firm. “That man? He’s a sage.”

Kaveh doesn’t breathe.

The hum of the tires seemed to stop. The world tilted.

His thoughts started screaming.

He’s a sage. He’s a sage.

The van felt like a fever dream. The world bled at the edges.

The sages who ruined Old Sumeru. The ones who started a coup. The ones who allegedly killed a newborn. The ones who perpetrated other crimes throughout the world. The ones who had done too much.

A sage.

Kaveh stared at the textured plaster of Tighnari’s spare bedroom ceiling, the patterns blurring in his unfocused gaze.

Sage.

The word echoed in the hollowness of his mind.

Sage.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been so caught up in the games, the banter, the strange comfort of Alhaitham’s company, that the cruelty of his profession hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Criminal, yes. Dangerous, certainly. But a sage? One of the architects of Old Sumeru’s decade of darkness? The reason Cyno and Tighnari and so many others fled?

Kaveh sat up abruptly, a wave of dizziness washing over him. He paced the small room, the familiar scent of Tighnari’s herbs doing little to soothe his racing thoughts.

He thought of the Alhaitham who had meticulously bandaged his arm, the Alhaitham who had lost and almost smiled at a childish board game…it didn’t fit.

And then—
Gods.
The kiss.

It felt like a cruel, impossible joke.

Alhaitham would have been around ten to fifteen years old at the time of Rukkhadevata’s slaughter.

Later, settled on Tighnari’s comfortable couch with a mug of calming tea he barely tasted, the interrogation began. It wasn’t harsh, not with Cyno’s usual steely gaze softened by concern and Aether’s earnest worry etched on his face.

“Kaveh,” Cyno began, voice low and serious. “Now that there’s a possibility that he’s a sage…can you tell us about him? Anything at all.”

Kaveh swallowed, the tea feeling like sand in his throat.

“He…we played chess mainly. Maybe once or twice a month, like I told you before. In the gardens near the Akademiya.”

It felt ridiculous, reducing their bizarre interactions to a simple pastime.

Aether leaned forward. “Did he ever talk about…politics? Old Sumeru? Anything that might suggest involvement?”

“He…he told me about Rukkhadevata once. In passing. During the kidnapping.” Kaveh bit his cheek, the memories swirling. “How she was betrayed by the sages. Paraded around the city…pelted by stones. She asked for her child to be spared in return for her surrender.”

Cyno frowned, like he was hearing new information. “Surrender?”

Kaveh hesitated. “Well—I asked him again sometime later, if the story was true. He said not all of it. I never thought to ask him to clarify…I’m sorry.”

“No, hey,” Aether patted his arm with a smile. “You’re doing fine.”

Kaveh nodded. Continued, “He never…he never mentioned the sages other than that time. Never talked about any crime. He seemed…detached from it all, in a way.”

Cyno exhaled deeply, tapping his fingers on his knee. “But a sage operating so openly in the city…it’s unprecedented. I thought they rarely left Old Sumeru. Not unless something was wrong.”

“That’s what I heard too,” Aether murmured, his brow furrowed in thought. “This changes everything we know. If a sage is walking around this freely in other nations…”

The absurdity of it struck Kaveh again. “But—are you sure?” The question hung in the air. “That…he’s a sage?”

Aether looked down, grim but firm. “I’m sure. I know what I saw.”

Cyno’s gaze was sharp but not unkind. Still. Kaveh couldn’t help but not meet his eye. They looked at him like he was some manipulated child.

“Kaveh, these are powerful individuals. They can wear many masks,” Cyno said. “Don’t let a few casual encounters cloud your judgment of the potential danger.”

Aether nodded in agreement. “I’m sorry, Kaveh. But is there anything else? Any contacts he mentioned, places he frequented, anything that seemed out of the ordinary, even if it seemed insignificant at the time.”

Kaveh took a deep breath. Cooperated—his earlier defensiveness gone, replaced by a growing unease. He recounted their conversations, the books Alhaitham borrowed from the alumni archives, the chess games at dusk, the unexpected appearance of tea after his exhaustion.

He couldn’t talk about the kiss (kisses?) though.

It still felt insane.
Like trying to fit a complex equation into a child’s drawing.

Eventually, the questions dried up. And as the weight of the day finally began to settle, Tighnari found Kaveh alone on the porch, staring out at the twilight.

He sat beside him without a word, the boards creaking quietly beneath his weight.

For a while, they just watched the trees sway in the moonlight.

Then Tighnari sighed, voice quiet. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Kaveh smiled, something small. “Sorry.”

“You jumped in front of a bullet, Kaveh.”

That earned a shrug. “It was aimed at you.”

“And that makes it fine?”

“No. But I’d do it again.”

Tighnari shook his head, more exasperated than angry, then lightly prodded at Kaveh’s bandaged arm.

“Ow—Tighnari?!”

“Don’t ever do that again, you hear me? You scared us half to death.”

Kaveh managed a weak smile. “Don’t bring me along next time.”

Tighnari huffed a tired laugh. “You bet. I can’t believe we left Collei alone.”

Another beat passed. The night hummed around them.

Then Tighnari said, quieter still, “Listen, Kaveh. Next time, if…if he comes to the city—Alhaitham—tell us. Immediately. Okay? We’ll deal with it together.”

His best friend’s worry was palpable, Kaveh couldn’t find it in him to say anything back.

So he nodded, just once. Small. A tight smile ghosting across his face.

He watched the last sliver of sun dip below the horizon.

Life, somehow, had settled.

It had been three weeks since Kaveh’s accidental rendezvous with the gang to the warehouse shooting.

His arm had healed, aside from an ugly scar. Kaveh really should sue.

He had pulled out of the Qixing contract with minimal fanfare—his polite withdrawal letter was met with a cryptic “we understand” and a far-too-generous severance packet that still made him uneasy.

He was back to drawing up plans for an old couple in the hills, sleeping better, worrying less.

Aether had left again, off chasing leads in another nation. Tighnari was back to work. Cyno checked in once a week. Things were…stable.

Until Kaveh saw him again.

The chess tables were quiet in the early light—dew still clinging to the edges, old men squinting at cracked boards. Kaveh spotted the profile before the full image, and his breath stopped.

Grey hair. Suit. Seated. Calm. Waiting. Like nothing had changed.

Kaveh froze.

For one terrible moment, he almost walked over.

Instead, he turned on his heel and left.

No words. No glance back.

The archives were nearly empty, quiet except for the rustle of pages and distant footsteps. Kaveh sat curled over a thick manuscript, his sketches for the couple’s courtyard scattered beside it.

He felt a prickle first—something like pressure on the back of his neck.

When he looked to the side, the air dropped.

Alhaitham.

Standing across the room, half-lit by a skylight, spine-straight and unreadable.

Kaveh’s chest went tight. His gaze darted around the room.

Empty. Too empty.

Where the hell was security? Hadn’t Cyno briefed them? Didn’t they know?

His chair scraped as he pushed back fast, one hand fumbling for his phone as he made his way between several bookshelf rows.

“Why are you acting like this?” Alhaitham asked from behind several shelves, voice too calm for the way Kaveh’s pulse jumped.

Kaveh spun to get a look, and Alhaitham was some kind of super human because he was suddenly right there.

Kaveh jolted back, shoulder blades slamming into the shelf. The press of wood was grounding, barely.

Alhaitham continued walking forward like they were in the middle of a normal conversation. Like everything was fine. And then Kaveh could smell his cologne, faint and familiar—

Too close. And he didn’t want to remember the last time they’d stood like this.

Didn’t want to remember the press of lips, the smell of antiseptic, the quick bandage on his arm, the soft confusion that haunted his dreams.

Kaveh’s throat tightened. “Get away from me.”

Alhaitham paused. Eyebrows drawn. His head tilted slightly, like he was trying to understand a puzzle with missing pieces.

“You were the one upset when I left.”

Kaveh ignored that, shoved him away, and slid away from the bookshelf in a rush. He grabbed the nearest book he could and held it between them like a shield. His hands didn’t shake.

“Seriously. Back off.”

Alhaitham took another half-step forward without thinking, and Kaveh took a step back.

Alhaitham’s expression twitched—just barely. “You’re going to hit me with a book?”

“If I have to,” Kaveh snapped. “And I’ll aim for your face.”

“You’ll need a bigger book to do any real damage.”

Kaveh scoffed. Turned and exchanged the book for a thicker, bigger, heavier hardcover.

A familiar spark flickered in Alhaitham’s eyes—amused, calculating. “You can barely lift that.”

“Don’t need to. It’s going in your face.”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. “Well. You always said I needed to improve my facial symmetry.”

Kaveh almost—almost—smiled. He bit it back hard. Stopped himself.

Stopped the stupid ache in his chest, the dumb hope that maybe Aether was wrong.

The newly healed muscle in his bicep ached.

“Don’t joke right now.”

“Wasn’t a joke.”

Kaveh scowled, jaw clenched tight. “Why are you even here? Don’t you have some empire to rule?”

There was a pause. Alhaitham’s gaze dropped, just for a second, before flicking back up.

“Rule?”

Shit.

Kaveh was so stupid.  He hadn’t even called Cyno yet!

“What do you mean by that, Kaveh?”

Alhaitham looked at him again, and—for just a moment—he didn’t look like a man who could kill. Didn’t look like some cruel leader. Didn’t look like the one Cyno warned him about.

He looked like the boy Kaveh had dragged out of the mines, pale and unconscious, way too young to be caught up in this.

And dammit, he hated that.

Kaveh exhaled through his nose, tense. Still holding the book up between them like a shield.

"Alhaitham." His voice dropped low. “Are you…”

Alhaitham waited. Silent.

Kaveh swallowed.

“…are you one of the Six Sages?”

The question hit like a stone dropped into still water.

Alhaitham’s expression didn’t change right away. He looked at Kaveh like he was waiting for a punchline. Like surely this wasn’t the real question.

Then something flickered behind his eyes. Not anger. Something colder.

His lips twitched—but it wasn’t like before. Not soft. Not teasing. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“I would’ve been prepubescent when I was appointed, no?”

“That’s not an answer.”

Silence.

Kaveh’s heart thundered in his chest. He didn’t realize he’d lowered the book.

And still, Alhaitham said nothing. The same unreadable look etched into his face like marble.

His silence was the answer.

Kaveh moved—turned to run—

And then—

A shift of air.

Pressure, sudden and warm at the back of his neck.

Then nothing.

Chapter Text

Kaveh woke with a groan, his eyelids feeling heavy and glued together. He peeled them open, his vision struggling to focus in the dim light. A familiar weight of blankets draped over him. His limbs were heavy and sluggish. He blinked again, and the blurry shapes above him slowly resolved into a familiar, slightly cracked plaster of the ceiling.

His ceiling. The one with the tiny water stain that looked vaguely like a chicken. He blinked at it, throat dry. When did he fall asleep?

He looked around blearily. Vaguely remembered being at the library. Talking with—

Kaveh jolted up.

Too fast. The world tilted briefly. He gritted his teeth, fought the nausea, and hurriedly looked around.

He was in his bed. In his own studio apartment. No restraints. Just his own worn sheets, slightly rumpled where he’d tossed and turned in his sleep. A single lamp was turned on in the corner, illuminating the familiar clutter of his small space in the dark. 

His room. His windows. His curtains. The mug that he left out this morning on the table. Nothing out of the ordinary. And—

No Alhaitham anywhere.

Kaveh forced himself out of bed, palming for his phone—which was safely in his pocket. He didn’t think of how it got there. He squinted at the brightness as it turned on, displaying the time—9:46pm.

He needed to call Cyno.

He walked around the room, checking while dialling. His eyes landed on his desk in the middle of his pacing and—

He paused.

His manuscript from the archives was there, open. Exactly as he left them in the library. His sketches too—pinned neatly beneath a paperweight like someone was afraid the window would blow them away.

But the papers—were different. Changed.

There were notes.
Footnotes.
Margin scribbles.

Not his.

Kaveh crept toward them like the pages might bite.

There, in a cramped but efficient handwriting, were comments. Dry. Precise. Every line struck like a slap.

• This model doesn’t account for New Liyue’s sea wall reinforcement project in 3997.
• Overuse of verticality. Aesthetics over realism.
• Your argument for preserving canal archways contradicts your third paragraph.
• Actually a good point.

Kaveh stared.

He looked around again, as if Alhaitham might still be lurking in the corner. Watching him react.

His gaze landed on the shelf. There, next to the chipped mug he kept his pens in, was the white queen chess piece that came with the tea. It was facing the wrong way, just slightly. Like someone moved it.

“Oh my god.”

Kaveh shut his eyes. Pressed both palms to his face and groaned into them.

Because if Alhaitham had been in his room—

Had taken the time to write those stupid smug editorial marks—

It means he saw the chess piece. Knew that Kaveh kept it. On display.

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

This wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a hallucination. Because there was no way his subconscious could fabricate that many annotations. Or remember the exact scent of Alhaitham’s cologne, still faint in the air.

He flopped into his chair and stared at the ceiling again. Then at the notes. Then back at the ceiling.

“What the hell,” he muttered. “Stupid criminal.”

Wait. Kaveh was missing something.

Oh.

He grabbed his phone and hit call.

“Cyno,” he said the second the line picked up, “before you say anything—I’m alive, I’m fine, I think. But I need to know where the hell the Akademiya’s afternoon security team was. Are they all okay?”

A beat.

Then Cyno’s voice: sharp.

“What do you mean ‘alive’? Did something happen? The guards didn’t report anything.” Something shuffled in the background. “Were they not there? Your—wait—”

“Um. Yeah,” Kaveh hesitated. “I got a visit from…you know who.”

The phone call erupted into chaos as Cyno put him on hold. Questions were asked. Locations were demanded. There was some scolding. Kaveh told Cyno everything that had happened since morning.

A few minutes later, Cyno, voice full of clipped annoyance, reported that somehow, none of the guards were scheduled at the Akademiya. Instead, they were scattered throughout the city. Enough that some of them overlapped each other. Not enough to be suspicious.

“We need to up our damn cybersecurity,” Cyno sighed, long-suffering.

“Yeah,” Kaveh nodded. “It's like the Akademiya suddenly developed a blind spot for hours.”

“Is there anything else that happened?”

He exhaled. Glanced again at the notes on his desk.

A pause. Then—

“Just that.”

Later, after Cyno promised to run checks, after the adrenaline simmered down—

Kaveh sat alone in his apartment, flipping through the annotated manuscript.

He hated that the footnotes were good.

Precise. Focused. Brutally helpful.

But scattered throughout were some that were written as if they were just meant to mock Kaveh.

• Think again.
• Do you know what ‘liminal’ means?
• You can’t even spell ‘postcolonial'.

Kaveh scoffed at those.

He hated that it meant Alhaitham had actually read the research. Carefully. That he knew enough about modern infrastructure to make valid critiques. That the queen piece on his shelf now presented itself as some kind of checkmate.

He closed the manuscript with a heavy sigh and looked again at the piece on his shelf.

“So what?” he muttered to it. “You’re not even a real queen.”

The piece, traitorously, remained silent.

Kaveh didn’t expect a lot. He expected nothing, actually.

But he definitely, most definitely was not expecting a response.

When he scribbled over one of Alhaitham’s stupid annotations—'This is an unrefined oversimplification of early New Liyue zoning policy.'—it had been out of pure pettiness. He’d crossed it out with a vengeance. Wrote in the margins, ‘Says the man who thinks housing is optional.’

It felt cathartic. Private. Like yelling into a void.

And then.

A week later.

Kaveh woke up, staggered to his desk with a half-full mug of instant coffee, and nearly choked.

Because there, right under his scribbled retort, was Alhaitham’s tiny, offensively neat handwriting in red pen:

• Housing is necessary. Architects are optional.

Kaveh dropped the mug. (Missed the papers, barely.)

He stared at the page. Read it three more times. Squinted like maybe the sheer force of will would make it vanish. It didn’t.

“You—you absolute—you’re not even funny!” he shouted at his empty apartment.

He whirled around, checked the windows. The locks. The ceiling.

Nothing. No sign of break-in. No sign of Alhaitham.

Just the notes.

Smug, offensive, and technically well-cited notes.

A week later, there were more annotations.

The files he left sloppily strewn across his desk last night? Now stacked. Neat. With red-ink footnotes in the margins. More replies to Kaveh’s indignant scribbles.

He glared at the top page.

• If you're going to critique New Liyue’s waterfront zoning, at least reference the 2003 reconstruction proposal. Yours is missing data. Again.

"Again?" Kaveh sputtered. “Who do you think you are, my academic supervisor?”

Kaveh stormed off to get a marker.

Wrote back furiously in blue ink:

• Didn’t realize I was submitting to a peer-reviewed journal titled “Pretentious Men With Too Much Free Time.”

And that’s how it started.

The next reply was longer. A full paragraph critiquing his critique of Alhaitham’s critique of the Fontaine irrigation influence on urban green spaces. Kaveh could practically hear the monotone delivery.

So he responded in all caps.

• IT WORKED IN FONTAINE, IT CAN WORK HERE!

And when that got a reply, taped neatly to the corner of the same page—with a mini citation?

• Correlation does not equal causation. The geological and atmospheric conditions differ significantly. (See New Sumeru Akademiya Compendium of Regional Environmental Variances, Vol. III)"

Kaveh lost it.

"HOW ARE YOU EVEN GETTING IN?"

He installed a new door lock. This time one of those fancy ones with a keypad.

Three days later: more annotations. One said,

• Your new lock was less of a challenge than your zoning diagrams.

Kaveh shrieked.

Wrote back:

• Break into my fridge next time. Critique my groceries while you're at it.

Six days later:

• Your milk was expired. I threw it out.

Kaveh screamed into a pillow.

The following week, Alhaitham annotated his squeaky new lock’s bolt design and added a tiny doodle of a window hinge. A little thumbs down. A boo.

Kaveh hated that he recognized it as his window.

He also hated that he was grinning.

And when he caught himself grinning, he immediately slapped his lips, then slapped a post-it over the doodle with:

• DO YOU HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO?

To which Alhaitham, five days later, replied:

• Apparently not. Awaiting your next poorly-argued proposition on urban ventilation.

Kaveh nearly threw the entire binder out the window.

But he didn’t.

Because it’s the most consistent form of communication they’ve had in months.

And Kaveh didn’t know what was worse: that he missed this, or that this—this ridiculous, semi-illegal footnote argument—was the closest thing to honesty they’d ever had.

Kaveh woke up late for a meeting with some builders one day. In his rush, he didn’t get to read any potential new annotations. But like clockwork, he quickly glanced at the top paper before he left.

And stopped.

Because this time, the red pen had a slight smudge—like whoever wrote it was writing fast. Impatient. Restless.

The last note?

• If you want to argue in person, you know where to find me.

Kaveh stared at it for a long, long time.

Then picked up his pen.

Put it back down.

He didn’t reply.

Kaveh hadn’t even planned on stopping by the chess tables. He’d avoided the gardens for the past week. Didn’t reply to Alhaitham’s last note. He couldn’t, really. He didn’t know what to say.

Today, he had just finished a client call and was cutting through the Akademiya gardens on autopilot, trying to get to the library. The sun was too bright, the fountain too loud, and his head hurt in that specific way it always did when his stress levels flirted with homicide.

And then he saw him.

Alhaitham.

Sitting at one of their usual tables like nothing had changed. Elbows on the board, fingers steepled, gaze scanning the square lazily—but Kaveh could tell he was waiting. Like a kid left at school pickup.

Kaveh stopped in his tracks.

What the hell. Two and a half months of footnote warfare and Alhaitham thought he could just show up?

Kaveh’s feet moved on instinct—two steps forward—before reason slammed into him like a truck. He thought of Cyno. Of Tighnari. Of the sages.

He should call Cyno again.

But then, as if Alhaitham had sensed him, he looked up. Their eyes met briefly.

Alhaitham blinked. Slow.

Everything in Kaveh’s head screamed.

He really should call Cyno.

He frowned. Turned. Walked away.

Didn’t look back.

Except—

Out of the corner of his eye, two Akademiya guards turned the corner. Familiar uniforms. Worse—familiar faces. He recognized one from Cyno’s squad. One who had been at Cyno's debriefing of Alhaitham.

And they all knew what Alhaitham looked like now.

Shit.

Kaveh panicked. Veered sharply. Pulled his bag up over his head like a makeshift hood. If the guards saw him, they might stop to say hello. And if they did that—if they turned and saw the table—

Shitshitshit.

He doubled back fast, stumbling into the garden’s path again, nearly tripping over a root. He bolted toward the table like a man possessed.

Alhaitham looked up, brows raising in the faintest flicker of curiosity—like Kaveh was just late as usual. Like he hadn’t knocked Kaveh out the last time they met.

Kaveh didn’t even sit down. He stomped right up to the table and muttered, “Get out of here.”

Alhaitham tilted his head. “This is a public area.”

“You’re a wanted criminal!”

“Am I?” Alhaitham hummed. “Has a court ruled on that?”

“I swear to god—” Kaveh’s voice pitched, fists clenched at his sides. “Do you want to be arrested?”

Alhaitham stayed maddeningly calm. 

The audacity. The smugness. Kaveh made a strangled noise and grabbed his arm—dragged him bodily away from the bench. Covered his head hastily with one of his blueprints, just as the guards passed behind them.

And under the large sheet of Kaveh’s sketches, Alhaitham smirked. The bastard smirked.

Unbelievable.

Kaveh didn’t stop dragging him until they were a whole two blocks away, ducked into the shade between two old buildings. His pulse was thundering. He crouched on the floor, hiding his face in his hands. Breathing too hard. Because—

This was illegal. This was so illegal. Kaveh was aiding and abetting.

Tighnari was going to murder him.

Heck, Aether was going to murder him.

“What were you thinking?” Kaveh hissed, dropping his bag and spinning on the criminal. “You can’t just show up like that.”

Alhaitham shrugged, all annoying composure. “I thought you might come today.”

Kaveh almost screamed.

“Oh my god. You’re so—” Kaveh breathed in deeply. Tried to remain calm. He saw Alhaitham beginning to fold the blueprint that was over his head and snatched it away. Threw his bag over the criminal’s head. “Keep this on! Anybody could recognize you!”

“Ah, yes. Because this won’t attract attention at all.”

Kaveh just leaned back against the wall of the alley, hand dragging down his face. “This is so stupid. I’m going to jail. Because of you! Stupid criminal. Stupid garden. This is all your fault!"

“You were the one who assisted me.”

“That’s why I said it’s your fault!”

He groaned and let his head thunk lightly against the stone behind him. He should call Cyno. Now. He should—

“—You know,” Alhaitham said, almost casually, “You’re more predictable than I thought.”

Kaveh blinked. Alhaitham just pointed to the sign hanging behind them. Neon. Cartoony.

The Scholar’s Gambit Board Games.
Open 'til Midnight. All Skill Levels Welcome.

“No fucking way.”

Alhaitham’s expression was his usual stoic, but there was something too smooth in the motion, like he’d been planning this. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. And Kaveh had to wonder how because he was the one who dragged them here.

Suddenly— “Three games.”

Kaveh stared at him. “What?”

Alhaitham met his gaze. Calm. Direct. “Three games. I win, and I’ll leave you alone.”

Kaveh’s eyes narrowed. How was that even a winning deal? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

“And if I win?”

“I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

Kaveh took a moment to process it. Then, his hands froze at his side.

The alley went quiet. The murmurs of people on the main street, the honks of cars, the smoke and sizzling from a restaurant nearby—it all drowned out.

“…Whatever?”

“One truth.” Alhaitham’s eyes were unreadable again. “If you win.”

Kaveh swallowed. His brain screamed at him once more. Call Cyno. Be responsible. Don’t play the sage’s little mystery game just because he’s leaning slightly closer and his voice is all low and confident and—

Wait.

If Kaven won, he’d get answers. If Kaveh lost, Alhaitham would leave him alone. He narrowed his eyes. Weren’t both choices hanging on him?

Was Alhaitham letting him choose? Because if Kaveh just let himself lose then—was it really that simple?

He looked at the café sign again. Then at Alhaitham. Then back.

Kaveh sighed. Mentally smacked himself. He crossed his arms, fingers digging into the skin where Alhaitham couldn't see. He couldn't believe he was doing this.

“I’m not playing chess.”

He didn’t want to think of their previous games. The stupid queen piece on his shelf. Didn’t want to get distracted if Alhaitham brought it up.

“What do you propose?”

“Something neither of us have ever played. Newly released. Something the staff chooses.”

Alhaitham looked at him, contemplative. “I find that acceptable.”

“Good.” Kaveh exhaled heavily. Yanked the stupid bag off Alhaitham’s head. Shoved his blueprint back in. Gave the criminal a long, narrow-eyed glare. “Then you better get your answers ready. Because I’m going to win.”

Alhaitham nodded once, slow. Almost satisfied.

The staff handed them the board game with a grin that said you better hold on to your socks, and Kaveh barely held in a snort when he saw the name on the box.

Zensu.

Kaveh had never heard of it, and judging by the way Alhaitham’s brow furrowed as the staff explained the base rules, neither had he. It was a tactical, grid-based, trap-heavy monstrosity with three rulebooks and a scoring system Kaveh immediately tried to simplify into a graph.

But the best part—the best, most absurd part—was the bright yellow board game café cap they bought from the shop’s merchandise.

In the name of disguising Alhaitham.

A silly, yellow, foam thing with a bouncing logo on top and the words “Piece Out” stitched across the front in comic sans. It clashed horribly with his usual severe elegance. And it ruined his perfect hair. It puffed weirdly under the brim, one stubborn lock curled out from behind his ear.

Kaveh watched him adjust the strap seriously, like it was part of some high-level disguise protocol, and had to look away to stop himself from laughing.

Truly, this was the height of disguise for a crime syndicate leader.

They listened to the staff’s explanation. Nodded. Asked a few questions. Then—they played.

And it was long.

Three consecutive wins. That was their usual condition. With chess it was easier—they knew the existing strategies, could play half-asleep if needed. But this? A new game, a new battlefield.

And still—Kaveh didn’t know if he wanted to lose or win.

He didn’t even know what it would mean, really, if Alhaitham won. If he kept his word. Wouldn’t that be everything Kaveh had hoped for the past few weeks? Would it finally feel like relief?

The hours blurred into a haze of clacking tiles and muttered rules clarifications. They kept taking turns at who had a two-point lead, only to lose it and restart from zero. The cafe, at first bustling, emptied out. And when the staff started stacking chairs around them, Alhaitham reached into his wallet and handed over a sum so outrageous Kaveh gaped.

It was probably enough to cover their store rent for the month. What the hell?

The door stayed locked, but the lights stayed on. The city outside dimmed, but inside—just them, bathed in fluorescent light, and the game.

And then—

Two hours past closing. The sky was black and quiet. The streets were still.

Kaveh stared at the board, at the final arrangement of tiles, then up at Alhaitham.

The criminal didn’t look surprised. Just…ready. A readiness that suggested he’d anticipated this outcome. Calm. Knowing. Like this had been inevitable.

Kaveh glanced at the bleary-eyed staff still lingering in the background. Took pity. Shouldered his bag. His stomach rumbled.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Alhaitham followed without a word.

The convenience store glowed like a tiny portal in the night. Kaveh grabbed a cup of noodles without thinking. Alhaitham lingered, weirdly fixated on the snacks.

“What, they don’t have chips in Old Sumeru?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer. Just picked a packet of plain rice crackers.

Kaveh clicked his tongue. Grabbed another cup of noodles for Alhaitham because they hadn’t eaten since the late afternoon.

When Alhaitham paid wordlessly, Kaveh thought he should’ve gotten them more expensive flavors.

They settled on a bench by the riverbank, legs stretched out, steam curling from their cups. The water moved slowly, lights twinkling over the surface. Kaveh sipped his broth and thought about the absurdity of it all. About how not weird this felt. Sitting beside a man who should terrify him.

The city was so quiet it felt like a dream.

When they were done, empty cups discarded in a nearby bin, he turned to Alhaitham.

He didn’t ask about the sages. Or the conspiracy. Or Rukkhadevata’s child. Or the stupid footnotes. Or the kiss.

He just took a deep breath and—

“Who are you?”

It hung in the air, soft but heavy. The kind of question you couldn’t dodge by being clever. Not when it came with no accusations, no fire—just quiet curiosity, paired with the sloshing of the river beside them.

Alhaitham blinked. His mouth opened. Closed.

Then, finally—flatly: “That’s an umbrella question.”

Kaveh huffed a breath, eyes still on the water. “You can answer however you like. Just the truth.”

There was a long pause.

Kaveh didn’t look at him, but he could feel it—the gears turning, the calculations being made. Maybe Alhaitham had expected something else. A question about the sages. His crimes. The stupid chess games or the fact that they kept finding their way back to each other like gravity.

But Kaveh waited.

Eventually, with a strange hesitance—

“I am Alhaitham,” he began, frowning. “Born February 11th in Old Sumeru. Twenty-three this year. Presumably, you are not asking for my astrological sign.”

His voice edged into that familiar blend of dry and defensive. Like he wasn’t sure if he was playing along or failing a test.

“Beyond biographical details,” he went on, slowly, “I am an individual with certain skills, affiliations, and objectives. Objectives that, as you are aware, are not always…conventional.” He glanced sideways, studied Kaveh. “Is there a more specific aspect of my being you wish to understand?”

But Kaveh was not there. Oh no.

Twenty-three.
Twenty. Three.

He always knew this man was younger than him. But the confirmation? Twenty-three. Kaveh was—what—turning twenty-five in two months?

He’s my junior, Kaveh thought, mildly horrified. It was…unexpectedly endearing. Almost cute. He’s practically a child. A very annoying, war-criminal junior.

Then the absurdity of the thought hit him. A child sage.

He cleared his throat, dragged himself back. Alhaitham was still looking at him, brow faintly furrowed. His junior needed help answering his own question.

Kaveh just hummed. “I don’t know. It’s your question. I’m not supposed to be answering here.”

Alhaitham let out a short, disbelieving breath. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, and Kaveh, watching from the corner of his eye, saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips. Alhaitham never cursed, but his expression seemed to say Asshole, and Kaveh knew he was right.

Then he stared out at the river for a while, like he needed the water to keep moving before he could.

“I grew up with my grandmother,” he said at last. “No parents. I studied at the Old Sumeru Akademiya. I’m a Haravatat scholar.”

Kaveh blinked. “Languages?”

“Ancient languages. Runes. History.”

Kaveh nodded slowly, absorbing this unexpected information. “Wow. Didn’t think you were the type.”

A glance. “What did you think I studied?”

Kaveh smirked. “Politics. Warfare. How to take over the world. How to be an annoying jerk.”

And then, impossibly—

Alhaitham's lips curved into something more. Not a smirk, not a polite upturn.

An actual smile.

Small, barely-there, fleeting—but it hit Kaveh like a solar flare.

God. In the dim streetlamp light, he couldn’t even fully see it. But it left him stunned, either way. Breathless. It was...pretty.

Alhaitham's voice, when he spoke again, was softer. "I took classes for that too. Extra-curricular."

Kaveh frowned, a genuine confusion creasing his brow. And then Alhaitham continued, his gaze returning to the river, the smile fading as quickly as it came.

“I was twelve when the coup started being talked about,” Alhaitham said. The tone had shifted—gentler, but heavier. “My master was the sage of my Darshan—Haravatat—and then,” he paused, “and then he fell ill. Made me his successor.”

Kaveh couldn't help the note of horrified disbelief in his voice. “At twelve?”

“That’s what all the other scholars said too. But the other Sages agreed. Not a single one protested.” A beat. “Six months later, the slaughter of Her Majesty happened.”

Her Majesty.
Rukkhadevata.
Cyno still called her that too.

It wasn’t a confession. It wasn’t even defensive. Not a plea for sympathy. Just a recitation of facts. Either way, a cold understanding settled in Kaveh's chest.

Because—what could a twelve-year-old boy even do?

Alhaitham kept going, quiet and steady. “My grandmother passed not long after. Then, everything I learned, I learned from the other sages. I did what they asked. Became what they needed. Stopped asking questions.”

Kaveh’s heart ached. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s—” Alhaitham looked at him then, eyes unreadable. “It’s not something you should be sorry about.”

A pause. Then—

“I’m not some misunderstanding, Kaveh.”

Kaveh sucked in a breath.

Alhaitham said it like he knew. Knew Kaveh would be feeling sorry. Knew he’d start rationalizing, softening, making room.

“I am a criminal. I am a sage. The Old Sumeru syndicate—” he shook his head, “—they’ve used people. Created plans that would destroy others. I’ve helped push the organization to where it is now. I’ve...”

Another pause. The sounds of the empty city a distant hum.

“I’ve hurt others.”

And Kaveh—he just sat there. On the cold bench. Under yellow streetlight and the pale moon. Listening.

Not judging. Not forgiving. Just there.

He didn’t know what to say. What to think. Didn’t even know what he felt.

The boy who played board games, a scholar of ancient languages, a sage who orchestrated destruction…they were all the same person.

But Kaveh still sat there. Still breathed the same air. Still closer than he maybe should be.

Alhaitham stopped talking.

His words settled heavily in the silence between them. Somewhere, a train passed in the distance. Kaveh couldn’t tell where it came from.

“So that’s who you are?”

Kaveh finally sighed. Pressed his elbows to his knees, watching the water catch the streetlamps like broken glass.

From his side, a low, almost reluctant, "Mm."

A few heartbeats passed.

Kaveh sat back straight. Looked at the too-serious criminal. Then, voice lighter, he asked, “Where’d you learn to play chess?”

Alhaitham blinked. “Myself. I read.”

Kaveh scoffed. “Oh, wow. Self-taught.” His voice was laced with a familiar mockery, and he couldn't resist a subtle eye-roll in the dim light. “You ever won any championships?”

Alhaitham’s lips twitched again, a ghost of a smile. "Never had the time. I could have."

Kaveh gave a small, disbelieving laugh. Yeah, Alhaitham probably could have.

“You ever played with a clock?”

A shake of the head, a slight movement in the darkness.

Kaveh nodded slowly. Thought about it. Tapped his fingers against his thigh. A small, almost mischievous smile touched his lips.

And then, soft but sure:
“Let’s play with a clock next time.”

He didn’t mean it to land like that, but it did.
He felt it. That stillness. Like the world held its breath.

It felt significant. Like a thread. Fragile. But present.

Alhaitham looked at him a second too long, teal eyes unreadable in the darkness. And Kaveh didn’t back down—met his gaze, a small challenge in his own. He huffed, rolling his eyes again, this time more deliberately. "What? You scared? I know you like playing long games."

Alhaitham looked away.

Then—smiled. Small. Real. Almost fond. The second one tonight. Kaveh hated that he was keeping count.

Alhaitham exhaled, a quiet sound of resignation or perhaps even…anticipation? Then he nodded. A single, decisive movement. “Can’t wait.”

And that was it. That was all.

They both looked back at the water. Kaveh felt like exploding but not really.

Then, after a moment of comfortable silence, Alhaitham’s voice, low and even, broke the quiet again. "Anything else you want to know?"

Kaveh heard it. The unspoken invitation in his tone. Knew that it wasn’t part of the deal anymore.

This was just him. Offering. Open.

Kaveh could’ve asked anything. Why are you here? How are you slipping in and out of Old Sumeru? What really happened before, and what happens next?

Kaveh looked at the sky instead. Quiet.

A strange sense of peace settled over him, a quiet understanding that some questions could wait. “No.”

After that day, Kaveh saw Alhaitham again. And again. And again.

At the same café. Same corner seat. New detail: a clock.
And a beret. And glasses.
A disguise.

Alhaitham looked like a pretentious artist. A child playing dress-up.

Kaveh rolled his eyes so hard it hurt.

Still, he walked in.
Because he’s relieved.
(And annoyed that he’s relieved.)

—

Fifteen minutes. That was all. Rapid chess. No time to spiral. No time to think about traps.

Kaveh actually started winning. So much more.
He’s insufferable about it.

Alhaitham crossed his arms. “Fifteen minutes is too short.”
They switch to thirty. Kaveh still wins. Alhaitham does too. Sometimes.
(Kaveh lets him. Sometimes.)

—

They never talked about the kiss. Or the syndicate. Or anything real.
But they’re not strangers anymore.

“Are you drinking cinnamon?” Kaveh snorted one day.
“Compared to some of the unique combinations you favor, it’s a paragon of conventionality.”
Kaveh kicked him under the table.

—

They started playing other games, too. Card games. Word puzzles.
Different cafés every week. Odd hours. Quiet corners.
Somehow, no one noticed.

“Is this your new hobby, then? Speedrunning every board game café in the city?”
Alhaitham didn’t answer right away.
Then: “This one has good tea.”

—

After a particularly brutal back-and-forth one day, Kaveh leaned in. Squinted.
“How come no airport authority notifies when you’re in the country? Your amazing disguises?”
“You joke,” Alhaitham said, moving a rook, “but I do have at least ten forged passports.”
Kaveh blinked. Laughed.

“Yeah? You know what you don’t have? Time.”
Alhaitham’s flag on the chess clock fell.

—

Sometimes they played in silence.
Sometimes mid-debate.
Sometimes in thunderstorms, café windows fogged up, pieces clicking gently between them.

Kaveh knew the temporary peace wouldn’t last.
Knew he was lying to Cyno and Tighnari.
Knew that one day, this would all probably be thrown back in his face.

But for now?

It was enough.

The world outside their café bubble continued to turn, weightless.

The weight of other realities, however, pressed down from unseen corners.

Somewhere deep within Old Sumeru, carved into the earth beneath layers of ancient stone, in an underground chamber—

Four figures sat in silence, reading, murmuring, evaluating.

The air hung still and heavy, thick with the cloying sweetness of incense struggling to mask the underlying scent of damp stone and something metallic. Bare walls, worn smooth by the passage of centuries and the touch of countless hands, absorbed what little light filtered from low-wattage lamps. They casted long, dancing shadows that made the stillness feel deceptive.

A long, crescent-shaped table dominated the center of the space, its surface etched with faint, indecipherable markings. Above it, holographic maps flickered with a soft, ethereal green light, outlining every artery of the network they’d built—cities pulsing with light, vital ports teeming with unseen activity, and the delicate tracery of powerlines that fed their influence.

“Mission 19D has failed,” one voice said, clipped. “Intended target survived.”

“There seemed to be an issue in the chain of ranks. Your men, Iskandar?”

“It won’t happen again,” said another, dismissive. “The New Liyue’s loose ends are nearly tied.”

Then the door hissed open.

A lean figure entered, a dark coat slung over an arm, reports held with a practiced ease. His grey hair caught the light momentarily as he turned his head, and his eyes, sharp and assessing, seemed to take in everything without revealing a single thought.

“Alhaitham,” one person greeted. “I hear the The Kyrgyz Republic’s Kasymov family have been caught?”

“A simple media play success,” he said without preamble, dropping the reports on a separate table. He stopped in front of the wall of requests. “I’ll be taking the Qatar assignment.”

A few heads turned, a silent acknowledgement of his action.

“That wasn’t yours."

Alhaitham's gaze flicked towards the speaker before returning to the wall. “It is now,” he replied, tone mild. “I’ve completed the Kyrgyz Republic and Fontaine reports. Qatar’s underground network is subverting.”

He paused.

“You’ll have my analysis by next week.”

Silence. No one argued.

He turned, left, the door sealing shut behind him with a soft hiss.

The room lingered in quiet a moment longer. Then one of the seated figures—older, or perhaps simply wearier than the rest—leaned back in their chair. Their fingers tapped once, twice, against the table. Eyes still on the closed door.

They exhaled. A low hum followed.

Thoughtful. Curious.

Strange. Their youngest sage had never seemed so eager before.

Chapter Text

Life resumed.

At first, every visit was a surprise. A surprise Kaveh didn’t know he’d been looking forward to. He’d find annotations and post-it notes stuck to his papers when he woke up, with addresses to different board game cafes with annoying quips like ‘Don’t be late.’ or ‘The one opposite the bank. Not next to. Remember.’

And Kaveh would roll his eyes, not actually annoyed.

After a while, it became routine.

Alhaitham showed up more often—unannounced, always pretending it was casual. Almost every week. And when Kaveh finally asked why one day, Alhaitham only shrugged. “Assignments. Missions.”

Kaveh didn’t believe that for a second, but he let it go. He didn’t really have any complaints.

One evening, the board game café they usually haunted was swarmed with people for some exhibition event. Too crowded. Too noisy. Too many patrol guards. Kaveh had barely registered Alhaitham turning on his heel to hide himself.

“Come on.”

The words left Kaveh’s mouth before he could overthink them. He caught Alhaitham by the sleeve and tugged him in the opposite direction, his fingers curling just long enough to register the feel of linen beneath them.

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest.

Kaveh led him to a roadside food stall in a back alley—hidden, cheap, bright, full of sizzling smells and sticky tables. Acted like it was nothing.

Alhaitham paused, stared at the setup with a slight crease in his otherwise perfectly indifferent expression. “You eat here?”

Kaveh rolled his eyes, suppressing a grin. “Yes, your highness. We commoners eat too.”

“I meant—” Alhaitham’s expression wrinkled faintly. “—this seems unhygienic.”

“That’s what makes it good.” Kaveh patted the rickety bench and sat down. “Sit.”

With visible reluctance, Alhaitham lowered himself beside him. Kaveh ordered for them, then passed over some chopsticks to the criminal—who just held them like they were foreign instruments of war.

Their food arrived a few minutes later—still steaming, fragrant and a little chaotic. Kaveh reached for the dipping sauces between them, and poured it into a small bowl for Alhaitham.

At his still-cautious look, Kaveh sighed in exasperation. “You're not going to get sick. Just try it.”

Alhaitham took a tentative bite. Then another. He didn’t say anything.

Kaveh leaned forward, watching him with too much amusement. “See? It’s good.”

Alhaitham clicked his tongue. “...It’s tolerable.”

Kaveh bumped his knee under the table. “That’s a five-star review, coming from you.”

They kept eating, the casual closeness strange but not uncomfortable. And when Alhaitham frowned as some gravy stuck to the corner of his lips, Kaveh laughed.

“You’re so messy.” He passed the other man a tissue. “Do you eat like this in front of your subordinates?”

Alhaitham blinked, then gave a quiet, sardonic huff. “I don’t often eat liquid foods.”

“Oh? Why?”

“…It restricts engagement in other tasks.”

“Oh my god. When you eat, you eat. You’re not supposed to multitask.”

“If that’s your argument, you shouldn’t be speaking right now.”

Kaveh just huffed and took another bite of his food.

From then on, the routine shifted—board games, then snacks. Sometimes quiet, sometimes ridiculous. Once, Kaveh even victoriously dragged Alhaitham to a cinema.

Alhaitham just leaned back in his seat, unimpressed. “I don’t have time for movies.”

Kaveh threw popcorn at him. “Shut up and watch.”

Alhaitham sighed dramatically, but didn’t argue. His hand brushed Kaveh’s in the shared popcorn tub halfway through—and while Kaveh flinched like he just touched a hot pan, Alhaitham continued watching the screen like nothing happened.

Somewhere during the show, Kaveh glanced over and caught a fleeting expression on the grey-haired man’s face. A flicker of something close to wonder. Like someone who, maybe, deep down, hadn’t always lived in a world of high-stakes plots and calculated moves.

Afterward, they walked side by side in the cool night air. Kaveh talked without thinking—ranting about his clients, the film, whatever passed through his mind. It had become second nature.

And when he looked over at Alhaitham, halfway through some offhand complaint about a rich client’s marble obsession, he saw it again.

The smile.

Glass vials clung against each other as a drug cabinet opened. A frail hand lifted up a piece of torn paper. Deciphered:

Q-Sewing Machine Review:
Tension at the hem.
Seek sturdier cloth.

Alhaitham hated luck-based games. Anything with dices. Kaveh loved them. Surprisingly, despite his life path, he had quite good luck with chance-based board games.

If only Alhaitham could stop making up new rules.

“That’s not how it goes—you—”

“I don’t see why not.”

“That’s just not how Backgammon works!”

A huff. “Then this game needs an update.”

Kaveh didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.

It was during a lull in their ridiculous argument about the strategic merits of ignoring established rules that Alhaitham dropped the news with casual nonchalance.

“I won’t be around next week. Assignment in Qatar.”

Kaveh blinked. The piece he had been tapping on slipped and clacked against the board.

“What?”

Alhaitham didn’t even look up. He was studying the board like he couldn’t understand why his luck was so bad that his pieces barely moved. “Qatar. Intel retrieval. Could take a few weeks.”

Kaveh’s heartbeat did a weird lurch in his chest. Why was Alhaitham telling him that? Kaveh took the dices. Rolled. Moved his pieces. Frowned at the sage. Waited for an explanation.

Alhaitham finally met his eyes. Calm. Unbothered. “You were upset the last time. I thought I should update you.”

Kaveh’s entire face flared warm. Immediately.

“I wasn’t upset,” he retorted, a little too fast.

Alhaitham hummed, like he was indulging him.

Kaveh scowled. “I was just—worried you were dead or something. Normal concern. Basic decency.”

“Mmm.” Alhaitham’s lips twitched. He looked back at his pieces like they were so interesting. “Okay.”

No. Not okay. Because Alhaitham still had that knowing look on his face and whatever he was thinking was probably—definitely—wrong and annoying.

“Seriously, you just—it’s because you just disappeared after—”

Kaveh stopped. The words tangled somewhere in his throat.

Because if he had continued, if he said anything else, the conversation would veer dangerously close to a moment he wasn’t ready to talk about. That moment in the stairwell.

The part he actually hadn’t forgiven for. Yet.

Alhaitham rolled his dice. “Because I disappeared after…?”

“After robbing a bank,” Kaveh continued, glaring at the criminal. “Maybe the bank went after you. It’s possible.” He huffed and turned away, grabbing a cracker from the snack tray with unnecessary force.

Alhaitham just nodded. The same infuriating look on his face. Moved his piece.

“Insufferable,” Kaveh muttered.

Alhaitham plucked a piece of dried fruit from the same tray, fingers brushing Kaveh’s again—deliberately, this time.

“And yet, you’re here.”

Kaveh refused to look at him, tossed his dice. “You just show up.”

“You don’t exactly stop me.”

Kaveh’s ears were definitely red now. “Maybe I should.”

“Should you?”

He glanced up then, and Alhaitham was watching him—the stupidly knowing expression now something closer to amusement. Warm. Irritatingly fond.

Kaveh looked away first. Moved his pieces. “Just don’t get killed in Qatar.”

Alhaitham’s voice was low. “Worried you’re losing your chess opponent?”

Kaveh threw a cracker at him.

Alhaitham caught it. “Duly noted.”

A broken traffic light button. A sheer, torn scarf. Ancient Sumerian writing.

Port seamstress notes:
Sumeru thread looms.
Pattern won’t hold.

The week after Alhaitham left crawled by with an unnerving quiet. No surprise annotations, no unexpected appearances at cafes. Kaveh threw himself into drafting revisions for a particularly tedious client, ignoring the low hum of anxiety that had settled beneath his ribs.

By the time he met Tighnari, Cyno, and Aether, the familiar dimness of their usual bar felt less like a refuge and more like a holding cell for his own restless thoughts.

Because tonight? Tonight felt cursed already.

Kaveh sat wedged between Tighnari and the wall, clutching his drink like it might protect him from divine judgment. He knew it was ridiculous, that Tighnari probably always looked at him like that, but his guilt twisted every glance into a condemnation. Cyno's presence only amplified his paranoia.

And then Aether set his drink down with a thunk. “So. Nilou reached out.”

Kaveh perked up automatically. “I love Nilou! Is she okay?”

Aether gave a slightly confused look at his enthusiasm. “She’s fine. Still dancing at the venue in Doha.” Then, his voice went low. Whispered, “But she heard something.”

Tighnari’s ear twitched. Cyno looked over.

“There’s going to be a meeting. Underground syndicate types. Some sort of conflict with the Port Arabia Brotherhood. And—” Aether’s gaze sharpened. “It’s rumored a sage is scheduled to be there.”

The silence was instant and sharp.

Cyno raised a brow. “A sage? In Qatar?”

Kaveh’s throat closed up. His grip on the glass tightened.

Alhaitham said he was going to Qatar.

“Yeah,” Aether replied, voice low now. “No official record, obviously. But Nilou said it’s the kind of whisper that means something. And from what we know now, it’s entirely possible.”

A beat passed.

Then Cyno asked, “Any guess on which one?”

Tighnari glanced at Kaveh. Subtle.
Aether and Cyno did too. Less subtle.

Kaveh blinked. Felt every molecule of blood evacuate his body. “Why are you looking at me? I—I don’t know. Do I look like I have sage contacts?”

They didn’t say anything.
He hated that they didn’t say anything.

Aether sighed, leaning forward again. “I think we should go.”

Kaveh almost choked on his drink.

“What?”

“I think we should go,” Aether repeated. “Albedo’s already connected to a researcher from Old Inazuma who knows the syndicate channels there. Apparently, they’re connected to Qatar’s. If we move fast, we can get in when it happens.”

Kaveh was listening. Grimacing. Freaking out.

Aether continued explaining how his connection can get them to the Qatar underground. Cyno listened, nodding. Tighnari hummed, a contemplative frown on his face. They made plans to leave. Three days from now.

Cyno nodded slowly. “A Sage meeting with an underground faction is too dangerous to ignore.”

“Great,” Kaveh said after a while. “You guys stay safe, okay?”

And then Aether blinked at him. Before he could even ask—

“Absolutely not.” Kaveh threw his hands up. “I am not built for cloak-and-dagger missions. I get winded going up stairs. I nearly died the last time I got involved and—look—I’m not a main character in this story. Okay? I’m staying put.”

He could feel Tighnari looking at him. He braced for a scolding.

But instead—

“That’s fair. You can check in on Collei while we're gone.”

Kaveh turned to him, startled. “Really?”

Tighnari shrugged. “She’s been working hard lately. She’ll be glad to see you.”

“Oh.” Kaveh relaxed. Just slightly. “Yeah. Okay. I can do that.”

“Hm. Yeah.” Aether tapped his chin. “You can’t even use a gun. Why did you go with us last time?”

Kaveh thought he heard Tighnari stifle a laugh. Cyno drank his water for a bit too long. And Kaveh wanted to shout BECAUSE YOU SHUT THE DOOR AFTER COLLEI LEFT THE VAN.

But he just took a breath. Counted to five. Inside voices. “An accident.”

The conversation shifted after that—plans, logistics, train routes—but Kaveh barely heard any of it.

Because deep down, all he could think about was his friends going to Qatar.

Alhaitham. In Qatar.

And the fact that his world was slowly catching up to him.

Laughter. Boat engines. Water splashed. Faded ink on a paper towel.

Persis Collection Summer 2020:
Favor older weaving.
Traded for North Face .

One week wasn’t long in the grand scheme of spy things—but Kaveh was impatient. The moment Tighnari texted that he and the rest had landed back in the city, Kaveh sprinted to his house. Waited with Collei. Helped her make some snacks because he was nice. Not because he was pacing. Definitely not.

An hour later, the door opened.

Cyno walked in first, followed by Albedo, Aether, Tighnari—

And then someone unfamiliar.

The man looked older, maybe early fifties, with greying hair and tired eyes. He didn’t smile at Kaveh—just at the room, like it had been a long time since he'd been in one that felt safe.

“Kaveh, this is Naphis,” Tighnari said with a smile. “My former master. Also a former sage.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Long story,” Cyno muttered.

They all sat down. Even Naphis looked like he couldn’t believe he was here. Collei had bounded in with a smile, welcomed them back, and handed out some drinks. After a few pleasantries, introductions, hugs, she left. Then the tension settled in like a fog.

Aether turned to Naphis with a seriousness that made Kaveh’s stomach tighten.

The older man just smiled wearily, leaning forward like he was letting go of a breath he'd been holding for years. “Well, I promised you, didn’t I?”

He took a quick sip of water. Then, he explained how he became roped in the Qatar network after escaping imprisonment in Old Sumeru—right after the coup. And outside of Old Sumeru, he was forced to always watch his back in case the sages came for him.

“Qatar’s network gave me protection, a new identity.”

Kaveh tried to follow, but his thoughts were slipping. The words ‘coup’, ‘sages’, and ‘underground’ made his head spin.

“I worked mainly as their physician. Everything was…diplomatic. The Middle Eastern and Central Asian branches kept their distance from Old Sumeru. If they did anything, well—there was an incident in Sudan once.” Naphis grimaced. “It was…something of a warning.”

At his side, Kaveh saw Aether and Cyno nod in understanding, as if they just knew what happened in Sudan. Kaveh was just thinking, what the hell? How far deep into the underground were they?

“But then there was a slip-up from one of the Port Arabia heads.” Naphis’ voice was dry. “And now the entire network doesn’t exist anymore.”

Kaveh tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Everyone exchanged a look. Everyone except him.

“It was dismantled yesterday,” Cyno said.

“What does that—like—they got into trouble?”

“Not trouble,” Aether replied. “They’re gone.”

Kaveh blinked, confused. Gestured to Naphis. “But… assuming you’ve worked for them for more than ten years, it means the network is quite established, right? How does a whole organization just disappear?”

“Yes. They’ve been around for decades.” Naphis gave a humorless chuckle. “But that’s what happens when you upset the Old Sumeru sages.”

The room went silent.

Kaveh suddenly felt like he was in over his head. Way, way over.

Naphis took a deep, almost shaky breath.

“Now, I’ll tell you what you want to know,” he said. “About the sages. One by one. But I’ll only say this once. And no information leaves this room. Is that agreeable?”

Nods.

Then Naphis began.

Kaveh listened quietly, taking in the ex-sage’s experience. His eyes were fixed, but his thoughts raced. He kept waiting to hear his name. Or a slip. Or a confirmation. Something. Anything.

Naphis spoke about a decision-maker.
An intel master who was an entire network of information.
A quartermaster who handled resources discreetly.
A botanist who specialized in infiltration.
A technological genius that could make your head spin.
And then—

“The one you need to watch out for is the youngest.”

Kaveh stopped breathing.

Everyone seemed to lean in a little. A common interest. They had all seen Alhaitham, at least once.

“He’s barely out of his scholarly robes,” Naphis sighed. “He used to be a quiet boy, nose constantly buried in Haravatat scrolls. But in Qatar…” He shook his head. “He was the key. To see him now… sharp as a viper, their instrument for the dirtiest work.”

Kaveh’s fingers dug into the sofa underneath. He had wanted to hear but now, he wasn’t sure anymore.

“It’s a bitter thing,” Naphis muttered. “Such intellect used for this darkness.”

Kaveh could barely hear over the sound of his heart thudding.

“We… didn’t see him,” Aether said carefully.

Naphis nodded. “No. He had already left by the time you arrived. As if it was guaranteed that his plan was going to work.”

Of course he did. Of course Alhaitham had the audacity to wage psychological warfare on an entire criminal network and leave early, confident he’d won.

Kaveh almost snorted. Almost. But instead, he asked: “His plan?”

“He orchestrated chaos,” Naphis said simply. “Pandemonium. It was like he weaponized their deepest fears, their hidden rivalries. False intel, timed disruptions. By the end, half a century-old network just… imploded from within.”

Kaveh didn’t say anything. Just nodded faintly, like this was a normal thing to hear about someone he often argued about stupid disguises with.

Aether leaned back against the sofa, sighing heavily and looking at the ceiling like it would give him the answers to everything.

Then—

“My informant, bless their soul, used the fallout to get me and a few others out.”

Cyno tilted his head. “Informant?”

Naphis nodded. “Someone on the inside. In Old Sumeru. I’ve never met them—just received word through notes left in strange places. An outdated shorthand only older Sumeru scholars would know.” Something glinted in his eyes. “It’s most intriguing, actually. They were the ones who led me to you.”

Tighnari blinked.

Cyno leaned forward almost immediately, bewildered. Aether’s eyes widened like he just heard that he won free groceries for the year.

“Persis Collection. Favor older weaving. Traded for North Face.” Naphis recited as if he was reading off a memory.

Tighnari frowned. “That’s…”

“Persis is a local fashion brand,” Kaveh said.

“And North Face is—”

“A metaphor?” Albedo muttered. “Or…a direction. Persia lies to the north of Port Arabia.”

Naphis smiled. Tilted his head toward Tighnari. “And older weaving became obvious when I saw you. A familiar face. An old student.”

“But…” Cyno frowned. “How did they know we would be there?”

Naphis sighed. Shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug. “I wish I knew. I thought, perhaps, some of you would have an idea.”

A long beat of silence.

Aether shook his head, then exchanged a quick look with Albedo. “By any chance…do you think we can we get in contact with them?”

“I’m afraid not. I never reach out. They always find me.”

Kaveh's head spun. He leaned back, fingers curling into his pants. Something about that—an invisible hand in the dark, one even Alhaitham hadn’t seen—made him feel like the floor could fall out at any second.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t trust himself to.

Tighnari gave him a questioning glance, subtle, quiet. And somehow that made it worse.

Damn it. Kaveh should ask Alhaitham for his number. It was way more efficient than whatever they had going on with the annotations.

A young girl with green hair hummed. Packed some food. Mindlessly grabbed the top paper bag from their stash to pack food for her guardian's guest. On the crumpled inside—

Q-Sewing Machine broke:
Cloth discarded.
Master weavers returned.

Later, Cyno leaned forward, tone sharp. “If Old Sumeru is as omnipotent as you say, then what about the Qixing poisoning?”

Naphis scoffed—not dismissively, but like someone who'd been expecting the question. “If the Old Sumeru syndicate wanted you dead,” he said, “you would be. I’m alive, and I’m still not sure if that’s luck or if they’re just waiting for a more painful moment.”

Silence.

Then he looked straight at them. “The Qixing incident wasn’t them.”

Tighnari’s ears twitched. “What?”

“It was one of the Brotherhoods,” Naphis sighed. “Qatar had several. Loose cells. Some more discreet than others. One of them got too ambitious.”

Cyno frowned. “Wait. You’re saying… the Port Arabia sent the poison?”

Naphis nodded. “It’s one of the reasons the network got eradicated. Amongst other things.”

Kaveh sat rigid, his mind racing.

“That can’t be right,” Tighnari said slowly. “We thought—” He looked at Cyno, then at Kaveh. “We thought it was Old Sumeru…because of the cure.”

Naphis raised a brow. “Cure?”

“Yes,” Cyno said, voice tight. “Kaveh was one of the ones who drank the poison. Then, there was an anonymous drop. An antidote. Sent to the hospital. Untraceable.”

Naphis frowned deeply now, gaze flicking over to Kaveh.

“You received a cure? But how? The Brotherhood hadn’t even made one.”

All of them went quiet.

Naphis leaned forward. “You’re telling me Old Sumeru sent it?”

“...We assumed so,” Cyno said carefully. “But now—”

“Now we don’t know why,” Tighnari finished.

Aether puffed. “Oh, we know why.”

Kaveh elbowed the shorter man. Aether elbowed him back.

Naphis didn’t respond immediately. He just stared at Kaveh, thoughtful in a way that made the back of Kaveh’s neck prickle. And honestly, did all sages and ex-sages have such calculating eyes that could look into your soul?

“By any chance,” Naphis said slowly, “do you know who sent it?”

A beat of hesitation. Kaveh’s eyes darted to Tighnari. His friend nodded. You can trust him.

Kaveh exhaled deeply. “Alhaitham.”

Naphis reeled back, just slightly. His entire face shifted. A moment of silence hung in the air, the weight of the name settling.

Albedo, ever helpful, chimed in: “Ah, yes. Kaveh’s admirer.”

Kaveh let out a strangled sound. “That’s not what this is!”

Aether snorted. Cyno looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek. Tighnari made a very quiet noise that could be either sympathy or suffering.

But Naphis’ expression didn’t change. He kept staring at Kaveh with something unreadable in his eyes. A slow crease formed between his brows, gaze intense and thoughtful, as if a new piece of a very dangerous puzzle had just clicked into place.

Kaveh didn’t like it.

Rayy Persia Akademiya. Level 4. Section M. Row 37. A frail hand brushed against an encyclopedia.

North Face review:
Undetermined.
Use hidden stitching.

The bell above the café door chimed softly as Kaveh stepped inside, the air thick with the mingled scents of roasted beans and sweet pastries. He scanned the familiar tables. And there he was, seated at slightly hidden table in a corner, lazily flipping through a research digest.

A knot of tension Kaveh hadn't realized he was carrying loosened in his chest.

Alhaitham looked well. Too well. Not a scratch. Not a bruise. Not even a stress line in his brow. As if orchestrating chaos in a foreign land was no more taxing than choosing a book.

Kaveh approached, slowly, cautiously. He set his bag down and sat, the weight of what he'd learned from Naphis lingering at the back of his mind.

“So,” he started. “How was your mission?”

Alhaitham looked up for a moment, one corner of his mouth curling. Like he knew Kaveh was going to ask. “Fine. Everything went according to plan.”

Kaveh blinked. He already knew that.

“I saw your friends,” Alhaitham added, turning a page. “The doctor. The commissioner. The Traveler.”

Kaveh bit the inside of his cheeks, knee bouncing under the table.

“I don’t think they noticed me,” Alhaitham continued, calm as anything. Then, his gaze flicked up to Kaveh again. He closed the book. “Why do you look put out?”

Kaveh couldn’t answer.

Alhaitham frowned, a tiny, barely-there crease. If Kaveh hadn’t known him for as long, he probably wouldn’t have registered it. When he spoke next, his voice was low, “They weren’t harmed.”

“I know,” Kaveh murmured, softer this time.

There was a pause. Kaveh wanted to ask—about Naphis, about what happened in Qatar, about the poison that Alhaitham didn’t send. But he didn’t. Couldn’t.

Alhaitham studied him, then muttered, “You’re thinking too loud again.”

“Stop acting like you can read minds,” Kaveh snapped, crossing his legs with a huff.

“There exists some precedent for cognitive inference being misclassified as telepathy.”

“You—” Kaveh blinked. “God. You just got back and you’re already an absolute menace.”

“Would you like me to cite the paper?”

“You’re so annoying,” Kaveh groaned, biting back a smile, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hands. “Fine, Professor. What am I thinking right now, since you’re so perceptive?”

Alhaitham mirrored him, elbow on the table, chin resting in his palm. And this close, Kaveh noticed the way his fingers tapped against his jaw, the barely visible line of concentration across his brow like he was analyzing him. The little purse of his lips.

“You’re annoyed.”

“Wow. Because that’s not, like, my default emotion with you.”

Alhaitham’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You're also hungry. You skipped breakfast.”

Kaveh’s brow furrowed. “That’s—okay, stalker—”

“—and you’re relieved.”

Kaveh’s expression faltered. Alhaitham tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. The same infuriating look.

Kaveh scowled at the teal eyes watching him. “…Why would I be relieved?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer. Just looked at him. Still close. Still right in front of him. And Kaveh felt warm suddenly, under the intensity. The same look he'd seen that time in the infirmary. The same look as the riverside.

The silence stretched. Kaveh’s pulse stuttered.

Then Alhaitham shrugged. A small smirk. “You're pleased to have your chess partner back.”

And Kaveh’s face flared red.

He shot up, stormed to a corner of the room, and grabbed a random board game they’d played before. Not chess. Marched it back and slammed it down with as much dignity as possible. Sat. Quietly set it up like nothing happened.

Stupid criminal. Stupidly talking so much and saying stupid things.

Alhaitham helped without a word, picked up the cards and started shuffling. Lips still curved.

Once the pieces were in place, he leaned back, the picture of ease. “Same challenge?”

Kaveh narrowed his eyes. “What’s on the table this time?”

Alhaitham considered, then asked, “Do you have any urgent clients in the next two weeks?”

“…No. Why?”

Alhaitham nodded once, almost to himself. “If you win, you get to ask whatever’s been on your mind since you walked in.”

Damn it. Kaveh’s jaw tightened. The criminal was so annoying. Was Kaveh that transparent? Was there actually some invisible thread connecting their thoughts?

A gasp in his head. DID ALHAITHAM BUG HIM?

“You’re—so—I didn’t know you were a mentalist now—”

“And if I win,” Alhaitham said, settling back fully into his chair with an infuriating air of nonchalance. His gaze, however, remained sharp, unwavering. “I get you.”

Kaveh opened his mouth. No sound came out. His mind just—blanked.

A roaring emptiness where coherent thought should have been.

What the fuck. What does that even MEAN?

A thousand alarming possibilities flickered through his mind, none of them good. Before he could speak, before he could even breathe, Alhaitham tilted his head, another imperceptibly knowing look in his teal eyes. Like he knew what Kaveh was thinking. Like he meant to pause for that long.

Stupid, arrogant criminal.

Then— “Have you ever been to Cairo?”

The next note was left tucked inside a rusted panel on a small container ship, docked at a forgotten corner of Rayy Persia Harbour.

For five days, it remained there.

From a window across the street, the watcher observed. The ex-Sage wasn’t dead. Not injured either. Just stalling. Possibly pulled out. Which would mean: termination.

On the sixth day, the watcher passed by the ship, casual as wind, and retrieved the folded slip of paper.

And frowned.

There was new handwriting—a single smudged line, scrawled in the margin, in Old Sumerian.

A cryptic:
Youngest thread frayed.

The watcher blinked. Fingers lingered on the words, almost contemplative. Then, a low chuckle.

“A liability, then?”

Chapter Text

The chamber was quiet. High ceilings. Minimal surveillance. A soft draft slipped through the cracked window, rustling the edge of the ledger on the table.

Alhaitham sat at the desk, arms loosely folded. Across from him, another man flipped through a report, expression unreadable.

“No traces?” He asked without looking up.

“None. I burned the archives myself. The boy from Zaragoza won’t talk.”

“And Porto Arabia?”

“No longer a concern.”

“The cipher?”

“Not there.” A pause. “Khajeh received word of it in Southeast Asia. I’ve sent some men to Burma.”

A quiet noise of approval. He turned a page with gloved fingers. “You’ve been busy.”

Alhaitham looked past him, toward the tick-tick-ticking grandfather clock mounted on the wall.

“Tell me something, Azar.”

That earned him a look. Not suspicion—interest. “Mm?”

“If one wanted to keep something…” Alhaitham’s head tilted slightly. “Tethered. Off-grid. Out of reach.”

“What kind of something?”

Alhaitham met his gaze, unreadable. “Something intelligent. Uncooperative.”

Azar set the folder down. “Dangerous?”

“Not yet.”

A long silence.

Then Azar nodded, slow. “It’s possible. With the right methods. Conditioning helps.”

The younger sage didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “And if the subject resists?”

“You remove the part that resists.”

Another beat.

Alhaitham inclined his head slightly. “I see.”

Azar watched him for a long moment.

Then, as if it meant nothing at all, Alhaitham replied, “I’ll handle the Egypt and Persia file myself.”

Azar arched an eyebrow. “You just returned. From Persia.”

“There’s something there I want to observe further.” He stood up, turned to go, but added without looking back: “Don’t reassign the surveillance.”

Azar didn’t answer. Just sat back, watching him leave. The sound of the door closing was soft.

But in the silence that followed, the implication lingered.

Persia. Perhaps Azar should visit.

The heat hit first—sharp, dry, and arrogant, like even the air knew it was in Cairo. Kaveh adjusted his sunglasses with one hand. Didn’t speak until the whoosh of climate-controlled airport air gave way to sun-baked concrete and the distant rumble of traffic.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

Alhaitham, several paces ahead, didn’t turn. “You lost the match.”

“It was bad luck,” Kaveh groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I am doing spy work. Actual. Spy. Work. I hope you realize how ridiculous that is. I’m a mere architect.”

“You’re not spying,” Alhaitham replied. “You’re consulting.”

“Oh, that makes it better,” Kaveh said flatly. “Architectural espionage. Love that for me.”

But, honestly, Kaveh had let himself be sold on it. Something about expenses paid and fully legal had tripped an embarrassingly eager part of his brain. And when Alhaitham explained that their mysterious client had already been flagged by the sages multiple times—and was now quietly scouting architects for a confidential project—Kaveh’s curiosity had won over.

Get close to him, Alhaitham had said, figure out what he’s building, and walk away. You won’t even have to design anything real.

The pyramids would have to wait, Kaveh thought as they emerged into the arrivals hall. This wasn’t a vacation. This was a mission. For the stupid criminal. Because Kaveh had lost.

He turned around—and there was Alhaitham, somehow already beside him, carrying both of Kaveh’s bags. His duffel. His briefcase.

Kaveh blinked. “Where are your men?”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. “Why would they be here?”

“…It’s a mission.”

“It’s simple intel gathering.”

“You said that about Qatar,” Kaveh said dryly.

“I did gather intel at Qatar.”

Kaveh rolled his eyes. “Shouldn’t you have, I don’t know, security? You’re like one of the presidents of a nation or something.”

Alhaitham gave him a look—one of those long, slow, incredulous stares. Like he couldn’t believe Kaveh actually took the energy to form words just to ask that question. It made Kaveh want to kick him in the shins.

They made their way to the car. It was sleek, black, air-conditioned within an inch of its life. Kaveh slid in and finally let himself collapse into the leather seats with a sigh.

Twenty minutes later, Kaveh died.

Because the hotel wasn’t just nice—it was obscene. The kind of place with scented towels in the lobby and golden filigree on everything. Kaveh gawked openly as they walk past a koi pond in the lift waiting area, and then up to their floor, which was so high up his ears popped.

“What the hell,” he whispered, stepping into a suite. A chandelier glittered. The view went on forever. Even the furniture looked like it cost more than his entire apartment. “You’re rich!”

Alhaitham shrugged. “I have access.”
Meaning I run a criminal empire.

Kaveh watched him drop his suitcase with the grace of someone who had done this a thousand times. His shirt wasn’t even wrinkled. Hair perfectly in place. That annoying bored expression.

Except—except Kaveh caught it.

A twitch. At the corner of Alhaitham’s lips. Once.

Then again, as Kaveh failed to open the balcony door and nearly crashed into a Ficus plant.

Then again, as Kaveh measured the ridiculously oversized and ostentation marble bathroom.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Absolutely not.” A scoff. A gasp. “This vase! It’s tasteless… it’s perfect!”

“It’s not included in your travel expenses.”

Later, after settling down and having an early dinner, they convened in Alhaitham’s room. There was a folder on the desk, already open, filled with documents Kaveh probably wasn’t supposed to touch.

Alhaitham gave a bare-bones rundown of the plan: tomorrow, they meet the target. A man of Italian descent. Rich in a way that you definitely have to be part of the underground. Rumored to be attached to Old Snezhaya. Kaveh would be introduced as himself, a renowned architect from Fontaine, nothing out of the usual.

“And just so you’re aware,” Alhaitham said, flipping to the last page of a printed dossier, “you’ll need to wear some form of communication device.”

Casually, his hand slipped into his coat. It came out with a small velvet pouch. He spilled out the contents—rings. Fake ones. Shiny.

Kaveh blinked. “What the hell are those?”

“Decoys,” Alhaitham said. “For your other fingers.”

Kaveh opened his mouth to ask, Decoys for what?

But then Alhaitham reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a different one.

This one shimmered subtly. Silver-toned. Heavier. Real.

“What is that—”

Kaveh was interrupted by a warm hand over his own, gently pulling it up, brushing over his fingers.

Alhaitham didn’t answer. But his lips definitely twitched as he took the ring and slid it onto Kaveh’s fourth finger. His ring finger.

His breath hitched. And—Kaveh had never met someone so outrageous.

“You—” His voice caught. “You don’t just—can’t put a ring—on someone’s—”

“It’s for communication,” Alhaitham said calmly. “In case we get separated.”

Kaveh was spiraling. “Well—what about an earpiece!”

“I needed something you could communicate with without suspicion.”

Kaveh made a strangled noise. But he didn’t pull his hand away. It stayed where it was. Burning.

Alhaitham moved again, slipping the rest of the costume rings onto Kaveh’s other fingers, one by one. It was slow. Practiced. Warm. It made Kaveh’s stomach turn upside down.

Kaveh could feel his pulse in every knuckle.

“Here,” Alhaitham said finally, pressing a matching silver ring into Kaveh’s palm. “This one’s mine.”

Mine? Alhaitham couldn’t have made anything else for himself?

“Brush your thumb over yours.”

Kaveh hesitated, then did. A faint buzz pulsed against his skin from the ring in his palm.

“Short signals,” Alhaitham said. “Tap once. Wait. Morse response. You graduated from the Rayy Persia Akademiya. You know the code.”

Kaveh groaned. “I don’t practice it on the daily—”

Alhaitham pulled out a folded note. “You can revise it. In the car.”

Kaveh snatched it, muttering as he unfolded the page. But before he could fully process anything else, Alhaitham slipped the second ring on his own fourth finger like it was nothing.

HE HAD NINE OTHER EMPTY FINGERS.

Annoyed, Kaveh began tapping and swiping on the ring.

“A...S...S...” He glanced up, brows raised. "H...O..."

Alhaitham didn’t even look up from adjusting his jacket. “You spelt asshora.”

Kaveh huffed, flexed his fingers in front of him. “Why can’t you just bug me like a normal spy?”

“I will,” Alhaitham replied, walking over to the desk, rummaged for something. He walked back, something glinting in his hands. “A simple clip. Matches the rest of what you always wear.”

Kaveh took it. Thin, dark red. It did match his own hair clips. Actually, they were exactly identical. He couldn’t help the smile blooming on his lips.

“…You had these all made specifically for this mission?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer. Kaveh didn’t really need him to.

On their way to the meeting the next morning, Kaveh sat with his arms crossed, finger tapping anxiously. The clip in his hair and rings on his finger felt too heavy. A tailored outfit clung to him like it had been made for no one else—elegant, sharp, expensive.

Alhaitham, next to him in a crisp black suit, looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine. He was scrolling through something on a tablet with disinterest, gloved hands hiding his ring.

Kaveh tried not to stare. Failed. Looked away. “You could at least pretend to be nervous.”

“I’m not being vetted for a secret project by an underground figure,” Alhaitham replied, not looking up. But still, he leaned closer, shoulders brushing Kaveh’s. Said a quiet, “You’re only meeting a client.”

It felt something like a comfort.

Later, when they stepped out of the car in front of a gleaming high-rise that looked like a glass sculpture mid-metamorphosis, Kaveh actually stopped walking for a second.

“…Huh,” he muttered, eyes scanning every line and edge. “That cantilever—oh my god, did they use perforated titanium?”

“If you start drooling, it might ruin the pitch.”

Alhaitham came around the car, now carrying Kaveh’s leather portfolio, his briefcase, a tall iced coffee, and two tubes of rolled blueprints.

Kaveh snapped his mouth shut and narrowed his eyes. Under his breath, he muttered to himself, ‘you're lucky you’re hot in a suit.’ And just because he could, he thrust a file into Alhaitham’s arms. “Here—you’re the assistant, right?”

Alhaitham said nothing. Just adjusted the weight of the items and kept sipping the coffee with infuriating calm, looking like the world's most elegant pack mule. So unfair.

Kaveh crossed his arms. Pursed his lips. He reached up and tapped Alhaitham’s cheek—twice.

“What are you doing,” Alhaitham deadpanned.

“My junior needs to smile,” Kaveh said. “Assistants should be charming. Warm. Like people. Look, I’ll show you.” He smiled, wide, entirely fake. “See?”

Alhaitham gave him a long, unimpressed look.

Kaveh grinned wider, a wicked flash of teeth. About to tease more, but then—

The corners of Alhaitham’s lips curled upwards, forming the briefest, most unexpected of small smiles.

And Kaveh? Died for the second time in this country.

Before he could freak out even more, the smile was gone as quickly as it appeared. Alhaitham’s usual cool facade reasserted, with another sip of his coffee. “Was that charming enough, senior?”

It was so unfair. How was this criminal so…stupid. How was his junior so…cute? He’d have people tailing him everywhere. Kaveh did not need that.

“Actually.” Kaveh narrowed his eyes, a new wave of indignation washing over him as he pointed a finger at Alhaitham. “Don’t smile. Not ever.”

The meeting room they were led to was made of floor-to-ceiling glass, perched like a jewel near the top of the tower. Inside, a man already sat waiting.

Sharp smile. Sharp suit. Sharper eyes.

He rose as they entered, all elegance and edges.

Kaveh took a breath, his nerves itching again—then felt Alhaitham’s hand at his back, a warm press between his shoulder blades. A barely perceptible, grounding squeeze. A faint nod of his head, as if conveying a silent ‘it’s fine’.

Then his portfolio was slipped into his hand.

Kaveh squared his shoulders. Marched forward. Offered a professional smile. Held out his hand. “Mr. Ezio.”

And up close—the man? Young. Undeniably handsome. Sculpted features. Dark long hair, impeccably styled. Eyes like polished obsidian under steel glasses. He wore a suit of a deep, shimmering navy that somehow managed to look both opulent and effortless in the Cairo heat.

Ezio took his hand. His grip was firm. He did not let go.

A beat stretched. Then another.

And just as Kaveh’s carefully constructed professional composure began to fray at the edges, a slow smile spread across Ezio’s face.

“Ah,” he purred, voice like silk sliding over a blade, the accent carrying a melodic lilt Kaveh couldn't quite place. “I wasn’t told the architect today would be so… pretty.”

Kaveh made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a cough and a strangled cat hiss. What the hell?

“Oh, uh, thank you.”

And when he finally managed to tug his hand free, his fingers tingled from the unexpected contact and the unnerving gaze.

Kaveh was so sure Alhaitham was amused. He could just stand there and watch while Kaveh did everything. And when he risked a glance, Alhaitham’s lips were indeed twitching, a ghost of a smile playing around his mouth.

But. Hm. Weird. It didn’t reach his eyes.

Ezio turned the heavy, leather-bound portfolio with slow, almost reverent fingers. “You designed this?”

Kaveh, who had been perched on the edge of the plush velvet armchair, immediately sat straighter. “The Palace of Alcazarzaray, yes. It was a collaborative—”

“I’ve been there,” Ezio stated, his tone flat but carrying an undercurrent of something Kaveh couldn’t decipher. His gaze never left the pages. “The inner atrium alone…a marvel. You have a gift, architect.”

The compliment hit like a slap made of honey. “Thank you,” he managed. “That’s…very kind of you to say.”

Ezio flipped another page. “The Tower of Putra?”

“Ah, yes. It’s in Persia. Just outside the ancient—”

“I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting,” Ezio interrupted smoothly, his eyes flicking up to meet Kaveh’s for a fleeting moment.

Kaveh smiled, natural, warm. “You should. It’s beautiful this time of year, with jasmines in bloom and the light painting the sandstone in rose and gold.”

A low hum rumbled in Ezio’s chest. Then—a pause. A glance that lingered too long. A smile.

“Would you give me a tour of the tower, if I do?”

Kaveh blinked. Caught off guard. Opened his mouth. Closed it. His thoughts scrambled. “Um—sure?”

Was this going well? Kaveh didn’t know what to expect. He’d never gathered intel before.

He dared a glance to the side. Alhaitham was silent, standing by with his hands folded, but Kaveh, who had learned to read the subtle shifts in the other man’s demeanor, caught the almost imperceptible flicker in his teal eyes. Something tense.

Was this how he was on all his assignments?

“Does your assistant need to be here for this part?” Ezio asked casually, closing the folder. His dark eyes flicked towards Alhaitham before returning to Kaveh. “It’s hardly sensitive. Just between us.”

Kaveh hesitated. Nerves itched.

Alhaitham’s voice, crisp: “It’s necessary I stay with Mr. Kaveh wherever he goes.”

“Just a door away, then?” Ezio asked lightly, already standing. “You have my security team. You’ll be fine.”

Kaveh glanced at Alhaitham. There it was—a look, cool and precise. Kaveh shot one back. A silent conversation. A subtle plea. Play along or we lose this.

“…It’s okay.” Kaveh forced a smile, raising a hand, discreetly motioning to the ring.

Alhaitham stared, expression unreadable. He took his time, rearranging the iced coffee like it was a loaded weapon. Knuckles pale around the cup as he picked them up.

“I’ll be right outside.” His gaze lingered on Ezio before he moved. “By the door.”

When the door shut, Ezio smirked. “Tough PA you’ve got there.”

“He’s just… very attentive,” Kaveh mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. Tightened the hold around his “So—what exactly are we building?”

Ezio smiled. One of those smiles. The kind that said you were already halfway into the trap before you noticed the bait.

Almost two hours later, Kaveh found himself walking out of the room feeling like had survived a battlefield. And Alhaitham? Did not help. At all.

“You were literally pressed against the door,” Kaveh hissed, whirling on Alhaitham the moment the elevator doors slid closed.

Alhaitham sipped his now half-melted coffee. “I said I’d be right outside.”

“You scared him!” Kaveh’s hands gestured wildly. “When he opened the door and saw your face two inches away, looming like some judgmental gargoyle, I swear he nearly lost a year of his life!”

And then, despite his anger, the absurdity of the image flickered in Kaveh’s mind.

Alhaitham like a vengeful spirit leaning against the door. Ezio jumping back like he had encountered a possessed child. A reluctant chuckle escaped Kaveh’s lips, an almost hysterical sound.

“Okay. It was a little funny.”

Alhaitham didn’t even flinch. Just rolled his eyes. “He recovered quickly enough. Still managed to wink at you.”

Kaveh flushed. “That—what does that have to do with anything!”

The next day, they had another meeting. In a different building. Alhaitham was allowed to sit through everything this time. And Ezio?

Honestly. If it weren’t for the mission, Kaveh would have blacklisted him already.

When Kaveh was shown several blueprints from older buildings, he kept hovering. Reached across Kaveh to point something out. Brushing his hand. Not pulling away. Throughout the interview, Kaveh felt like running out. But this mission required him so all he could do was smile and answer. Even when Ezio made quips that made Kaveh want to blacklist him.

“And your current availability—is that flexible?” Kaveh nodded. Ezio just smirked. “Good. I wouldn’t want to share.”

Kaveh gave a tight, awkward laugh. Why couldn’t Alhaitham’s target be some kind, misunderstood old lady? Or a man too frail to move around anymore?

After the meeting, Kaveh felt like he survived a war once again.

Alhaitham though? An absolute jerk.

“You said barely anyone passed the second interview. I got us a third meeting. He’s considering. That’s literally the mission, isn’t it?”

“The mission is to collect intel on his organization’s potential operation site. Not to seduce the target.”

“Excuse you? I wasn’t seducing anyone! He’s just—flirty! I didn’t even—”

“You told him you’d give him a tour of your Tower.”

“It’s called playing along, you—ugh. Look. We have another meeting tomorrow. That’s progress, right? Why are you so on edge? Are you like this on all your assignments? Thank God I’m only coming on this one.”

And when the elevator doors opened to let them out, Alhaitham exhaled through his nose, muttering something unintelligible.

“…What was that?”

Alhaitham finally turned his head, teal eyes meeting Kaveh’s. “You’re infuriating.”

Kaveh blinked. Scowled. “You’re infuriating.”

The next morning, Kaveh was dressed in a soft, white blouse. He liked it. It wasn’t a suit. Just a flowy dress shirt. Alhaitham had walked in for a morning briefing. Took one look. Told him to change.

Kaveh didn’t change. Just added a thin line of eyeliner over his upper eyelids. Just to be annoying.

The car rolled up to a different, sleeker building this time—dark glass and minimalist cement interiors. Kaveh stepped out with a fresh wave of nervous anticipation.

Ezio was waiting at the front.

“Mr. Kaveh,” he greeted, taking Kaveh’s hand with a smile that felt like velvet over knives. His eyes, dark and knowing, lingered on Kaveh, a silent appraisal that made the architect’s skin prickle. “You look exquisite.”

Then, with a fluid, almost theatrical gesture, Ezio reached forward and—pressed a lingering kiss to the back of Kaveh’s hand.

Kaveh blinked, carefully rehearsed greeting dissolving into a stammer. “O-oh.”

“Forgive me, architect. Old habits,” Ezio said smoothly. “Come. I have something truly fascinating to show you.”

Kaveh turned to look at Alhaitham. He didn’t blink once.

They were ushered inside, past security, gliding past mirrored walls, into a white conference room that felt more like an art installation. The centerpiece was a holographic projector that hummed softly, casting intricate blueprints and shimmering 3D models into the space, rotating slowly in midair.

Kaveh, momentarily forgetting his awkwardness, stepped closer, his architect’s eye drawn to the complex designs.

Then—

What the hell.

“This—this isn’t a building.” His voice was a mixture of awe and disbelief. Almost like a question. “What is this?”

“The project I’m thinking of,” Ezio replied, stepping beside him, shoulder brushing Kaveh’s lightly. “What do you think? Exquisite, no?”

“Yeah. It sure is.”

But Kaveh frowned, his architect's mind already dissecting the impossible structure. It was more sculpture than habitable space, a chaotic defiance of basic principles.

And when Ezio raised a questioning eyebrow, Kaveh pointed out the ludicrous roofline, the structurally unsound overhang, his professional instincts overriding his politeness. It was technically feasible only in a fantasy of unlimited resources and zero safety concerns. He caught himself, a flush rising, realizing he'd almost ranted.

Ezio was quiet.

Alhaitham, standing silently in a corner, looked faintly tense.

Damn. Did Kaveh screw them over already?

Then—

Ezio chuckled, a low, appreciative sound.

“I like that, architect. Immensely.” Ezio said. “You’re the first to tell me the truth. Every other so-called visionary just nodded and said ‘anything can be achieved with enough capital’. But you… I like you.”

A pause. Kaveh gripped the ring around his finger. What did that mean? Was that a good thing? Should Kaveh celebrate?

Ezio smiled. “I’d like to recruit you.”

Kaveh gaped, taken aback. “What—just like that?”

“Yes. But we’ll discuss the finer details, the budget, over lunch.” Ezio gestured towards the door with an expectant air. “Shall we?”

Kaveh turned instinctively to Alhaitham.

Ezio caught it. Raised a brow. “Oh? Do you need to ask your… taciturn assistant’s permission to eat?”

Alhaitham stepped forward, cool as ever. His gaze flickered briefly to Ezio, a silent challenge in his teal depths. “Mr. Kaveh didn’t have time to check his schedule this morning. It’s my responsibility to ensure his appointments are kept.”

Kaveh flushed. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t look at—”

Ezio cut him off with a suave smirk. “Ah. Were you perhaps too busy… dressing up? For me?” His eyes flicked down Kaveh’s attire with a suggestive gleam.

Somewhere, there was a very soft, almost imperceptible crack.

But Kaveh. Was too busy. Dying.
A third time in this country.
On the spot. Perished.

His brain glitched.
His hands twitched. Wanting to either cover his face or strangle Ezio.
What the fuck. Who was this guy. Why was he so forward. WHO WAS THIS MAN.

“Mr. Kaveh is only free until two p.m.” Alhaitham’s expression remaining a mask of polite neutrality. “It’s already one p.m. There would be limited time to find a restaurant.”

“That’s okay. We can eat here. My rooftop restaurant is excellent.”

Before Kaveh could say a word, Ezio had walked over to his desk, tapping on the phone.

“Prepare a table. Yes. Rooftop. Immediately.” Then— “Just for two.”

Ah, so his assistant was not invited.

Ezio ended the call with a flourish and a dazzling smile directed at Kaveh. “Let’s go. The view is specular.”

And honestly, Kaveh was just yanked along. He didn’t want to spend time with this too-bold potential criminal with horrible designs.

He tried to catch Alhaitham’s eye as they breezed past, but the other man kept a cold gaze on Ezio, a slight tenseness in his jaw.

And weirdly enough, there was a crack on the tablet screen that wasn’t there before.

An hour later, Kaveh slid into the car with a soft huff, fiddling with the ring.

“He spent the whole hour talking about how many outrageous buildings he owned,” Kaveh recounted. “And asking for a 'sky garden' that would float independently of the building.”

Alhaitham hummed.

"I suggested we consult with gravity and he seemed… to take it seriously? Like that was an actual possibility."

“I see.”

And then, Alhaitham didn’t say a word.

Kaveh glanced up. The tablet was tucked away. No reports, no open memos or mission briefs. Alhaitham was just staring out the window, arms folded, the set of his jaw unreadable. Kaveh’s hands wrung together, trying to find words.

“We got the job,” he said, nudging the silence with a soft laugh. “On day three, no less. Are you not impressed?”

Nothing. Not even a twitch of acknowledgement.

Kaveh’s smile faltered. Prodded at Alhaitham’s knee with his own. “I thought that was the point of coming here.”

Alhaitham just said flatly, “We still don’t know what the job is yet.”

Kaveh let out a frustrated breath. “We’ll find out soon, won’t we?”

“Yeah.”

That was all. He didn’t even look at him.

Kaveh stared for a moment longer, something strange twisting behind his ribs. He turned his gaze away. Fine. Whatever. He wasn’t worried. He was just—he didn’t need Alhaitham collapsing from stress mid-project.

But if he wanted to be that way. Fine.

Later that afternoon, after they’d returned to the hotel, changed into more comfortable clothes, and retreated to their respective rooms, Kaveh found himself lingering in the hallway. Fingers hovering near a familiar door.

He didn’t have to check on him. It wasn’t his responsibility.

And Kaveh wanted to pull his hair out. He wasn’t even supposed to be in this country.

Still, he knocked.

The door opened a few seconds later. Alhaitham stood there, in a soft cotton shirt and dark sweatpants, brows raised. His dark hair, usually so meticulously styled, was damp from a recent shower. He looked…unexpectedly domestic. And utterly, devastatingly different from the sharp, tailored figure Kaveh was accustomed to.

And honestly? It’s not Kaveh’s fault that his carefully built composure fractured. What was Alhaitham doing answering doors with the expanse of his collarbones so out in the open? Rude.

“Um,” he said quickly, “are you working?”

Alhaitham blinked. “No.”

“Right.” Kaveh cleared his throat. “I, uh, got a game from the front desk…thought you might want a break.”

He held up a small cardboard box. The colors were obnoxiously bright, almost mocking. The word UNO practically glared at them. He kind of felt pathetic because WHAT. WAS HE DOING.

Alhaitham looked at the box. Then at him. Didn’t say anything, just stepped aside, a silent gesture for Kaveh to enter the room.

A few rounds in, the tenseness dissipated, and Kaveh stared at his expanding hand in disbelief.

“I swear to the gods,” he muttered, drawing his sixth card in a row. “Do you have any other cards in that deck besides +2s and +4s?”

Alhaitham, utterly unbothered, placed another +2 on the pile.

Kaveh gaped. “You’re targeting me.”

“I’m playing by the rules,” Alhaitham said. “You're just bad at the game.”

Kaveh placed a Wild Card down. Asked for a green card.

Alhaitham just flicked down a Wild Card too. A +4.

“Are you kidding?! Did you save all of these just to destroy me?”

“Of course not. That would be petty.”

Kaveh groaned, holding up his stack of cards. He had enough to build a small house. “This is harassment.”

He glared, huffed—then caught that tiny, tiny twitch at the corner of Alhaitham’s mouth. Barely. But it was there. And despite himself, Kaveh smiled too, his stomach turning over in the dumbest, warmest way.

And when Alhaitham put down his last card, a low “uno game” said with a glint in his eyes, Kaveh just laughed. Didn’t even care about the game anymore.

As long as Alhaitham enjoyed himself.

An hour later, Kaveh stretched out with a sigh. “I’m hungry.”

“You had lunch,” Alhaitham replied without missing a beat.

Kaveh’s lips pressed into a pout. “The food wasn’t even nice.”

A pause. Alhaitham didn’t respond. Kaveh stole a glance at him.

“…Did you eat?”

No answer.

“See? You didn’t.”

Alhaitham gave him a look. “I’m not a child.”

“No. But as your senior, I insist. I’m not letting you skip meals on my watch. There’s a place two blocks down with those dry breads you like. Good reviews.”

Alhaitham stared at him a second longer, eyes narrowing like he was trying to decipher the real motive behind the offer.

Then—he sighed, rolled his eyes like Kaveh was so exhausting.

But he still shrugged his coat on. Maybe a bit too enthusiastically.

Kaveh hid a smile.

The next time met Ezio, Alhaitham hadn’t tagged along. Said he had another part of the mission to check on.

Kaveh was not annoyed.

He had the stupid ring. He could finally use it.

But he was annoyed that he still had no idea what Ezio wanted built. The man was vague, showing too many sketches with almost entirely different structures. Some didn’t even make sense.

“What I want,” Ezio continued smoothly, “is simple on the outside. Unassuming. Classical. Remote location. But inside? I want rooms of different themes, sizes, moods—none should match. Some rooms small as closets. Others large enough for performance halls.”

Kaveh frowned slightly. “So… a kind of experiential layout?”

Ezio smiled. “Let’s call it an experiment.”

After a moment, Kaveh nodded. “Of course. I’ll need more information about access points, material preferences, and—”

“I’ll provide those,” Ezio cut in.

Kaveh was so tired of being cut off.

Brushing fingers against his ring finger, he spelt out:
A-N-N-O-Y-E-D—W-I-T-H—U

Several beats later, he felt buzzes:
F-O-C-U-S

Focus? Focus? Ezio was driving Kaveh insane.

Miffed, he sent back:
A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G—H-A-P-E-N—U-R—F-A-U-L-T

“Forgive me. Am I being demanding? You look exhausted already.”

“No, no,” Kaveh said quickly, brought back to the office. “Not at all. I’m just… wondering about the rooms. Why they’re like that.”

“Mm,” Ezio hummed. “Just a personal preference.”

Kaveh didn’t believe that for a second.

Then, Ezio leaned back, gaze sharpening. “Architect…no, Kaveh.” He savored the sound of Kaveh’s name. “Would you care to join me for dinner? Just the two of us.”

Kaveh froze. His throat went dry. Damn it, where was Alhaitham when Kaveh desperately needed him?

He sent a quick:
S-O-S

The casual invitation hung in the air, but the weight behind it was anything but light.

Ezio waited, a predatory stillness in his posture.

“I—I’d be honored,” Kaveh said, voice steady despite the dread coiling. He felt buzzing on his finger. A quick O-M-W. A faster W-H-Y. But Ezio kept looking at him.

“Wonderful,” the man said, smiling. “Let’s say… this Saturday. The 11th?”

“Oh—the 11th?” Kaveh echoed before he could stop himself. He forced a smile. “Um. Yes. That’s fine.”

“Good. It’s a date.”

The stylist had outdone herself.
Which was exactly the problem.

Kaveh stood in front of the hotel’s gilded mirror, tugging at the edge of his shirt for the fifth time. It was silk. Sheer in the wrong light. The neckline dipped lower than anything he’d ever wear to an actual date.

He sighed. When did this become a seduction plan he never asked for?

“We need to hire another stylist.”

Kaveh startled, turning too quickly. He hadn’t heard the door open.

Alhaitham was already there—leaning against the frame with arms crossed, gaze steady. But not in that usual, detached way. Something slower. His eyes dragged, just slightly, over every article covering Kaveh, the sheen of the fabric, the mess of styled hair.

Kaveh fought back a blush, turning to the mirror. “What? You’ve never seen me before?”

Alhaitham stepped closer. “This deviates significantly from practical attire.”

Kaveh didn’t look up as he hovered one of the makeup palettes over his skin, observing the colors against his skin. “I told her it was a dinner with someone important.”

“You said it was a date.”

“Well—It’s not like I could say ‘potentially lethal client where I might get interrogated over shrimp cocktail.’ I panicked. And honestly, it’s your fault for not being there.”

Alhaitham exhaled. Too sharp. Too stiff. “And is that really necessary?”

Kaveh paused dabbing red pigment on his lips. “You told me to look competent.”

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with competency.”

“Excuse me for wanting to look nice,” Kaveh snapped, cheeks already flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance.

A beat.

Then— “Take off the clip.”

Kaveh blinked. “What?”

Alhaitham approached, gaze flicking once—disapprovingly—at the small maroon hairclip nestled above Kaveh’s ear. “Your bug. It doesn’t match your attire.”

Kaveh frowned. “It’s fine, I can hide it—”

“I have something else.”

He pulled a slim black box from his pocket. Opened it.

Inside sat a pair of earrings—sleek, modern, finely crafted. Dangling. One gold loop, with inlaid red and teal glass—like sunset and sea.

Kaveh stared. “That’s... not a bug.”

“It is.” Alhaitham met his eyes. “Just one that looks better.”

Another pause. Kaveh felt something twist in his chest.

Then, quietly, Alhaitham said, “Turn around.”

Kaveh blinked again. “Why?”

Alhaitham's eyes dropped to the earrings. “I can't do this while you're facing me.”

His voice was even. But softer. The kind of soft that made Kaveh’s brain short-circuit. Slowly, almost against his better judgment, he turned.

He held his breath when Alhaitham’s hands came up, an unexpected jolt running through him. One hand came up to steady his shoulder; the other brushed his hair aside, fingers cool against the heat blooming at the nape of his neck.

And Kaveh should have said something. A joke. A sarcastic comment. Anything.

But he couldn’t speak. Not with Alhaitham this close. Not when his breath stirred the air against his skin. Not when his fingers gently grazed the edge of his neck as he secured the dangling piece.

The moment stretched forever. Unbearably quiet. Unbearably intimate.

Kaveh might actually combust.

When Alhaitham finally stepped back with a murmured, “I’m done,” Kaveh wanted to be bolt three feet away. But he didn’t. He just nodded and looked at the accessory in the mirror.

Teal. Red.

For a stupid, fleeting second, he thought the colors matched both their eyes.

“It’s pretty,” he said.

Alhaitham gave an affirming hum. But when Kaveh met his reflection in the mirror, Alhaitham wasn’t looking at the earring. He was looking at him.

So Kaveh actually had to move back. Not three feet away. But enough.

“You’re too close.” His voice was barely a stable whisper, pointedly looking anywhere but at the man.

But when he glanced up again, Alhaitham had already turned away, picking up a file from the dresser with practiced indifference. Like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

And Kaveh—Kaveh went back to fussing with his hair. Then his sleeves. Then the stupid earring.

It was suddenly too warm. Was the AC broken?

Ezio was charming. Disarmingly so. Everything about him was expensive, from the way he swirled his wine to the effortless compliments he kept slipping between bites of seabass.

But throughout the dinner, Kaveh barely registered what he was saying. Kaveh kept twirling the earring on his ear. The ring on his finger. Zoning out. And it was rude. He was supposed to be on a mission, yes, but—

He brushed his ring:
F-O-O-D—S-H-I-T

A beat passed.

Then:
G-O-O-D—F-O-O-D—L-A-T-E-R

Kaveh smiled subtly, taking a deliberate sip of his wine while maintaining eye contact with Ezio. He let a few more polite sentences pass before his thumb moved again.

W-A-N-T—K-I-B-B-E-H

Buzzes spelt out:
F-I-N-E

Kaveh sent back:
U—B-U-Y

Alhaitham replied:
I—A-L-W-A-Y-S—BUY

Ezio began talking about colors. Something about the color wheel. Something Kaveh had already learned about at the Akademiya. So he nodded. Brushed his hair. Touched his earring. Smiled. Repeated.

Five minutes later, he sent:
B-O-R-I-N-G

He couldn’t see Alhaitham. But he can bet that there was a—perhaps fond—roll of eyes.

His response:
F-O-C-U-S

Kaveh asked, longer:
R—U—E-V-E-N—L-I-S-T-E-N-I-N-G—2—H-I-M

A precise:
S-U-F-F-I-C-I-E-N-T-L-Y

Kaveh tried his best to send:
M-Y—M-A-N-U-S-C-R-I-P-T—M-O-R-E—F-U-N

Then, something longer. Kaveh almost lost it in translation:
P-A-R-T—O-N—P-O-L-I-S-H—H-O-U-S-I-N-G—C-R-I-S-I-S

Oh. Kaveh knew the section. He edited it. He waited for Alhaitham’s review.

A moment later:
B-A-D

Kaveh huffed—out loud. His mistake.

Ezio paused, asked if the food was okay, and Kaveh had to stutter out a smile. Explained that he just forgot whether he left his extra room key in the room or somewhere else. He sheepishly took a sip of his drink, trying to focus again.

“Do you enjoy working with your hands?” Ezio asked, resting his chin on one gloved knuckle.

Kaveh blinked. “I—what?”

“You said you sculpt as well. Something about how wood has memory.” He smiled. “I remembered.”

Kaveh smiled, nodded, “I suppose so. It was a long time ago, though.”

Ezio nodded, and Kaveh let him resume talking. But he was elsewhere—waiting for the next buzz like a pulse.

Minutes later, he received a:
H-E—L-I-K-E-S—Y-O-U

Kaveh smiled into a napkin:
M-O-S-T—P-E-O-P-L-E—D-O

He let a few beats pass before adding, mischievously:
D-O-N-T—Y-O-U—?

The ring went quiet for a while. Kaveh took a chance to glance around, wondering where exactly Alhaitham was watching from. He brushed his hair and earring again, absentmindedly.

Then:
T-O-U-C-H—E-A-R-R-I-N-G—T-O-O—M-U-C-H

Kaveh pursed his lips. Brought his hand away.

But then—

U—L-I-K-E—I-T—?

Kaveh blinked. Let Ezio finish talking about some old French town he wanted to settle in. He swallowed some food. Thought of what he wanted to say.

And he asked:
D-I-D—U—P-I-C-K

A reply:
Y-E-S

Kaveh couldn’t help but smile. A bit too wide. He hoped Ezio was talking about something funny.

He spelled out:
I—L-I-K-E

Then added:
U—S-H-O-U-L-D—G-E-T—M-E—M-O-R-E

And when he blinked in surprise over his sheer stupid audacity, wanting to correct himself and send a quick BCOS U RICH, he was cut off.

By an immediate:
O-K

And yeah, Kaveh died again.
So what? Fourth time in this country.

He looked around again, almost wishing he knew where Alhaitham was. Wished he could get out of this date and just unwind with another board game in one of their rooms.

He reached for a pastry. Took a bite.

And winced.

Too sweet. Way too sweet. The filling fizzed slightly, like it hadn’t been cooked properly, and a strange, almost metallic aftertaste lingered on his tongue.

Ezio, across the table, tilted his head.

“Too sweet?” he said.

Kaveh nodded, managing a tight smile.

“You’ve got something,” Ezio said gently, reaching across the table.

Before Kaveh could react, Ezio’s thumb brushed the corner of his mouth.

Kaveh froze.

And then—Ezio licked the thumb clean.

Kaveh’s soul left his body.

His ring stayed silent.

Ezio just smiled. “Delightful, isn’t it?”

And from his ring—
No more buzzes came.

Outside, the air was warm. The driver Ezio had requested was already waiting, engine idling by the curb.

Kaveh barely managed a nod to his client before climbing into the car. The door shut. The driver—expressionless, in sunglasses despite the night—pulled off without a word.

It wasn’t until they passed the turn for the hotel that Kaveh’s heart started racing.

He brushed his ring:
W-H-E-R-E—A-M—I—G-O-I-N-G

No response.

He tapped again, harder this time:
H-E-L-P

Nothing. Shit. Alhaitham had never not replied. Was he okay?

“Hey,” Kaveh said sharply to the driver. “This isn’t the way to—uh—Four Seasons. Hotel. Hotel?”

Silence. Kaveh tried Arabic. Stammered a few mangled phrases he vaguely remembered from an airport sign. No reaction.

“Hey—hey! Stop the car!”

No response.

He tried the doors. They didn’t open. Not from the inside.

They were on a dark road now—no lights, no signs, nothing but sand and silent buildings under construction.

Panic thudded in his chest. Do I attack him? What do I even use? Elbow to the head? Do I pretend to faint?

Fuck. Kaveh really shouldn’t have lost that stupid game. He should be in Persia .

The car rolled past something like jail fences. And Kaveh was sweating.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, heart hammering. The ring was still quiet.

“Okay,” he whispered. “If I die here, I swear to every architectural god, I will haunt Alhaitham’s stupid hair forever—unless—” Kaveh paused, fear striking him. “No. He’s fine. He’s fine.”

The back door clicked.

Kaveh’s breath caught. Fight or flight—

Swung open.

And there, in the halo of the overhead light, stood Ezio.

Smiling. As if this was all perfectly normal.

“Oh,” Ezio said, smooth as oil, “this is my usual driver. Perhaps he mistook me when I said to take you.” He tilted his head, faux-contrite. “My apologies. Shall I ask him to take you back?”

And Kaveh couldn’t say anything. He wasn’t even registering this actually. His heart was still beating too fast. Palms still sweating. He scrambled for composure.

“Um… Y-yeah. Please.”

Ezio nodded, signaled to the driver.

The man turned the key.

The engine choked. Coughed again. Didn’t start.

“Oh dear,” Ezio said mildly. “This happens sometimes. The sand gets into everything, you know.” He smiled again—pleasant, practiced. “But don’t worry. He’ll sort it out in a moment.”

Kaveh smiled back. Absolutely not worried. He was internally writing a will and triple-tapping his dead-silent ring like a little goblin in panic mode.

He couldn’t believe it. He actually wasn’t making it out of this country.

Ezio gestured toward the warehouse. “While we wait—if you’re willing—I could show you the layout for the project. Since we’re here anyway.”

Kaveh’s brain short-circuited.

No no no no—

“It’s kind of late,” he managed. “I wouldn’t want to intrude—”

Ezio stepped closer. Kaveh’s breath caught.

The man’s hand lifted—just a brush, almost accidental—but his fingers grazed the shell of Kaveh’s ear, light as silk. Right where the earring nestled.

“Your earrings are nice,” Ezio said softly.

Kaveh’s blood ran cold.

His hand twitched toward the ring—nothing. Still. Still. Still.

He didn’t have time to figure out what to say because a second later—

VROOOOOOM.

The roar of a car coming up the road shattered the stillness.

A sleek black vehicle rolled up, headlights slicing through dust. The engine rumbled low—powerful. Familiar.

The front door flung open.

And relief slammed into him like a wave. His knees almost gave out. He didn’t move—didn’t have to. Alhaitham moved fast—expression stone-cold, shirt sleeves rolled. He walked right past Ezio, grabbed Kaveh’s arm, and pulled him behind him like it was instinct. Kaveh gripped the hand on him, just as tight.

Ezio’s smile finally cracked. Just a little. Annoyance beneath the charm.

“Assistant,” he said coolly. “Do you have some kind of tracker on your boss or something?”

“Yes,” Alhaitham replied without hesitation. “He gets lost easily.”

Kaveh should have sputtered a defense. But he couldn’t even think of any. Not while his pulse was still loud in his ears.

“I was worried when he didn’t return on time,” Alhaitham continued smoothly. “I thought I should check.”

“Oh?” Ezio’s tone dipped. Sharp. Curious. “And what if he were… busy?” His smile curled. “Occupied, even. With… something.”

Kaveh blinked. Was that innuendo? That was innuendo. What the fuck was he implying—

“There would’ve been signs of interest,” Alhaitham said flatly. “But alas. There were none.” Then, without sparing another look at Ezio, he turned on his heel. “Good night.”

He practically dragged Kaveh toward the waiting car, his grip firm. Kaveh didn’t argue.

Kaveh couldn’t glance back. He didn't know how Ezio looked. Didn't know what was in his eyes.

But he heard the wicked amusement when he said, “See you on Monday, architect.”

The car was too quiet.

Kaveh sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed tight, eyes locked on the dark road ahead like it owed him an explanation. The only sound was the occasional rattle of sand hitting the underside of the car.

And when they finally reached the city streets, he exploded: “What the hell happened? Why didn’t you answer? I thought you died or something.”

Alhaitham didn’t look at him. “You were the one being kidnapped. Why would I be dying?”

“That’s not the point!” Kaveh snapped. “You stopped replying! I thought—I don’t know! That maybe they caught you first, or—”

“I was driving,” Alhaitham said simply.

“You still could’ve said something!” Kaveh’s voice cracked at the edges, raw and exhausted.

“I didn’t think I had to.”

Kaveh stilled, a deep frown on his face. Hands still trembling from the whole incident. Alhaitham just focused on the road, his expression an impenetrable mask. And Kaveh didn't know what he expected. Anything, really. Anything aside from this cold detachment. He wanted to ask why. Wanted to understand. But—

He was so frustrated.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. Laced with disbelief. Hurt. “Of course you didn’t.”

He turned away, curling into himself against the door, like maybe he could physically push the memory of Ezio’s hand off his ear. Like he wasn’t still shaking from the fear.

The rest of the ride passed in dead silence.

No more arguments. No more talking.

When the car stopped at the hotel, Kaveh climbed out first, shoulders high with pride or spite—it was hard to tell.

He didn’t say goodnight. Didn’t look back.

But ten minutes later, he knocked on Alhaitham’s hotel room door. 9 minutes before the day was over.

And when he opened it—only a crack—Kaveh shoved a small rectangular box into his hands. It was wrapped badly. Crinkled edges. A wonky bow.

“Happy birthday, asshole,” he muttered.

He retreated to his room before any reply could form, slamming the door shut.

Inside his room, Kaveh didn’t cry. He didn’t scream.

He just laid in bed, arms over his face, heart still thudding too fast.

It was supposed to be different.

He’d planned to give the gift with a smile. Maybe a dumb joke. Maybe a stupid card. He’d even packed a stupid little chess mat. Something nostalgic. Something idiotic. Something warm.

He didn’t know if Alhaitham had ever celebrated a birthday, not since becoming a sage as a pre-teen. Not since everything.

And Kaveh had wanted to change that.

But no. Ezio had to pick tonight for whatever power-play-kidnapping-fake-date that was. And Alhaitham—Alhaitham had to be his usual unbearable self.

Kaveh buried his face in the pillow.

He should’ve known better than to try.

Later, there was a soft knock on his door.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

He heard footsteps after a pause—slow, reluctant—retreating down the hallway.

Elsewhere.

The sound of the departing car had long faded.

Ezio dusted his sleeve off, eyes still on the road.

“...I should’ve recognized him sooner,” Ezio murmured, tone flat now. “How careless of me.”

He turned and walked into the shadows.

“Her Royal Highness would be...disappointed.”

Chapter Text

A man stood alone in the half-lit ruins, the sharp edge of ancient stone casting long shadows under moonlight. The old facility was quieter at night. A skeleton crew, a few scattered guards. Enough to make infiltration challenging, but not impossible. And in the stillness, he could finally see it, the old runes etched along the foundation.

He ran a gloved hand across the carved symbols, ancient language fused with modern cipher patterns. There were four layers of encryption. He decrypted two without effort.

His mind remained sharp. Focused.

But one of his hands kept brushing against the inside of his jacket pocket.

A small box.
Wrapped with the corner slightly bent.
A ribbon tied sloppily.
Smelling faintly of cinnamon and old bookstores.

He hadn’t opened it. Still hadn’t decided whether he was going to.

It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t necessary. It was… a surprisingly persistent thought.

As was the memory of that expression on Kaveh’s face when he turned to leave after delivering the gift—a flash of something vulnerable beneath the bravado.

A pang, unfamiliar and unwelcome, tightened in his chest—

He exhaled through his nose and resumed decoding the runes.

Then—

Footsteps.

Soft. Confident. Predictable, really.

He didn’t turn.

“...Took you a while,” came a voice, smooth and amused. “Sage.”

Alhaitham didn’t stop reading the wall. His eyes flicked sideways. Barely a glance.

“You too,” he said flatly. “Regrator.”

Kaveh woke to silence.

Morning light filtered weakly through the sheer curtains, warm and pale, brushing against the edges of the room like it, too, was unsure if it was welcome. For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, the unfamiliar scent of crisp hotel linen and lemon-polished wood grounding him back to Cairo. Not home. Not safe.

When he got up, his eyes drifted toward the edge of the nightstand to grab his phone.

And there it was. A single folded piece of paper.

Kaveh stared at it. His heart did not race—he was long past the luxury of surprise—but something deep in his chest tightened anyway. He unfolded it.

• The job is done.

That was all it said.

And Kaveh’s brow twitched. He gritted his teeth and glared at the paper like it might spontaneously elaborate if he scowled hard enough.

“Stupid,” he muttered aloud, flopping back onto the pillows with theatrical disdain.

He stared at the ceiling again.

Alhaitham could’ve just broken in last night. Instead of knocking.

He clearly hadn’t needed permission but he just...respected Kaveh wanting to be alone? Oh, wow. Gentleman Alhaitham. Kaveh rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt.

He didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse.

He briefly considered marching over to Alhaitham’s room and shoving the note directly into his smug mouth. The job is done, he mimicked silently, teeth clenched. Which job? What job? They hadn’t even figured out what Ezio wanted to build.

Unless.
A flicker of unease crawled under his ribs.
Unless it meant Alhaitham was done needing him. For the job.

Ah—stupid, stupid, stupid. The criminal was so annoying.

It wasn’t Kaveh’s fault he almost got kidnapped. Alhaitham hadn’t answered. What was the use of all those bugs, then? Kaveh huffed. He had so many questions.

But he didn’t really want to see him. Not after yesterday.

So he stayed.

Sulking, yes.
Proudly. In his room. Yes.
With his dignity mostly intact and the hotel air conditioner too cold.

Stupid criminal. Stupid mission. Stupid note.

Tomorrow, he’d have to see Ezio again. Kaveh was not looking forward to it. But he’d go. Because someone had to figure out what that man’s request really was.

So he sighed.

Dragged himself out of bed.

And stretched across the hotel table, sweeping aside a dozen crumpled sheets to get to the blueprints. Ink smudged across one wrist as he pulled the newest version closer. Curved walls. Hidden rooms. No symmetry. He tapped the corner with a finger, frowning.

Alone, again. With the lines and sketches and that unshakable sense of being three steps behind in a game he didn’t agree to play.

An unfinished room with crumbling cement was lit only by a single hanging lamp that swayed faintly with the breeze of the vents. The air carried the dry scent of dust and myrrh. No windows. No guards visible. Just a deliberate, calculated stillness—like the space itself had been told to wait.

Two men sat at a low obsidian table.

One with long, dark hair and glasses, dressed in immaculate dark silk. His fingers were laced, his posture impeccable, his expression unreadable.

Another reclined in subtle defiance of the silence. Grey hair. Steely teal eyes. He hadn’t touched the drink placed before him.

The silence had lasted longer than most men could endure, a silent contest of wills.

Eventually, Regrator spoke.

“You came alone.”

“I work alone.”

The lamp creaked faintly above them, the chain groaning like it too wanted to break the silence.

“Really.” A flicker of something—amusement, maybe. “What is so fascinating about these old walls,” Regrator asked at last, with a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “that one of the Old Sumeru sages would come here in person for?”

Alhaitham didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. Regrator had already seen Alhaitham studying the ancient runes—glyphs half-swallowed by time, unreadable to nearly everyone.

“I have something for you.”

That, finally, pulled a reaction. Regrator leaned forward a fraction, the shift so slight it might’ve been imagined.

“Mm.” He offered a half-shrug. “Someone always does.”

“A former member,” Alhaitham said. “A Harbinger…like you.”

And Regrator stilled, a flicker of something—perhaps surprise, perhaps a hint of displeasure—crossing his features before his lips curled faintly again—more edge than mirth.

“My reputation precedes me, it seems,” he murmured, a subtle sharpness entering his tone. “I didn’t realize the news had travelled so far.” He paused, gaze assessing the young sage with renewed interest. “And what do you want in return?”

They watched each other. A breath. Another. Sounds of Regrator’s fingers tapping against the smooth obsidian.

“Access,” Alhaitham said. “To Zapolyarny Palace.”

A sharp, incredulous laugh escaped the Harbinger—low and cold. His eyes, however, remained fixed, assessing the sage like a valuable but potentially troublesome asset.

“You must be joking.” His tone turned clipped, almost amused, but with an underlying steel. “Another organization’s member, strolling through our sanctum? Our Royal Highness’ own, no less. You overestimate our…hospitality.”

Alhaitham didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The stillness in his body suggested certainty—not expectation.

Regrator’s fingers halted mid-tap. A thoughtful frown replaced his amusement. Considering the potential risk and gain. Then, after a pause, he spoke again.

“But… I can do footage. Of the inner archives. Every wall with markings. Condensed files. High resolution. The boring things I can’t read.”

A beat.

“What are you hoping to find in these runes?” A test. A lure.

Alhaitham didn’t answer. Only held his gaze.

That information was not on the table.

After a long moment, Regrator leaned back with a soft exhale, a hint of calculation in his eyes. “So,” he said at last. “About our former member…”

“What you think is true.”

There was a sharp gleam in the other man’s eye now. A predator scenting confirmation. “He’s there, then?”

Alhaitham neither confirmed nor denied. But his silence held weight.

The man’s smile widened—too sharp, too cold.

“You don’t mind, then,” he said, tone lazy, but with an undercurrent of something dangerous. “if some Fatui happen to wander into Old Sumeru. Extraction purposes, of course.”

“What you do with the information doesn’t concern me.”

“Hmm,” Regrator mused, his gaze flicking to the side for a brief moment—amusement. “And the architect?”

The flicker of a pause. Then Alhaitham’s voice—unchanged, unreadable.

“He’s just an architect.”

A beat passed. Measured.

“Ah,” Regrator said softly, a knowing smirk on his lips. “So I can continue his services?”

No answer.

A breath, quiet and deliberate, escaped Regrator’s nose. Almost a laugh. He rose, graceful and unhurried, smoothing the front of his jacket with practiced ease.

“Well,” he said. “I suppose I’ll have to find another. This facility desperately needs a restoration.”

He made it halfway to the door. Then he paused, his back still to Alhaitham.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned. His eyes glinted under the swaying lamplight—something sharp lurking in the shadows of his gaze.

“Forgive me,” he said politely—too politely. “But I’ll have to keep you here a little longer.”

The door shut with a decisive click.

Alhaitham didn’t flinch.

And the shadows stretched around him, long and watchful.

It was Monday morning.

The hallway outside Alhaitham’s hotel room was still half-lit, the kind of early-morning quiet that irritated Kaveh even more than the silence behind the door.

He knocked. Firm. Sharp. Waited.

Nothing.

Another knock. Louder this time. “I know you’re in there,” Kaveh mutters, pressing his ear against the wood. “Don’t play the ‘I’m busy working’ card. We have a meeting to get to.”

Silence. Not even the sound of movement inside.

Kaveh huffed, digging in his pocket until his fingers curled around the red hair clip. The original bug. He jammed it against his mouth, grumbling: “I know you can hear me. Let’s go.”

Still nothing.

He tried knocking again, louder, irritated now—half for show, half because it’s easier than admitting the pressure building in his chest. “Are you ghosting me again? In a whole foreign country? Seriously, Alhai—”

He cut himself off. Took a deep breath. Muttered something about annoying criminal introverts.

But a sliver of unease slipped beneath his skin. He knocked again. Paused. Then one more time—harder, impatient.

No answer.

Before any of the butlers or housekeeping could report him for trying to break down the door to an Executive Suite, Kaveh made his way to the front reception.

The woman behind the counter smiled politely. “Hello, how can I help you?”

“Hi. Um, I’m looking for someone. I checked in with him last week? His name should be under…” And Kaveh struggled to remember the fake name Alhaitham had given him. Shit. “Haziii—Hazem—he’s in, uh, Abaya Wing, room 708.”

The receptionist tilted her head, perhaps about to mention something about guest privacy, but Kaveh flashed a warm smile, hoping it would help his case.

“I’m in the room next to his. We were supposed to leave for a meeting this morning but he didn’t answer the door or his calls,” Kaveh said, laughing uneasily. “It’s, well, a bit concerning. I’m just wondering if he maybe, checked out?”

The receptionist blinked, eyes seeming to perk up at a premium guest not being reachable.

“Just one moment.” She turned to her side, picked up the desk phone and dialed. Alhaitham’s room.

Several beats later, she frowned. Turned back to her screen and typed. Frowned even more, but managed to send a tight smile to Kaveh. “It seems Mr. Hazem hasn’t returned since…Saturday night. Or Sunday morning, I should say.”

Kaveh’s pulse stuttered. “That’s not…are you sure?”

“My apologies, sir, but according to the logs, his keycard hasn’t been used since 3:42AM on the 12^th of February.”

The world tilted slightly on its axis.

Kaveh walked away in a daze. His hands were clammy.

He tried the ring.
The earring.
The clip, again.

Nothing.

The receptionist mentioned CCTV footage that Alhaitham just left by himself. No bags. No files. Nothing. Which meant everything was still in his room. All the confidential papers—

Alhaitham wouldn’t just leave them.
He was an asshole but he wouldn’t just leave Kaveh stranded in Cairo.

Alhaitham was gone.
Missing.

And suddenly it all slammed into him.

Panic built—real, crawling panic.

But there’s no way. There’s just no way.

Alhaitham was—a sage. A man who dismantled an entire underground organization over a weekend. A man who never let his guard down.

There was no way.

The phone rang.
Ezio’s caller ID flashed on his screen.
Kaveh didn’t answer.

It rang again.
And the timing was—
Too suspicious.

And then a text:
[You look quite frantic in the lobby. Searching for someone?]

Kaveh’s blood ran cold. His hands gripped his phone too tight.

He picked up the next call before his phone could even start ringing.

“Ah, you finally picked up, architect.”

His whole body locked up. “Ezio.”

A low chuckle on the other end. “You sound surprised. Did something happen?”

Kaveh swallowed. “Stop—stop playing games. What do you want?”

“Oh, straight to the point?”

“That—” Kaveh paused, frustration building. Anxiety multiplying. He paced around his room. “Seriously! Where is he? What did you do?”

A pause. “It’s flattering, really. The loyalty.”

Then: click.

The line went dead. Kaveh stared at it, utterly lost.

And a second later, a text appeared:
[You know where to find your sage.]

Kaveh stared at the message, barely breathing.

He remembered the site he was taken to. The blueprints he worked over all of yesterday.

The plentiful designs that had only one or two similarities to each other.
The strange lack of exits.
The hollow echo of the space. The maze layout. The barbed fencing. The remoteness.
The pattern of it all.

And Kaveh had already figured it out. Yesterday.

Ezio didn’t want a gallery, a sanctuary, or a safe house.

It was some kind of sick prison.

And Alhaitham walked into it alone.

Kaveh was pacing in a circle. The ring on the table. The clip too. His hair was a mess, his eyes are wild, and his Google search history recently registered “how to sneak into a Snezhnayan-Cairenes prison wearing linen.”

He was not built for this.

Kaveh was an architect. A mere architect. He wasn’t a Commisioner like Cyno, or a freelance detective like Aether, or a part-time doctor part-time hero like Tighnari.

He was supposed to design nice houses and complain about budgets and fall asleep halfway through structural render presentations.

But the earring in his hand almost hurt in his grip, too sharp, too slippery from the sweat on his palms.

“Fuck it.”

He grabbed a pen. Ripped a hotel notepad in half.

If I die doing something stupid for someone even stupider—
– Give all my liquid assets to Tighnari and Collei. They’ll figure it out.
– The bank stuff goes to my mother. She won’t notice unless it’s monthly.
– My sketchbooks are NOT to be published. Burn them.
– Tell Alhaitham I hope he chokes on whatever trap he walked into.

He folded it. Taped it to the minibar.

Then, on his way out, he stole a fireplace poker from the lobby.

Because if he’s going to die, he’s at least going out swinging.

Kaveh remembered the turns from Ezio’s stupid driver.
He remembered the construction on the road.
The isolation of the area.
Then he maybe got lost for a while—

But he found it. Eventually. The barbed wire fences.

The taxi he took was probably weirded out when he asked to be let out by the side of an empty road, but Kaveh thought the fare was worth it.

If they got out of this, Alhaitham had his credit card to thank.

He followed the fences down a road he vaguely recalled and it was exactly what he feared—crumbling mortar walls, sparse gates, a disorienting layout like a labyrinth turned inside out.

“This is fine. This is just a building,” he whispered to himself. “I am a professional.”

He climbed a side gate.
Got caught on his own shirt hem.
Fell. Immediately. Onto his side.

Groaned. Picked himself up. Limping a little. Still clutching the stupid fireplace rod.

He tried to sneak along a wall. Tripped on gravel. Knocked over a crate. Swore so loudly the silence around him practically echoed with judgment.

He squeezed his eyes shut because what the fuck? Why was this spying shit so hard—

“Trying something?” a voice called out.

Kaveh froze.

Ezio stepped into view. Crisp suit, outlandish outer coat in the blistering Cairo sun because that was normal. Smirking like a Bond villain who never needed to lift a finger. “You came alone. How noble.”

Kaveh, winded and covered in dust, wanted to scream because who else could he have even come with?

He stood tall anyway, took a cautious step back from the man. “Where is he?”

Ezio raised a brow. “You could have just asked for another dinner. You seemed so agreeable last time.”

Kaveh snarled, lifting the fireplace poker like it’s Excalibur. “I said—where is he.”

And behind Ezio, in the shadows, there’s movement. A ripple. Men standing still, watching. Ezio’s men, surely. Not hostile. Yet. But there.

Kaveh’s head pounded. The rod faintly trembled from the wetness of his grip.

Ezio sighed, almost theatrically. “You know, this would have been much easier if you just left. Returned to your Persia. It truly is none of your business.”

What the hell is Ezio saying because of course it’s his business. Alhaitham made it his business.

Kaveh’s brain was still buffering, but his mouth still worked. “Where. Is. He.”

Ezio’s lips curled. Something like amusement. Or resignation. He casually lifted both hands, palms in the air like a surrender. Kaveh just watched him guardedly, confused, the rod in his hand still grasped tight.

“Follow me,” he said, voice light. “Bring the... poker, if it helps.”

Kaveh glared but stomped after him. He adjusted his grip on the rod.

He had no idea what he was walking into.

But he knew one thing.

Alhaitham better be damn worth it.

The door groaned open on rusted hinges.

Ezio didn’t even escort him inside. Just gestured with a smirk and walked away.

Kaveh’s heart was hammering like it was trying to break out of his ribs. He was already holding the fireplace rod like a sword, though it was starting to shake from how hard he was gripping it. His lungs felt too small. His knees felt stupid.

He didn’t know what he was going to find.

He stepped into the cold stone room—

And there he was.

There—

Sitting like a monk in a library cell.

Not bound. Not bruised. Not pacing or screaming or trying to break a wall down. No.

The bastard was just sitting at a table, flipping through a pile of A3-sized pictures, a laptop at his side, paused on a video. Like he’s reviewing a research article. Or solving a crossword puzzle.

Calm. Cross-legged. Head tilted.

On the table beside him was—

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Kaveh stiffened in the doorway, already vibrating with rage and relief and disbelief.

Alhaitham looked up. Blinked. Twice.

“…Kaveh?”

Kaveh marched in like a storm.

Because there, like some tragic little centerpiece, was the box. That stupid gift box Kaveh gave him. Still unopened.

But not a single other thing was with it. No phone. No comm ring. No earpiece.

“I can’t believe you—you absolute—”

Alhaitham just looked at him like he was a figment of his imagination.

“You—you absolute. Asshole. Dumbass,” Kaveh snapped. “You brought this stupid box and left all of your communication devices?!”

Alhaitham’s brow just furrowed as he stood up and made his way over. “How did you—”

“No. No. You don’t get to talk. Because are you actually insane?” Kaveh’s hands were flailing. “You’ve been missing for almost two days! I thought you were dead! And you’re just—what are you even doing?? Playing Sudoku with hieroglyphs—”

“I’ve been kidnapped,” Alhaitham said, calm as a lake.

Kaveh threw the fireplace rod onto the ground. “Oh, have you? HAVE YOU REALLY? Because it looks like you’re having a spa retreat with ancient death runes, you—ugh!”

Alhaitham was still watching him like he’s a rare species of wildlife. “How did you even get in here?”

“I broke in.”

“You’re holding a fireplace poker.”

“I BROKE IN.”

His voice broke somewhere. The room tilted for a second.

There was a beat of silence. Kaveh was panting. Red in the face. Still stressed from Saturday night. Still running on adrenaline and rage and four hotel chocolates he ate in the taxi.

Alhaitham’s expression shifted. That subtle, gentle confusion. Like that time in the infirmary—when Kaveh said he was worried, and Alhaitham looked at him like he’d spoken a different language.

And now Alhaitham…
…was smiling.
Small. Surprised. Almost…too pleased.

Kaveh gaped. “Are you—are you smiling right now? You bastard. You actual—You—I came here to save you, you idiot! You were gone—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Because Alhaitham stepped forward in one fluid motion, his gaze intense and unwavering, cupped Kaveh’s face with both hands—

And kissed him.

It was warm. Immediate.
Like diving into hot water.
Like the silence in the middle of a storm.

Kaveh made a sound—a startled gasp that Alhaitham’s lips immediately swallowed. His mouth was soft, yielding, but firm underneath. Tasting faintly of stale air and peppermint and something ancient, like old scrolls. His fingers were warm against Kaveh’s jaw, calloused at the tips. His body heat was overwhelming.

Kaveh’s entire mind went static. The room narrowed down to this—mouth, hands, breath, the impossible calm behind it all.

Which was why he jerked back, breathless—a strangled sound escaping his throat—

“No. No, nu-uh, you do not get to kiss me to shut me up again—!”

Alhaitham tilted his head. Eyes open. Studying Kaveh closely.

And just kissed him again.

This time slower. More certain. One hand slid to the back of Kaveh’s neck, cradling. A silent pull. Drawing him in like the answer to a question he’s been asking all week.

And Kaveh—god help him—felt his own hands instinctively reaching for Alhaitham’s.

He forgot the fireplace rod. The kidnapping. The box on the table.

Because he couldn’t say no to Alhaitham twice.

And maybe he didn’t really want to.

Alhaitham kissed him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like Kaveh hadn’t just stormed in here with murder in his eyes and all the gracefulness of a manatee.

And Kaveh—against all logic, all fury, all basic survival instinct—kissed him back.

It wasn’t a gentle exploration, but it wasn’t frantic. Logic screamed, every nerve ending still thrumming with adrenaline, but a deeper, more primal instinct took over. He could taste the faint warmth of Alhaitham’s breath, the subtle pressure of his mouth, and a dizzying rush of… something. Relief? Anger melting into something like desperate affection? He didn’t know.

It was absurd. Absurd.

“Just because you’re kissing me—” Kaveh managed breathlessly, lips still against Alhaitham’s, “doesn’t mean I’m not absolutely fucking furious—”

“Mm.” Alhaitham nodded. With zero remorse. Just dipped in again, humming quietly, clearly not listening at all.

Kaveh growled into the kiss. “I should hit you with the poker right now—”

Alhaitham’s grip on Kaveh’s shirt tightened almost imperceptibly as he deepened the kiss again, a silent assertion that overrode Kaveh’s threat. And—well—Kaveh just melted into that. Sorry not sorry.

And when Alhaitham finally pulled back, barely, just enough just enough to break the seal of their lips—it was to rest his forehead against Kaveh’s. Gentle. And his teal eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, were closed. Relaxed.

And then slowly—without a word—he leaned in, rigid lines of his posture softening.
And he just. Settled his head on Kaveh’s shoulder. Heavy. Warm. Real.

Kaveh’s entire body locked. His breath hitched in his throat. His hands were still in Alhaitham’s shirt front, shaking slightly. He could feel the steady beat of Alhaitham’s heart, a stark contrast to the wild rhythm of his own.

They stood like that for a second. Two.

Three.

Kaveh’s heart continued pounding. He was still furious. Still wired. But Alhaitham’s quiet presence was a disarming weight. He was just… resting. Against Kaveh. Like he could finally stop holding his spine straight.

And maybe that was the most dangerous part.

But the fragile bubble of their strange reunion shattered anyway, as a dry voice drawled from the doorway: “Not here, please.”

Kaveh turned, teeth bared, ready to shout something with volume—

Ezio just raised a hand, sounding so tired it might actually be genuine. “Yes, yes, I know. You’re upset. I have eyes.”

He stepped in, eyeing the scene like it was personally inconveniencing him. “Technically, this is a kidnapping,” he says. “But only because the files he’s reviewing are classified at a level that, if leaked, would put entire operations at risk. If they’re taken or lost—”

He glanced at Alhaitham. Deadpan.

“—I’ll kill him myself.”

Kaveh’s frown deepened. He looked at the rod on the floor, feeling suddenly foolish. His dramatic rescue attempt was clearly not going as planned.

Ezio caught the direction of Kaveh’s gaze. “Oh, please. That would never do.”

“It’s cast iron,” Kaveh snapped defensively.

Alhaitham, seemingly oblivious to the awkward tension in the room, just murmured against Kaveh’s shoulder, “I’ll need two more hours.”

Ezio raised an eyebrow. “Only two?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer, just gave a small nod, his hair brushing against Kaveh’s ear. Still leaning against Kaveh’s SHOULDER.

Ezio hummed. Almost impressed. Then there was a flash of amusement curved his lips as he looked back to Kaveh.

“Architect. Would you prefer a more comfortable guest room than this… interrogation chamber?”

Kaveh opened his mouth to refuse—
But Alhaitham said first, “He’s fine here.”

Ezio tilted his head. “Oh? Is he going to sit on the floor?”

Kaveh scowled, a heartbeat away from chucking the fireplace rod at him. “You heard him. I’m fine here.”

He glared at the man as he stomped out of Alhaitham’s arms, away from the table, and dropped onto the floor with a thud. He crossed his arms like he was preparing to endure a long-haul flight in economy.

And then—

Alhaitham calmly gathered the pictures, the laptop, the documents from the table, and sat down beside him. Long legs folding neatly. Expression unreadable. He lay the items in front of them like it was a shared dinner spread.

Like they were just about to play cards.

Ezio’s brow twitched. Alhaitham was unbothered. He was already scanning the glyphs, humming faintly.

Their captor sighed something long and impatient. Mumbled something about how unbelievable something was. He motioned to Alhaitham, “Tell your men outside to stand down. They’re making mine…twitchy.”

Then he walked out without waiting for a reply, the door clicking shut behind him.

Silence.

Kaveh sat there, arms crossed, because what the actual hell just happened?

His brain felt like a tangled mess of anger, confusion, and a lingering, unwelcome warmth from the unexpected kisses. The only coherent thought that managed to surface amidst the chaos was—

“Your men?”

Alhaitham, still looking at the papers, said quietly, “I’ll… tell you about it.”

Kaveh narrowed his eyes. Then nudged a scroll with his foot. “After you finish your stupid hieroglyphs?”

“Mm.” A nod. Absently.

Kaveh sighed.

He didn’t know why he stayed. But Alhaitham was right next to him. A relieving, comforting presence. So he said nothing. Just leaned in, scowling at the same picture Alhaitham was studying. Their shoulders pressed together.

The glyphs were unfamiliar. But for now, the quiet between them was warm. Safe.

Kaveh’s mind was still reeling—he had so many questions. So many things to say. Scream. Demand.

But Alhaitham was here. And he was okay.

And after the morning Kaveh had—maybe, stupidly, that was all that mattered.

Regrator Interlude

When Ezio a.k.a Regrator had tipped off the architect about the young sage, he had been expecting something more conventional coming his way.

What he had not been expecting was the following:
At 14:02, the perimeter alarm buzzed soundlessly.
At 14:05, he watched the architect attempt to climb the fence.
At 14:05, he fell off the fence.
At 14:09, he tiptoed around a very visible wall.
At 14:11, the sound of crates crashing could be heard.

The architect swore. Loudly. Colorfully. Threatened the ground. Held up a small metal rod like it would strike lightning.

Ezio couldn’t help but laugh. He stepped out onto the grounds to bring him in. He had just opened his mouth to speak when he felt it.

Five… no, eleven…

Sixteen?

He stilled.

Twenty.

There were twenty trained barrels pointed at him.

None visible.

But he’d lived and breathed too long in the underground to know the pressure of a sniper’s breath. The sensation of a dozen trained crosshairs on his skull.

Regrator lifted his palms in wordless surrender to the forest behind the architect.

The same architect who continued looking angry and confused, still waving the metal rod, still demanding the sage’s whereabouts, still shaking like a leaf.

Still absolutely clueless. Fascinating.

Just an architect, the young sage had said.

And yet there were twenty agents ready to massacre his outpost if Regrator so much as touched a hair on his head.

Hm. Not just an architect, then.

The hotel was bustling when they finally made it back.

They were barely two steps into the main corridor when the receptionist from earlier rounded the corner. The moment she saw them, her whole posture crumpled with visible relief.

“Sirs, is everything alright? Did something terrible happen? We were waiting to file a report —”

Kaveh, flustered and wide-eyed, fumbled. “No, no, it’s okay, we—it’s fine, he wasn’t missing missing, he was just—well technically he was—”

“We fought,” Alhaitham interrupted flatly. “And we made up.”

And then he grabbed Kaveh by the wrist and walked off like that was a completely normal thing to say. No shame. No hesitation. Kaveh tripped after him, flushing red to the roots of his hair.

Alhaitham’s suite was dark when they finally stepped in. It was too silent.

He glanced at Alhaitham, voice quiet and accusing, “We made up?”

Alhaitham closed the door behind them with a click. “We’re going to.”

“Oh, yeah? How exactly?” The sarcasm came easy—defensive, brittle, a familiar armor slipping into place.

Because yes, he was relieved. And he was furious with how relieved he was. Because he had panicked all morning. Because fought his way through Ezio with a poker, his heart in his throat, terrified something had finally gone wrong.

But the fear didn’t just erase everything.

Not the tense silence after that night.
Not the moments after he was taken, when he’d waited for a buzz, a message—anything.
Not the way Alhaitham disappeared into shadows and left Kaveh alone, again and again, with nothing but half-truths and empty space.

He was about to say as much—something sharp, something bitter—

But Alhaitham walked to the bed and sat, slow and deliberate, like the movement itself was a bridge.

Then—wordless—he tapped his side.
A quiet gesture. An invitation. Sit here.

Kaveh didn’t move, at first. He just stared at him. Too many things roiling under his skin.

But Alhaitham didn’t look away. Didn’t push. Just waited.

So slowly, with a heavy sigh, Kaveh crossed the room. Sat. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the gravity of him.

The silence between them hummed, tense and intimate.

And then—Alhaitham reached into his shirt pocket.

And pulled out the little box.

It was still wrapped. The corners were bent now, a little wrinkled, a little crushed like it had been clutched too tight more than once—but the ribbon was intact. The paper was clean. No tears. No stains. Not even a fingerprint smudge.

Untouched by the dust and grime that had clung to everything in that interrogation room

“You didn’t open it,” Kaveh said quietly.

Alhaitham looked down at the box in his hands. Then at Kaveh. And gently, he held it out.

“Give it to me again,” he says. “Later. After I tell you everything.”

Kaveh stared at it.

His throat tightened. His chest caved in, something soft and breaking beneath his ribs. He had so many questions. He always did, when it came to Alhaitham. Everything from Naphis's warnings to this bizarre Architect mission, to the cryptic hieroglyphs, to that kiss—

Where would a person even begin?

Yet, seeing the little red box cradled so tenderly in Alhaitham’s hands—Kaveh already knew.

Knew that no matter what Alhaitham told him, no matter what terrible truths were coming—
He was going to give it back.
He was going to hand it over, properly this time.

He took the box. "Okay."

Then he looked up. Smiled. A little crooked. A little tentative. But real.

And to his surprise—his absolute, floor-destroying horror—Alhaitham—

Smiled back.
Small. Barely there.
But assuring.

And Kaveh’s heart was irrevocably fucked.

The next few hours blurred—less like a conversation, more like a slow unspooling of truths Kaveh hadn’t been ready for, and Alhaitham hadn’t meant to share this way.  

He spoke with his usual precision, every word chosen, clipped—but Kaveh could hear it anyway. The fracture in his calm. The barely-there strain in his voice when he talked.

The “architect mission,” Kaveh learned, had never truly been about him. Just a smokescreen. A useful excuse to place someone with a clean record on-site—while Alhaitham hunted the true objective: an Ancient Sumerian cipher buried deep in the ruins of the broken facility.

“The silence... when you contacted me,” Alhaitham admitted eventually, eyes lowered, “wasn’t intentional.” There was a flicker of something then—guilt, or maybe regret. “Ezio—Regrator—wasn’t supposed to involve an unassuming architect. If he did, it meant...he recognized me.”  

The implication hit like a stone in Kaveh’s gut.  

Alhaitham explained the rest with the clinical detachment of a man dissecting his own failure: the brief, maddening pause between realizing Kaveh had been taken and deciding whether to extract him or let the situation play out. He laid bare his agonizing choices. A gamble he’d lost precious time on.  

“I felt the buzzes,” Alhaitham said. “But I couldn’t answer. Not then.”  

And right after that, he pulled the plug. “By then, it was clear. Too dangerous. For you. For the mission.” He thought knowing the location of the site was enough. Thought Kaveh, after everything that night, after Alhaitham had put him through that, might want distance anyway.  

“I wasn’t intending to...” His voice was low now. Almost soft. "...stay away that long."

Kaveh sat, not speaking. The puzzle pieces snapped into place one by one.  

The pretense.
The truth.  
And underneath it all, the quiet, clumsy panic of a man who didn’t know how to say: I was worried.  

Kaveh didn’t speak right away.

He looked down at the little box in his hand, at the neatly preserved ribbon, at the man beside him who had torn apart a covert operation, deciphered ancient scripts, and still somehow couldn’t send a single goddamn message.

His throat tightened.

“You’re an idiot,” he said. “A complete, emotionally-stunted, mission-obsessed idiot.”

Alhaitham didn’t argue.

“Why can’t you just…communicate beforehand? Like a normal person.”

Alhaitham nodded. Wordlessly. Just glanced at Kaveh, mildly. Then at the box. Like he was waiting for Kaveh to give it back. Kaveh looked away, a scoff forming.

“I should throw it at your face.”

“You won’t. You’d dent it more.”

Kaveh let out a sharp, wounded noise, halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I hate you.”

Alhaitham didn’t reply. But when Kaveh looked up, he could see a faint smile. Something like ‘No, you don’t’ playing on the corner of his lips.

Kaveh’s heart skipped and tripped and crashed straight into his ribs.

His fingers tightened on the small box. Then he held it out, the silence stretching between them. “Here,” he mumbled, avoiding Alhaitham’s eyes. “Happy… belated birthday.”

Damn it. Kaveh was supposed to smile and joke! This was his second chance!

Alhaitham took it. Held it still for a second, before unwrapping the ribbon. The red paper crinkled as he unfolded it, revealing a small, intricately carved wooden bookmark.

It was shaped like a knight. A knight chess piece.

And as Alhaitham stared at it for too long, Kaveh felt a wave of shame creep up on him.

Oh god, this is so stupid. Alhaitham was a rich criminal head. He probably had hundreds of bookmarks, of ancient artifacts, of anything money could even buy.

“You don’t have to use it,” Kaveh mumbled, his gaze fixed on the worn rug. “I just thought—since you’re always…you know…reading…”

Alhaitham’s voice cut through his self-crimination. “Did you make this?”

There was a lump forming in Kaveh’s throat. “Yeah.”

Alhaitham’s gaze was still on the bookmark, fingers gentle as they closed around the wood. He turned it over. Paused. His thumb brushed the top—carefully etched into the grain, was a tiny engraving: a chibi-style Alhaitham seated at a chessboard, utterly serious, arms crossed.

It seemed like a cute idea at the time.
But now Kaveh wanted to die.

“Only me?”

Kaveh blinked. “Huh?”

Alhaitham tapped softly against the engraving. “Chess is a two-player game.”

Kaveh looked at the bookmark, a nervous defensiveness flickering in his eyes. “Well… That’s you… doing what you do! Stop saying weird things and just accept it!”

Alhaitham was silent for a long moment. Then, always like a surprise, always like a sudden present, he smiled again.

And Kaveh’s heart did something ridiculous in his chest. Like it might actually try to escape. He swallowed. Looked down at the empty wrapping paper in his hands.

“Thank you, Kaveh.” And because Alhaitham couldn’t just thank someone properly, “For this emotionally compromising miniature of me.”

Kaveh’s cheeks flushed. “It’s not emotionally compromising! It’s just cute! Not my fault you have a ridiculous chess face!”

Alhaitham’s eyes flickered down to Kaveh’s lips, a subtle shift in his expression. “So you study my face.”

“Oh my god—”

“You could have asked for reference photos.” A teasing glint.

“You are so insufferable—”

“I might have posed.” Alhaitham leaned a fraction closer.

So Kaveh—annoyed, fond, dangerously close to delirious—thought, Fine.

He leaned in before he could regret it. A swift, impulsive kiss. Short. Just a brush of lips.

But Alhaitham, infuriatingly composed, didn’t let it stay short. He chased Kaveh’s retreating lips, leaned in with a deceptive calm, and kissed him back.

This one wasn’t a brush.

Kaveh made a soft sound, equal parts relief and disbelief, and melted into it—his fingers clutching at the edge of the sheets like he’d lose balance otherwise. Alhaitham’s hand found the side of Kaveh’s face, palm steady, thumb ghosting over his cheekbone. The kiss deepened, slow and precise, like Alhaitham was proving a point.

When they finally pulled apart, the space between them was charged, a mere breath. Alhaitham's forehead and nose bumped gently against his.

And Kaveh couldn't help it. He could feel his lips. Stretched.
He was probably smiling so wide.
Well. Whatever.

Alhaitham tilted his head, that slow smile returning. “Would you like me to pose now?”

“You are impossible—”

Later, Kaveh mumbled against Alhaitham’s shoulder, “Wait. So…the mission’s over?”

“Yes.”

“…But we still have, like, a week left. Are we going back?”

Alhaitham didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him. His hands were still loosely around Kaveh, a finger absently twirling the blonde’s hair. “You wanted to go to the pyramids.”

Kaveh blinked.

Alhaitham shrugged like it was nothing. “It’s scheduled for Friday. Perhaps we can prepone it.”

“Wait—you planned for that?”

“I anticipated that you might emotionally manipulate me into it.”

“I would emotionally manipulate you?”

“It is quite possible.”

Kaveh hit him lightly on the arm, grinning despite himself. “Oh my god, we get to vacation? What do we even do with that much time—there’s so much to see! The temples, the Nile, the museums, the—”

“I can think of a few ideas,” Alhaitham murmured, his gaze dropping to Kaveh’s lips.

And Kaveh’s brain short-circuited.

And Alhaitham kissed him again.

Their world narrowed to the space only between them.

Lingering laughter. Quiet banter. Genuine grins. Teasing scoffs. Gentle touches. Hidden smiles.

Miles away, a different world was stirring.

The lab in Old Sumeru was dimly lit, the glow of screens painting the metal walls with flickers of pale green. Dust filtered from the cracks in the sandstone ceiling far above.

A young man sat in a tall chair, hunched over an aging console, a ceramic teacup in one hand. A silent assistant slid a tray onto the desk—toast, peeled citrus, and two folded notes tucked beneath a silver spoon.

He plucked the first.

Desert textile report:
Sand offered no threads.

“No surprised there,” he muttered. “We already found one in Sudan. Egypt’s too close.”

He sipped his tea and flicked open the second slip.

Exchange logged:
Cat out of the bag.

A beat.

Another sip—a choke—

Then a screech—high, insulted, theatrical.

“You sold me OUT?”

Chapter Text

The house was quiet. Too quiet. Which was how Alhaitham liked it. Usually.

Today, it felt like the silence was mocking him.

Twelve-year-old Alhaitham sat on the rug with his arms crossed, hard gaze locked in place, and three thick tomes strewn around him in a rough semi-circle. All of them dog-eared, underlined, forcefully corrected where the author's logic had clearly faltered. A goose quill, still perched behind his ear, left a dark, inadvertent streak across his pale temple.

From the kitchen came the soft clink of a spoon against porcelain. Then, a warm voice to counterpoint the quiet tension in the room.

“Did the Akademiya collapse?” his grandmother asked, carrying in a steaming cup of tea. “Or has someone called you ‘precocious’ again?”

Alhaitham didn’t huff. But he almost did. “Their critiques lack substance. They don’t even try to talk about the content. Just—‘You’re too much,’ or ‘Can’t we just move on, Alhaitham?’”

She chuckled, a soft, knowing sound. “To be fair, not everyone enjoys having their entire thesis dismantled during lunch.”

“I was not dismantling it,” he muttered. “I was engaging.”

She handed him the tea. “Mm. I’m sure they’ll appreciate that once their egos recover.”

He looked away, sulking into the cup. “They don’t understand,” he said quietly.

“No,” she agreed, her hand briefly resting on his hair. “Not yet.”

Her tone was light, reassuring. Not dismissive. Not placating. Devoid of the patronizing tone he often encountered.

“You’re... a little ahead, dear. Not just in chronological years.” She smoothed his hair back. “Your peers are still catching up, and the majority will eventually converge. Before you know it, you’ll meet someone who does understand.”

He frowned. “You always say that.”

“Mm. This particular hypothesis might have a… higher probability of accuracy.” A faint smile touched the corners of her lips, almost teasing. Alhaitham looked back at the books, not meeting her amused gaze. “Oh, trust me. I’m wise beyond my age. You don’t need everyone to understand you. Just one. That is more probable, correct?”

Alhaitham narrowed his eyes, skepticism in their teal depths. “Someone who’ll listen to me? Who won’t become…agitated when their premises are challenged?”

She laughed, quiet yet affectionate. “Maybe even someone who’ll argue right back. Who’ll challenge you, match you, make you think harder.”

He snorted. “Highly improbable.”

“Well,” she said with a soft smile, “you’re still young, dear. Just live your life how you want to. The universe has a curious way of arranging things.”

“But don't you see? The entire structural integrity relies on the aesthetic balance! A purely functional arch is soulless, Alhaitham!”

“The structural integrity relies on mathematically sound load distribution. Aesthetic appeal is a subjective metric. Your ‘soul’ does not bear weight.”

The architect slammed a half-eaten pastry down. “You wouldn't know artistic merit if it slapped you in your face! It's about evoking emotion, creating a space that resonates!”

“Emotion is a volatile and unreliable variable.” A judgmental eyebrow raise. “Evoking irrational sentiment is hardly a design principle.”

“You’re—so—it’s like arguing with a wall that can speak!”

The door to the Sage’s office creaked open on old hinges, the scent of medicinal herbs and musty scrolls wafting out into the hallway.

Alhaitham, still twelve years old and already a top scholar in his cohort, stepped inside without the formality of a knock. His expression was careful, neutral. A thick academic journal was tucked under one arm, still warm from his lap at the library.

The room was dim despite the midday sun. Curtains were drawn, light filtering through in thin gold slashes across dusty floor tiles. Books towered haphazardly along the walls, stacked not for show but because there was simply no space left.

And behind a massive carved desk sat his master, the Grand Sage Irawan of Haravatat.

Hunched and withered like the age-worn manuscripts he surrounded himself with. His coughing came in fits, deep and wet, but his eyes were sharp. Watching. Amused.

“Ah. You came quickly.”

“You summoned me during prime library hours,” Alhaitham stated plainly.

A laugh—wheezing, cracked, like dry leaves skittering across stone—escaped the old man. “Of course. My deepest apologies for disrupting your sacred rites.”

Alhaitham said nothing. He didn’t quite like small talk. His master knew.

The old sage gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit, Alhaitham.”

He complied. He waited.

And after a long pause, Irawan asked, almost conversational: “Would you like to be a sage?”

Silence. Punctuated only by the faint ticking of a brass astrolabe on a nearby shelf.

Alhaitham blinked once. “I assume that’s a joke.”

Another fit of laughter, longer and more rattling this time. The sage pulled a handkerchief to his mouth, stained faintly with red when he lowered it again. “I assure you, my boy, it is not. The position will soon be… vacant. My health is failing. The other sages have reviewed your work— their private commendations, while never voiced directly to you, are significant.”

Alhaitham’s eyes narrowed. “There are candidates of more… appropriate seniority, surely.”

A beat. Irawan’s gaze held his, a strange mixture of amusement and something akin to fondness softening the sharp edges.

“Considering the current complexities, I would deem you to be the best fit.”

Current complexities. Vague.

“And Her Majesty sanctioned a first year being a candidate for this position?”

“Her Majesty’s attention is currently… diverted. But she will approve.”

Diverted.

Alhaitham did not partake in gossip. But there had been whispers about the Queen’s delicate health. That a new heir would be born sometime after the year turns. A development met with varying degrees of enthusiasm—or lack of—amongst the sages. Several even resigned this past year. And now, his own master.

Alhaitham didn’t flinch, but he straightened slightly in his seat.

“Young Alhaitham.” A shadow of a smile ghosted Irawan’s lips. “You’re more advanced than most of the adults here. Your analysis of linguistic drift in the Eastern dialects? Flawless. Your spatial proofs in ancient runes and subjects not even part of your darshan… art.”

“I’m twelve.”

“Yes,” Irawan said, eyes glittering, “and the average adult cannot withstand a debate with you without running for the hills. Under the judicious guidance of the other sages, you will be unstoppable in the coming years.”

Unstoppable. A curious choice of words.

Alhaitham crossed his arms. “You said the others already agreed. You didn’t ask if I would.”

“I’m asking now.”

“Then no.”

Irawan coughed again, his shoulders trembling from the force of it. When he stilled, he looked almost pleased.

“I thought you’d say that,” he murmured. “But I want you to think about it. The Crown doesn’t ask questions when we present our choice. And there is value in having power early. You’d have resources. Protection. The right to challenge what you find foolish.”

Alhaitham stared at him.

Then: “I don’t want that kind of power.”

“That,” said Irawan, his voice thin, “is why you would wield it better than most.”

The room was quiet except for the ticking of the nearby astrolabe and the occasional rustle of the wind pressing at the windowpanes.

“My decision remains unchanged,” Alhaitham said at last, rising. “Enjoy your retirement.”

He turned on his heel.

But before he could leave, Irawan called out, voice oddly bright despite the rasp: “Even if you walk away now, boy—Sumeru doesn’t forget minds like yours. One day, it will come knocking again.”

Alhaitham paused. Just briefly. Then kept walking.

As the door shut behind him, Irawan sat back in his chair, smiling faintly.

“They always do.”

Two years after his former master’s death, Alhaitham sat at the edge of a council table, spine tense, face blank. His legs only barely reached the floor. The others spoke in veiled terms—prosperity, structure, reformation—but he saw what they meant. Displacement. Exploitation. Surveillance. Silencing. Even a child could see it. He was a child.

And yet none of them treated him like one.

He read everything they gave him. Attended every “mentorship.” Listened. Learned. Memorized.

And said nothing.

Because what could one voice do against five ancient ones, all twice-dead and still speaking?

When he returned home, his grandmother turned off the stove with a clatter.

“They’ve made you one of them,” she muttered. “After Her Majesty’s passing and the sages’ corruption… this is not a blessing, dear. What is happening?”

Alhaitham didn’t reply. He sat at the kitchen table and opened a book.

“Always with your nose in those,” she said, her voice softer, tinged with worry. “You used to tell me everything. Now… It’s like you’re a ghost in your own home.”

No reply. Just a turn of a page.

The air in the kitchen was thick with the fragrant steam of sabz meat stew, a familiar warmth that didn't seem to reach him at the table. He heard her sigh, a quiet sound of acceptance.

Alhaitham kept reading—a forbidden text, something his young self wasn’t even supposed to have his hands on.

His world became a little too still. But he kept going.

The funeral ended before it began.

A few neighbors came. One old professor. The Kshahrewar sage. A woman from the bookstore who used to leave papaya sweets on their doorstep. They stayed for ten minutes. Offered stiff condolences. Left behind paper lanterns and faint perfume.

Then it was just Alhaitham.

Fifteen. A sage. Alone.

He folded the chairs. Swept the fallen flower petals. Collected the incense sticks and snuffed out the ashes.

Her slippers were still by the door. Her reading glasses on the kitchen counter. The kettle hadn’t been used in weeks.

He didn’t cry.

He placed her photo gently back in the drawer, where it had always been before someone insisted it belonged on display.

He wiped down the table. Took out the trash. Folded the cloth napkins.

By the time the sun set, the apartment looked normal again.

Too normal. Unnaturally still.

No gentle humming. No arguments about dinner. No sudden demands that he eat something, rest his eyes, stop muttering about equations under his breath.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Alhaitham was truly—truly—alone.

And the quiet was unbearable.

"Haitham. Have you ever killed someone?"

No answer. But no denial. It was enough.

Alhaitham anticipated the flinch, the recoil. A widening of those expressive eyes. A horrified withdrawal. A chasm carved by the unspoken.

But Kaveh simply continued to breathe against him, the rhythm steady and warm against his back. His hands against Alhaitham's arm remained constant in their gentle pressure.

Still there.

The silence, unlike what he was used to, was not suffocating.

The first mission he led was simple.

Retrieve a suspect—an informant of the New Sumeru Rebellion—who matched the description: young, dark-haired, tanned-complexion, sharp-tongued, and statistically improbable level of physical strength. Codenamed Hermanubis. Allegedly instrumental in fomenting dissent against the current sage council.

Alhaitham moved in silence. His team acted without question. No one spoke. The target had been lured out. The alley was sealed.

The sedative took 3.4 seconds to act. Faster than recorded.

The target had screamed something poetic—something about barbarism in academia, about misplaced loyalty—and tried to fight back using a bow.

Sound was not a measure of strength. Alhaitham filed that away.

The target was cuffed. Gagged. Sedated.

Disposed.

Done. Alhaitham didn’t look twice.

He was met with appraising smiles upon his return.

The world was still too quiet.

Years bled into each other, marked by the sterile efficiency of mission after mission. Alhaitham became a precious pillar of the organization, honed sharp by the other sages. 

Lives were disrupted. Families were fractured. Intelligence turned into leverage. He saw the consequences in the sterile reports. Whether he wanted to be the instrument of such outcomes was irrelevant. It was the logical necessity.

Then, a shift.

A quiet voice—new, softer than the sages, but heavier with meaning. It echoed through the halls. It echoed somewhere deeper.

It felt like purpose.

Yet, even with this nascent sense of direction, the fundamental constant of Alhaitham's existence remained. The world outside his assignments and Akademiya halls stayed the same.

Silent. Unchanging.

“Hi. So, do I at least get an explanation for this? Or are you the kind of criminals that just grab random people off the street and hope it works out?”

When Alhaitham approached the designated cell, intending a swift, logical explanation of their error—he was met with a torrent. A relentless torrent.

“Let me guess. Human trafficking? Or no—an illegal organ trade? Am I about to wake up in a bathtub full of ice? Because I have to tell you, my kidneys are not in peak condition after years of coffee and alcohol, you’re not getting a good price for them. Maybe if you had gotten the right person, it’d pay off better.”

The voice was… bright. Almost offensively so.

“…Oh my god, are you one of those broody, emotionless criminals who think they’re smarter than everyone else?”

His internal systems flagged the accuracy of the assessment with a detached acknowledgement. And then—queries. Why was this man talking so much?

Alhaitham had met silence in these cells before. Rage. Begging. Never this. Hm. Perhaps an anomaly in the typical panicked responses of the wrongly detained. It registered as inefficiently self-aware.

“I bet you’re the type to read philosophy books in the original language and act all superior about it.”

A flicker. A micro-expression he typically suppressed threatened to surface. The accusation was specific. And not entirely inaccurate.

Alhaitham expelled a slow, deliberate breath.

The level of auditory input was… draining.

He turned, the logical course of action.

“Hey—don’t just walk away! Come back here, you coward—”

And then he was cursing Alhaitham’s entire lineage.

Alhaitham almost missed his quiet.

Alhaitham had never played chess before. He knew of the rules. He had seen the game being played. He simply hadn’t found the need. Until now.

He hadn't identified a logical basis for it, but he found himself intrigued by the animated architect.

Also—

“Your publication. The one on regional architectural identity versus modernization. It is a fascinating premise.”

“Oh? Well, of course, I—”

“But your argumentation is flawed.”

The architect’s smile faltered. “Excuse me?”

“Your case study on Old Liyue’s harbor redevelopment lacks sufficient data points from pre-existing socioeconomic structures. The middle section reads more like an emotional plea than a logical framework.”

“An emotional plea?”

Alhaitham hummed, as if considering. “A well-written one, at least.”

The architect exploded into a rant, voice a vibrant counterpoint to the sterile silence. Alhaitham listened through the rebuttal. Loud, passionate, unrelenting. The architect’s hands moved with every point, expression shifting constantly. It was—unstructured. Illogical.

And yet.

Despite the argument, despite their situation, not once did the architect back down.

“—And by the way, I’d love to see you write a better paper, since you apparently have so much to say about mine!”

There was a brief silence. Alhaitham stared at the board. Perhaps almost amused.
He almost wanted to mention that he had written better papers.
Instead of replying to the architect's emotional tirade, he moved his knight. It took his opponent’s bishop.

The architect gaped at the board, then at him, then back at the board. “You are infuriating.”

Alhaitham nodded. “You’ve said so.”

And months later, after the architect's—Kaveh's—thousandth sarcastic quip and unorthodox move in a park far from where Alhaitham had any reason to be, he realized something inconvenient:

He was enjoying himself.

He kept returning.

Kept acting on impulses he couldn't logically justify.

Not for the game.

But because the silence, when Kaveh wasn’t around, had started feeling a little too empty.

The Snezhnayan Fatui—especially their commanding Harbingers—consistently presented logistical and psychological complications for the Old Sumeru sages.

While Alhaitham’s direct experience with the one codenamed ‘Regrator’ was nonexistent, the data provided by his informant suggested a lower probability of irrational behavior compared to other known Harbingers.

Bullshit.

Despite that, in the end, Alhaitham wasn’t sure whether to thank the man or send him back to Snezhnaya in a body bag and deal with the diplomatic fallout later.

When Alhaitham closed his eyes, sometimes he still saw it: warm sunlight spilling through dusty curtains, a lazy afternoon breeze tugging at old books, and a hand—wrinkled, steady—brushing crumbs off a wooden table as she hummed an old song about stars.

His grandmother once said that the world wasn’t made to be understood—it was made to be lived. That some people were made to chase answers, and some were answers walking around in human skin.

He hadn’t known what she meant. Not back then. Maybe not even now.

But sometimes… sometimes he thought about that phrase.
Like now.

When Kaveh was talking too fast and folding laundry, scoffing at Alhaitham like he was some hopeless case.

“I swear, how do you not know how to separate your darks from your whites? Are you trying to destroy fabric on purpose? Is this a hate crime against cotton?”

Alhaitham blinked slowly from where he was leaning over a pile of fabric. “I know how to do laundry.”

Kaveh turned, arms full of towels. “You literally just said you put everything on the same cycle.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know how,” Alhaitham said. “I just choose not to.”

Kaveh let out a strangled sound, dropping the towels onto the bed. “You choose not to? You choose chaos?”

Alhaitham shrugged, very aware of the twitch in Kaveh’s eye. “It’s more efficient.”

“Effici—” Kaveh inhaled sharply, as if physically restraining himself. “Oh my god. You're insufferable.”

“You say that, but you’re the one who asked me to help redecorate your flat.”

“Because you were already here, you barnacle! And you won’t leave!”

“I have a layover.”

“Like I believe that!”

Alhaitham said nothing. Just raised a brow and folded a random shirt. In a way he knew Kaveh hated.

Kaveh pointed at him with a throw pillow. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re the one emotionally attached to your rugs.”

“They’re vintage!”

It was so absurd. It was so normal.

They ended up on the floor later that day, surrounded by half-assembled bookshelves and a warzone of mismatched decor that Kaveh insisted “just needed vision.” They argued over color palettes until it turned into philosophical debates. Kaveh threw a rolled-up sock at him for saying aesthetics were subjective and therefore meaningless, and Alhaitham threw it back with a comment that Kaveh took as both a compliment and an insult.

Eventually, the clothes were kept away. The rugs were changed out. The bookshelf went up. And so did the curtains.

And eventually, so did the sun.

Later—quiet hours, empty sky—they were in bed.

The lights were off. The window was open. Kaveh was lying half on top of him, mumbling about clients and corner sofas, skin warm where it brushed against Alhaitham’s. The sheets smelled like lavender and something richer, something familiar. Kaveh’s shampoo, maybe.

Alhaitham wasn’t listening to his words so much as the shape of them. The cadence. The way his voice softened when he was tired.

And then—

“Hey,” Kaveh said, almost a whisper. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you… ever celebrated your birthday?”

Alhaitham was silent for a second.

“…When my grandmother was alive.”

“Oh,” Kaveh said, softer. “She must’ve made it nice.”

“She did.” Alhaitham nodded, barely. “She baked… terribly. But she tried. She’d put books in boxes and pretend they were surprises. Even when I’d asked for them.”

Kaveh chuckled, face half-buried in Alhaitham’s shoulder. “Sounds like someone who knew you well.”

“She did,” Alhaitham said, so quietly it almost didn’t exist.

Silence again. A good silence.

Then: “Well,” Kaveh murmured, still tucked away in his shoulder, still closing his eyes like he was trying to hide. “We can celebrate again next year.”

Alhaitham blinked.

His heart made a sound. Or maybe it wasn’t a sound so much as a reverberation. A weight. Something full and aching and unfamiliar.

Next year.

There were no guards here. No spies. No contingency plans. Just a breath between now and then, and Kaveh lying against him like he belonged there.

Alhaitham dipped his head and kissed his bare shoulder.

Kaveh stilled. Looked back up at him. Frowned.

Then groaned. “Oh, no. Don’t. I won’t want to leave.”

“Then don’t.”

“I have to. Client meeting.”

“Why is your client meeting you at 7 am?”

“It’s an old man. I don’t know.”

“No.”

“Haitham—”

He kissed him again, higher this time, right under his ear.

“Stop it—”

“Make me.”

Kaveh shoved him, laughing. “You’re the worst.”

Alhaitham rolled on top of him. “You’re still here.”

“Shut up—”

They kissed, again and again, tangled in warm sheets and something dangerously close to domesticity.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, Alhaitham told himself this was fine.

This would not ruin anything.

He would still complete his mission.

What he originally came to Persia to do.

And if his own heartbeat and Kaveh’s warmth against him were enough to drown out the lie—

That was his problem to deal with.

The morning was quiet.

Kaveh had already left. The familiar weight of the metal catching the light near his ear. Alhaitham’s earring. No longer a modified comm piece from Cairo—just an earring now. A purely aesthetic choice.

The bed was still warm. A half-full mug of tea on the windowsill. Socks on the floor. A jacket tossed over the armchair.

Alhaitham stood alone in the center of the room, looking at the space he’d been in hundreds of times, like it might tell him something he didn’t already know.

Sunlight painted gold lines over the walls, slipping through the new curtains they’d argued about for too long. The ones Kaveh insisted softened the light just right.

“It changes how you feel in a room,” he had said, palms out like he was trying to explain magic to a cynic. “Design isn’t just function. It’s feeling.”

He had looked so proud of himself.

Now, the screen in front of Alhaitham glowed cold and sharp. Secure frequency. Confirmed ID. The Old Sumeru Akademiya's seal of authorization.

Operation KAL-096: Confirm demolition schedule.

Zone 6 – 1000 UTC

Method: Seismic Displacement Protocol 3A.

Target status: Civilian.
Infrastructure: High-density.

Commanding Agent Authorization Required:

And there it was.

The line that would make it real.

[PROCEED: Y/N]

He hovered.

Persia. Zone 6.

The Tower of Putra.

He remembered it, distantly, from Kaveh’s portfolios.
From the way he’d talked about it once in the middle of a chess game, hands flying, alive with the rare kind of pride that lived in his bones.

He remembered more of it, from when they visited, right after returning from Cairo.
From when Alhaitham had asked for a tour, and Kaveh had laughed, asking if Ezio’s request on the first day had anything to do with it.

“It wasn’t just mine,” he had said as they walked through the tower located three hours away from the city. “It was a collaboration. But the atrium? The way light filters down all seven floors? That was mine. It was supposed to make people feel like the sky was reachable.”

Reachable.

Alhaitham stared at the screen.

It was necessary. He knew it was.
It was what he set out here to do.
Zone 6 was his mission.

He knew the reasons.

But for the first time in a long time, they didn’t feel like enough.

He didn’t type anything. Just stood there. Thinking about the way Kaveh’s breath had stuttered two nights ago when he kissed his shoulder. The way Kaveh had said, so faux-offhandedly: “We can celebrate again next year.”

Next year.

Alhaitham breathed in. The air was dry.

He didn’t let himself hesitate more than one second longer.

He scanned his fingerprint. Typed: Y.

The screen blinked.

Operation Confirmed.

And that was it.

Silence. Again.

Not from guilt. Not grief. Not yet.

It was just a quiet kind of dread. The kind he hadn’t felt in a long time. The kind that sat behind your ribs and waited to be named.

Because the cost wasn’t here yet. But it was coming.

Two weeks ago:

The metal doors hadn’t even fully hissed shut behind Alhaitham before a voice rang out from the shadows.

“You sold me out.”

Alhaitham didn’t break his stride. Didn’t blink. Just walked.

“You—sold me out,” the voice repeated, louder this time. Laced with theatrical betrayal. A blur of indigo caught up to him in six brisk steps. The figure’s face, a carefully sculpted mask of tanned skin and sharp features meant to resemble an absent Vahumana sage, was contorted in a scowl. “I hope it was worth it.”

Alhaitham didn’t even flinch. He didn’t look up from the screen, still half-scrolling through data logs. “I made a calculated exchange.”

Kaushik—no, Wanderer inhabiting Kaushik’s form, not that he ever stayed one name for long—made a noise halfway between a scoff and a bark. “What exchange? You practically fed the Fatui my location on a silver platter! The probability for Cairo was low enough!”

“The probability for Cairo and Zapolyarny Palace.”

A tense silence hung in the air.

Wanderer’s expression, still Kaushik’s, but animated with the ex-Harbinger’s characteristic fury, twisted. “Wow. Okay. Typical golden boy.”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. “You were planning to disappear anyway, no?”

“So you thought you’d speed up the process?” Wanderer threw his arms up, voice echoing down the corridor. “Very kind. Very strategic. Couldn’t your lauded intellect have taken down Pantalone yourself?”

“—How many codenames does a Harbinger require?”

"Don’t deflect with semantics!"

Wanderer paced a few steps ahead, spun, then stalked back, coat flaring. He was chewing on the edge of something—not his tongue, not yet regret, but close. He was visibly restraining himself, a muscle twitching near his temple.

“…Cairo was a no-go, right? Which means I can’t exactly leave, can I? We still don’t have the cipher.”

Alhaitham didn’t offer a denial. He simply studied a shaft of pale lamplight filtering through a high window, the motes of dust dancing silently within it.

“Actually,” he said slowly, his voice measured, a subtle undercurrent of something unreadable beneath the usual detachment, “about that…”

Wanderer stilled.

Alhaitham studied him—really studied the carefully constructed illusion of the Vahumama sage, Kaushik—for the first time since his return.

“I may have found something.”

“Hm. And you’re sure? This is it?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t warn them of the coming impact?”

“No. They’re out of time.”

Now:

At 13:30 local time in Persia, the earth exhaled a silent, shuddering sigh.
The haggling cries—
The laughter of children—
The rhythmic clang of a metalsmith's hammer–
Dissolved into a thick, expectant silence.

At 13:31 local time in Persia, Zone 6 experienced a seismic event.
The ground opened beneath the Tower of Putra.
Casualty reports were pending.
The sky, from what little was left of the tower's atrium, remained unreachable.

Chapter Text

It started with a missed video call. A stubbornly dark screen where Kaveh's bright face should have been.

Then another. And another. Kaveh’s replies came late, voice calls were nervous, clipped. “I’m so sorry—I’ve just been so busy,” he had said. “Cairo’s beautiful.”

But no pictures. No videos. It was so unlike Kaveh, who would send them details of his hotel room, of the restaurants and foods he passed, even a random picture of the sky—just because he could.

And later, when Kaveh sent just one picture of the pyramids, from an aerial view, from the sky—

Tighnari’s disbelief solidified. Kaveh, his constantly penniless best friend, couldn’t have afforded a helicopter tour of the pyramids of Giza. And no random client would just pay for that.

So he used the emergency key Kaveh had given him ages ago, a gesture of trust that now felt like a painful irony.

Kaveh’s apartment was clean—normal on the surface. But not really.

The familiar scent of half-burnt sandalwood was absent, replaced by a sterile, almost hotel-like cleanliness. His sketchpad lay unopened on the drafting table instead of the floor, where inspiration usually struck. His bed was made, the covers pulled taut, devoid of the usual rumpled evidence or clothes from last-minute packing.

And there, on the desk—like an accusation—were manuscripts. Journals. Blueprints.

Annotated.

Tighnari didn’t mean to read them.

But the two handwritings, the two colors of ink, practically screamed their silent conversation.

It began short. Snide.

And then—longer. Warmer.

• You can’t even spell postcolonial.
• You have that much time to zone in on a TYPO?
  
  
• This lock’s security rating is a 2.5 out of 10. It squeaks.
• Maybe I wanted it to squeak to alert me of any criminals breaking into my house. YOU EVER THOUGHT OF THAT?
  
  
• 4pm, Northside Meeples Café.
• I’m gonna be an hour late and you’re gonna wait for me!

The conversation unfurled in red and blue: arguments disguised as literary critique. Snark disguised as interest. There were… plans. Meetings. Dissections of metaphor that slipped too easily into affection. And—

Tighnari’s ears twitched.

Kaveh had promised. To tell them.
And he had called Cyno. Once. Months ago.
He had reported the sage lurking in the Rayy Persia Academiya.

But now… the sage was breaking into Kaveh’s home when he wasn’t around? Just to pass messages? Was Tighnari in danger for being here?

And why did some of these annotations sound like flirting?
Kaveh said months ago that they just played chess.
This seemed more than just chess.

Tighnari stood in the middle of the apartment for a long time, heart hammering. A knot tightened in his chest, a sharp stab of betrayal.

He didn’t call Kaveh. Didn’t tell Cyno. Couldn’t. Not yet.

A stubborn part of him, the loyal best friend, still clung to the hope of a simple explanation. He needed to see it with his own eyes.

And a week later, Kaveh returned from his unexplainable Cairo trip.

Bright-eyed. Arms full of gifts. A soft, thick scarf for Cyno, 100% pure Egyptian cotton. Well-preserved hibiscus pastries for Collei, too many to count. And for Tighnari—a handcrafted box filled with incense. The concentrated, expensive kind, wrapped in handmade paper.

He laughed like nothing was wrong.

Tighnari searched for signs—fear, coercion, guilt. Nothing. Just Kaveh, his best friend, in all his infuriating, gullible, generous sincerity. With gifts he surely couldn’t have afforded. Again.

Which only meant one thing in Tighnari’s increasingly cynical mind.

The Sage manipulated him. Used Kaveh’s inherent kindness.

So Tighnari watched. Quietly. Not obvious. And when Kaveh blew them off for drinks with ‘an old classmate’ one night, a cold dread settled in Tighnari’s stomach. He followed.

A twenty-minute walk. A tucked-away board game café. Kaveh’s unrestrained laughter echoed above the murmur of other patrons.

And then—him.
The sage.

In a ridiculously casual get up. Stone-faced. But not cold. Not cruel. Just slumped slightly over the board, looking almost bored. And when Kaveh, with a dramatic groan, lost the game, the grey-haired man’s lips twitched. A smile, just a little. An eyebrow raised, half amused.

Tighnari’s stomach did something weird. A confusing blend. Nausea. Worry. Resentment.

The sage must be lying. And perhaps Tighnari was being fooled too by the seemingly helpless posture, just like Kaveh.

He should’ve told Cyno immediately.

He wanted to believe he was waiting for the right moment to ask Kaveh. To gently unravel the truth.

But when the earthquake hit Zone 6 three weeks later—
When Kaveh showed up at his door at 2 a.m., eyes red, hands shaking, voice wrecked—

Tighnari knew. He should’ve said something sooner.

Three weeks ago:

Cairo’s heavy air was traded for Persia’s dryer, chillier weight, clinging to windows of the car, tinted gold by the late evening sun. Kaveh’s fingers hovered near the handle, ready to get out of the car, when Alhaitham had said, abruptly:

“The Tower of Putra.”

Kaveh paused mid-motion, brow arching. “Yeah?”

“Are there tours of the site?”

“…yes.”

Silence.

“Have you been on a tour there?”

Kaveh blinked. “I built the place, Alhaitham.”

The sage didn’t look at him. His gaze stayed fixed on the seat in front of him, the curve of his jaw as impassive as always—but his ears were ever so slightly red. Like he was waiting for Kaveh to pick something up.

And it hit Kaveh all at once. The oddness of the phrasing. The way he’d heard it before.

“Would you give me a tour of the tower?”

Ezio had said it, almost two weeks ago. Teasing. Intent.

But Alhaitham—the usually unflappable Alhaitham—was traipsing around the topic, almost nervously.

Kaveh turned, grin blooming, uncontainable. “Hm? This doesn’t have anything to do with Ezio asking for that tour, does it?”

No answer. No denial.

Just a bland blink, with something like irritation flashing through those teal eyes.

Kaveh laughed, incredulous. “It’s three hours away, you know.”

Alhaitham shrugged, the most casual feigned indifference imaginable. “I’m free in two days.”

He was serious. Gods, he was serious. And for what? The Tower of Putra was several zones removed from the bustling city center. Alhaitham could’ve just looked it up. Seen pictures online. But he wanted to see Kaveh’s work with Kaveh.

Something warm flickered in his chest. Something giddy and stupid and painfully, hopelessly fond.

Two days later, they stood beneath the shadow of the tower, stone warm under the sun. Its spires coiled upward like vines, adorned with embedded glasswork and arched calligraphy—motifs subtle and fluid, drawn from Kaveh’s childhood memories.

The tower was tucked away in what Kaveh remembered as a cluster of dilapidated buildings, a forgotten corner of the city. But the Tower—its construction, a government initiative spearheaded by a collaboration he’d proudly been a part of—had breathed life into the area.

What were once neglected streets were now lined with small businesses catering to streams of tourists. The residents, many of whom had lived in poverty once, had found new livelihoods, their once-desperate neighborhood now a vibrant, if somewhat out-of-the-way, attraction.

Children ran past them, into a small hut linked to the tower. A makeshift school.

Alhaitham followed him through the lower levels in silence, scanning every angle. Every curve. The air was cleaner here than in the city center, smelling faintly of marble dust and dried roses.

“My father,” Kaveh said, resting a hand on the stone railing, “was the inspiration for most of the motifs here. The carvings, the light wells.”

A quiet moment passed. Not silence, exactly. The sound of wind against stone. Of life bustling faintly beyond them.

Alhaitham glanced toward him. “He was an architect?”

And Kaveh found it endearing—how Alhaitham asked as if he didn’t already know. As if he hadn’t read everything about Kaveh from his little tablet when Kaveh was kidnapped.

Like he wanted to ask again anyway. Like he wanted to hear it from him.

“No. A scholar. Historian, kind of. He graduated from your Akademiya, actually. He wrote these long treatises while he worked there, and he’d—” Kaveh broke off with a small laugh. “He used to leave little drawings and notes in my storybooks. I still have some of them. That’s where the window design came from.”

Alhaitham looked up at the frames lining the windows, spiraling past the floors above them—a cascading pattern of glass leaves, green and gold. “It’s nice.”

Kaveh snorted. “Nice? That’s the word you’re going with? After everything I’ve just shown you.”

Alhaitham turned slightly. “What would you prefer instead? Dazzling? Breathtaking?”

“I’d prefer something that doesn’t sound like you’re describing a mildly acceptable tea blend.”

“Alright. It’s masterfully designed. A shame about the architect’s attitude.”

Kaveh elbowed him, a flush rising to his cheeks. “You’re lucky there are people around or I’d push you down these stairs.”

“Then I’ll make sure to leave a glowing review before I go. ‘Beautiful tower. Poor hospitality.’”

“Ridiculous,” Kaveh said, but he was smiling.

They bickered their way to the topmost tier, the sun stretching low across the skyline. From where they stood, the sky looked almost painted—pastels and evening clouds blending through the sky glass, almost too soft to be true.

The ceiling stretched high over them: a dome of glass, sloped and spiraled with purpose. Its panels curved like petals, each one etched with delicate engravings—different floras, vines, abstract flourishes that softened the glare of light.

Some of the motifs were familiar—echoes of the ones downstairs. Others were strangers. Little symbols Kaveh had never quite figured out, but still carved into his designs anyway. Like memory passed through blood.

Alhaitham leaned back against the railing beside him, gaze turned upward to the swirl of color and light overhead.

“And these patterns, also from your father?”

“Yup. He bought me building blocks when I was just two. And when I would finish gluing what I thought was a building, he’d draw on them.”

A beat.

Then Alhaitham, quiet: “You miss him.”

It wasn’t a question.

Kaveh nodded, shrugged. “I mean, I guess. I don’t remember much of him to. But the things he left behind were real. And that’s enough.”

Alhaitham kept his eyes on the sky. Kaveh did too.

Several beats later, Alhaitham’s fingers brushed his sleeve.

And Kaveh looked at him, a small grin forming on his lips.

“You know,” he said, voice light but daring, “if you wanted me to take you somewhere, you could’ve just said so.”

Alhaitham glanced away. “Your assumptions are illogical.”

Kaveh stepped in. Close. Almost toe-to-toe. “Oh? Because your ears are red again.”

“They’re not.”

“They are.”

Alhaitham’s eyes narrowed—but he didn’t step back.

Kaveh’s grin softened, his hand brushing Alhaitham’s. “You’re still very bad at asking for things directly.”

“And you’re bad at noticing when I already have.”

Kaveh blinked. Something flickered in Alhaitham’s eyes—steady, unreadable, but undeniably focused on him.

“Perhaps,” he continued, voice low, gaze lingering on Kaveh’s hand near his. “Some conclusions are best reached through observation of patterns.” 

Kaveh raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his eyes. “Oh? And what patterns have you dropped?” He leaned in just a fraction. “Care to enlighten me?”

The tower closed at 6pm. Alhaitham said the journey back to Rayy would take too long. Kaveh didn’t argue—not when they stopped in front of a hotel.

Kaveh’s back hit the door first. Alhaitham’s coat was the second thing to fall. Familiar hands tugged at familiar seams, practiced now—less hesitation, more memory. Kisses that knew where to land. Fingers curling under fabric.

“You would’ve fallen asleep in the car,” Alhaitham muttered, breath ghosting against Kaveh’s jaw as he dragged a hand down his spine, slow and deliberate.

“You could’ve—” Kaveh cut off with a gasp, head tipping back. His laugh was low, breathless. “—carried me back to my room.”

Alhaitham hummed. “I could’ve.”

He didn’t say anything more. Or maybe Kaveh just didn’t hear, too caught up in unbuttoning Alhaitham’s stupidly complicated dress shirt.

The night stretched out in quiet, heated moments. Clothes in a trail. A bed that groaned beneath weight and motion. Soft sounds shared in the dark. Every touch, every glance, steeped in something familiar—like returning to a book already read, already memorized.

By the time they stilled, the moon had shifted.

And Kaveh, half-asleep and tucked against him, murmured, “I have a client meeting at 3pm tomorrow.”

Alhaitham only nodded. “We can take a helicopter if there’s traffic.”

Kaveh held back a roll of his eyes, not at all smiling. Unbelievable.

The week passed in a blur of clients. The most memorable was a sickly old man who wanted a retirement home. Kaveh had met him twice, each conversation leaving him slightly closer to jumping off a cliff.

Kaveh wished he was slightly more senile, but the man didn’t request outlandish structures, and that was enough of a win in his books.

Then, one morning, sun already sharp against buildings and faraway hills, Kaveh found himself standing in Tighnari’s kitchen.

A knot in his stomach. Fingers curled around a chipped mug of tea he hadn’t touched. He felt like an intruder in their hushed, tense space.

Conversation buzzed around him—half-focused, clipped with tension.

“Zone 6?” Cyno repeated, eyebrows raised, gaze sharp as he looked at Naphis. “You’re sure that’s what they said?”

Naphis nodded, flipping a small milk carton upside down. They all leaned in, skimming the words printed over where the expiry date should be.

Learning poll results update:
Face-2-Face 89%. Shift recommended.
Class trial on Fridays, Zone 6 – Putra.

Naphis’ thumb tapped against it like he could will the message to say more. “They chose the place. The day.”

Cyno leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, frown deepening. “Too risky alone. I’ll contact Aether. We’ll come.”

“No,” Naphis said, firm. “If this informant even thinks you’re there, they’ll vanish. You know how this works.”

Kaveh didn’t know how this worked. But everyone else in the room surely did. Kaveh just wanted to RUN, heart hammering against his ribs. His eyes stayed on the carton, the mundane object feeling suddenly sinister, a carrier of secrets he was both a part of and excluded from.

“Putra… that is your tower, correct?”

Naphis glanced at him. Eyes calculating. Knowing. And Kaveh wanted to melt into the floor. Why was his gaze so sharp? Why did he look at Kaveh like that?

He blinked too many times. Then nodded, not shaky.

Tighnari looked at him for a long while, before he finally shrugged. “It is the only landmark in that area.”

Silence fell for a moment, taut like wire. Cyno shifted uncomfortably. Naphis looked away.

And Kaveh—Kaveh stared at the tea in his mug, watched the faint ripple on its surface when someone moved past him. It was fine. It was fine.

Just a coincidence. Nothing to do with the fact he and Alhaitham went there two weeks ago.

He couldn’t tell them about the glyphs in Cairo. About the cipher Alhaitham was looking for. The same way he couldn’t tell Alhaitham about the informant. About Naphis hiding away here.

He couldn’t tell anyone anything. Trapped in a cage of his own making.

So he said nothing.

Tried not to flinch when Tighnari’s gaze snagged on him again. Something unreadable in those green, steady eyes. A sliver of suspicion—or actually, maybe just worry. Kaveh couldn’t tell anymore.

He forced a smile when Naphis caught his eye again.

“I’ll be fine,” Naphis said, more gently now, addressing the group. “I’ll check in every hour. If something feels off, I’ll pull out.”

Cyno exhaled. “Could we give you an earpiece perhaps?”

“They would have methods to figure that out, I’m sure.”

Tighnari nodded. “Fine. What about if we come, but we don’t stay in Zone 6? We could wait by Qom. An hour away. Enough to be close if anything happened, enough to not alert the informant.”

Kaveh nodded, the motion a little too quick. “Qom is quite industrial. People come and go all day.”

Naphis relented, nodding slow, still unsure, but he was too old to win against his much younger, more persistent juniors. “Very well.”

They all moved on after that—back to their gear, their plans, their maps. Cyno sent a message to Aether. Tighnari explained the logistics of where they would be stationed. Kaveh left to use the bathroom. He lingered a beat too long in the hallway. Pressed a palm to the wall and exhaled slow.

Maybe he shouldn’t go. Maybe he should stay in Rayy, just mull over blueprints and stuffy clients. Maybe he’d even ask Alhaitham what he would be doing that day—this Friday.

When Kaveh made his way back to the kitchen, Tighnari’s eyes darted to him. Quick. Sharp. Almost accusing. And Kaveh’s brain jumped.

It wasn’t paranoia. But it also must be.

And then Friday came. Alhaitham hadn’t replied to Kaveh’s footnotes. Out of the country. On another assignment, perhaps.

And so Kaveh found himself in a small neighborhood in the south of Zone 5.

The sky remained deceptively calm.

But the rumble was long, low, and alive. It devoured the air. It swallowed sounds of markets, homes, traffic, trees. Earth cracked. Steel groaned.

Silence. Then: screaming.

Cyno heard it first—news crackling through shortwave, the ground shaking ever so slightly, panicked voices screaming over each other.

“Zone 6—repeat, Zone 6—disaster response teams requested—fatalities confirmed—”

Tighnari shot up, face blanching. “Naphis.”

Albedo was already retreating out of the room.

And Kaveh—

The mug he was holding too tight slipped. Shattered.

One and a half hour.

It took one and a half hour to reach the edge of the zone, a chaotic stream of response vehicles converging on the devastation.

Smoke rose above the hills. Tremors still shuddered under his feet—aftershocks like the earth hadn’t yet decided if it was done breaking.

The place where the Tower of Putra should have been standing—

Gone.

And with it, the surrounding land had collapsed, pulverized. Homes reduced to splintered fragments, roads twisted into grotesque ribbons. Sirens in the distance, but not nearly enough. Not for the vastness of the destruction.

Kaveh couldn’t speak as he climbed from the vehicle, a leaden weight settling in his chest, constricting his throat. His boots hit dust. Then concrete. Rubbish. Wood. Blood. Everything.

A wave of nausea rolled through him, the metallic tang of dust and something else, something sickeningly organic, filling his nostrils.

He moved on instinct, digging through rubble with frantic hands. He helped where he could, each dislodged stone heavy with unspoken tragedy.

Cyno coordinated with the rescue teams. Tighnari shouted instructions, wrapped wounds, carried limp bodies.

Kaveh’s hands shook as he pulled a child free. Limp. Coated in grey dust, eyes closed. Kaveh couldn't tell if there was still a breath there. His own hands trembled violently. Dirt smeared down his shirt. His hair stuck to his face. He closed his eyes.

Somewhere behind him, a wall gave way with a deep, groaning sigh.

Kaveh knew Persia. Knew the fault lines that crisscrossed beneath its spine. But Zone 6?

Zone 6 was stable. Had always been.

Any other fault zone should’ve triggered first.

Why here?

Why now?

They found Aether and Albedo at dusk, seated on a crumbled ledge, arms bearing angry scrapes, eyes flickering between a hard, accusatory glint and a hollow, distant despair.

When they saw the returning group, Aether pushed himself to his feet, his movements jerky. Unsteady.

“He didn’t make it,” he said quietly.

He didn’t have to explain who. Tighnari gasped—something soft, something heartbreaking. Raw with the loss of his old mentor, echoing in the dust.

“I tried,” Aether continued, jaw tight, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “He was already buried by the time we got to him.” He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, a gesture of utter futility. “And the informant…”

Kaveh swallowed hard. Bile rising in his throat. The ghostly weight of the bodies he’d carried still clinging to him. He hadn’t even remembered. Hadn’t processed the implications beyond the immediate horror.

He waited. The silence thick with unspoken dread.

Cyno’s voice came out rough. “They didn’t show?”

Aether’s mouth tightened. “I don’t think they were ever going to.”

Kaveh blinked. “What?”

Aether hesitated, then said slowly, “It’s too clean. Too timed. The epicenter wasn’t just Zone 6—it was precisely at the Tower of Putra. This felt… deliberate. Controlled.”

Kaveh felt the breath leave him. A cold, dragging weight in his gut.

“Think about it. We were just an hour away in Qom, and there were barely tremors there.”

The pieces were beginning to shift, forming a terrifying picture Kaveh didn't want to see.

“You suspect something too, don’t you?” Aether pressed, gaze unwavering on Cyno. “No other zone had any problem with the fault lines. No warnings. It was just… this.”

They drove back in silence, the weight of the loss compounded by a growing unease.

Kaveh stared out the window, blood still beneath his fingernails. Smoke in his clothes. The scent of ash and broken stone clinging to him.

His mind was still a chaotic jumble of dust-covered faces and the crushing weight of debris. The chilling implication of Aether’s words hadn’t fully sunk in yet. The sheer scale of the immediate tragedy still overwhelmed his thoughts.

He didn’t speak. Not when Cyno glanced over. Not when Tighnari shifted beside him, grief a palpable presence in the confined space.

Because beneath the ache of grief was another feeling.
New. Insidious.

One he didn’t want to name. Didn’t want to acknowledge.

One that tasted sickeningly like guilt—

And a dawning, terrifying understanding.

Kaveh stumbled back into the familiar chaos of his apartment, the scent of dust and something acrid clinging to his clothes. His palms stung. His mouth was bitter. His mind still reeled with the images of broken stone and the hollow eyes of survivors.

He didn’t even shut the door fully before he froze.

Alhaitham was inside.

Standing by the window, staring out at the city as if he could see past it.

He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge Kaveh's return. And in that stillness, that deliberate lack of reaction, Kaveh’s heart plummeted—

A sickening certainty he didn't want to voice.

“…There was an earthquake,” he said, voice hoarse. “In Zone 6.”

Alhaitham finally turned, teal eyes meeting Kaveh’s red-rimmed ones. “Are you alright?”

His tone was measured, devoid of obvious emotion, yet something in its evenness felt… calculated. Like he already knew the answer.

“I’m fine,” Kaveh choked out, the lie bitter on his tongue. “The people there aren’t.”

Silence.

Kaveh stepped closer, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The dust on his shirt flaked off in little clouds. “It’s…strange. Zone 6 is a stable zone. Supposed to be.”

A silent accusation hung in the air. Alhaitham said nothing.

“No other zone had any activity.” Kaveh paused, a tremor of disbelief creeping into his voice. “All the fault lines had no reports.”

Alhaitham’s only response was to reach for a clean towel from the back of a chair. He held it out to Kaveh, gaze steady, unwavering.

Kaveh stared at the towel. Didn’t take it.

Aether’s words still rang in his head.

“…Did you—”

His voice cracked. He didn’t want it to be true. Didn’t even want to ask. But Alhaitham was there. Looking almost… ready.

“Did you know about it?”

Alhaitham’s silence was a suffocating, crushing weight.

Which meant everything.

“You knew?” Kaveh asked, almost inaudible.

Alhaitham’s silence turned to stone. Kaveh’s grip tightened at his sides again.

“There were people in that tower.” He swatted the towel away; it fluttered to the floor like an insult. “There were residents for miles.”

Nothing. No flinch. No defense.

Kaveh’s carefully constructed composure shattered, his voice rising in pitch. “People. Families, children! Did you even—do you even care?” He gestured wildly, his mind flashing with images of the faces he’d seen amidst the rubble. “I had to pull out so many—” he paused. Choked.

Alhaitham’s expression remained unreadable, a mask of cold control.

Rage, hot and blinding, surged through Kaveh. “Of course not. Of course you don’t.”

He shoved Alhaitham’s chest, the unexpected contact jarring. Not hard. Not enough to bruise. But enough.

“Why would you do that?!” His voice was raw with pain and fury. “What was the point? Was it Naphis? Did you have to sacrifice all those people just to get him?”

At that, Alhaitham exhaled. Long. Tired.
Like it carried the weight of the world. He looked away.
It infuriated Kaveh.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?! Anyone could’ve been there. My friends could’ve been there. I could’ve been—”

“But you weren’t,” Alhaitham said finally, tone cold. Distant. A muscle twitched in his jaw, gaze flicking back to Kaveh. “They weren’t, too. You were all in Qom. Safe. Isn’t that what matters?”

The words hit Kaveh like a physical blow. The closest thing to a chilling confirmation.

Safe? The word echoed in Kaveh's mind, a bitter mockery. His hand went to his hair automatically, fingers finding the familiar smooth metal of the pin Alhaitham had given him amongst his others—the red one from Cairo. Just like the earring, Alhaitham had removed the communication device. Kaveh had seen him do it. Right? So how? How? 

Unless—

His fingers tightened around the pin. He yanked it from his hair and flung it to the floor, the small clink echoing in the tense silence.

He stepped back, an involuntary recoil. Alhaitham’s eyes narrowed slightly, a subtle shift in his impassivity.

“How could you?” Kaveh whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. “All those people…”

“I’m not a misunderstanding, Kaveh,” Alhaitham cut him off, his voice low and steady, each word unsettling. “I’m a criminal. A sage. Haven’t I told you this before?”

Disbelief warred with a crushing disappointment in Kaveh’s chest. He looked away, unable to meet Alhaitham’s gaze.

“You—no—”

Alhaitham stepped closer. “What did you expect from me? That I’d spare your tower?”

"I don’t care about the fucking tower!" Kaveh shoved Alhaitham again, harder this time, a desperate attempt to break through the chilling facade. "There were children there, Alhaitham! Livelihoods! They were all torn away. People died!"

"People die all the time!"

Alhaitham’s voice finally rose, sharp and cutting.

It stopped everything.

Kaveh could only stare, breath catching in his throat. A raw, wounded anger burning behind his tears. A hollow ache spreading through him. Eyes burning. Fists clenched. Knuckles white. Mind too loud, too loud, too loud—

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Alhaitham frowned. “Like I’m the one who changed. I’ve always been the same person.”

“Shut up!” Kaveh pushed him back with a furious strength born of heartbreak. “You—you didn’t—”

“You think I wanted this?” Alhaitham asked suddenly—low, sharp.

Kaveh’s voice cracked. "I don’t know what you want, Alhaitham! I never do!"

Alhaitham looked at him, a strange intensity in his gaze. Like he could say something that would fix it, some logical equation that would make the devastation make sense. But the truth was heavy and unmovable between them.

“You asked me before if I had killed.” A tick. A tightening of the jaw. “What’s the difference now?”

“Don’t you dare say that to me!” Kaveh snapped, his voice rising again, raw and broken. “You don't get to sit there and say that! After everything, you—”

He couldn’t say it. Words failed. Because the chasm that had opened between the Alhaitham he thought he knew, the soft, amused Alhaitham, and the one standing before him, cold and implacable, was—unexplainable.

So jarring. So painful.

Alhaitham seemed to understand either way. He stepped closer. Didn’t look Kaveh in the eye.

“You should’ve told your friends,” he said simply, tone so dry it scalded. “You make it too easy.”

Kaveh’s chest cracked open. A sob tore. Heartbreak and fury warred within him. He shoved Alhaitham again, a desperate act of disbelief. “How could you say that? I—I…”

He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

So he grabbed Alhaitham. The man who had just orchestrated so much death. Dragged him towards the door.

Anger overrode fear. Overrode logic.

“Get out.”

Alhaitham didn’t resist.

“Get out!” Kaveh yelled, voice thick with tears and rage, echoing in the small space. “Don’t come back, you—you fucking…” Murderer, he wanted to scream. The word hung unspoken, too heavy, too final.

He couldn’t.

So he shoved Alhaitham out the door, the force of his grief propelling the other man.

And instead—

“You’re a monster.” The words were a broken, angry whisper.

Kaveh slammed the door shut in his face, the sound echoing through the apartment like a gunshot. He leaned against it, body shaking with sobs and a bitter, all-consuming anger.

He collapsed right there. Shoulders shaking, fury slowly bleeding into a bone-deep, crushing helplessness.

Then, a stupid, misplaced twinge.
Something he wanted to deny.

Guilt.
Stupid.
But there.

An hour later, he stood. Opened the door again.

Alhaitham was gone.

Now:

When Kaveh showed up at his door at 2 a.m., eyes red, hands shaking, voice wrecked—

Tighnari knew. He should’ve said something sooner.

Cyno stood behind him in the hall, arms crossed, wearing that rare expression of uncertainty.

The sobs tore out of Kaveh, messy and sudden. He kept apologizing—over and over—for what, Tighnari didn’t even know. Or perhaps he did.

For being stupid. For trusting. For not telling. For believing in a smile that wasn’t meant to be kind.

Tighnari brought him to the guest room. Made Cyno wait outside. Made Kaveh sit. Got him water. Listened.

To every goddamn thing.

To the missed signs. The board games. The disguises. The ‘job’ in Cairo. The lies stacked on top of lies until they blurred.

The air grew still.

As Kaveh spoke, it pressed on Tighnari too. He’d seen the subtle shifts, the guarded smiles... and done nothing. He didn’t say much. Just nodded, a soft hum here and there, to keep Kaveh talking.

And when Kaveh finally passed out, exhaustion dragging him under like a tide, Tighnari stayed seated on the edge of the bed for a long time. Watching his friend sleep, chest rising in uneven breaths.

His ears twitched. Once. Twice.

Then he stood.

Walked out, past the quiet living room where Cyno was pacing, too restless to pretend calm.

“Well?” Cyno asked.

Tighnari didn’t answer right away. He would have to explain to Cyno soon enough.

That they were going to find the sage—Alhaitham—corner him, and ruin him. Verbally. Strategically. Morally. Whatever it took.

Because Naphis’s death still lived behind his ribs like a splintered thorn, and now the sage had dared to hurt Kaveh too.

And Tighnari, who knew of their secret meet-ups, just let it happen.

Cyno waited. Tighnari just looked toward the closed door.

“Well. When he wakes up—I’m going to knock some sense into him for being stupid.”

“…And then?”

Tighnari looked at him. No smile. No pretense of his usual dry patience.

“Then we’re going to take down a sage.”

Chapter Text

Kaveh sulked. Or moped. Or maybe he just... existed.

Tighnari had already scolded him. Cyno too. Both of them had been so angry—furious, really. Not at him, exactly, but at what he’d been wrapped up in. At what he might have helped them all walk into.

In the middle of more of his stammered apologies, Cyno had insisted that Alhaitham would’ve done what he did even without Kaveh. The thought, meant to soothe, felt flimsy and unconvincing.

Then they'd stopped mid-accusation, exchanged a look, and declared Kaveh must’ve been manipulated.

Manipulated.

Kaveh hated it. Hated the way it made everything feel fake.

As if he were just a pawn.
As if none of it had ever been his—his choices, his ideas, his trust.
As if it wasn’t stupidity or desperation, but some grand, cold strategy.

Like it had all been a game.
Not a board game. A real one.

The kind where people died. The kind where someone like him didn’t even know he was playing until the pieces were already scattered.

And then, the worst part—

After their brief, furious tirade, they just sighed, a weary acceptance settling over them, and sat next to Kaveh. He would have understood distance. More anger, even. Ties being cut off. But Tighnari just brushing his hair back after everything—a gentle, bewildering dismissal—felt like a slap in the face.

They had gone to bury Naphis together the next day. Cyno held the shovel. Tighnari and Collei said a prayer. Kaveh kept his head down and pressed one hand over his heart.

Zone 6 recovered with time. Slowly. Brick by brick. The water was cleaner now. Power came back in flickers. Neighboring zones brought in food and resources. Kaveh helped where he could—tarp shelters, replacement staircases, cracked ceilings. He took on work with his sleeves rolled up and his eyes hollow.

He didn’t think about Alhaitham. Not at all.

Not when he tore up the papers with their stupid footnote war. Not when he buried the earring, the pin, the ring, in a deep part of his drawer—somewhere he wouldn’t want to check again. Not when he changed out his rugs from the one Alhaitham chose to his old ones.

It had only been a month. Kaveh was fine.

There were clients to meet. Plans to revise. People to help.

He was fine.

The days blurred.

He woke up. Brushed his teeth. Checked on the reconstruction schedule in Zone 6. Hauled metal beams with aching arms. Fixed a slanted awning. Argued with a supplier. Talked to children who were still shaken, who wouldn’t look anyone in the eye.

It was easier, somehow, to live like that.
Mechanical. Simple. Helpful, even if it wasn’t ever enough.

He continued meeting with clients again. Continued to sketch blueprints over and over. His new sketchpads filled up. The journals he read stayed clean. The cuts on his hands began to scar over. The world went on.

Then Aether returned. And like always—with news.

“I have a person who can get us into Old Sumeru.”

A Fatui contact slipped him the information. Said something about the route being part of their operations. It was risky, but there was an opening.

“They have something to conclude there. Not any of our business, he said. But the route is there if we need it.”

Kaveh had told them about Ezio before. Knew the Fatui couldn’t be trusted. But honestly, Kaveh couldn’t too. Not with his susceptibility. So he just listened. Didn’t ask to follow along.

They didn’t ask him to either.

Kaveh didn’t blame them. Didn’t resent it. He just stood near the back of the room, arms crossed, nodding occasionally.

There was planning. Schedules. Maps rolled out across the table. Locations to check. Names marked in red.

Targets. Guards. Sages.
Rukkhadevata’s heir. Lambad. Ayesha. Kaushik. Khajeh. Alhaitham.

Kaveh zoned out for a moment. He didn’t want to go anyway, didn’t want to see his own mistakes staring back at him. Didn’t want to be part of something he knew Aether and the rest could take care of.

He was useful here. Needed here. Zone 6 still had pipes to reroute and walls to reinforce.

Still, when they prepared to leave, he pulled each of them into a hug.

“Come back in one piece,” he had said. “Alive, please.”

Tighnari gripped him harder than expected. There was a fire in his eyes—quiet, searing, unspoken. Alhaitham should watch out, it seemed to say.

Kaveh said nothing. Just hugged back tighter, smiled, like it didn’t hurt, and waved them off at the harbor.

Speaking of work. He still had the same client to meet.

The retired, senile gentleman from before the earthquake—fond of brass details and large atriums, always speaking in riddles. Kaveh sighed, already bracing for the cryptic conversation. The man insisted on in-person meetings, even for minor updates. Always so early in the mornings.

So he went.

The site was half-finished, near the outskirts. No one around yet, not at 7.39 am. Wind blew, sharp through the metal scaffolding. Kaveh stepped into the shade of the structure, clipboard in hand.

He didn’t see it coming.

The blow was fast, blunt, merciless. Something cracked.

And then everything went dark.

His mouth was dry.
His head throbbed.
His wrists were bound.

The air smelled like stone and antiseptic. The fluorescent light above him was blinding.

Kaveh blinked slowly, lids gummy, trying to piece together the last thing he remembered. The site. The scaffolding. The clipboard—

Pain lanced through the side of his skull. He groaned.

Déjà vu, much?

He took a few moments to sit up, fighting the headache and nausea.

And there, standing across from him with a perfectly measured smile, was his client.

“Hello,” the old man said pleasantly. “I’ve been looking forward to this meeting.”

Unlike the rumpled clothing from their previous meetings, the man was dressed in robes, a deep blue that almost blended into the stone walls. Kaveh squinted. His client’s face was calm. Hands folded. Gentle smile. The sort of serenity you only saw in portraits or funeral rites.

Kaveh opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Who the hell was his client?
Was this a mistake?
A case of misidentification?

His heart dropped. Again?

And God damn it, his head hurt.

“Okay, wait. Let me clear this up. I’m not the Traveler,” he croaked, voice hoarse. “Really. Blond hair—gold, not flaxen. Very different vibe.” Kaveh sighed, rubbing his head. “Maybe next time try reading the mission brief, you clowns.”

His client didn’t respond. Instead, he shifted slightly. The robe’s folds parted—just a little.

Enough for Kaveh to glimpse a seal stitched into it.

Gold, sharp, imperial. He’d seen it before, almost two years ago, etched into similar, but different colored robes.

Alhaitham’s robes.
From when Kaveh was first kidnapped.
The seal of Old Sumeru.

His stomach twisted.

The man smoothed his sleeve, stepped closer. “Let me introduce myself properly,” he said. “I am Azar. Grand Sage of Old Sumeru.”

Kaveh's heart lurched. Dropped somewhere near his knees.

No way.

He stared at the calm man, mind racing.

And—

Kaveh hadn’t even followed Aether this time! He stayed back in Persia! He was done with the conspiracies and shady people and kidnappings—

And this guy had been pretending to be his client for two months?

Kaveh laughed. Just once. An unhinged, miserable bark.

“Oh, come on. What the hell is this? A sequel?”

He swore. Somehow—somehow—this had to be Alhaitham’s fault.

The next time Azar returned, it was with a tablet. He scrolled through it mindlessly. Just like how Alhaitham used to when Kaveh was mistaken for Aether.

And honestly—almost stupidly—he wasn’t as worried or frantic as when he was the first time. Because Kaveh was ready this time. He’d been through this before. Kidnapped by a Sage? Check. Interrogated in a weirdly professional tone? Double check.

The only difference was that he wasn’t behind a cell this time. Just a stone-cold room. Windowless, like a carved-out cavern. The air was musty—underground, maybe. One door.

He couldn’t tell whether it was night or day.

A prickle of unease started beneath his confidence. He snuffed that out.

Azar was standing near the wall like it was another routine site meeting. Like they were about to talk about his retirement home layouts. Like he was so sure Kaveh wouldn’t jump him or do anything reckless. His smile never changed.

“Let’s start simply,” he said. “Tell me about Zone 6 of Persia.”

Kaveh narrowed his eyes, forced nonchalance. “A mess. Full of good people. Needs plumbing work. You planning to offer funding?”

Azar didn’t react. Just tapped something on his tablet.

“The blond detective. The Traveler. How often are you in contact?”

“Oh, constantly. I can barely go a day without a postcard. ‘Dear Kaveh, please feed Paimon, she’s eaten all the spice jars again.”

A pause.

“Paimon is his dog.” Kaveh clarified.

Azar just nodded.

“Your relationship with the Haravatat sage.”

Kaveh tensed where he sat on the floor, arms looped loosely around one knee. Haravatat sage. Alhaitham. His expression soured, the memory a sharp, unwelcome jab. Gaze dropping, he muttered, “There is no relationship.”

Still no reaction. No flicker of irritation. Just another head tilt, and a scroll of the tablet.

Kaveh huffed, not from nervousness. Crossed his arms, a defensive gesture. Leaned back against the hard, uneven stone. He had been scared when he woke up but—this was almost an exact replica of his first kidnapping. Endless questions.

Ridiculously, he wondered if Azar was going to pull out a chess board.

Oh well.

His thoughts strayed momentarily to his friends. If this were really the Grand Sage, then Kaveh had probably been transported to Old Sumeru. Which meant his friends were probably here too. Which meant he could be rescued—

If only they knew he was missing.

“You misunderstand,” Azar’s voice cut through, gentle, but with an underlying edge Kaveh hadn’t noticed before. “This is not about your answers.”

The door opened.

Kaveh blinked.

A man stepped in. Big. Silent. Masked. His build was heavy and solid, more like stone than flesh, and his hands—his hands were wrapped in thick cloth, like they’d been punching brick walls for fun.

Wait.

Wait. What.

Kaveh barely had time to stand. He scrambled to his feet, pressing back into the cold wall. “Wait—what are you—”

Then the first punch landed.

White-hot pain seared through his ribs. It stole the breath from his lungs.

He gasped, but before he could register the impact, another strike came—right across the jaw, then the ribs again. Pain exploded behind his eyes, starbursts of light against the darkness. His knees buckled, strangled cry tearing from his throat.

The world spun. The ground swung up toward him too fast.

He coughed. Wet. Something in his mouth tasted coppery, bitter. Blood. Oh, Gods. Blood.

And honestly—what the fuck?

His mind screamed. But through the ringing in his ears, he heard Azar speak again—voice mild as ever, the contrast sickening. “That’s quite enough. We need him coherent.”

Kaveh’s hands scrabbled at the floor, trying to push himself upright. His mind was racing, scrambling for understanding. Pulse hammered in his ears. Heartbeat too fast. Abdomen clenched achingly.

He looked up at the two people looming over him, his eyes wide with dawning realization.

The masked man stood still. Tense. Waiting. Menacing.

Azar just smiled again, emptily. “Where were you on the day Zone 6 of Persia collapsed?”

Kaveh’s breath hitched. He frowned, a wave of nausea washing over him. Didn’t answer, his jaw clenching against the rising panic.

The two men shared a look.

Then—another blow. Harder. Deeper. A kick to the gut that curled him into himself like paper burning at the edges. Something crunched. A choked sound escaped his lips.

Pain. Real pain. Not metaphorical. Not a dramatic twinge. Just raw, jagged agony that left his limbs trembling, his vision blurring.

And Azar was—calm, still scrolling, still watching. His mouth moved, the words distant. Kaveh didn’t hear. Couldn’t. Not fully. Everything was a haze.

A heavy boot came down again, connecting with his ribs with a sickening thud.

His vision went black at the edges. Darkness crept inward. His world dimmed. Then stuttered out. Leaving behind only the crushing weight of pain.

Then nothing but static. And the faint sound of Azar’s disappointment:
“Really. That was too quick.”

Several hours later, when Kaveh woke up, body aching, bruised, dried blood in his teeth—Azar seemed to notice already.

Kaveh only had a few precious, stolen minutes to himself. To register the absolute horror. The way this was the total opposite of the playful challenges he had the first time around. This was vicious, real.

He could barely turn his head without his jaw flaring up in pain. Each shallow breath sent a wave of nausea through his battered ribs.

And as much as he hated it, as much as it felt like a betrayal of his own suffering, his mind latched onto how Alhaitham was—calm, unreadable, always in control. If Alhaitham could sit through days of silent observation without giving anything away, Kaveh could make it through a few goddamn questions and beatings.

Right?

So he braced himself.

When Azar entered again, followed by two hulking masked men this time, Kaveh sat up straighter. Despite the throbbing in his skull. Despite the ache in his spine.

“Apologies for the… unpleasantness,” Azar smiled, as if he were offering a refund for bad service. “Some of my men get overzealous. It won’t happen again.”

Kaveh didn’t answer. Just stared at him. Gaze a blank wall, hiding the turmoil within. He placed his hand behind him to hide the nervous, grounding gripping.

Azar smiled wider.

“Let’s try again,” he said. “Zone 6. The disaster. What do you know?”

Kaveh said nothing.

“Cairo. Reports stated contact with the Snezhnayan Fatui. Were you there?”

Still nothing. Just a quiet, stubborn glare. A flicker of defiance.

Azar stepped closer. “Alhaitham. And you. What happened there?”

At that name, something flickered in Kaveh’s chest—

He forced it down, a brutal act of self-control. Didn’t even blink. Behind him, his fingers dug crescents into his palms. The pain a small, self-inflicted anchor.

Azar’s expression sharpened just slightly. “What has he told you about Rukkhadevata?”

Kaveh stayed quiet.

He was trying. Trying to follow the damn handbook.
Don't respond. Don’t react. Stay unreadable.

But that didn’t stop Azar’s men from grabbing him by the hair. Slamming his face into the cold stone ground. Kaveh cried out—muffled, involuntary—as pain bloomed across his cheek, his jaw, his nose.

“Answer the question.”

Kaveh spat blood onto the floor and said, voice rough, “I don’t know who that is.”

“Hm.” Azar clearly did not buy it.

And then Kaveh’s hair was yanked back. Brutal. Sudden. Head knocking harshly against the jagged wall behind him. There was a loud slap. His cheek stung. The world swam, a chaotic blur of pain and disorientation.

“So you do not know of the previous ruler of this nation?”

Kaveh gritted his teeth, forced his voice out. Barely a whisper. “I’m just an architect.”

He got kicked in the ribs for that one. The force sent a fresh wave of agony through him.

And it went on.

It became a pattern. Azar’s voice. The same questions. The beatings. The silence.

Never comfortable. Just a tense, bone-deep dread. Waiting. For when Azar and his masked men would return. They had no set schedule. Sometimes, they would leave him be for a whole day. Sometimes, they would return as soon as Kaveh woke back up in reality.

It was torturous.

Each return chipped away at his resolve.

But Kaveh never gave up anything. He was almost proud of himself.

Until one day, something changed.

The familiar swing of the door’s rough hinges landed with a new weight. Grating, pitched – it sent an involuntary jolt through Kaveh’s battered body. His vision blurred at the edges, pain blooming and fading and blooming again. He was hurting. Tired. So tired. But he still managed a glare when Azar walked in.

Several masked figures trailed in, their movements heavy, their presence loud. But they brought in something new this time.

A heavy steel table. Two stark chairs. Cold, glinting chains.

Kaveh felt icy dread, sharp and visceral, shoot up his spine.

“Please, take a seat.”

Azar’s offer was a blatant mockery. Not at all polite. Not with the way rough hands, unforgiving in their grip, manhandled Kaveh into the chair. His hands were forcefully chained. Any struggles he tried were useless.

The sage’s smile was tighter now. Strained. Less patient.

“You’ve answered nothing,” Azar said. “You must think you’re very brave.”

“I think,” Kaveh began, voice croaky, each word an effort to hide his anxiety. “You’ve asked me the same thing at least ten times. What makes you think the eleventh would be any different?”

Azar didn’t smile this time.

Instead, he gestured.

The masked men walked out. Then back in. Their steps were heavy, echoing the trepidation in Kaveh’s chest. One of them carried a small metal briefcase. They set it down on the table with a click.

Kaveh’s heart stuttered. Just a little.

The latches snapped open. Inside—tools. Clean. Surgical. Some gleamed under the overhead light.

“No,” Kaveh whispered. “No way.”

His eyes darted between the tools and Azar’s unwavering gaze. The glint in the sage’s eye was no longer just veiled irritation. It was something colder. Calculating. Cruel.

The guards yanked his arms forward. Cuffed his hands flat against the unforgiving steel of the table. His life, his art, laid bare and vulnerable.

Kaveh struggled, panicked. Desperately fought against the restraints “You’re not serious—you’re not—”

The first punch of the day came hard to his stomach, knocking the breath from him.

Then, Azar’s voice. Calm. Instructive.

“Let’s begin again. Zone 6. What do you know?”

Kaveh didn’t respond. Just stared at his hands splayed out. Helpless. Exposed. Eyes wide with terror. Heartbeat a frantic drum. Sweat forming, a cold film of fear.

The man with the gloves reached for his finger. Kaveh tried to recoil, to snatch his hand back, to even just curl his fingers back—

No no no no—

The pain that followed was unlike anything Kaveh had ever known.

There was a pop—
Then a snap—
Then a searing rip as his fingernail was torn from its bed.

Kaveh screamed.

He screamed and screamed until his throat went raw, the sound echoing in the stone room. The pain was sharp and constant and unreal, radiating up through his wrist, up his shoulder, into his spine, burning his brain from the inside out.

Azar leaned in closer. “Again. What do you know?”

Kaveh choked on his breath, eyes wet, trembling, but he spat out, a broken, desperate defiance, “I have ten fingers, asshole. You’re gonna ask me nine more times?”

His snark was a thin veil over his utter terror.

Azar didn’t even blink.

“If I must,” he said. “Then, your toenails. Then… the fingers themselves.” Azar’s smiled returned, not kind, not gentle, but chilling. “Do not tempt me, child. I’ve been doing this for as long as you’ve been alive.”

Kaveh couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink. His body shook violently. His arms trembled against the chains. His finger burned. Too much. Too much.

Azar asked another question—but Kaveh couldn’t even register it.

All he could see was the man readying another tool. Gloved fingers twitching with anticipation. Kaveh thrashed against the chains, a silent scream trapped in his throat, but he couldn’t stop it.

There was a hard nudge at the side of his head.

And a moment later—

He screamed again—louder, hoarser, mind breaking. There was blood was on the table. Coating his fingers. A horrifying testament to the violation. His pulse roared in his ears, a hysterical, deafening rhythm.

And then—

Darkness.

He didn’t want to wake up.

He really didn’t want to wake up.

But even through the haze of unconsciousness, Kaveh heard it—yelling, the scrape of boots, the slam of a door somewhere down the hall.

His whole body flinched before he was even awake.

His pulse kicked up. His hands twitched. His breath stuttered in and out.

Not again. Please. Not again.

He cowered. Body curled in on itself, instinctive. Fingers throbbed like someone was hammering nails into them. His skin burned, every bruise raw, his throat dry from screaming.

Then—hands. Lifting him. Almost gentle. Familiar. But Kaveh knew better.

Voices, loud, quick, firm. Not familiar.

Kaveh whimpered, tried to struggle, but it was useless. His limbs were too weak. His head lolled.

No more. I can't—

He passed out again.

When Kaveh woke up again, it wasn’t to rock.

Not to chains. Not to blood-stained metal or damp, jagged walls.

It was to—

A beige ceiling. Coffered. Intricate.
Persian-inspired patterns inlaid with gold.
A chandelier. A gentle fan. Sun rays, almost comforting.

He blinked. Shifted, the fabric around him shuffling as well.

Sheets? Silk sheets, even.

Pillows. A soft mattress. The air was warm, rich with the scent of expensive incense. Light streamed in through carved windowpanes, a stark contrast to the flickering gloom of the stone room.

He blinked again, disoriented.

What the hell—

Was he dead?

He sat up too fast and winced. Pain lanced down his back. His ribs ached. His hands—oh, his hands—burned beneath thick bandages.

He glanced down. Couldn’t help a soft whimper as he lifted the injured hand closer.

His middle and ring fingers on his right hand were wrapped, the bandages stained faintly pink with droplets of blood, a sickeningly fresh reminder of Azar.

He tried to curl his fingers instinctively—could he still draw? Sketch?—but the pain was immediate and sharp.

He stopped, breath catching. His throat tightened. His eyes squeezed shut.

Kaveh was an architect.

The door creaked.

He stiffened, jerked back, spine straightened. A reflex ingrained from his recent terrors.

A woman peeked in—eyes widening slightly at the sight of Kaveh awake. She darted back out, and Kaveh could hear a faint voice calling for someone. He blinked, still frozen.

Not dead, then.

He looked around. Every inch of the room was opulent. Ornate vases, velvet chairs, sophisticated art and frames on the walls. This wasn’t a cell—it seemed borderline royal.

His mind couldn’t catch up. Struggled to reconcile his new surroundings with the brutal reality of what felt like mere seconds ago. Hadn’t he just been in a cell with Azar? What was this?

His gaze fell back to his bandaged fingers. It still stung, a constant, despairing ache beneath the salves.

A voice—

“They’ll heal in a few months.”

Cool. Flat. Irritated.

Kaveh flinched again. He looked up, slowly.

A boy stood in the doorway, clad in indigo clothes trimmed in black and silver. His wide-brimmed hat cast a shadow over his sharp eyes. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, like he wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else.

Kaveh stared.
The boy stared back.

Neither of them spoke.

Finally, the boy sighed, stepping further into the room.

“So. You’re the liability, huh?”

Kaveh’s head tilted. Slowly.

His throat ached, and his thoughts still swam, but that tone—condescending, disinterested, sharp-edged—cut through the fog like a blade.

The boy didn’t elaborate. Just stared at Kaveh like he was an annoying puzzle he hadn’t agreed to solve. He tapped his foot once against the polished floor, arms crossed tighter.

“That bastard owes me for this,” he muttered.

Kaveh blinked at him.

“…What?”

The guy ignored him. Instead, he walked to the window, peeled back the curtain like he owned the place, and gave Kaveh a sideways glance.

“The Vahumana sage took over your capture,” he said simply.

Kaveh’s stomach twisted.

Another sage?

But he looked around again, eyes flicking to the delicate glass lamp on the nightstand. The ornate mirror. The carpet, the open balcony beyond the carved screen.

“…This doesn’t look like a capture.”

The boy let the curtain fall and turned back around, expression caught between boredom and disdain.

“I don’t care. Someone’ll show you around eventually.” He gestured vaguely to the rest of the room. “Just know that you are a prisoner. So. You can’t leave. Under any circumstances.”

Kaveh’s voice rasped out before he could think. “Like…this room?”

Hat guy scoffed. “The estate.” Then, flatter: “What are you gonna do, stuck in a room?”

He asked. Like Kaveh was stupid.

Kaveh blinked. Once. Twice. Who was this kid, even?

“…Who are you?”

The stranger didn’t smile.

“One of sage Kaushik’s personal guards,” he said, chin tilting up like it was supposed to mean something. “Call me Wanderer.”

Kaveh blinked again.

"…That’s a name?"

Hat guy visibly bristled.

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room without another word. The silence that followed was almost worse than his presence.

Kaveh lay there, trying to piece it all together. Nothing made sense.

He didn’t get long to think.

A maid entered quietly. She approached like she didn’t want to startle him.

“Would you like water, sir?”

Kaveh looked at her, too tired to do anything but nod.

She helped him sit up. Gave him a glass. Gently checked the bandages across his body.

The whole thing felt surreal. Like a fever dream.

But his body still ached. His fingers still throbbed. He could feel his missing nails, like phantom pain crawling up his bones.

Kaveh closed his eyes. Maybe this was all just a strange coma fantasy.

Yeah.

He was probably still dreaming.

So he let himself drift off again.

It took two days before Kaveh could walk without collapsing.

On the third, he slipped out.

No one stopped him.

The maid had only said, “You’re free to go where you like, as long as you stay within the estate. The basement floors are off-limits.”

Kaveh had no problem with that.

Because every time a door creaked, or a loud voice rang down the hall, he still flinched—his shoulders curling in, eyes darting like prey.

Half of him still expected Azar’s face to appear in the next shadow. The man’s voice. The sting of blood on marble floors.

He caught his reflection in a gilded mirror by one of the many arched corridors.

The shower had helped. Slightly. But the swelling around his right eye still made it hard to see. His cheekbone had a faint green tint to it. One eye was bloodshot, like a vessel had burst. His nose—well. It looked less broken now.

His hands, when he turned them over, trembled slightly. Wrists still aching from where he struggled against the cuffs. Bandages curled up. His middle and ring fingers were still stinging.

The nails were gone. The nerves screamed sometimes just from brushing against the bandages.

Kaveh sighed. Hoped he would heal properly. He kept walking.

The estate was beautiful, in that soulless Old Sumeru way. Tall carved doors. Perforated stone panels that cast geometric shadows across the interior. Quiet fountains that sounded too much like dripping blood if he stood too still.

He wondered how long he’d been gone.

If his friends knew already. If anyone did. Probably not.

Kaveh sighed again, heavier this time. He wanted to be back in Persia. Away from all this. He wanted to be in Zone 6, climbing scaffolding, complaining about overpriced cement, watching the neighborhood bloom again. Fixing whatever he could.

This was all Alhaitham’s fault.

And yet.

Traitorously—

He wondered if Alhaitham was here too.
He was a sage, wasn’t he?
Maybe he worked here.

Kaveh shook his head hard. Then winced. That still hurt.

“Idiot.” He smacked his own forehead mentally. “He’s a criminal. He destroyed a whole state.”

He didn't deserve a second of thought.

Kaveh turned a corner into one of the inner courtyards, tucked between sandstone walls and flowering trees. He was pacing again, not even realizing it.

And then—he nearly tripped.

Someone had bumped into him.

A—child?

“Oh—are you alright?” Kaveh asked, bending down to where she had landed softly on the stone path. His knees protested as he knelt.

She was small—perhaps around 8 or 9—with pale hair that shimmered almost silver in the sun. Wore soft green linen that looked so out of place in this too-silent courtyard that for a moment, he wanted to believe she was a hallucination.

She looked up with wide green eyes. Then blinked. Clapped her hands. Then smiled. Kind. Like she’d meant to fall.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Thank you, mister. I should’ve looked where I was going.”

“N-no, I was zoning out. Sorry.”

He helped her to her feet. She didn’t flinch when she touched his bruised hand.

“I’m Nahida,” she said brightly, brushing off her skirt. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nahida.” Kaveh nodded. Smiled back, small. “I’m Kaveh.”

“I know.” She tilted her head like a little bird. “You’re the guest.”

Kaveh almost laughed. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”

They saw each other often after that.

There weren’t many people in the compound besides the maids, most of whom Kaveh had already gotten used to. The ones closer to the medical staff were kind—chatty, too—and didn’t flinch when Kaveh asked what time it was, or what day, or if there was any news or gossip from outside the gates.

But Nahida was something else entirely.

She always had something to say. A story. A stray fact. A question so sharp Kaveh had to pause before answering. An answer to almost every ludicrous thought Kaveh voiced out.

One morning, she padded into the shaded sitting room with a little cloth bundle in her hands, and when she opened it, five triangular sacks spilled out—each one stitched neatly and filled with dry beans.

“It’s a game,” she explained. “Five Stones. Do you know it?”

“I’ve heard of it,” Kaveh said, intrigued. “I think I played it when I was younger.”

His fingers still stung when he moved them wrong. The bandages were thinner now, but the bruises hadn’t faded, and his grip trembled sometimes. Still, he sat across from her on the mat. Played.

Nahida showed him how to toss and catch the tiny bean bags, laughing gently when he fumbled.

He didn’t tell her it was the first time he’d laughed in weeks.

A few days later, Kaveh found a mancala board on his windowsill.

Simple wood. Smooth stones already placed in their divots.

He raised an eyebrow.

When he found her in the dining room, he asked, “Did you put it there?”

Nahida sipped her soup with mock innocence. “Maybe it was one of the staff.”

“Hm. And that sack of marbles behind you is just decoration?”

She just smiled.

They played after sundown, her giggling every time he forgot which direction to move the pieces. Kaveh leaned back on the cushions, bruises easing slowly with the warmth of candlelight, and for the first time, he didn’t feel like a prisoner.

Just… suspended.

In a quiet, strange little world.

Until the day Nahida dropped the marble.

A sunny day. They were outside. On one of the many garden benches, mancala board between them.

Then, during her turn, a marble slipped from her fingers and clinked to the stone path like a bell. Kaveh stood. Watched her dart after it, white hair catching the sun as she skidded forward. She ran fast—too fast—and before he could stop her, she passed through the manor’s open gate.

The gate.

Kaveh’s heart lurched.

“Wait—Nahida—!”

He bolted after her, adrenaline shoving past the soreness in his stomach. The gates were barely attended—why weren’t they guarded, where was security?

He turned the corner at full speed.

And slammed into something solid.

Hard.

Kaveh stumbled back, wind knocked from his lungs. His hands gripped a shoulder instinctively to steady himself—broad, unyielding.

Nahida was there, at the stranger’s feet. Holding her marble. Smiling like nothing had happened.

“Oh my god,” He sighed, bending down to her. “You’re too fast, you know.”

And then—

“You’re not supposed to be outside.”

Kaveh’s stilled.

The voice was unmistakable. Deep. Knowing. Familiar in a way that made his chest go tight.

His head snapped up.

Alhaitham looked down at him.

Expression unreadable.

Absolutely real.

Sometime ago:

Tighnari hadn’t been back here in a decade.

Old Sumeru’s Akademiya was exactly as he remembered—same sandstone halls, same stale dust. Even the flickering corridor lanterns hummed like they had back then, when he was young and stupid and running for his life. Cyno walked just ahead, silent, but Tighnari knew he was thinking the same thing. Neither of them had ever made it to juniors.

They didn’t get the chance. Not after Her Majesty died.

But now they were back. Aether had led them through the Fatui tunnels, found old names, cashed in older promises. They had met a few surviving contacts—scared, paranoid, cryptic—but nothing concrete on Rukkhadevata. Or her heir. Yet.

Still, Aether insisted there was something buried here. A hidden archive. A sealed chamber. A name no one dared say aloud.

They found one of the underground labs. Aether and Albedo were at the terminal, decoding something in silence, the air thick with static and tension. Cyno was standing guard at the door. Tighnari lingered in the shadows near a pillar, senses tuned sharp.

Something shifted.

A soft scrape. A whisper of motion.

He turned, ears twitching. “Cyno,” he said lowly. “Do you hear that?”

“Nothing on my side,” Cyno replied.

But Tighnari didn’t relax. Something was wrong. Off. The air felt heavier, like the moment before a monsoon.

And then—

Everything flipped.

A blur tore through the dark.

He was slammed to the ground so fast his ears rang. Air knocked from his lungs. He didn’t even see the blow—just a flash of black and pain exploding in his shoulder.

“What the—?!”

He struggled, elbowing, twisting. Managed to land a hit. Heard a grunt. Cyno was shouting now. Footsteps echoed. Tighnari stood back up but—

Another strike—a brutal, precise jab—and then he was upside down, gun wrenched from his grip.

Tighnari gritted his teeth. He kicked out, but in seconds he was pinned—face-down, arm twisted, a knee at his spine.

And then—click.

He froze. His breath caught.

Cyno stopped a few paces away, gun raised. Aether and Albedo flanked him, weapons ready, tense. Another figure stepped from the dark behind them, long black hair, gun raised back in warning.

Nobody moved.

Because Tighnari was staring down the barrel of his own gun.

The lamps flickered. The figure above Tighnari stood calm, adjusting his grip on the gun. Eyes cool. Grey hair not at all tousled from the scuffle. Clothes dark, crisp, lined with green.

The sage.

Alhaitham.

Expression blank. Voice calm.

“You seem to have taken a wrong turn.”

His gaze flitted to Cyno. Back to Tighnari. The metallic rasp of the gun being cocked echoed in the stillness.

“I thought ghosts knew better than to return here.”

Chapter Text

Kaveh didn’t expect to see him.

Not like this. Not after everything. And certainly not with the sun slanting through the estate gates, catching on silver hair and unreadable eyes. A jolt went through Kaveh, his breath catching in his throat.

But there he was. Alhaitham. Clad in more formal robes, a stark difference to the disguises he had in Persia. Limbs straight, no hint of softness or relaxation like before. Just behind Nahida, staring back like Kaveh wasn’t a ghost.

A beat passed.

And then—without a word—

Alhaitham pushed the gate open wider. Grabbed Kaveh’s arm and Nahida’s outstretched, expecting hand—

And shoved them both back in.

Kaveh blinked. “What the—”

Alhaitham shot a single look toward Nahida—sharp, almost resigned—before slamming the gate shut.

And then fled.

Actually fled. Robes flaring. No words. No explanation. Just gone.

Kaveh stood there, stunned, hand still half-raised in the air.

What. The hell. Just happened.

Fine. He scoffed belatedly, bile rising. Fine. Kaveh never saw him anyway. Not really.

Nahida’s voice broke the silence. Sweet, placid, her smile holding the faintest hint of something knowing. “He was in a hurry.”

Kaveh blinked down at her. She was still clutching that marble of hers like it was a prayer bead. Innocent. But was she, really?

“He doesn’t visit often,” she continued, tone mild. “But he’s been coming more lately.”

Kaveh’s breath stuttered. “Coming more… here?”

Nahida nodded, head tilting. “Mm. He leaves candy when he does. And games.”

Kaveh stared. Registered what she said.

“Games?”

“The mancala board. Five stones. Some cards I haven’t learned yet.”

And just like that—
The breath left him.

The games.
The games they’d been playing.
To pass the time. To stay sane.

Alhaitham brought them. Alhaitham knew. He had known Kaveh was here. The whole time.

His stomach twisted. He didn’t know what to feel. Fury? Shame? Had Alhaitham known when Azar tortured him? Or was it after? What did any of this mean? What did anything mean?

He hated it.
He hated not knowing.

For some reason, he always just didn’t know.

“Come,” Nahida said, tugging his hand. “Let’s finish our game.”

Kaveh followed numbly, her grip soft but insistent. Back to the mancala board, the marbles still scattered from the last round.

She sat, folding her legs beneath her. Smiling like nothing had happened.

And as Kaveh looked at her for a long while. It clicked.

Suddenly, he was unsure of the world he was in. Nahida had spoken to Alhaitham like they knew each other. And Alhaitham had looked at her with something almost chiding, exasperated, before he left. Like they’d done this before. Like she wasn’t—

“Hey,” Kaveh said, voice low. “Do you… live here?”

She tilted her head again. Same smile. Didn’t answer.

He had foolishly thought she was a prisoner too, just like him. But it didn’t make sense anymore. She was barely 10. And Kaveh suddenly had no idea who the hell was keeping who.

The maids said it was April 20th. Twelve days since he’d been dragged into Old Sumeru. Six since he’d been deposited at the manor.

It felt like a slap in the face. A bitter surprise. Only six? Which meant he’d only been with Azar for what—four, five days?

It felt like a lifetime. Like he’d lived and died in that stone-cold room. His body still flinched without warning at loud noises. His mind drifted toward bruises that weren’t visible anymore. He hadn’t even tried to ask how it stopped. How the Vahumana sage took over.

He was tired. But his thoughts wouldn’t quiet.

How were his friends? Were they still in Persia? Had they noticed he was gone?

Or… had something happened to them too? Here?

Kaveh didn’t know. He had no one to ask.

And when Nahida brought out a stack of cards—Alhaitham’s cards—he almost refused to play. He didn’t want to owe anything to the man who left destruction in his wake. Who left sweets and games and couldn’t be bothered to look Kaveh in the eye.

So he drifted through the opulent emptiness of the estate. Mindless.

And one night, he found himself out on the veranda. Lights off. Just sat there, hidden in the dark, old wood warm against his back, stone bench cold under him. Nail-less fingers itching. The moon, a pale sliver in the sky, offered no comfort.

Then—

Faint sounds intruded. Muffled voices. Footsteps on stone. Coming closer.

Kaveh stilled. Every muscle tightened. Held his breath. Pretended he didn’t exist, just another shadow out on the dark veranda.

An irritated, pained voice sliced through the quiet. “This is all your fault! We have the cipher already. What are we waiting for?”

Another voice followed—cool, calm, cutting. “It’s too soon. She’s still only eleven.”

Alhaitham. A knot of unease tightened in Kaveh’s stomach.

“She doesn’t have to take over immediately!”

“The foundations are too fragile.”

They argued. Or rather, the first voice did. A constant barrage of complaints and sharp-edged frustration. Alhaitham barely raised his tone. Just responded in flat, measured counterpoints.

Kaveh felt a prickle of guilt at eavesdropping, but what could he even do? He didn’t mean to. And quite honestly, the snippets of information were too compelling to ignore.

“And how long is that guy staying here? You settled with Azar. Just send him back! Send them all back!”

Kaveh’s heart stuttered. They were talking about him, surely. But—

Them? There were others?

Another sound—a wince. A grunt of pain. “Fuck. Tartaglia’s still a bitch. I can’t believe I have to be Kaushik all the time now!”

The stone was getting uncomfortable beneath him. The breeze too cold. His arms around himself were restless. So Kaveh—just slightly, stupidly—shifted against the wooden panels.

The sharp creak echoed in the sudden silence like a gunshot.

Shit.

Instantly, the world exploded in light, harsh and blinding. And then, as his eyes struggled to register the brightness—

A glint of steel.
A flash of indigo.
A knife raised to his throat.

Kaveh recoiled, instinctive, pulse in his ears.

A bruised face, contorted in fury, swam into focus. Dark hair. Familiar hat.

Behind the immediate threat, Alhaitham’s voice, a low, dangerous warning: “Wanderer.”

The blade didn’t waver. Sneer pure malice. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Despite the frantic drumming of his heart, despite the tremor that threatened to betray him, Kaveh, to his credit—or maybe to his stupidity—didn’t back down.

He blinked. Swallowed. Frowned. “Looking at the moon,” he managed, voice rough. “People do that, you know.”

"In the dark?"

“It’s called a mood,” Kaveh retorted, his jaw tight, clenching his shaking hands into fists against the wood. His gaze briefly flickered to Alhaitham. Then back to Hat guy. “If you didn’t want people overhearing your melodrama, maybe have your tantrum in a private space.”

“This estate is my private space.”

Kaveh’s brow furrowed.

Wasn’t this the Vahumana sage’s place?

“Wanderer.” Clipped. Sharp. Alhaitham again.

Wanderer—Hat guy—clicked his tongue. His bruised expression twisted into something ugly. Bloodied hands sheathed the knife with an angry flick. He turned, his cloak slicing through the air like a threat.

He vanished into a stairwell. Gone as fast as he came.

And then it was just Alhaitham.

And Kaveh.

They stared at each other.

Hat guy’s angry departure left a vacuum filled only with the oppressive silence and the too-bright lights. An invisible wall stretched between them, thick with unspoken accusations and unanswered questions.

Kaveh looked away first. Turned back to the empty sky. The moon had shifted behind a cloud.

Silence stretched. Pressed too close. His fingernails itched again.

When it got unbearable, Kaveh turned back—perhaps a desperate plea for some kind of acknowledgment.

But Alhaitham was already gone.

Not a word. Not a sound.

Kaveh exhaled, shaky, long, tired. Bitter resentment rose. He muttered, “Could’ve turned the lights off, asshole.”

The unsettling encounter left Kaveh even more restless. Seeking a distraction from the swirling questions in his mind, he finally allowed Nahida to lead him to a part of the manor he hadn't yet explored.

When he found out it was a little library, he almost died of relief.

When he asked why she hadn’t shown him sooner, she only tilted her head and said, “You never asked. And our games were so fun!”

There were too many books on holography and illusory space. Most were advanced, theoretical—filled with diagrams of dimensions and layered projection arrays that felt more like puzzles.

Kaveh meant to skim. Then maybe nap somewhere else.

But the cushions on the window bench were soft, and the sun was warm, and the text in his lap was more compelling than expected.

When he opened his eyes again, the light had shifted. Dimmed. And—

Someone was glaring at him.

Kaveh blinked blearily.

The boy—man?
Hat guy.

Him again—stood in front of Kaveh like a storm cloud of indigo. Patched up with some plasters over his hands and lips. Still mad.

“What are you doing in my library?”

Kaveh rubbed his eyes, a tiny, involuntary snort escaping him at the sheer predictability of the question. Mentally wondered why this boy was so angry all the time.

“What do people usually do in libraries?”

Hat guy huffed, spun dramatically, muttered something under his breath and stalked toward a shelf like a theatre actor on his fifth encore. He stopped. Looked up. Narrowed his eyes at a book near the top.

He turned to the sliding ladder built into the bookcase.

Dragged it over.

But before it reached the desired shelf, weirdly—almost comically—

It got stuck.

Properly stuck. Like something out of a play.

Hat guy tugged once. Twice. Nothing.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" was hissed out against the ladder, accompanied by a frustrated yank that made the whole structure shudder.

Another irritated grunt. A harder pull. Still nothing.

Kaveh watched, half-amused. Then, remembering the plasters and bandages on the boy, he sighed. Tapped his feet in consideration. Stood up.

Hat guy spun on him instantly, glare intensifying. “Sit down!”

Kaveh threw up his hands, a silent 'what the hell?' etched on his face.

“I know what you were about to do.” Hat guy shoved the ladder again, teeth gritted, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “I can get it myself!”

Kaveh narrowed his eyes, hands on his hips. He watched, challenging, a slight twitch of his lips.

Hat guy sneered.

Then—like it was the most reasonable next step—he started CLIMBING the actual shelf. His movements surprisingly clumsy for someone so perpetually angry.

Kaveh walked over immediately. “Okay, seriously? You're going to break the shelf."

The boy just hissed like a cat from the second-level.

“It's MY shelf.”

"What is wrong with you?" Kaveh huffed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Just tell me which one you want."

"No."

"Which one?"

"NO."

"WHICH—"

"NO!"

Kaveh let out a groan—high-pitched, dramatic, long and drawn-out. It almost felt good. Too good. Like something he hadn’t done in weeks. “Fine!"

Then he stalked closer anyway. Held his hands to the topmost shelf.

And then, one by one, he took every single book off and placed it carefully on the floor.

Hat guy looked horrified, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. Then it morphed into furious indignation. He dropped to the floor with a fierce glare.

“Are you patronizing me?” he snapped, face a deep crimson, eyes wide with outrage.

Kaveh breathed in. A long, suffering sigh escaped his lips. “Think of it as a thank-you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me stay here.”

“The Vahumana sage is letting you stay here.”

“Okay. Pass my thanks on, then.”

Kaveh walked back to his bench. He wasn’t stupid. He knew the name of the Vahumana sage from Naphis. He heard what Hat guy had said last night.

He sat back down. Picked up his book. Flipped the page like nothing happened.

Across the room, Hat guy stared at the pile of books on the floor, his mouth opening and closing silently. He looked genuinely affronted, a vein throbbing visibly in his temple.

Then, in one furious motion, he snatched a book from the pile as if it were a personal insult, clutched it to his chest like it had wronged him, and stomped out of the room. The door practically vibrated in its frame.

Kaveh still flinched when it slammed shut. But the lack of glares from the boy as he disappeared left a small, almost imperceptible easing of tension in the air.

The days blurred again. Kaveh was prone to zoning out. One second, Nahida was explaining some new variation of a strategy—her soft voice weaving over the mancala board like a song—and the next, everything fuzzed at the edges.

“Kaveh?”

He blinked. “Sorry. Lost in thought.”

“You’ve been zoning out a lot,” she said. “And losing.”

“Rude.”

Nahida smiled, dropped her last marble. “I win either way.”

She turned toward the window, her expression far too serene. It was silent for a moment. And then, almost too wistfully, she sighed. “I want to go to the markets.”

Kaveh followed her gaze, then arched a brow.

“There are no adults around to guide me,” she said innocently, folding her hands. “What a dilemma.”

A mischievous glint sparked in her eyes as she turned back to look at him, a fleeting contrast to her usual placidity.

Kaveh frowned. “The markets?”

She nodded, her smile widening. She tapped a finger to her chin, a picture of innocent calculation. “Hmm. What should I do… Hmm. Could I go by myself?”

Kaveh’s first instinct was to refuse. Danger. Unknown. Hat guy had told him—he was a prisoner. Not to leave the estate, no matter what.

But the thought of escaping the suffocating stillness of the manor flickered like a desperate flame. No guards patrolled the manicured gardens. The maids seemed to melt into the shadows. Nothing overtly held him here.

And he couldn’t just abandon a child, even one as strangely composed as Nahida was.

So thirty minutes later, he was ducking under the manor gate beside her, heart thumping, hair tucked under a hoodie two sizes too big. They walked fast, Nahida’s tiny hands in his. She didn’t seem worried. She never did.

Kaveh, on the other hand, looked around. They were in public. Strangers passed by. Shouts from vendors. Honks of old cars. Teenagers arguing outside shisha restaurants.

For a moment, he weighed the odds of escape. Of vanishing. Of slipping into the streets and not looking back.

Until Nahida tugged his sleeve, eyes lighting up at a stall glimmering with gold foil wrappers. “Candied Ajilenakh Nut!”

And Kaveh watched, completely baffled, as her small hand reached into a full pouch of money she definitely wasn’t supposed to have. She offered some of the candy to Kaveh with an expectant smile.

It tasted like honey and mischief. Kaveh grinned.

They walked further. Nahida skipped the whole way. Everything was almost peaceful—until they turned a corner.

A cluster of shouting. A commotion.

“Fucking Tartaglia!” someone spat.

The words were… familiar.

Kaveh, always a bit too stupid, a bit too impulsive, saw an older man being shoved by three younger, rough-looking individuals. And without thinking, he stepped forward. “Hey!”

The old man stiffened, his posture suddenly rigid.

The cut of his worn robes sent a strange flicker of recognition through Kaveh, a shadow of Alhaitham and Azar’s. A sage?

Before he could walk into the fray, one of the younger men sneered and landed a blow on the old man’s face. Hard. There was a sickening crack.

But the crack… it wasn't bone. A seam was visible. A flicker. And the familiar, bruised face of Hat guy, dark blue eyes, shimmered into view as the holographic mask fractured.

“Oh,” Kaveh said, dumbfounded.

“You fucking—” And then Hat guy was jumping on the other men.

Nahida’s small hand tightened around his. Her serene smile faltered slightly, replaced by something like genuine worry.

Kaveh sighed deeply.

They managed to drag the furious sage through alleyways and side streets—though not without him twisting around to yell at a fruit vendor and nearly elbowing Kaveh in the nose. He hissed about Fatui and ruined disguises.

Back at the manor, the maids fussed over his newly revealed bruises, applying poultices and bandages while he shot daggers at Kaveh.

“I had it! Who do you think I am?” Hat guy snarled, wincing as a maid dabbed at his split lip. “You interrupted!”

“Hey!” Kaveh protested. “We saved you!”

“You got in the way!” Hat guy insisted, voice tight with indignation. “I just didn’t want to ruin my perfectly good mask!”

“Well—”

Kaveh and Nahida exchanged glances. Sheepish. Didn’t look at Hat guy—who, surrounded by concerned maids, looked miserable. Like a kid after a tantrum. Kaveh nearly laughed.

Nahida poked Kaveh in the arm, eyes pointedly looking at the half-full candied nuts in his plastic bag. He passed her a piece.

Hat guy stared.

“Want one?” A teasing lilt in Kaveh’s voice.

Hat guy huffed, turning his head away with exaggerated disdain. “I don’t eat sweets.”

But Nahida, bless her heart, took a step closer to Hat guy. Then another. Held the sticky nut in the air near his mouth. Innocent smile back in place.

Hat guy's face flushed a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun.

“Why the hell are you doing this right now?” he hissed, mortified.

Nahida just sang a soft ‘aaaaah’. Eyes wide and expectant. Shimmied the nut.

Kaveh almost choked trying not to laugh. “Do you want me to turn around?”

“Shut up!”

With aggressive force, Hat Guy chomped the candy right out of Nahida’s hand. Like a scolded cat. A maid continued dabbing antiseptic on his cheek.

Chewing furiously, he glared at a laughing Kaveh. “I’m telling that bastard you snuck out.”

Hat guy, much to Kaveh’s simmering annoyance, did rat them out.

It was the only explanation as for why, the very next morning, as Kaveh was nursing a lukewarm cup of tea, a figure appeared in the manor’s doorway that made him do a double-take.

Tall. Tan-skinned. Lean muscle under the kind of sleeveless armor that wasn’t really about defense—more about the statement. Long black hair braided down her back. Sunglasses. A gold tooth. A sword on her back and guns strapped to her thighs, just casual.

She surveyed the room with an appraising gaze. “You must be Kaveh,” she stated, voice a low, steady rumble.

Kaveh, thoroughly bewildered, just stared. “Um, and you are…?”

“Dehya,” she replied. “Alhaitham sent me.”

Kaveh’s jaw dropped. Sent her?

What in the seven hells was going on?

The silent, aloof sage couldn’t be bothered to speak to Kaveh himself, but he could dispatch a… a what, even? A guard? A sitter?

Fury simmered beneath Kaveh’s confusion. Because who did Alhaitham think he was? Kaveh didn’t need a glorified babysitter to make his already restricted life even more stifling.

Dehya, seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil, strolled further into the room, gaze lingering on the dusty corners.

“I’m not here to trap you, if that’s what you think. Honestly, you look like you need some sun,” she said, her lips twitching. “Your whole vibe screams vitamin D deficiency.”

Her presence radiated a curious mix of laid-back confidence and the unspoken promise of swift action if needed. “I’m just here to watch over you if you wanna go out. Y’know. Make sure you don’t get stabbed in the alley by anyone.”

Kaveh stared at her. His annoyance spiked. Even more. “...He sent me a bodyguard so I could go outside?”

Was this Alhaitham’s idea of being… nice?

A muscle-bound chaperone so Kaveh could experience the great outdoors? Freedom with a leash?

Kaveh wanted to rip his hair out.

Nahida skipped into the room, her face lighting up at the sight of Dehya. “Oh! You must be the person Alhaitham mentioned!”

And now Kaveh wanted to scream because Nahida TALKED to Alhaitham? When?

She clapped her tiny hands excitedly. “Does this mean we can go to the docks?”

Kaveh turned to her, aghast. “Nahida—”

But her enthusiasm was infectious, her small hand already reaching for Kaveh’s.

And okay, honestly—who could resist Nahida?

So. They. Fucking. Went.

Out into the city, out into the bustle. Nahida bouncing with excitement and Dehya trailing behind them like a silent, watchful shadow.

The docks were bustling, filled with the cries of gulls, the smell of salt and fish, spices in great sacks being thrown from boat to boat.

Kaveh didn’t want to have fun. But there was sunlight on the water, and Nahida was grinning, and Dehya was buying pistachio halva from a snack stand with zero threat level radiating off her. So for a brief while, Kaveh forgot his frustration, caught up in Nahida’s joy as she pointed at boats and bartered for trinkets.

They took the long way home. The streets glowed orange with the evening. Nahida hummed. Kaveh held a bag of treats for them to share with Hat guy back at the estate.

And then—

They stepped through the front doors.

Kaveh froze.

Nahida, for the first time since he’d known her, froze too—her humming stopped instantly, hands curling tight into his.

Because sitting in the lounge—
Sipping tea like it was perfectly, utterly normal—
Was Azar.

Robes crisp. Posture impeccable. A ghost in the lamplight.

He looked up. And smiled.

The air in the lounge thickened the moment Azar’s gaze landed on them. Nahida’s small hand in Kaveh’s tightened, her usual composure replaced by a subtle tremor. Kaveh’s own breath hitched.

Behind them, Dehya shifted forward. Her voice was even. Sharp.

“Grand Sage,” she said. A respectful nod. Too small. Too dry. Not genuine.

Kaveh’s fingernails itched. No—the nail beds itched. He curled his hand into itself, the blunt ends of his nail-less fingers digging into his palm, a dull throb echoing the deeper ache within him.

Nahida edged closer to Kaveh, her small form partially hidden behind his leg.

And for a moment, Kaveh forgot himself. Forgot Dehya. Forgot everything except the terror in the child pressed against his leg like a shield.

A cold knot of unease warred in his chest.

Why was Nahida so afraid? She was just a child. What horrors had Azar inflicted to warrant this?

“I didn’t realize you would be here, sir,” Dehya stated, gaze steady on Azar.

Azar didn’t even glance at her. “Oh, I thought I’d drop in to speak with Kaushik. Some of the Akademiya’s external surveillance tech has been... acting oddly. A Fatui fingerprint, I believe.”

Dehya nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing. “Well, I’ll pass the message on if I see him. We’ll be taking our leave—”

“Oh, but you just returned?” Azar interrupted lightly, predatory. “Please. Join me. I was just about to pour another cup.”

Every instinct in Kaveh screamed to run. He could feel Nahida trembling behind him.

“We… we forgot to pick up something at the docks,” he forced out, tightening his grip on her. “We'll go now.”

They turned to leave.

And that’s when he saw them.
The masked men.

Kaveh involuntarily took a step back, pulling Nahida with him.

Of course Azar would bring his men. Even here. Even into another sage’s home.

Then—ding.

The elevator. The basement one. The off-limits one.

The doors slid open, revealing an old man in rumpled yellow robes, his expression distinctly sour. Kaushik. Hat guy’s forced disguise.

“Azar,” he said, voice deep, rough, trembling. Unlike Hat guy's usual screech. “I would have expected a summons. Or at the very least, a heads-up.”

Azar merely smiled, the emptiness behind it sending a fresh wave of nausea through Kaveh.

Kaushik continued, his gaze flicking pointedly to everyone in the room. “If this were a matter for the sealed meeting rooms downstairs, I would’ve appreciated being met there. Not in my own home.”

Azar spread his hands, feigning nonchalance. “Well, it is difficult to access your meeting rooms without... accessing you. I thought this was easier. Forgive my mistake.”

A tense silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken animosity.

Then, Azar turned his attention to them. His smile widened. “I was also hoping to run into our resident little sage, and… our guest.”

Resident little sage? Kaveh’s mind reeled. Who the hell was he talking about?

Nahida burrowed further into Kaveh’s side, small hands clutching his pant leg. He held her tighter, didn’t care. A fierce protectiveness overriding his own fear.

Then—ding.

Another elevator.

Alhaitham stepped out. His expression was cold, cutting, unreadable as always. His gaze swept over the assembled group, finally settling on Azar.

Stupidly, Kaveh felt something like relief.

“Half of us in one living room?” Alhaitham’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Is there a meeting happening I wasn’t informed of? Should I gather the others?”

Azar chuckled. The sound grating on Kaveh’s nerves. “No. I was just waiting for Kaushik to access his basement.”

Alhaitham’s gaze flicked to ‘Kaushik’. A silent question.

Kaushik-Hat guy sighed, a sound of weary resignation. “Yes, yes, the basement. Please let me know earlier next time, Azar. My maids get quite… finicky when unannounced guests arrive.”

Azar inclined his head. Then turned again to Kaveh and Nahida. His eyes lingered for a moment too long. “Nice to see you again.”

Then he stepped into the elevator, Kaushik-Hat guy at his side, his masked men slipping in after them.

The doors closed.

And Kaveh released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The silence left behind was unnatural.

Kaveh couldn’t look up.

Couldn’t meet his gaze.

But he felt it. Alhaitham. Staring.

Kaveh was still clutching Nahida. His other hand clawed at itself.

Dehya stepped towards Alhaitham, murmuring something in hushed tones. A quick debrief, perhaps. Efficient.

Kaveh ignored them, knelt down to Nahida instead, who was still trembling. He murmured soft reassurances, brushing her hair. “It’s fine. He’s gone now. You’re okay.”

She offered a small, shaky smile, her eyes still wary.

So he pressed the bag of snacks she’d picked from the docks earlier into her hands. “Here. You hang on to this, okay? Hat guy will definitely want some when he comes back.”

She nodded, her grip on the bag tightening. A maid approached, quiet, and gently escorted her away.

And Kaveh—

Wanted to disappear too. So he turned. Walked. Fast. Straight up the stairs and hall toward his room. Toward anywhere else.

Then heard them.
Footsteps. Following him.
Familiar. Not Dehya’s.

“Dehya can escort me if needed, no?” Kaveh said tightly, not turning around.

“Dehya will watch over Nahida tonight,” came the reply, steady.

“That’s fine. I don’t need a babysitter anyway.”

Kaveh continued walking.

And Alhaitham, infuriatingly persistent, followed.

And Kaveh knew—he knew—Alhaitham could move like a shadow when he wanted to. He’d seen it. Heard nothing when the sage disappeared sometimes.

So the footsteps now?
They were intentional.

He wanted Kaveh to hear them.
Wanted Kaveh to know he was there.

Kaveh didn’t know if that was a comfort.

Kaveh stumbled into his room, Azar’s chilling smile burned into his mind. He clicked the door shut, leaned against it, his breath ragged. Then the dull throb in his hands reminded him.

He unclenched his fists, wincing as he saw the bleeding nail beds on his right hand. They trembled. Raw nail beds pulsed, red and wet and angry. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d pressed down during the whole thing.

He grabbed a tissue from the desk and dabbed at the blood. The sting was immediate, sharp enough to make him wince and hiss.

Then—a knock.

Kaveh didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. “What?”

The door opened without permission. Alhaitham. Infuriatingly composed. Holding a small roll of bandages and a packet of alcohol swabs.

Kaveh kept his eyes on his throbbing fingers. “That wasn’t an invitation to come in.”

Alhaitham didn’t reply. Just stepped into the room, movements slow, cautious. He placed the medical supplies on Kaveh’s desk. “Do you need the medical staff?”

A scoff. “I can bandage myself.”

Which was bullshit. He couldn’t. Not properly. Not with his dominant hand out of commission. But he grabbed the bandages anyway, stubborn, pulling the roll free and fumbling with it.

Alhaitham watched Kaveh’s clumsy attempt. Didn’t argue. Just nodded once, then moved toward the door.

And Kaveh, despite his earlier terror, felt a fresh wave of irritation. A bitter taste of helplessness he hadn’t shaken since Azar showed up.

Because it wasn’t Alhaitham’s place to send people to look after him. The sage couldn’t even hold a proper conversation with Kaveh. Not that Kaveh wanted to talk to him anyway. Not that Alhaitham would answer. Not that Kaveh could trust him even if he did.

"I don’t need a bodyguard," he said, sharp.

Alhaitham paused. Turned back.

Kaveh avoided his gaze, tearing open an alcohol swab with his teeth. “Call Dehya off.”

"It seemed necessary ten minutes ago," Alhaitham said.

"That was different."

"Was it?"

Kaveh huffed, pressing the swab against his finger. The pain was immediate and overwhelming. He gritted his teeth. "We barely go out. Dehya doesn’t need to waste her time here."

"She’s not wasting time. She’s paid a fair wage."

Kaveh tossed the used swab onto the desk, wincing. Alhaitham’s gaze tracked his every movement. “Okay, but why is she even here? What’s her purpose?”

“To keep you both safe,” Alhaitham said, eyes narrowing slightly.

“From what?”

“You know what.” A muscle twitched in his jaw.

The tension spiked. Kaveh’s voice pitched up, bandages tangled in his hands. "What—Azar? What is he even doing? Why is he asking about you? Aren’t you all in the same organization?"

The big question hung in the air, unanswered.

Kaveh looked back down at his mangled fingers, the missing nails a stark reminder of his vulnerability. He tried to wrap the bandage, his left hand clumsy. It came out loose.

He tried again. Failed again.

Alhaitham sighed, a quiet thing that Kaveh inexplicably took as a personal judgment.

Kaveh bristled. “What, am I doing it wrong now?”

But instead of responding, Alhaitham stepped forward. Quiet. Measured. Crouched down beside the stool Kaveh was on, his presence suddenly too near. He reached for the bandages in Kaveh's hands.

Kaveh blinked. Leaned back a little. “What are you—"

“You’re going to make it worse.” His voice was low and surprisingly patient.

Alhaitham picked up a fresh alcohol swab and gently took Kaveh’s injured hand. His thumb brushed lightly over the fingers, sending a strange shiver down Kaveh's spine. He carefully dabbed the swab over the raw nail beds.

Kaveh winced. Jerked his hand away. “There’s a reason why I didn’t do that!”

“Do you want it to get infected?”

The glare Kaveh sent him could’ve peeled paint. But Alhaitham just took Kaveh’s hand back, his touch surprisingly warm. He continued to clean the wounds, soaking up the tiny beads of blood. Kaveh bit the inside of his lip, frowning, trying to suppress the flinches.

Silence stretched.

Not tense. Not comfortable. Just... quiet.

Kaveh found himself studying Alhaitham’s face. Still stoic, still the unreadable mask. But there was a subtle weariness around his eyes, a stiffness in his posture.

A cut on his cheek, near the ear. Thin. Red. New. Kaveh wondered what had caused it.

Alhaitham noticed. Met his eyes briefly. Then went back to the bandages, tearing off a strip and winding it carefully around the injured finger. Gentle. Kaveh couldn't even wince.

He was reminded, unbidden, of the last time Alhaitham had bandaged him.

Stupidly, without thinking—

“You think they’ll heal fine?”

Alhaitham eyes lifted, meeting Kaveh’s again. Almost... surprised? “It’ll take several months for new nails to grow. But the beds should scab over in two weeks. If you take care of them.”

Kaveh hummed softly as Alhaitham moved to his second injured finger.

"Is playing Five stones slowing the process?"

"Depends. Do you keep catching the stones with the injured nails?"

He rolled his eyes. "I don’t plan to. It just happens."

Alhaitham’s lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "You should play other games, then."

"Like mancala?"

"That would be better."

It sounded so casual. Like Alhaitham hadn’t given those games to Nahida on purpose. Kaveh didn’t know what to make of it.

And then Alhaitham finished. His touch lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. His eyes, serious and intense, stared at the two bandaged fingers. Like he wanted to say something.

Kaveh waited. Swallowed. Then slowly pulled his hand back. The comforting warmth disappeared. He stretched his fingers. Tried curling them. They didn’t sting as much.

He hesitated—didn’t know if he should thank the sage.

But Alhaitham didn’t give him a chance. He stood, gathered the remaining supplies, and walked to the door.

He left without another word.

Kaveh didn’t call after him. Didn’t ask anything more.

He let a few beats pass. Then walked and flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. Thought of Azar downstairs. In the basements. Shivered. Thought of Kaushik. Hat guy. And Nahida.

Resident little sage, Azar had called her.

What did that even mean?

Chapter Text

Kaveh had reached a limit.

It was a quiet, polite, thoroughly academic kind of breaking point—the kind where instead of screaming into a pillow, you decided to make a spreadsheet titled “Questions Nobody Will Answer”.

His columns and rows were already full. So.

His new mission was simple.

Step one: Check in on his friends.
Step two: Figure out why he was still here.
Step three: Why was Azar such an irredeemable bastard.
Step four: Who exactly was Nahida.

Optional sub-steps included: who gave Hat guy the right to cosplay a Sage, why were the Fatui chasing him, and why was Alhaitham sending Dehya like he cared, then turning around and bandaging Kaveh’s stupid hand like he really cared, then vanishing like—

Okay. Breathe. One mystery at a time.

Kaveh found Hat guy at breakfast.

They weren’t friends. But Kaveh had shared snacks with him once or twice. And Nahida liked Kaveh. Hat guy definitely liked Nahida. So by proxy, they’re kind of friends.

He sat down.

Hat guy glared at him over something rice-based and hostile. Kaveh waited.

Then: “Do you guys know all the ins and outs of Old Sumeru?”

Hat guy paused mid-bite. Looked up. Stared.

“No.”

“…No?”

“No, I’m not answering your questions.” Hat guy chewed, swallowed, looked irritated. “That was not in my job description.”

Kaveh frowned. Hat guy frowned harder.

“I’m not sharing snacks with you anymore.” Kaveh stood up. Left.

Behind him, Hat guy’s jaw twitched. “I don’t fucking care!!”

Yeah. Let’s see how he cares when Nahida stops sharing, too.

The next time Nahida and Kaveh went out—still trailed by Dehya, conveniently pretending not to listen—they returned with two enormous pita wraps. Kaveh made sure Hat guy saw both of them eat.

It worked. Like clockwork.

Hat guy exploded mid-chew, stabbing a finger in Kaveh’s direction. “Go ask your fucking boyfriend!”

Kaveh choked on his bite. “I don’t have a boyfriend?!”

“Oh really? Then go talk to the guy who carried you in here half-dead and made you my problem! Ask him! Everything! I’m not your babysitter!”

Kaveh froze.

…Alhaitham brought him here?

So—Alhaitham was the one who got him away from Azar?

Kaveh frowned. Swallowed his bite. Looked at his bandaged fingers. Remembered the warm hands that cleaned them some days ago.

Fine.

If Hat guy was going to be a brat about it, Kaveh would ask Alhaitham.

Except Alhaitham was nowhere to be found.

But Kaveh wasn’t about to quit. He knew Dehya reported to Alhaitham twice a day. If Alhaitham wouldn’t talk to him, he’d talk to Dehya. Or through Dehya.

He went to the library, skimmed the shelves for the most cloyingly hopeful academic journal he could find—some utopian nonsense full of naïve idealism that would make Alhaitham want to set himself on fire—and pinned a sticky note to the last page:

• How do I set up an appointment with the Haravatat sage?

Dehya raised an eyebrow when he passed it to her. He shrugged, played it cool. “For Alhaitham. Just a thank-you. For the bandages.”

The next morning, she handed him a new book. From Alhaitham. He hated—hated—that his heart skipped.

It was titled Surface Susceptibility Synthesis of Metasurface Holograms. Hideous.

Inside the back cover:

• The Haravatat sage is not taking appointments.

Kaveh frowned.

That evening, he sent a book back—this one so badly formatted, with such outdated data and grammatical sins, that it could be classified as a crime:

• Where is the Haravatat sage’s office? The Akademiya?

He received a perfect, award-winning thesis in return. Because of course.

• The Haravatat sage has no office.

Kaveh screamed into a pillow.

• Does the Haravatat sage take phone calls?
• Correspondences only via email.
• ?? I don’t have access to any devices in this place.
• Shame. No appointment.

Kaveh had rolled his eyes.

• Seriously. Hat guy’s library is running out of bad books.

The next time Dehya handed him a book, she didn’t even bother hiding the smirk. Kaveh scowled at her. “Don’t.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” she said. But she was thinking it. Loudly.

In the last page—

• Send me good books then.

Kaveh tried not to smile. It leaked out anyway. Just a second.

Sighing, he gathered his courage. Sent one last book.

A good one. Carefully chosen. Something rare and fascinating, one of Hat guy’s favorites, judging from the glass case it was kept in. Kaveh had seen him reading it twice. He bet Hat guy would be furious it was missing.

He annotated the sticky note in quiet ink:

• Hat guy’s library. Tomorrow. I have a proposition. If you don’t agree, I won’t ask anything more.

And so Kaveh had been in the library all day. The quiet of it used to soothe him, but now, every second scratched against his nerves. The walls were too tall. The quiet too deep. His mind too loud.

Alhaitham hadn’t come.

He told himself he hadn’t expected him to. It didn’t matter. He was only here because he needed answers. Not because he was waiting. Not because his heart did that stupid lurch whenever he heard footsteps.

By late afternoon, his hope dwindled, replaced by a bitter resentment.

Then the door creaked open. Kaveh’s shoulders slumped. Just Dehya.

“Wow,” she said dryly. “Don’t look so thrilled.”

Kaveh mumbled an apology, but she just tossed a book onto the desk. “Your next love letter.”

“It’s not like that,” Kaveh muttered, but his fingers were already reaching for the book. He braced himself—for dismissal, silence, rejection. Alhaitham wouldn’t write if he meant to come, right?

But when he flipped it open, there it was:

• I have meetings until 6pm. Will be there afterwards.

Kaveh stared at it for a long moment. He could feel it. The softening. The traitorous breath of relief. He hated it.

Because Alhaitham didn’t have to say anything. He could have let Kaveh spiral all day. Could have let him think he’d been stood up. But he’d given a time. A promise, of sorts.

No. Tighnari’s warning echoed in his mind: Manipulation.

Kaveh immediately smacked his forehead on the desk. Dehya blinked.

Tighnari said do not fall for the good guy act.

It didn’t mean anything. Kaveh wouldn’t let it mean anything.

He thanked Dehya with a tired smile. Tried to focus on the book Alhaitham had sent, a dry academic text that soon lulled him into a restless sleep.

Two soft taps on his head.

He blinked awake, sluggish and confused, then stilled.

Alhaitham sat across from him. In the flesh. Crisp robes. Leaning back in the chair like he hadn’t kept Kaveh waiting all day.

Kaveh flushed, hastily rubbing at his eyes and trying to smooth his sleep-rumpled hair. “Bastard. You could’ve said something when you came in.”

Alhaitham only hummed. Said nothing more. He was waiting.

Kaveh sighed, the weight of his desperation pressing down on him.  He sat up straighter. His fingers tapped an anxious rhythm on the table. He didn’t know how to begin.

Then Alhaitham slid a book across the table. A familiar one. The one Kaveh just sent yesterday. “It’s a good book.”

“Yeah,” Kaveh replied, voice rough. “You… should return it when you’re done. Hat guy—Wanderer—would probably throw a fit if it disappeared.”

A slight shrug. “All the more reason to keep it.”

Kaveh almost smiled. He suppressed it. He cleared his throat instead. Reminded himself this was a criminal. A sage. A danger.

He exhaled. “How much longer will I be here for?”

Alhaitham blinked. Slowly. Unreadable as ever.

“I...” Kaveh faltered. Frowned. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I weren’t desperate. Hat guy refuses to talk. Nahida’s a child. And as much as I hate to say it, you’re the only one I know who can answer.”

Still, Alhaitham only listened. Not a twitch of judgment. A perfect mask.

Kaveh swallowed. “I propose our usual deal. Three wins and an answer. Is that acceptable?”

A beat. A longer one.

And what was Kaveh doing?

He felt stupid. Like a child trying to bargain on a playground. He looked away.

Then Alhaitham’s voice, low and steady, cut through his turmoil: “What game?”

Kaveh blinked, taken aback. “Oh. Um. Five stones? Or mancala? I can grab the board from the sitting room.”

Alhaitham just looked at him, a flicker of something in his eyes. With a fluid movement, he reached into his chest pocket. Pulled out a rectangular box. Black and gold-printed. 64 squares arranged in an 8x8 grid.

A pocket-sized chess board. The ones where each piece had little magnets under them.

“You’re predictable,” Alhaitham said, almost amused.

And Kaveh bristled. Heart too loud in his chest. Reminded himself AGAIN. This was a criminal. A sage.

“Let’s do two consecutive wins,” Alhaitham added, fingers already opening the board and setting up pieces. “You seem to have many questions.”

“Are you underestimating me?” Kaveh scoffed. “I’ve beaten you plenty.”

“Then two wins would give you more advantage.”

Kaveh deliberately didn’t look at Alhaitham’s deft hands, focusing instead on a point just behind his head, trying to project an air of cool indifference.

“Fine,” he conceded, voice tight. “You better get your answers ready.”

Somewhere, in the hazy space between memory and pain, Kaveh remembered the last time they played like this. Zensu. The board game café. The way Kaveh had asked, ‘Who are you?’ afterwards.

And Alhaitham had answered. Soft. Sincere.

That, too, was probably a lie.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Either way, it hurt worse now.

The only sounds in the library were the soft shick-shick of magnetic chess pieces moving, the distant chirping of crickets, and the faint buzz of the overhead lights. Neither of them spoke. Just the slow rhythm of gameplay.

Alhaitham won the first round. Kaveh won the next two.

“My friends,” he began. “They were here, right? Are they okay?”

Alhaitham’s gaze didn’t waver. “They’re here still. Not entirely safe. But not harmed.”

Short. Precise. The clipped answer annoyed Kaveh, but a sliver of his anxiety eased. Not safe, but not harmed. Still on their mission, then.

Three rounds later, Kaveh won twice again.

“Why am I still here?”

Alhaitham shrugged, the motion slow, unbothered. “Your friends are not in Persia. You were kidnapped by Azar. Where else would be safer?”

Safer.

The word left a bitter taste in Kaveh’s mouth. “So I’m not a prisoner?”

There was a pause. Then, finally: “No. But for formal purposes, yes.”

Kaveh stared.

Alhaitham sighed—quiet, reluctant. “It was the only way to get you here without the other sages interfering. Calling on… possession.”

A chill ran down Kaveh’s spine. Possession. Like he’d been claimed. Like a belonging. Sickening. He looked away. They continued to play.

Five rounds later, Kaveh’s rook placed Alhaitham in checkmate, securing another win.

“Why is Azar such a dick and targeting me?”

Alhaitham’s lips tightened, just barely. “His methods are… not conventional. He took you because there were several assignments I took where I didn’t report back. Instead of confronting me, he seemed to think you were an easier target.”

The implication hung there. Kaveh didn’t ask why Azar would think that. He already knew. Hat guy’s voice echoed in his mind: liability. He hated it. He swallowed his anger and played on.

Another round. Another win. Then another.

“Is Nahida… Rukkhadevata’s heir?”

The question he’d been pondering about all the time since Azar’s words. Resident little sage. Her age. Her knowing words and looks. And most damning of all—her white hair, green eyes, a mirror image to the late Queen.

A beat. The silence stretched. Then Alhaitham gave the smallest nod.

“She was hidden from the world,” he said. “Raised by the sages because they still need her. The last puzzle piece for something important.”

Kaveh blinked. “The cipher you’ve been looking for?”

Alhaitham was quiet for a long moment. Then, another nod.

Kaveh pressed his palm against his temple. Information overload. Nahida. Older than he thought, yet so small, so innocent. A consequence of her hidden life, surely.

He had more questions—about Hat guy, about Alhaitham, about his friends. But—

“It’s getting late,” Alhaitham said. “You should sleep.”

His tone was not cold. Just… quiet. Soft. It stung more than Kaveh expected.

He nodded. Too exhausted to argue. Alhaitham gathered the pieces, placing them back inside the board, folding it shut. Kaveh walked to the door.

Audible footsteps followed.
All the way to his room.
Then disappeared once he was inside.

Somewhere outside the center of Old Sumeru:

Dust clung to Tighnari’s worn cloak as he hurried through the outskirts of Old Sumeru, the weight of the supply bag digging into his shoulder. Cyno’s silent presence was a reassuring shadow just behind him, his own shabby disguise doing little to hide his military bearing.

They kept low, cutting through a narrow alley between collapsed garden walls.

“The residents seem to support it,” Tighnari murmured, breath steady despite the pace. “The aversion to the sages is… palpable.”

“That’s good,” Cyno replied, his voice low and gravelly. “They need all the help we can give for now. It’s bad out there.”

Tighnari nodded grimly. “Mm. We just need the information from New Sumeru now, before the next part of the plan.”

“They won’t refuse outright,” Cyno said, a hint of skepticism in his tone. “But they’ll be reluctant. They always are.”

The moment they stepped past the worn iron archway marking the threshold into the center, the stark contrast hit Tighnari like a physical blow.

The disparity was grotesque. Within the manicured center—gleaming towers inlaid with gold; cool, well-lit streets; marble steps scrubbed clean by unseen hands; shops stocked with luxury elixirs that were entirely unnecessary.

And barely a mile out, families slept on dirt floors. Clinics had no medicine. Children starved under collapsing roofs.

Tighnari clenched his jaw.

And then—

He saw. A flash of sun. Red eyes. A too-wide smile.

His unmistakable hair was somewhat hidden beneath a too-large hood, but there was no mistaking the architect’s slender frame.

At the bustling marketplace, amidst the vibrant chaos of vendors and bartering crowds was—

Kaveh.

A small girl with pale white hair clung to his side. Trailing behind them, a familiar figure – the tan-skinned woman with the distinctive build and weaponry. The guard who had aimed those lethal-looking guns at Cyno, Albedo, and Aether during Tighnari’s capture.

Tighnari’s steps faltered.

Cyno’s did too. Their eyes met under their hoods.

What in the world…?

Why was Kaveh here? Here—at the very heart of Old Sumeru. Not in Persia. Not hidden. Just… wandering. Chatting. Buying candied snacks.

Cyno usually impassive face tightened, his hand instinctively moving towards the concealed weapon beneath his cloak as he saw the female guard come closer. Tighnari held a hand in front of the other man, a silent ‘wait’.

He inhaled through his nose. Exhaled slowly.

They turned sharply, melting back into the flow of the crowd, hurrying to their destination.

Tighnari had a serious bone to pick with that vague, cryptic sage.

Some days later, Kaveh woke up later than intended.

The events of the card game and Alhaitham’s answers replayed in Kaveh's mind like a broken record. He debated sending another book. Another note. Or maybe finding Nahida, who had been too quiet ever since Azar’s appearance.

He didn’t need to ponder over it much. Because when he entered the dining room, it wasn’t Dehya waiting at the table.

It was Alhaitham.

He was already seated, with a book, sipping tea like he’d been there forever. “Do you always come down this late?”

Kaveh stopped in his tracks, frowned. The tone was too familiar—like all the times Alhaitham had shown up at the public park, silent and waiting beside a chess board. He hadn’t expected to see him so soon after the sage’s recent elusiveness.

“I didn’t realize the Haravatat sage made an appointment with me.”

Alhaitham didn’t acknowledge the jab. “Dehya is out on some business. I will be overseeing you today.”

Kaveh blinked. “Excuse me? I don’t need—”

“Have you ever been outside the center of Old Sumeru?”

Kaveh paused, a knot of confusion tightening in his stomach. “…No.”

Alhaitham nodded, turning a page. “Get ready.”

Get ready? What??

Kaveh just stood there.

Alhaitham finally looked up. Set his tea down. “You wanted answers, didn’t you?”

At that, Kaveh huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine. Is Nahida coming with?”

“No. It’s too far for her.”

That only confused Kaveh more. Too far? Since when did Alhaitham escort others across distances for the sake of answers?

But Kaveh went back upstairs anyway, changed, irritated and curious in equal measure. Inside though, he couldn’t help the tiny flicker of… anticipation? Stupid. So stupid.

When he returned downstairs, dressed in the clothes provided by the maids, Alhaitham tossed him a cloak. Shabby, rumpled, with a faint musty scent. “We’re going to the outskirts. Not afternoon tea.”

Annoyance flared. As if Kaveh had any choices in the guest clothes for the Vahumana sage’s guests. Such an ass. Kaveh grabbed the cloak wordlessly, fiddling, trying to tie the loose strings with his still-tender fingers.

It kept slipping, coming loose, until Alhaitham exhaled, stepped forward—too close—and took over. His fingers brushed against Kaveh’s neck, sending a jolt of heat through him. His heart stuttered, a traitorous leap.

Criminal. Killer. He had to shout in his mind. The reminder was sharp and unwelcome.

Kaveh jerked back as soon as Alhaitham was done, tugging at the nub. Mumbled, “I could’ve done it myself.”

“Mm,” Alhaitham said mildly, already walking.

They didn’t head for the main gates. Instead, Alhaitham led him towards a stairwell. Then—

A garage. White. Glossy. Modern. So unlike the rest of the manor’s traditional lavishness. Rows of sleek and powerful-looking cars and motorcycles gleamed in the floor’s reflection. Kaveh blinked. Many times. In wonder.

“Have you ever ridden on a bike before?”

“I’ve been on… a bicycle?” Kaveh offered.

Alhaitham’s expression was unamused. “Motorcycle.”

Kaveh huffed, shaking his head.

A sigh. “Fine. You can ride with me.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Kaveh started, half a pitch too high. “Ride with you?”

Alhaitham just tossed him a helmet. “Wear this under your hood.”

"We’re going on a bike?"

“Yes. The outskirts are too far on foot. Too congested for a car.”

Kaveh, still reeling, scoffed. “No helicopter?”

Alhaitham’s mouth twitched. Barely. “No helicopter.”

And gods, Kaveh shouldn’t smile—but he felt it tug at the corners of his mouth anyway. But—

Criminal. Cold-hearted. Manipulator. Tighnari would slap him. Kaveh shook his head.

They walked past the row of impressive vehicles. And then Alhaitham stopped at what looked like the saddest, scrawniest motorcycle in the lot.

Kaveh looked wistfully at another particularly fascinating model.

“It’s the outskirts,” Alhaitham reiterated.

“You keep saying that, but I have no idea what the outskirts look like!”

Alhaitham sighed again, gesturing to their chosen vehicle like it explained everything. “It looks like this. Not the Harley-Davidson.”

Kaveh just huffed, clipping on the helmet under his hood. He awkwardly climbed onto the back of the bike. And when Alhaitham mounted the bike, steady as always, Kaveh—stupid, stupid—wrapped his arms around him without thinking.

The sage stiffened slightly.

“Hm? Are we not going?” Kaveh asked.

Alhaitham in front. Close. Too close. Tipped his head back slightly.

“You don’t need to hold on that tight,” he said, low. “The engine’s not even started yet.”

Kaveh flushed crimson, jerked his hands back like they burned him. How should I know?!”

He saw the sage wince. Probably at Kaveh’s volume. Good. He deserved that. Asshole.

The engine roared to life, vibrating beneath them. Even with Kaveh leaning back, they were still too close. Kaveh could feel the heat radiating off Alhaitham’s back, the memory of his hands wrapped around him a vivid sensation.

Stupid. Stupid. Shut up. Criminal. Naphis. Kaveh needed that cold splash of reality.

The garage doors rumbled open.

The initial jolt of speed caught Kaveh off guard.

His hands flew back to clutch Alhaitham again, a purely involuntary reaction to the fear of falling. Not because he wanted to. Because he didn’t want to die. That was all.

But the warmth of the man in front of him, the solid shape of him, the way his heart wouldn’t stop sprinting—

Kaveh hated it.

The morning wind, surprisingly gentle against his face, carried a faint, familiar scent from Alhaitham—sandalwood and something sharper. His grip around Alhaitham’s waist was probably too tight—but Alhaitham hadn’t said anything. Maybe didn’t mind.

They stopped by a roadside vendor, the air thick with the smell of grilled meat.

Alhaitham wordlessly passed Kaveh his wallet.

Kaveh took it. “Wow. No arguments?”

Alhaitham only arched a brow. “No dripping sauces.”

Kaveh scoffed, then offered the vendor a bright smile as he paid. The old woman chuckled, passing over two wrapped sandwiches with a wink. And absolutely out-of-nowhere said, “Oh, my husband used to take me everywhere on his bike, too, in my youth.”

Kaveh nearly choked. Too? “It’s not—it’s not like that. But that's, uh, it's great you used to do that.”

The vendor smiled, a little sheepish. “Ah, sorry, didn’t mean to assume.”

Alhaitham didn’t say a word, but Kaveh could almost feel the smirk radiating off him. Kaveh elbowed him on the way back. “Shut up.”

Back on the bike, Kaveh held on one-handed, the sandwich in his free hand, balancing with the grace of someone too hungry to care. Kaveh took a few bites, then glanced down at Alhaitham’s hands on the handlebars.

Tentatively, he asked “Have you… eaten?”

The question felt ridiculously obvious given Alhaitham was piloting the vehicle. Slow.

A slight shake of Alhaitham’s head.

Kaveh let a few beats pass. Cursed. Then—

“You want some?”

Alhaitham turned his head slightly at a red light, one elegant brow arching in silent, sarcastic question.

Kaveh huffed, leaned forward, holding the sandwich awkwardly over Alhaitham’s shoulder. “Just… keep your eyes on the road.”

A pause. Then, Alhaitham’s took a small bite. Kaveh tried not to smile.

The city changed the further they drove.

The skyline shrank, buildings crumbling into neglect. The streets grew dirtier. People lay on sidewalks. Shops were shuttered, shelves with nothing but dust. Children, if not kicking cans, begged silently. The sounds of bitter arguments echoed through the grime.

It stretched for miles.

Kaveh had seen poverty before. But this—

“This is… part of Old Sumeru?” Kaveh asked, voice barely a whisper.

Alhaitham nodded, his gaze sweeping over the scene.

“Why… why is it so different?”

“The sages,” Alhaitham said, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. “aren’t a government. They’re a criminal organization. Corruption dressed up in philosophy. And this… is the reality of their corruption. The real Old Sumeru.”

The sages. But Alhaitham was a sage. A chilling thought. Why was he showing him this?

They finally slowed near a cracked stone wall. He climbed off the bike in silence. And saw a man selling crudely made lion keychains, his hope fragile in the desolation. Kaveh’s heart ached.

Before he could even turn, Alhaitham handed him his wallet again.

“Don’t buy everything,” he warned, voice low. “You’ll become a target.”

Kaveh bought half the keychains anyway. Judging by the purse of Alhaitham’s lips, still too much.

They walked in silence until they reached a relatively clear patch of dusty ground. Alhaitham picked up a stick—

And began drawing shapes in the dirt.

Something like a bird. Then a deformed triangle. Curves. Hooks. Squiggly lines that looked almost accidental. Kaveh watched, a frown creasing his brow. Alhaitham added one more symbol: a square with something like a sun inside it.

And then—it clicked.

Writing. Ancient Sumerian, probably. A language Kaveh couldn’t decipher, that he had only seen in his father’s dusty tomes.

Alhaitham tapped the stick on the bird-like symbol. “These are letters, but they only mean something when paired.”

He drew more. Similar symbols, yet different. Extra lines, added swirls, shapes within shapes. Alhaitham explained as he drew, how the symbols formed meaning. And moments later, Kaveh’s breath stuttered. Because he recognized them.

The motifs from his tower. Not them exactly, but the shadows they created on the walls—when sunlight filtered through the atrium just right.

“You’re saying… the motifs were hidden symbols?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

Alhaitham nodded again.

“There are twelve ciphers the sages are looking for.” A tense silence. “The last one was in your tower.”

The sky felt too heavy. The dirt too dry. The past too close.

And those symbols… Kaveh hadn’t even known. So cleverly hidden, visible only when the sun was shining just right.

A cold dread unfurled in his stomach. He tried to recall any flicker in Alhaitham’s face the day they visited the tower. When they laughed. When they kissed. When they shared soft words and laughter that night—

Nothing.
Not a flinch. Not a hesitation.
No unusual interest in the carvings.

And Gods—

“You didn’t say anything,” he said, voice hollow. Couldn’t help but wonder what else had been a performance. And what had been real.

Alhaitham didn’t reply.

But—

Another pressing question clawed its way to the surface. Burned hotter than the rest.

“How does any of this… warrant the lives of thousands?”

“It doesn’t,” Alhaitham said. “It’s simply how assignments are carried out.”

And just like that, the distance between them felt endless.

“So what,” Kaveh pressed, voice tight with anger. “Naphis wasn’t even your target? Just collateral damage in your little treasure hunt?” The memory of Alhaitham’s words about death that night flared in his mind. People die all the time.

“He was marked ages ago. It was simply his time.”

“Simply his—” Kaveh paused, disbelieving. “Are all lives just… a means to an end for you?”

“That is not my intent,” Alhaitham said, tone even, but Kaveh heard the familiar note of irritation that always sent his temper spiraling.

“Oh, really?” Kaveh gritted his teeth. “Then what is your intent, Alhaitham? Couldn’t you have just—demolished the tower alone? When no one was inside?”

Alhaitham’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“You can’t just brush people’s lives aside! Those were my father’s glyphs! Was my life on the line too, then?”

“It never involved you.”

“Never—” Kaveh’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “I was kidnapped, Alhaitham! Azar had been watching even before we went to the tower. I was already involved!”

“I know that.”

Kaveh stopped talking. Looked at the sage who shut his eyes. Who was too tense. Who sighed so deeply. Like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And after a long, drawn-out silence, Alhaitham said, “I hadn’t realized Azar had been in Persia. It was a mistake of mine.” His voice was softer than before, almost hesitant. “You, being here, was a mistake of mine.”

The quiet stretched, taut and brittle. Kaveh exhaled. Mind still racing. Emotions still high.

Alhaitham opened his mouth—then stopped.

“Kaveh!”

Rough hands seized him. A blur—dark green, white. He jerked back instinctively, heart in his throat—

Then froze.

Tighnari. Cyno.

Somewhere far underground, under the known layers of hard earth—

Azar descended alone.

The stone staircase wound down in tight circles, the rough rock walls close enough to whisper secrets he didn't care to hear. The lantern he carried sputtered faintly in the stale air, the only companion in the silent, subterranean space. His footfalls echoed like whispers of ghosts too tired to speak.

At the bottom, the corridor opened into a chamber carved directly into the bedrock—walls blackened with age, scratched with runes even the old scholars hadn’t bothered to decipher. In the center stood a door. Plain, stone-bound, untouched by time.

He paused before it, exhaling through his nose.

His hand trailed the surrounding wall. Slow. Familiar. Searching. There—the space he remembered. That small depression in the stone. The void that required words.

The last cipher.

Rukkhadevata’s parting gift to a broken nation—twelve seals scattered like curses, entrusted to those she deemed worthy. Some were sent to empires. Others to syndicates. More to ancient families from the forgotten corners of Old Inazuma to the shadowed estates of Romania.

Eleven, they had found.

It had taken almost two decades. Dead languages. Forgotten alphabets. A sage who could translate every single one, born too late and too bright for his own good.

Azar had thought he would not live to find the last one.

But no. He knew better now.

Knew the glint of something more than academic curiosity in teal eyes. The missed reports from the sands of Persia.

The twelfth cipher was no longer lost.

It was the only explanation. For the evasion. The silence.

For the death of Naphis—orchestrated as a spectacle when it could’ve been a simple assassination.

Azar was thankful he had been in Persia at the time. That he had acted quickly, as soon as his youngest showed a too-deep interest. He had been about to leave, chalking up the interest to the blond architect—

Until Zone 6.

Buildings leveled. Schools crushed. A landmark erased. Minimal survivors. No records. No language left.

Azar had scoured every part of the dark web. It was as if the entire district had never existed. Rebuilt without announcement. Buried under polite silence.

He had seen that kind of silence before—in Sudan, six years ago. Kaushik’s technology buried deep in the earth, untraceable. Devastating. But even then, it had been in response to the country's underground network.

The youngest sage had something to hide.

And Azar—Azar was almost proud. He had known from the beginning that Alhaitham would be precise. Sharp. Useful.

But control was paramount.

And Azar knew where to get it.

The boy. The architect with eyes that dared to meet Azar's with such insolent defiance. The one his youngest sage had barged in for. The two dead guards a testament to it.

Azar remembered the glare. Bright-eyed, wild. Disrespectful. Barked orders of relocation that bordered on insubordination. Ignored protocol. Refused to wait for Azar’s verdict. Carried the beaten blond out like he was precious.

So Azar knew this: only two people could have the cipher. Alhaitham. And that boy.

Azar didn't often trust in instinct, but he felt this in his bones.

He rose, the lantern casting long, distorted shadows. There, to his left, another door—collapsed in on itself. A ruin of dust and broken wards. The second archive. The failed one.

A shame. He should have believed her.

But there was no time left for regret.

The heir was almost of age.

And this time, Azar would act before anyone else.

The air conditioner hummed faintly. The corner of the wall had chipped paint. Kaveh stared at it like it might offer an answer.

Kaveh sat. In a beige room. Too big. Too bright. Yet, the colors did nothing to affect the leaden weight in his chest.

Somber. Serious. Angry. Hurt. All of it churned. A vicious cocktail.

The past two hours were a blur. A series of jagged impressions. Raised voices. Empty silences. Explanations. He recalled what had happened in fragmented flashes. Alhaitham’s damning revelations. Then the sudden, jarring arrival of his friends. The way they had started—

Started talking to Alhaitham.

“We asked for an explanation!” Tighnari’s voice had been tight, his grip on Kaveh’s arm unwavering as he glared at the sage. "Not to bring him here!"

Alhaitham’s gaze had remained steady, meeting Tighnari’s without a hint of deference. “He’s here. So he can give the explanation.”

And Kaveh had been so confused. His head had snapped back and forth, a frantic pendulum between his furious friends and the infuriatingly calm sage. His own emotions, still exposed from the earlier revelations, had been a chaotic storm.  

And then—

Cyno had said, ridiculously—

“We could’ve done this at the manor.”

Manor? Kaveh wanted to scream. Because what fucking manor?

And why were they all talking to each other with unsettling—

Familiarity?

So Kaveh had had enough. Shrugged all the hands off him roughly. Stumbled back. Eyes wild. Searching. “What the hell is going on?”

And there had been silence. Heavy.

Nobody said a thing.

Kaveh had started biting the inside of his cheek, a sliver of dread forming in his stomach.

Then Alhaitham had spoken, voice calm and measured, cutting through the tension. “You can say we are in… a joint arrangement.”

Kaveh had blinked. The words slow to register. He had looked from Tighnari to Cyno to Alhaitham. A beat of utter confusion stretched, the pieces refusing to fit.

Then the three men just shared looks with each other.

And just like that—a pang. A dull throb. Cold disbelief.

A familiar, unwelcome feeling. The bitter taste of playing a game with invisible rules, a game he hadn’t even known he was part of.

Because they all knew each other.

Because it was Tighnari, who had been so vehemently against Alhaitham—

It was Cyno, who had been looking for the sage, who wanted him locked up—

And most of all, it was Alhaitham, who had held Kaveh once, kissed him, whispered soft words, broken his heart, brought him to safety in this foreign land, and still not told him the truth—

Kaveh had just been. Kept out of the loop. Alone.

While everyone else was inside.

And somehow, that was worse than anything Alhaitham had said.

Chapter Text

Several weeks ago:

The cell was dim. A single, low-humming light buzzing. The walls were bare cement, the air stale and damp. Tighnari’s ears twitched at every sound, his back still sore from when the Haravatat sage’s guards pinned him down.

Cyno sat still, tense. Albedo had already begun analyzing the room for exit points. There were none. And Aether was quiet. Gaze locked on the man across from them.

They had been blindfolded during the descent—led by silent guards through a maze of cold stone tunnels. No one had spoken, save for a single phrase from the one waiting at the end of it all.

"Untie them."

Now, seated at a lone desk at the center of the room, the sage looked almost disinterested. One arm rested casually on the table. The other hovered over a folder he hadn’t bothered to open. His eyes moved slowly—Tighnari. Cyno. Albedo.

They stopped. On Aether.

“The Traveler, correct?”

Aether didn’t respond. He didn’t need to confirm what they both already knew.

“You are… difficult to reach.”

“I’ve been around,” Aether replied dryly.

Silence stretched again, thick with unspoken accusations and veiled intentions. Nothing but the low hum of the light above to amplify the tension.

Then, with a fluid movement, the sage reached into the inner pocket of his robes. His fingers emerged, clutching something small, metallic, heavy. Like a big, thick coin. Or a medal.

He slid it across the table. It spun once before coming to a stop with a quiet, definitive clink.

Aether’s breath hitched.

Tighnari watched as he leaned forward, hand hovering over the steel circle, fingers trembling ever so slightly. With a hesitant movement, Aether picked it up.

“Where… where did you get this?” The question was barely a whisper.

“It was given to me.”

“No way,” Aether breathed, turning the object over in his palm. “You’re lying.”

Tighnari caught the intricate carvings, too many lines and patterns he couldn’t make sense of. What was it? Why was Aether in such disbelief?

“You can test it for authenticity,” the sage offered flatly. “If that helps to reconcile your doubt.”

Albedo leaned forward slightly, his usual detached curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

Silence. Again. Aether just traced his fingers around each line, each carving in the iron, as if trying to unlock a forgotten memory. A piece of a puzzle he hadn’t even known existed.

His voice was low, reverent. “A medallion. A marker. It signifies… a debt. Or an oath. A promise. Something… binding.”

And then, distantly, almost as if he were speaking to himself—

“This is my family’s crest.”

Tighnari straightened, his ears swiveling. Cyno’s eyes narrowed, the gears of his disciplinary mind beginning to turn. Albedo’s sharp gaze was now studying the medallion.

Aether’s brow furrowed in confusion, or perhaps accusation. “But I never gave it to you.”

The sage only nodded. Once.

“So it means…” Aether trailed off.

He didn’t finish.
He didn’t have to.

Because there had only ever been two people in his family.
And one of them had been missing for years.

The unspoken understanding hanging heavy in the air.

Aether gripped the medallion. Tight. As if trying to divine his sister from the cold metal.

Then he choked out a rough, disbelieving laugh. Short. “What, you’re… cashing this in?”

The sage didn’t answer. His silence was sharper, more demanding than any spoken command.

Cyno’s gaze remained fixed on the sage. Albedo and Tighnari waited with the silence. Tense. It felt like they couldn’t intrude on the discussion.

Aether’s eyes narrowed. “She wouldn’t have given this to you without a damn good reason. What do you want?”

The sage let the silence settle again for several long, calculated seconds, the tension in the room coiling tighter. Then, voice low and steady:

“Assistance.”

Albedo quirked an eyebrow. “You want us to help you?”

And Tighnari took that as his chance to interrupt, voice laced with suspicion and a hint of anger. Because what was this sage talking about?

“Why would we do that? After everything you’ve done to our country? To Naphis? To Kaveh?”

The sage shrugged, detached. But there was a small, almost imperceptible hardness in his jaw. Tighnari probably wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t spent all that time spying on Kaveh and him in those cafes.

The sage motioned to the medallion. “Because of this.”

Then—adding like it was nothing at all—“And because Her Majesty’s heir is still alive.”

The air in the room seemed to physically still.

Every muscle in Tighnari’s body tensed. Cyno’s gaze, previously fixed, now sharpened with a sudden, intense focus. Albedo’s mind seemed to halt, a flicker of surprise crossing his usually impassive face. Aether’s grip tightened on the medallion.

The information they’ve always wanted. Settling in.

And for the first time since they arrived in this room, the sage’s teal eyes flickered. There was a weight in them, a stark intensity that hadn’t been present before

“Because the medallion wasn’t left behind for me. It was given to help her.”

Now:

The room was too full.

Too loud. Too bright. Too many voices overlapping, too many faces Kaveh didn’t recognize.

His friends were there. Cyno, Tighnari, Aether, Albedo, even Klee. Dehya. A similar girl with shorter hair next to her. Someone with blue hair. Pink hair. Someone big, buff, wearing a hat. And—Nilou? What the heck? Wasn’t she in Qatar?

Through his bizarre emotions, Kaveh couldn’t exactly fault his friends—not when they had believed genuinely that he had been in Persia while they dealt with… this. And there wasn’t hostility, not when Alhaitham had delivered the dramatic news of Kaveh’s second kidnapping.

Kidnapped by two different sages in one lifetime. What an achievement.

He sat curled into a corner of the wide couch, one foot tucked beneath him, bandaged fingers picking at a fray in his sleeve.

Arguments simmered. There had been threats. Mostly from Tighnari, who’d slammed a fist against the polished table and announced that he could introduce Alhaitham to fatal flora without the sage ever realizing. Albedo looked tired. Cyno didn’t blink. Dehya grinned.

Aether, beside Kaveh, only slumped down with a groan, legs stretched out, head tilted back like he was questioning the ceiling’s existence.

"You have the worst luck," Aether muttered, voice dry. “I used to think I had it bad.”

Kaveh huffed. Sank lower into the cushions and pressed his shoulder into Aether’s in a petty show of wounded pride. He didn’t even bother pretending to listen. What was the point? Alhaitham had made it very clear earlier—Kaveh wasn’t needed in any of this.

Still, he caught pieces. Fragments.

New Sumeru had returned a verdict. They would align with the crown. His friends already knew about Nahida. As the heir. When Kaveh had found out just two days ago. After bartering with Alhaitham. After gaming like a child, negotiating over cards just to be given snippets of truth.

And now everyone just knew.

He crossed his arms tighter over his chest.

There were whispers of Fatui support—or one, specifically. Someone Aether had ties to. Albedo hadn’t looked pleased, but the argument had been too tactical for disagreements. Then Tighnari and Cyno updated them: the groups from the outskirts were in. Loyal to the royal line, not the corrupted sages.

And that was when Alhaitham, seated near the hearth, gave the nod. “She turns twelve in three days,” he said. “That’s when we move.”

Albedo frowned. “If you’re sure Azar doesn’t have the cipher, why rush?”

There was a pause.

A moment.

And then Alhaitham darted—just briefly—toward Kaveh.

Kaveh felt it like a pinprick under the skin.

“I’m not the only one who has it memorized,” Alhaitham said.

Every head in the room swiveled toward Kaveh.

A surge of indignant heat rushed to his face. He stared back, wide-eyed, because all he could think was—

Does he think I’d betray them? The audacity—!

The air felt thick, electric. Kaveh wanted to scream, or run, or throw something.

The others nodded, slow, murmuring in agreement. Kaveh grumbled internally. Because why was he even here if they had it all figured out? They already had everything sorted—resources, timing, allies. Three days. They were practically at the finish line.

When the meeting finally ended, Tighnari crossed the room and pulled him into a hug.

Kaveh folded into it, grateful, also a little guilty for his misplaced anger. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “For leaving Collei alone.”

Tighnari huffed. “You didn’t choose to be kidnapped by a lunatic sage, Kaveh. You don’t have to apologize for that.” Then, a dissatisfied twitch of his ears. “I just wished your ill-advised sage had told us earlier.”

Kaveh rolled his eyes. “I had asked. About you guys. He was so vague. Just said you were all still in the nation.”

“No further explanation?” Tighnari frowned. “Wow, what did you ever see in him?”

Kaveh had no response to that. Just a forced smile. Then, Tighnari’s gaze then dropped to the bandaged fingers. The missing nails under fabric.

Kaveh offered a grim smile. “Still works. I can write. Slowly.” He lifted them, flexed, shrugged. “It’s on its way.”

Tighnari sighed, a familiar worry creasing his brow. “Let me take a look later. You probably keep aggravating it.”

Kaveh grinned sheepishly. And after a moment, he asked, “How’s the team? Everything... holding up?”

“The outskirts are rough. But we have what we need. Enough to take the sages down.”

“I meant you,” Kaveh said. “Cyno. The others. Physically. Mentally.”

Tighnari’s expression softened. “We’re fine. Candace nearly broke my back last week though.”

“Candace?”

“The one next to Dehya.” He pointed, then grumbled, “Old Sumeru fighters are a different breed. So unfair.”

Kaveh laughed. God, he’d missed this. The presence of adults. Who would talk to him. He wanted to ask more—about how they started working with Alhaitham. When did this alliance even begin?

But of course—

“It’s time to head back to Wanderer’s estate.” Alhaitham's clipped voice cut through the comfortable murmur. “I’ll escort you back.”

A sudden wave of resistance washed over Kaveh. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay here, with his friends. “Can't I just… stay? Here?”

“That’s not feasible.”

“You said I wasn’t a prisoner.”

“You are free to move within reason.” A muscle twitched in Alhaitham's jaw. “But formally, your status is still a prisoner.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Kaveh retorted, just to be a dick.

Alhaitham sighed. Pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can visit again tomorrow.”

Kaveh rolled his eyes. “Fine. But I’m not riding the bike.”

Alhaitham's brow furrowed.

“We’re in the center now, right? I’ll walk.”

He saw the familiar glint of a sharp response forming in Alhaitham’s eyes, so Kaveh quickly turned to his friends. Hugged each one. “Rest well, guys. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Aether, ever the annoying observer, shot him a look, fully aware of the silent, impatient figure waiting behind them.

Kaveh turned back to Alhaitham, irritation bubbling. “You can go first. I know my way back. Dehya's here too, you know.”

“Dehya lives here.”

“So do you.”

“I need to return Wanderer’s bike,” Alhaitham said flatly. “It’s more efficient if we go together.”

“I already told you, I’m walking. What are you going to do? Bike next to me at 3 miles per hour?”

From the couch, Aether snorted. Cyno nodded sagely. Tighnari crossed his arms. Albedo rubbed his eyes like he regretted being here.

And somehow, that was almost as infuriating as everything else.

The walk back was silent. Or at least it should’ve been.

But Alhaitham—true to his word, like the smug bastard he was—biked right next to him.

So there Kaveh was, marching through the dimly lit streets like a storm cloud, with the noise of the motor engine so casually tagging along at walking speed. A complete nuisance to everyone on the streets, surely.

It was the most humiliating public display of mutual dysfunction. Every passerby probably thought they were in the middle of a lovers’ spat.

And it wasn’t even that. If it were, at least it would’ve made sense.

But this—

This was a mess of half-truths, unfinished answers, and unanswered questions.

Kaveh was spiraling. Again. Because why was it that every answer Alhaitham gave just brought on ten more questions? And Kaveh never had all of them.

Just scraps. Just pieces. Always partial. Always kept at the edges, orbiting something bigger he wasn’t allowed to hold.

He hated it.

So when they reached the estate, Kaveh didn’t even glance at the basement. Didn’t care that Alhaitham probably expected him to follow. He trudged straight through the main gate, into the front lounge.

And Alhaitham just materialized. As if summoned by irritation alone.

The moment Kaveh heard footsteps from the stairwell behind him, he groaned and bolted up the grand flight of stairs. Measured footsteps followed.

What was he, some silent, omnipresent shadow?

“I’m already back at the estate,” Kaveh snapped without turning. “You don’t have to escort me like I’m some child.”

Silence. A pause.

Kaveh turned his head, just slightly.

Alhaitham stood a few steps below, looking… confused? A genuine, almost bewildered expression that only served to irritate Kaveh further. The nerve. Kaveh scoffed and kept going.

Then, Alhaitham's voice, clear and direct, floated up the stairwell. “Are you not happy to see your friends?”

Kaveh stopped. Turned fully. Because seriously?

Like the question made any damn sense. Of course he was happy to see them. His problem was Alhaitham.

The sage just stood there, a hint of irritation now mingling with the confusion on his face. As if Kaveh's reaction was the illogical one.

“Of course I’m happy,” Kaveh bit out.

“You don’t particularly look it.”

“Well. That’s none of your business. You should go back to your manor. You have a lot of guests.”

Petty. Yes. But earned.

He walked off. Again.
Alhaitham followed. Again.

“Why are you acting like this?”

Kaveh didn’t look back. “Acting like what?”

“Like there’s something wrong.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Alhaitham's longer strides closed the distance between them. He reached out. “Kaveh—”

And it was probably mean. Probably unfair.

But Kaveh couldn't help the sharp, almost violent way he yanked his arm away. Too fast. Too hard. His mind was still a chaotic mess of he didn't tell me, he didn't tell me, he didn't tell me. He wanted to scream, ask, why?, but the words felt heavy, coated in a thick layer of exhaustion.

The quiet echo of it was worse than shouting.

He wanted to ask. He really did. But what was the point?

That was all he ever did with Alhaitham.
That was all their relationship seemed to be.

Ask.
Ask and ask and ask, only to be left with vagueness.
Carefully curated pieces of the truth. Never the whole picture.
Always something missing. Always something he wasn’t told.

Kaveh was so tired.

He sighed. Heavy. Bone-deep. Defeated. Didn’t meet Alhaitham’s eyes. Stepped back. A small but significant distance between them.

“Forget it,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

Alhaitham frowned. A flicker of something not cold for once. “It’s not nothing.”

Kaveh finally looked at the other man. He offered a weak, faked smile. Shrugged.  “Really. I just need some sleep.”

And then he just turned.
Walked toward his room.
Closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Alhaitham didn’t stop him this time. Didn’t argue. Didn’t call after him.

Just stood there. Still. Watching Kaveh go.

No raised voices this time.
No accusations.
No fire.

Only the soft sound of retreating footsteps, and a hollow quietness that felt worse than any fight.

Kaveh didn’t risk breakfast the next day.

He’d waited in his room until well past noon, just in case it was him at the table instead of Dehya. The thought of facing feigning normalcy was too much. He didn’t trust himself not to snap, or worse—crack open.

When he finally stepped downstairs, it was Dehya. Relief, soft and palpable, passed through him. Nahida sat beside her, legs swinging from her stool, small hands wrapped around a ceramic cup.

Kaveh’s heart twisted at the sight of her. It had been a while. Not since Azar.

“Could we go to the docks again?” she asked, bright as ever.

Before he could answer, Dehya gave him a look. Subtle. A silent reminder. We need to head to the manor soon.

“I promise we’ll go later.” Kaveh reached out to ruffle Nahida’s hair. “Did you share those snacks last time with Hat guy?”

Nahida beamed, nodding. “He almost finished the last one. But then he gave it to me.”

“That’s nice of him,” Kaveh said softly. “We can get more soon, okay?”

And then they left. The road stretched ahead, quiet. Kaveh didn’t speak much. Barely glanced at Alhaitham’s manor as they entered it—a contrast to Hat Guy’s. Sleek and shadowed, all traditional curves and dark polished wood. Heavy green accents. Closed doors. Closed windows.

It felt closed off, secretive, much like his interactions with the man.

He sat beside Tighnari, who immediately took his hand, his experienced fingers gently probing the scabbed over nail beds. Healing well. Good. Cyno arrived not long after, his voice low as he relayed news from New Sumeru.

Alhaitham nodded, then unfurled a large map on the table. Underground routes. Spanning the entirety of the Old Sumeru center. He stood above it, gesturing with a gloved hand.

Authoritative. Precise. Distant.

Kaveh tried his best to listen. But it always felt like he was missing chunks of important details.

He knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Not really.

He was just an architect. He had never actively participated when it had just been Aether, Cyno, Tighnari and Albedo. But he’d always known what was going on with them. This—it felt like he was two steps behind. Like the answers had already been whispered behind closed doors he wasn’t allowed to open.

The worst part? He wasn’t even angry about it.

He was just. Sad. Just a little.

It stung all over again when someone mentioned Nahida. That the remaining sages would be targeting the vulnerable heir. Kaveh felt it instantly—the burn of protectiveness curling in his chest.

Alhaitham simply nodded. “She’s with someone trustworthy. If things go wrong on the day, we’ll activate Emergency Maneuver 4. Through the level 5 tunnels. There’s only one place they’d take her to.”

Kaveh wanted to ask what that meant. Wanted to know anything that might keep Nahida safe.

But then everyone nodded. Like they knew exactly what that meant. Leaving Kaveh feeling foolish. Silence clung to him like second skin.

That night, when the meeting ended, his friends hugged him goodbye. Arms warm. Smiles tired. He held them tighter than usual, longer than usual.

“Stay safe,” he murmured. “Please.”

He still hadn’t looked at Alhaitham.

The walk back was silent.

Kaveh didn’t say a word. Not even when Alhaitham seemed to hover, like he wanted to speak. Like he was hesitant. Like there was something on the tip of his tongue.

It didn’t matter. Kaveh offered nothing.

He didn’t want to start the cycle again. The familiar friction. Where Kaveh would bristle. Then Alhaitham would show some softness. Would offer tender truths and answers. And Kaveh, always—always—would be drawn back in. A stupid, destructive cycle.

He was done chasing for half-truths and half-lies, waiting for crumbs of anything from the very person who held the whole loaf.

His sage status. Ezio. Zone Six. His father’s glyphs. Nahida's identity—

The night ended with the soft click of Kaveh's bedroom door.

He didn’t go to the meeting the next day.

Kaveh found Nahida by one of the bay windows.

It was too early in the morning. The others were still sleeping. Kaveh, having tossed and turned all night, had decided not to force himself back to sleep after waking up one too many times. So he tugged on a loose summer cardigan and walked around the estate.

Outside the enormous windows, the town shimmered faintly. Nahida sat curled up on the sofa, her nightshirt pooling around her legs, arms around her knees. Barefoot. Silent.

Kaveh’s heart squeezed. They hadn’t managed to go to the docks yesterday.

“Hey,” he said, approaching slowly. “You’re up early.”

“Kaveh,” she greeted softly, not turning around. “You are too.”

Kaveh hummed, sat next to her, leaned his head against the window pane. For a moment, there was silence. He basked in the lack of voices, the lack of warfare planning. Then—

“How are your hands?”

Her voice was gentle. Kaveh lifted his fingers, the bandages gone. Still no nails. But Tighnari had said the beds would be fine without them now. “Healing. I think I can play Five stones again.”

Nahida smiled at him. But it was different. Something in it was small. Tentative. “Do you…” she paused. Looked back out the window. “Do you… still get scared?”

And Kaveh saw it. The flicker of worry in her eyes. The slight curl of her fist in her gown. Similar to when Azar had been here days ago. Similar to when both their hands had tightened around each other at the same time, as they saw him.

Kaveh stared out the windows again. Swallowed. “All the time. When rooms are too empty. When noises are too loud.”

Nahida was quiet. “Me too.” Followed by a soft, “I don’t like the quiet.”

The quiet often lulled others to sleep, but for Nahida, it sometimes echoed the heavy silence of her first prison. The Sanctuary.

For six years, the world was just stone walls, filtered sunlight, and the gentle rustle of an old woman’s robes.

Nahida called her Nana. She couldn’t remember if that was her real name or not. She hummed lullabies when Nahida slept. She called Nahida ‘my little radish’. She taught her how to read. She brought flowers from outside. An outside Nahida could only imagine.

She told Nahida not to cry when the man came. That he was important. That she should be polite. He was the only other face Nahida ever saw aside from Nana. The man with a monocle. A constant in her small world.

Perhaps, in the naive heart of a child who knew no other, a fragile seed of something like trust had begun to sprout.

“I thought maybe he’d like me too, if I was clever enough. If I read fast. If I remembered things he said. But he never smiled at me.”

The silence between them two felt ancient. Kaveh couldn’t speak.

“I thought... maybe he was my father,” Nahida admitted. “Because who else would come for me?”

For years, Nahida’s questions were dismissed, her curiosity a nuisance. Joy was a forgotten word outside of Nana’s attending. The man would come and go, a sneer on his face at all times.

Even when Nahida tried. Even when she talked to him about a topic he had offhandedly mentioned before. A topic she stayed up to read about, just so she could gain any kind of acknowledgement.

Only Nana had smiled, clapping her hands, saying, “Oh, this little radish is so smart.”

Then came the day the colors in her world fractured. The man had returned, declared it time. Time for Nahida to go out… to be taken somewhere.

And Nahida, too small, too young, had been excited.

She could see flowers. She could see the sky. She had turned to Nana, a wide smile almost breaking her face.

But Nana’s voice had trembled. “She is too young, Grand Sage. Too fragile.”

Nana refused. Continued pleading, telling the monocle man that Nahida was afraid of the dark. That she cried when Nana wasn’t around at night. Nahida had been confused. Why the woman was shaking?

The sound that followed was sharp, brutal. Like a branch snapping underfoot, but heavier.

“I didn’t understand. I didn’t know people could just stop being. One moment she was there. And then she wasn’t. And he was angry at me—for asking. For screaming.”

She let out a long, shaky breath. Kaveh’s hand curled tightly against his knee.

Nahida hadn’t understood why Nana didn’t go with them. Why she had just laid on the floor as they fled into the night.

Fear, cold, pierced through her wonder. Hands, not gentle like Nana’s, pulled Nahida. Down, into the earth. A dark, damp place that swallowed the moonlight. Faces, blurry and unknown, circled her. Voices, harsh and demanding, echoed in the gloom.

“We still do not have all of it.”

“It’s worth a try. For all we know, she lied to us. Maybe they mean nothing.”

“We still need the child. What if this fails?”

“We only need some blood. We’re not sacrificing her.”

A cold dread coiled in Nahida’s small stomach. She tried to pull away from the grips holding her, fingers scrabbling against rough stone. She had cried, asked if Nana was coming. None of them answered.

“What if this backfires? Everything inside the archive will be lost.”

“There are two archives. We can afford this.”

Then, the man with the monocle hovered over her, his smile unsettling, never reaching his eyes. A sharp, searing pain came somewhere from her arm. She had cried, shouted, thrashed. Called for Nana. But hands just forced her down silently onto cold, hard stone.

Pain again, sharper.

Then a crumbling sound, like earth giving way.

Someone barked, “Stop!”

A different set of hands, unfamiliar but firm, pulled her away from the darkness, away from the pain.

“And then I woke up here. In the outside. But no Nana.”

Her voice cracked. Just slightly.

The sun had already risen, but the sunlight didn’t fully pass through the curtains. Like it, too, was holding its breath.

Nahida looked up at Kaveh, green eyes wide and shadowed, the memory still clinging to her like. “He keeps visiting.” She paused, words barely a whisper. “And I keep… feeling scared.”

Kaveh, who had been listening with a stillness that mirrored the walls, didn’t speak. His chest tightened. Something unpleasant.

And suddenly—so suddenly—he reached out. Wrapped his arms around her. Gently. Carefully. A silent acknowledgment of her pain, a quiet offering of comfort in the shared space of their trauma.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Nahida didn’t cry. She just breathed in slow, shuddering exhales. And in that moment, even with all her supposed royal lineage, she seemed like the smallest thing in the world.

Kaveh had wanted to take Nahida to the docks immediately. To cheer her up. To get her more snacks. To watch her run around and barter with the vendors for the freshest fruit, fish, or bread. Anything she wanted.

But Nahida had fallen asleep. Quietly. Resting in his lap, arms curled in.

So Kaveh stayed still. Didn’t move. Let her sleep.

Then—soft, deliberate—a knock.

Kaveh turned.

There, standing at the doorway like a shadow out of place, was Hat guy. Or Wanderer. Maybe Kaveh should start calling him that.

Because there was no hat today. Just the usual sage robes, a stormy look, arms crossed, eyes flicking from Nahida’s sleeping form to Kaveh’s stillness.

“You know about tomorrow.” Not a question. Low and sure. Uncharacteristically soft, perhaps due to the sleeping heir.

And of course Hat guy was in on the plan too.

Kaveh nodded. “Yeah.”

Nahida didn’t stir.

The boy’s gaze lingered. Then, like dragging the words out of himself, he said, “Keep her safe.” A pause. “If you don’t, I’m going to kill you.”

Kaveh didn’t flinch. “I won’t leave her alone.”

And then, he tilted his head slightly, taking in the tightness in the hatless boy’s shoulders, the way his fists curled like he was holding onto the edges of something fraying. How he looked at Nahida like it was a farewell.

“You stay safe too,” Kaveh said, voice low.

Hat guy blinked. Like the words physically struck him. His face went scarlet. As usual. His frown deepened, turned almost comical in how fierce it tried to be.

“I am safe!” Not so quiet anymore.

Nahida shifted, and Hat guy froze. Kaveh raised an eyebrow. Waited a moment for Nahida to settle back into her slumber. And with a scowl, Hat guy stomped out like a cat caught being sentimental.

Kaveh huffed, barely a smile, and turned back to the window.

They could go to the docks when Nahida woke up.

They got back late in the afternoon. Nahida had a bag full of little treats to share with Hat guy, sea-wind still in her hair. And as soon as they stepped into the main lounge, they saw him.

Alhaitham.

Nahida had grinned—bright, knowing—and scampered off to who-knows-where, the bag swinging behind her like a flag of triumph.

Which left just the two of them.

Kaveh’s chest did a weird lurch.

He lingered in the entryway for a second too long. Alhaitham had put his book down, seated stiffly on the edge of the couch like it was a trap. He looked up when the silence stretched too tight. Cleared his throat.

“You weren’t at the meeting today.”

Kaveh nodded. Shrugged one shoulder. “I was with Nahida.”

A nod. Too slow. Too formal.

And Alhaitham shifted, perhaps intending to rise. But weirdly, almost uncharacteristically—

His knee just knocked the table.

His teacup wobbled, then tipped, spilling amber liquid onto the polished wood, the floor, and Alhaitham’s pantleg.

Kaveh cursed. Without thinking, he grabbed a handful of tissues from a nearby holder. Knelt beside the spill, dabbing at the spreading tea. Alhaitham, a rare look of discomposure on his face, also tried to reach for tissues from the holder.

But him moving just splattered more tea around from his pants.

“Stop,” Kaveh sighed. “You’re making it worse. Just—”

He held his hands out, motioning for Alhaitham to stand still. And like a kid being scolded, Alhaitham stood still. Kaveh continued layering tissue on the floor. Glanced at Alhaitham’s damp pantleg. Passed whatever was left of the tissues to Alhaitham.

“So unlike you,” Kaveh couldn’t help but mutter.

Alhaitham nodded. “Mm. It’s normally you who’s clumsy.”

And Kaveh rolled his eyes. Alhaitham just took the tissues from his hands.

A small, unexpected brush of their fingers sent a jolt of awareness through Kaveh. He glanced up, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment. Alhaitham’s gaze was unreadable, but there was a tightness around his mouth. Kaveh quickly looked back down, his heart doing that weird lurch again.

It was stupid. They had done way more than brush hands.

But—Criminal. Manipulator. Kaveh hated to add a new one. Liar. By omission.

The silence as they cleaned was thick with unspoken words. Finally, the spill was contained.

And Alhaitham had suddenly said, “You’re to stay with her tomorrow.” His voice carefully neutral. “Wanderer has a safe room prepared for you both. Downstairs. In the basements.”

Kaveh didn’t react. Just nodded. Again. The off-limits basement that sages always came and left through. Right.

Alhaitham nodded back.

And wow. So much nodding today. Kaveh almost wanted to laugh.

But he couldn’t. Not with the way his stomach was twisting.

So with nothing else to say, he turned to leave, feet already stepping toward the grand staircase.

But then—

“Kaveh.”

He froze. The way his name sounded in Alhaitham’s voice—weighted, pulled tight with something left unsaid.

Kaveh didn’t want to answer.

But when he glanced back, Alhaitham wasn’t looking at him. He was standing. Eyes on the carpet. Shoulders tense. Lips pressed thin. A familiar look. The one where he hoped Kaveh would just read his mind. Just understand him without asking.

And like a fool, Kaveh’s heart—the traitorous thing—softened.

Not enough to ask. But enough to smile, small. “Stay safe tomorrow, okay?”

And Alhaitham had blinked, seemingly caught off guard. Another nod. Then—slow, almost awkwardly—“You too.”

Kaveh left. Back to his room. He sat down, sighed heavily. Thought about the plan he had heard about two days ago. The tunnels. The entry points. The emergency routes.

He shook his head. Those were for the others. Tomorrow, Kaveh would focus on Nahida. Just her. He’d keep her safe. That was his part.

Before he went to bed, he hoped—genuinely hoped—everyone would come out fine.

He hoped he would see his friends after everything settled. He hoped Alhaitham’s plan worked out. So maybe, just maybe, they could converse and part without awkwardness.

But the plan didn’t even make it to the next day.

That night, just past midnight, alarms he had never heard before blared.

Jarring. Piercing. Too many, all at once. Kaveh jolted awake, heart racing. Smoke—thick and sudden—poured in from under the door.

Not fine. Not fine at all.

Chapter Text

Smoke. Ringing. Flashes of red light.

It wasn’t time yet. It wasn’t supposed to happen this quickly.

Through Kaveh’s disorientation, his heart raced. He scrambled out of bed, pulse like a war drum, burst into the hallway—

And froze.

Smoke curled through the hallway in lazy tendrils. But the normally polished corridor was a tableau of silent violence.

Bodies. Everywhere.

Black uniforms. Yellow Vahumana seals stitched into the shoulders. So many. One at almost every door, every window, every crack that could be an exit or entry.

He hadn’t even known Hat guy had guards stationed within the estate.

Kaveh hurriedly bent down to one, his breath catching in his throat.

Eyes vacant, staring at nothing. A thin, crimson line across the throat. Clean. Efficient. Dead.

And too late, Kaveh realized he’d been kneeling in a dark pool of blood. He stumbled back, fought down a wave nausea. He hadn’t even heard anything. No footsteps. No fighting.

But he didn’t have time for that. Because—

“Nahida,” he whispered, ice-cold.

Panic clawed at his throat. He sprinted toward her wing—bare feet slipping on blood and slippery floors, trying to ignore the copper tang in the air, the smoke trailing around the space. Her room came into view. He threw the door open—

Rumpled sheets.
An empty bed.
No signs of struggle.

Too clean.

“Shit,” he hissed, spinning around just in time to hear—

Grunts. A crash. A snarl of effort.

Downstairs.

He bolted down the steps, barely avoiding a fall from the squeaky marble and wood—and there they were.

Hat guy. Not in the guise of Kaushik, not in the flowing robes of a sage, but in his usual indigo attire. Hat on his head. Eyes burning. Locked in fierce combat with masked figures, their movements swift and trained. Blades and batons flashed through the smoke.

He fought like a hurricane. Efficient. Brutal.

But he was outnumbered. Five to one.

Instinct, stupid and reckless, took over. Kaveh grabbed a heavy, probably expensive vase from a nearby table and hurled it at one of the masked men.

The man flinched as the porcelain shattered against him. He turned towards Kaveh, masked gaze menacing.

And then Hat guy screamed, voice strained: “No! Go find her!”

“What?!”

“The basement!” he roared, spinning mid-kick. “They left through the basement!”

The man he’d hit advanced. Kaveh took a step back.

Hat guy tossed something across the marble floor—a flicker of silver. A simple, worn keycard skidded toward Kaveh’s feet. He scrambled to snatch it up.

Then he ran.

Past the blood. The bodies. Past the man reaching for his blade.

Several of the masked men broke off their attack on Hat guy to join in pursuing him. Hat guy chased, fought them all, a whirlwind of indigo against black, the sickening thud of impacts and sharp hisses echoing in the chaos.

Kaveh slammed into the elevator, punched the card into the panel, and the doors shut just as he shouted, breathless: “Don’t die!”

Wanderer didn’t look back.

Then it was just the elevator hum. Definite. Silent. A cold whisper down the spine.

Kaveh looked at the panel. Stopped.

Fucking six floors of basement.

How in the hell was he supposed to know which one they’d taken Nahida to? He had to think, had to think—

Then—fragmented memories. Planning documents. Contingency routes.

Alhaitham’s voice, clipped and sure: “If things go wrong, activate Emergency Maneuver 4. Through the level 5 tunnels.”

Level 5. He could only pray Alhaitham had been right.

Nahida, Gods, please be safe.

The doors hissed opened. Kaveh staggered out.

And his breath caught in his throat. He froze, utterly bewildered.

Because the hallway wasn’t a hallway.

It twisted. Turned. Rock surface at strange angles. Doors with no handles. Lights that flickered only by the elevator, like an exit sign. Darkness everywhere else. On the floor, several electric lanterns. Not even a fucking flashlight.

He picked one up, turned it on, immediately darting into the darkness. Then paused. Turned. Turned again. Too many routes. Too many pathways.

He understood now why the basements were off-limits.

They were underground tunnels with doors.
They were a labyrinth.

Ah fuck it.

He had no time to think.

Kaveh ran.

Just moved—north, straight, deeper into the winding veins of the underground. The tunnels blurred around him, carved from old stone and humming with stale air.

Room after room. Metal hinges, out-of-place reinforced glass, research benches long abandoned. Jagged stairs were carved into the tunnels, into the old rock, curved like ribs, leading to the upper floors. And—

Shit.

They could’ve taken her to any of the six levels. Kaveh was wrong to trust just one.

Then—

A shout. Small. Sharp. Echoing.

Nahida.

He couldn’t tell where it came from. The sound bounced off the stone in all directions. So with no other option—

“Nahida!” he yelled out, loud.

Her voice, far, panicked. “Kaveh, I’m—!”

Cut off. Silenced.

“Shit—shit—” he whispered, spinning. The echoes were wild, useless. But something in his gut said up. The sound came from above. Which floor, he didn’t know. But up.

The stairs were uneven, worn from age. His bare feet stung with each step, skidding slightly on the cold stone, but he didn’t stop.

One floor up.

And there—at the start of a tunnel, right at the corner—

A glint of gold.

A candied nut wrapper.

Gods, Nahida was a genius!

Kaveh ran down the path, keeping his lantern low and close. The flame flickered against the walls as he glanced at the floor, hoping for more wrappers, or footprints, anything.

He heard it then. The sound of struggling. A grunt. A kick. A muffled shout.

He turned a corner. Another. The echoes were louder.

Then—
Voices.
Light.

A girl. In sage robes. Green. Amurta colors. Not Azar.

Younger. Dark, wavy hair. Sharp-eyed.

Two masked men stood beside her, both restraining Nahida.

And Kaveh froze. Because through his panic, he just realized—

His hands were empty. He had no fucking weapon.

It hit like a gut punch. He didn’t bring any knife, any gun, didn’t think. Hat guy had only thrown him the keycard. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK—he was so stupid, so stupid.

But he didn’t run. He stepped toward them, legs trembling, holding the lantern like it might mean something. He could throw it at them if needed.

His voice shook, but he forced it out: “Give her back.”

The girl sage turned. Smiled, calm and amused. Her voice was polite. Like she was just declining tea. “I'm afraid I can’t.”

Kaveh’s hand on the lantern tightened.

“But worry not... you'll be coming with us.”

And just like that—

She raised a gun. Right at him.

Fired.

The shot cracked like thunder.

Nahida screamed.

Somewhere outside:

The plan had been clean. Controlled.

They hadn’t expected to get an alert from Wanderer right after midnight. Their projections, based on Azar’s meticulous nature and charts indicating Nahida wouldn’t turn twelve until 8:29pm tomorrow, suggested the Grand Sage would adhere to such a precise timing.

Azar always followed the stars.

Their teams hadn’t even reached the sages’ compounds yet.

But it was fine. They had accounted for setbacks. Aether would be sent to back Wanderer up. The rest of them will just move sooner. As planned.

Take the sages down one by one.

Outside the center, loyalties were non-existent. Things had been worse for them since the sages took over. Tighnari and Cyno had cultivated alliances in mere weeks.

Nilou and her troupe, having returned from their engagements in Qatar months prior, had been instrumental in sowing seeds of doubt within the center.

The message? The truth of the hidden heir. The deceitful framing of Rukkhadevata. The staged execution of the entire royal family. The secret coup.

And it had worked. Whispers had turned to shouts. Curiosity to anger. The center’s allegiance was swayed. Too easily.

Too susceptible, actually, Tighnari had thought with a snort.

Either way, they were close.

There were four sages left.

• Ayesha, Amurta:
  The shadow. Master of espionage and chemical arts—gas, poison, stims. Her operatives mirrored her, elusive as ninjas, like smoke. She had the most kill records out of all the sages. She would be the toughest to defeat next to Azar.

The New Sumeru Rebellion and seasoned Old Sumeru fighters were assigned to her. Sethos, Dehya, Candace, and more. No holding back.

• Iskandar, Kshahrewar:
  The web. In charge of everything intelligence—civilian reports, international surveillance, secret archives. His men were scarce, soft with secrets, not war. Stayed behind computers more than the outside world. The weakest of the four.

Klee, Albedo, Dori, and Faruzan had him on their list.

• Khajeh, Spantamad:
  The Foundation. Responsible for logistics, finance, key contacts. Alhaitham had started bleeding him dry weeks ago, pulling assets, faking assignments, souring the sages’ competence among global networks. His own men would be susceptible to betrayal.

Wanderer was designated to handle him alone.

• Azar, Rtawahist:
  The mind. The most cunning and brutal. The whole reason why the Old Sumeru sages were an organisation known worldwide. Always a step ahead. He commanded the most formidable fighters and unwavering loyalists. Second only to Alhaitham in terms of knowledge—the ancient runes, the history.

So they had sent their best. Alhaitham. Cyno. Tighnari. Aether. The dream team.

The remaining allies within the center—Lambad, Nilou, Layla—were tasked with keeping the people grounded. To disseminate further propaganda, and manage potential damage control.

Everything was still under control. They just had to act now instead of tomorrow.

But then, as Alhaitham and the others made their way towards Azar’s heavily fortified estate, Cyno’s communication device pinged.

A stark, chilling message flashed across the screen: ‘safe room plan compromised.’

Moments later, a flurry of panicked pings followed, and Aether’s voice spoke to them through their connected earpiece.

“Ayesha ambushed them with sleeping smoke. They were caught off guard. Wanderer’s men are dead.” A flurry of voices. Static. Then— “Wanderer’s okay. But Nahida was taken.”

“Damn it,” Tighnari cursed.

More static, the sound of the earpiece connecting and disconnecting. Then—

“Um. Kaveh’s chasing after them via the basements.”

Silence fell for half a second. A single second where everything stopped.

Alhaitham halted abruptly, a muscle ticking sharply in his jaw. “He’s… chasing after Ayesha?”

Ayesha. The second most dangerous of the four.

Tighnari’s ears almost flattened.

“Fuck.”

The plan was no longer in control.

A gun shot.

A sharp crack tore through his leg—burning hot pain piercing—

And Kaveh collapsed with a strangled gasp. The lantern he'd been holding clattered to the cave floor, its light flickering madly across rough stone. He barely registered Nahida’s scream as it was drowned in the rush of his own ragged breathing.

A voice hissed—the girl sage. Ayesha. Naphis had mentioned her before. The sage that took over his position.

“Keep the heir quiet,” she snapped.

Kaveh’s fingers scrabbled against the ground, pushing himself up despite the fire lancing through his thigh. He couldn’t see her. Nahida. And shit—where did they go?

The lantern’s light glinted off something just before everything blurred. Roughness curled into his hair, yanked his head back, and slammed him against the cave wall.

Crack.

His skull hit stone. The world staggered sideways. Something hot trickled down the back of his neck.

“We still need the cipher. Don’t break his brain.”

Then—

“He’s not knocked out yet?" Ayesha’s voice was all mockery, lazy amusement. “I thought Azar said he was frail.”

Another impact. Another jolt of agony. Not his head. His back. Pressed against the hard rock.

Then a hand closed around his throat. Too tight. Too much.

Kaveh’s hands clawed back, useless.

He had to get to Nahida—

But he couldn’t breathe—

Vision stuttered. Darkness crawled in at the edges.

And then—  

A rush of air. Coughs.

Kaveh struggled, panting, bent over on the floor, hands around his chest.

Someone had ripped his assailant back. He heard a grunt, a scuffle. Boots scrambling. Nahida’s captor cried out. A flash of silver and blue—

Candace.

And someone else. A man Kaveh had never seen before.

He looked back at the scene. They moved like shadows clashing against firelight, and Kaveh couldn’t keep track of what was happening. He could barely sit up.

Nahida scrambled toward him, her eyes wide and shimmering. “Kaveh!”

He tried to answer, but all that came out was a rasp.

“Get them out of here!” someone shouted.

Candace didn’t even break her stride—just scooped Nahida with one arm and reached for Kaveh with the other, and despite the scream of pain in his leg, he forced himself upright.

They ran.

Or rather—Candace dragged them both down twisting basement tunnels slick with dust and blood. Somewhere behind them, battle echoed—shouts, stone striking stone, gun shots, metal against flesh.

Then, before he even realized it—a steel door. Candace tap-tap-taping on some keypad. A hiss of air, a groan of steel against rock.

Candace shoved them inside. “This is closer than the safe room. Stay here. No matter what happens, don’t come out.”

Kaveh, through his haze, didn’t need the reminder.

“There are bandages in the office,” she added. “Use them.”

And then the door slammed shut. Silence. No more battle chaos. Just their ragged breathing.

Nahida crumpled to the floor. Tears welled in her eyes, falling soundlessly.

Kaveh exhaled, sharp and shaky. The room swam. “Hey,” he said, voice hoarse. “You’re okay. It—It’s alright, Nahida.”

He slid down beside her, fingers trembling as he pulled her into a loose hug, wincing at the burning in his leg. “It’s alright,” he murmured again. “We’re okay. I’m here.”

Nahida sobbed into his shoulder.

Kaveh held on.

And seriously.

Alhaitham’s plan was absolute bullshit.

Somewhere outside:

Tighnari’s com device pinged as he set up his rifle. Candace.

Nahida and Kaveh were extracted. Sethos, Dehya, and their followers had stopped Ayesha’s men. But Ayesha, with her maddening experience, had slipped away—wounded, maybe, but alive. She had also poisoned Sethos and Dehya in the fight. That detail made Tighnari’s stomach twist, but the message had insisted: they seem okay for now.

Through his viewfinder, Tighnari watched Alhaitham. The sage glanced down at his com device and finally—finally—went still. Tsk. The idiot could stop fidgeting now.

Earlier, they’d also gotten a ping from Albedo and Klee.

Iskandar had been caught. Too easy, honestly. Klee had thrown a bomb into the elevator shaft the moment Iskandar rushed in. Not even a countdown. Just boom. The man hadn’t even had time to scream. Efficient, in the most Klee way possible.

Three sages left.

No word from Wanderer or Aether yet.

Tighnari inhaled, slow and deep. His grip steadied around his rifle. He nodded—once at Cyno, once at Alhaitham.

They moved.

Cyno and Alhaitham slipped toward the rear entrance, hugging shadows like they were born from them. Tighnari, at a vantage point on the rooftop, narrowed his eyes through his scope, sniper trained and steady.

It was too quiet. No patrols. No cameras. No scrambling guards. Nothing.

That should’ve been the first sign.

The top floor gave no resistance. They crept in like ghosts, passed empty rooms, abandoned terminals still glowing. Alhaitham glanced back once, brows furrowed. Cyno didn’t speak, but his stance sharpened.

Then it happened.

A shot cracked through the hall.

Cyno ducked instantly, already drawing his weapon. Alhaitham dove behind a wall, sliding into cover with practiced speed. And then—

They swarmed.

Too many. Too fast. Like Azar had been waiting, like he’d let them in just to see them fall apart. Tighnari clicked into action immediately, firing down at the wave of guards closing in. His rifle sang, sharp and cold, picking them off one by one.

But there were too many.

Inside, Alhaitham and Cyno fought back—silent, deadly, efficient—but the hallway was drowning in bodies and bullets. It didn’t take long before Tighnari’s clip ran dry. He reached for the next.

And then—a crack. A burn. A split second of raw heat.

Tighnari’s breath caught as pain flared beneath his vest. His fingers slipped off the stock. The rifle clattered to the rooftop beside him.

“Shit,” he gasped.

He didn’t even get to see the guard who took him down.

The basement was cold. Too cold. Concrete walls and bitter fluorescence. The kind of place meant to hold ghosts.

Cyno was tied to a chair, rope digging into his wrists. He stared forward like the ropes weren’t even there. Tighnari sat beside him, blinking sweat from his lashes, the shot he had taken to his vest bruising deep. Alhaitham was silent across from them, watching the doorway like he could disintegrate it by glare alone.

Then footsteps.

Blue robes.

The Grand Sage.

He stepped into view like he owned the goddamn planet. Not a wrinkle out of place. Not a single speck of blood on his gloves. He didn’t need to raise his voice.

“A humiliating attempt,” he said. Smooth. Mocking. “You think I wouldn’t spot a coup?”

He smiled, just barely. “I staged one myself a decade ago.”

Kaveh was cursing Alhaitham out in his head.

Stupid plan. Stupid man. They should’ve stayed in the safe room since last night!

He staggered slightly, grabbing at the wall for balance. His vision swam. Great. Concussed. Bleeding. Annoyed. Perfect combination.

And maybe, just maybe, if Kaveh had been there during the planning phase instead of whatever the hell he’d been doing, he might’ve known what their options were. Where to go. Where the weapons were stashed. Instead, he was here, weaponless—

Protecting Nahida with just hopes and dreams.

They had crawled to another door, half-hidden behind empty craters in the storage room they were left in. They pushed it open, and what lay beyond—

Kaveh blinked. Candace was right. It was an office. Dim, almost eerily so. With just a single lamp in the corner, barely lighting up the place. Shelves lined the walls. Scrolls. Old files. Even the floor was littered with literature.

“Someone needs to clean,” he mumbled, limping inside.

There were ceiling lights, but he wasn’t going to risk flipping a switch. He shuffled—his thigh still absolutely screaming and absolute bleeding—and found a small electric lamp off the floor. Similar to what Hat guy had in front of his elevators.

Nahida was still sniffling softly behind him, so Kaveh held her hand, smoothed away her tears. “Hey, let’s play a game, okay?” he said, voice gentle. “Whoever finds the bandages first wins.”

Nahida offered a watery giggle. “I’m not six. I’m turning twelve.”

“Then you must be great at finding things now.”

Then they both waved their lamps around the space, checking each cupboard and drawer. Unable to stand for too long, Kaveh grunted and slumped against the center table.

And that’s when he saw it.

A tiny sliver of carved wood peeking out of a book left open on the desk.

Kaveh froze.

Breath hitched.

Because he knew that bookmark.

He slowly lifted the lamp, scanning it. Then the rest of the room.

Documents bearing the Haravatat seal.
A tin of dried padisarah tea leaves in the cupboard.
A familiar black and gold robe on the coat rack.

This was Alhaitham’s office.

“What the—”

His knees gave out, and he caught himself on the edge of the desk, careful not to touch the bookmark with his still-bloodied hands. He didn’t want to stain it. Didn’t want to ruin it.

Because he had given it—to Alhaitham.

Just a few months ago.

And it was being used. Still used. Not thrown away, not forgotten. Kept. Despite the scathing words Kaveh had spat at him. Despite the silence Kaveh had given him.

His chest ached. Head spinning. Dizzy again. But this time, it wasn’t just the concussion. It was the overwhelming everything of it all.

Why did Alhaitham do this?
Why was he like this?
Why did he keep this?
Why didn’t he say anything?

Kaveh didn’t understand what he was feeling – a tangled mess of betrayal, longing, and a desperate, irrational need for the very man whose absence felt like a physical wound. Kaveh pressed a palm to his temple. He wanted to yell at the idiot. And strangle him with his robe. And then maybe kiss him.

And—
Is this the concussion talking?

Then, a small tug on his sleeve. “Kaveh, I found some bandages,” Nahida whispered, holding out a small roll from the lowest drawer.

It snapped him back to reality.

He nodded, said a quiet thank-you. Bit back a hiss as he wrapped his bleeding leg as tightly as he could. It stung like hell.

Nahida, her small face etched with concern, gestured to the blood matting his hair. “You’re bleeding more than you think.” So she helped. Careful, patient fingers wrapping gauze around his head while he tried held it steady, trying not to wince.

When they were done, Kaveh exhaled shakily. Then crawled beneath the massive oak desk. “Come on,” he whispered to Nahida. “Let’s hide for a bit. Just in case.”

It was dark under there. Claustrophobic. Quiet. But he held Nahida close as she curled into his side.

And in this darkness, his thoughts drifted—to his friends. His colleagues. The sages.

To Alhaitham.

Kaveh held Nahida tight, a silent, desperate prayer echoing in the confines of the hidden office. Please let them all be alright.

Because when—if—they got out of this, he had so much to say to the stupid, infuriating sage. So much that his aching heart didn’t even have words for yet.

Somewhere inside Azar’s basement:

After everything—after the ambush, the capture, the chaos—Azar hadn’t ordered a single question, hadn’t raised a single weapon. He simply walked past the three bounded men. Then stopped in front of Alhaitham.

“Apologies,” Azar said, voice smooth. “I didn’t inform my men that you weren’t a target.”

Alhaitham merely shrugged, expression unreadable.

And Tighnari watched, with gradual horror—

As he untied Alhaitham.

Then Azar turned to them—Tighnari and Cyno—and smiled like they were insects under glass.

“Well,” he said gleefully, “we’ve finally rounded up all the problems. The traitors.”

Tighnari’s mouth opened, dry. “Wait. Are you… are you serious?”

Alhaitham didn’t even look at them at first. Just rolled his previously restrained wrists. Lazy. After he did, it was like a new person. Cold. Detached. Distant. In a way that made something twist and churn in Tighnari’s gut.

“Alhaitham,” Cyno said, voice low and dangerous. “You lied to us?”

Alhaitham tilted his head slightly. “Simply an assignment.”

Tighnari couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His pulse was too loud in his ear. His fists against the ropes tightened. “You—traitor! You absolute—what about Kaveh?! You dragged him into this!”

But Alhaitham’s expression didn’t flicker. His voice was clinical. Final.

“I’m not the traitor,” he said easily. “I told you once—ghosts shouldn’t return here.”

The words struck like ice water. Tighnari felt Cyno still beside him, tension drawn so taut it might snap.

“Ah. Escapees. Always so emotional,” Azar mused, eyes gleaming. “And the New Sumeru Rebellion, too, yes? How perfect. You should have explained sooner, Alhaitham.”

“You didn’t need to involve Ayesha,” Alhaitham said, his gaze now on Azar. “I had it under control.”

“Oh, my boy.” Azar chuckled, that glint in his eye returning. “You understand backup plans.”

And Tighnari wanted to rip the head of the sage they had trusted. Wanted to scream.

Then Azar asked, casually: “The child?”

Alhaitham’s response came with no pause, no flinch. “My office.”

“You damn traitor!” Tighnari shouted, struggling against the binds holding him. His whole body shook. “You snake!"

Cyno’s silence was louder than any scream. He was vibrating with fury, the kind that came from disbelief. Betrayal.

But the two sages in the room didn’t care.

“Khajeh will need backup soon,” Alhaitham muttered. “The Traveler’s made his way there. With the impersonator.”

Azar nodded. “Ah, yes. Kaushik. We'll deal with him soon. And Iskandar?”

“I’ve sent my men to intercept the chemist’s team,” Alhaitham said. His eyes flicked briefly to Tighnari. “They specialize in defusing bombs.”

“Alhaitham!” Cyno warned.

“Damn you!" Tighnari roared again, hoarse.

Azar laughed—laughed—and clapped a hand on Alhaitham’s back as if this were some shared victory between old friends.

“Let’s go collect the child,” Azar said. “It has been a long time coming. By tomorrow, Rukkhadevata’s secrets will be ours. And all of Sumeru’s traitors will be disposed of.”

Alhaitham nodded once. Then turned to glance back at them.

There was a faint twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. It felt like mockery.

“Bring them,” he ordered the masked men. “They might want to see their architect friend one last time.”

Tighnari gritted his teeth.

They should never have trusted the sage.

Kaveh didn’t know how much time had passed.

His head throbbed. His thigh ached, bandages damp and warm. Sticky. Wet. But he didn’t have the heart to tell Nahida. She probably couldn’t even tell in the dark. It was fine. It had to be fine.

He sat curled under the desk, slumped slightly, Nahida pressed close to his side. They’d been silent for a long time. She was humming quietly now—almost like she was trying to keep herself grounded. He briefly recalled her past. How she had said she disliked silence.

“I wish we had some candied nuts right now,” Kaveh said, just to pierce the quiet.

Nahida turned to him with a smile. “That would be nice. But you should keep your strength.”

Wow. Kaveh huffed a laugh. Patted Nahida’s head. She went back to humming.

He wondered how long it had been.
If Cyno and Tighnari were okay.
If the sages had been taken down.
If anyone remembered they were down here.

Then—

The door hissed open.

That front one. The vault door. The mechanical slide. The groan of rock against metal. Kaveh and Nahida startled—instinctively tensed—clutching each other beneath the desk. Nahida’s small hand gripped his knee.

A twist of a knob. A creak of hinges. The second door.

Footsteps.

Cautious. Slow.

They both held their breath. One second. Two. Five.

And then—

“Kaveh?”

Alhaitham.

Kaveh’s heart soared in an instant, relief cutting through the pain like light. He and Nahida exchanged a look—tired, grateful, so hopeful—and crawled out from under the desk, fingers still interlinked—

—and froze.

Because Alhaitham wasn’t alone.

Behind him stood Azar.

The Grand Sage was smiling. Too calm. Too satisfied. A ghost in polished robes.

Nahida stopped breathing. Her grip tightened on Kaveh’s leg. His good leg, thankfully. But he didn’t even register the pain anymore. He was too baffled.

Alhaitham didn’t say anything. Just stared.

As if this moment was exactly how it was meant to go.

“…Haitham?” Kaveh whispered. Too soft.

There was a flicker—just a flicker—in those teal eyes.

Then it was gone.

Alhaitham simply raised a hand.

And masked men entered the room. No warning, no hesitation. They dragged two figures behind them—gagged, bound.

Tighnari. Cyno. They looked wrecked.

Kaveh’s mouth fell open. He didn’t move. He couldn’t. His brain wouldn’t catch up.

He didn’t understand.
He didn’t understand.

Tighnari caught his gaze, his eyes wide with fury and something else—fear.

Cyno was still struggling, teeth bared behind the gag, as if shouting would make this make sense.

Alhaitham stood above them all. Cold. Still. Unreadable.

Kaveh felt his stomach turn.

“What…” he started, mind racing. “What’s going on?”

But Alhaitham didn’t answer.

Azar did. “It is as you see it, architect.” Smiling still, as if every move had gone exactly to plan.

The front metal doors groaned shut with a definitive hiss.

And Kaveh—finally, finally—understood.
And it chilled him to the core.

Azar stepped forward, slow, deliberate. His hand was gloved, his smile unchanged.

Kaveh saw it—saw it but couldn’t move. His body felt far away. Too heavy. His vision blurred at the edges, swimming in blood loss and adrenaline and rage.

Nahida shifted closer, trembling, and Kaveh tried to hold her. “Stay behind me,” he whispered.

Azar took another step.

“You’ve lost, little heir,” he said. “And as for the rest of you—”

Click.

The sharp sound sliced through the air.

Kaveh’s head jerked up. Nahida gasped.

Alhaitham.
Gun drawn.
Pointed directly at the back of Azar’s head.

He had moved like lightning. No hesitation. No falter. His hand was steady, eyes flat and cold.

The entire room stopped.

Azar turned his head, slowly. “What—”

“There's nowhere to run,” Alhaitham said. His voice was calm. Distant. Decided.

Azar’s eyes narrowed. Then widened, just slightly, as he turned fully. An ugly sneer forming over his satisfied facade. He signaled his masked men. Once. Alhaitham didn’t move.

“Kill them all,” Azar snapped.

Kaveh gripped Nahida tighter.

But—

The masked men did not move.

“I’ve made my order clear. Now.”

And then the men did move. Rifles turned, deafening in the silence.

Not toward the hostages.
Not toward Alhaitham.

Toward Azar.

One broke formation—stepped between Kaveh and Nahida, shielding them both. A few more fanned out, swift and clean, covering Tighnari and Cyno. They moved like they’d trained for this. Like they’d waited for this.

Azar stared. Blinked. “What is this? You are my—”

“They’re not yours,” Alhaitham said quietly.

Azar’s hand twitched toward the gun in his robes.

But Alhaitham’s safety was already off. Finger on the trigger. Expression like stone.

“There’s merit to having agents without masks, Azar,” he said. “For one…”

A breath. A blink.

“…you can recognize them.”

BOOM.

A single shot.

Clean. Final.

Azar hit the floor.

The room didn’t breathe.

Then—chaos.

Alhaitham didn’t speak. Didn’t flinch. While his men had immediately jumped on the Grand Sage. He just holstered his gun and walked past the groaning body like it was irrelevant.

Straight to Kaveh.

Who had just. Slid to the floor after his head and thigh gave up.

Alhaitham crouched beside him, low and steady, scattered cuts and blood on his face. His hands were bare now, clinical mask gone—just him, all sharp lines and tired eyes, and for the first time in a long time, unguarded. Kaveh took it all in.

Gently, he brushed the blood from Kaveh’s temple. Frowned at the half-drenched bandage. “This needs to be redone.”

Kaveh blinked at him. Dazed. Woozy. Absolutely not about to pass out.

“You scared me,” he whispered, tone loose, soft. And that was not what he meant to say. But he was concussed.

Alhaitham didn’t look away. “I apologize.”

There was a pitched crackling faintly in his earpiece—Hat guy's voice, sharp, clipped. Without looking, Alhaitham pulled the earpiece free and handed it off. “Akram,” he said to one of his men. “Talk to Wanderer.”

Kaveh blinked again. That was kind of cool. “Are you okay?”

That earned the tiniest flicker of amusement. “I should be asking you that.”

Alhaitham didn’t wait for permission. He tugged loose the old bandage, peeled it back. His frown deepened. Fingers gentle but firm, turning Kaveh's head slightly to inspect the wound.

And he was so close.

Kaveh could see a streak of dried blood by his jaw. Could smell the faint scent of desert wind and smoke and something him.

Kaveh wasn’t dizzy. He was flying.

So—obviously—he leaned in and kissed Alhaitham.

Just a brush. A moment. Sun-warm and immediate. Then he pulled back and beamed like it was a win. Like he’d just solved an impossible riddle and wanted the world to know.

Alhaitham froze. Blinked. Hands still around Kaveh’s head.

Even the men securing Azar paused.

Heck, even Azar—alive, groaning against restraints with a bullet in his chest—looked personally offended.

Kaveh laughed. Airy. Giddy. High on adrenaline and survival and lips that still tingled.

“You kept it.”

Alhaitham looked momentarily lost. “What?”

“The bookmark,” Kaveh whispered like it was a secret, grinning wide, eyes glassy.

A beat passed.

Then Alhaitham—processing—softened. “Oh. Of course.”

Of course.

Kaveh laughed again, a sound that cracked halfway through. He blinked, swaying.

Alhaitham’s hand went to his shoulder. “Kaveh. Stay awake.”

“Mmm... I have a concussion,” Kaveh murmured like he was reporting the weather.

“Yes,” Alhaitham said. “That’s very clear.”

There were reports being spouted somewhere. Distant shouting. More boots storming down the halls. But here, it was quiet. The two of them, suspended. And Kaveh was going to stay awake. No passing out.

“So you’re… not a bad guy?” he asked.

Alhaitham’s gaze lingered on him. Long. Like. Since Azar fell.

Then—a small smile. The one Kaveh had always taken joy in.

“You’re concussed,” he said instead. “And bleeding out. Stay awake. Contemplate whether I’m a bad guy or not, okay?”

Kaveh smiled. Nodded. And as if he just meant to spite Alhaitham—

He immediately passed out.

Alhaitham exhaled, long and silent, catching Kaveh before he could slump sideways.

“Of course you did,” he muttered. “Dramatic to the end.”

Then louder: “Stretcher. Now.”

Chapter Text

Kaveh woke to white. To a dull throb of his head. The sterile scent of antiseptic. Wind from an overhead fan. He blinked the flashes away from his vision, then hissed at the sharp pain registering behind his eyes and in his legs.

And honest to God—Kaveh was so tired of getting knocked out. He’d had enough to last a life time. He wanted to be aware and sober at all times starting today.

His vision came back. The blurry ceiling resolving into familiar white tiles. A hospital.

Thud. Shiiick. Thud.

Kaveh turned his head slightly. A familiar figure sat beside his bed, ears twitching slightly as he scribbled on a data pad.

“Tighnari?” Kaveh croaked, his throat dry.

His friend looked up, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakens.”

Kaveh groaned, a hand coming up to cover his eyes. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

Kaveh yawned. Sat up hesitantly. Looked around. Slowly adjusting to reality. Then, a wave of fragmented memories washed over him—the chaos, Nahida, the tunnels, the gunshot, Alhaitham—

A flash of something warm and impulsive.

His eyes widened in horror.

No. No no no—

“Tell me I’m remembering wrong, Tighnari,” he pleaded, voice hoarse. “Tell me I didn’t do that.”

Tighnari leaned back in his chair, setting aside the data pad. “I would tell you that. But I’d be a liar.”

Kaveh squeezed his eyes shut, a mortified whine escaping his lips. He threw his arm over his face, wincing as the movement jostled his tender head wound. He couldn’t believe it. At all.

What had he been thinking?

Tighnari was relentless. “You know Cyno and I were still tied up, right? Gagged and everything. Prime witnesses.”

Kaveh squeezed his eyes tighter. “Please stop.”

“And Azar was literally still being restrained by Alhaitham’s agents.”

Another groan, muffled by his arm.

“And Nahida—did you just forget her? She was right behind you. Worried sick. One of the agents actually had to cover her eyes.”

Kaveh screamed, the sound cracking with embarrassment. “TIGHNARI, I’M GOING TO DIE.”

“You’re in the hospital, Kaveh. You’ve avoided death.”

“I’M STILL GOING TO DIE!”

Tighnari chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Well, don’t die yet. I overheard some of Alhaitham’s agents. They seem to have a bet going on. They need you to confirm some things.”

Kaveh’s eyes snapped open, wide with panic and regret. “AAAAAH! HOW DO I GET THE NURSES TO KICK YOU OUT?”

Tighnari just grinned, picking up his data pad again. “Hm. No brain damage or memory issues, then. Loud as usual.”

Kaveh buried his face in his pillow, a strangled sound of utter despair emanating from beneath it.

Azar had been detained. Along with Iskandar and Khajeh.

Apparently, only Alhaitham and Aether were aware of the secret plan. The one where Alhaitham told Azar ‘everything’ several days ago. A backup strategy in case of any leaks. In case anything went wrong.

Of course, Alhaitham had also come up with the idea to slowly replace Azar’s men with his own agents in the days prior. Quietly. One by one. Until they were all ready.

To capture Azar, they needed him somewhere he couldn’t escape. Somewhere reinforcements wouldn’t reach him. Like… a vault. Or Alhaitham’s underground office. Big steel door. Only Alhaitham and his most trusted guards had access. They’d sealed it shut the moment Azar stepped in.

And it worked.

They hadn’t trusted Tighnari or Cyno to act without tipping things off though, so they kept them out of the loop.

Bastards, Tighnari had huffed when he recounted everything to Kaveh.

Still, the rest of the coup went smoothly.

Minus Ayesha—she was still missing. As expected of the espionage master. Old Sumeru’s very own Black Widow.

It had only been eighteen hours since the attack. Things were still settling down in the center. Nilou, Layla, and Lambad had been excellent at controlling the narrative: the “youngest Sage” who had been forced by the others, then turned against them. The “savior.”

And maybe that’s why Alhaitham hadn’t come.

Maybe his newfound popularity got to his head.

Because Kaveh had counted exactly who had visited—Tighnari, Cyno, Aether. Even Nahida, who had sat cross-legged on his bed and insisted on playing Five stones.

But Alhaitham hadn’t.

And that was fine. Kaveh wasn’t bitter. Or pouting. Or letting the agents behind the hospital ceiling—because he knows now—see how much that bothered him. They should mind their own business anyway.

He just wished he hadn’t kissed the man. Wished he wasn’t stuck in this embarrassing limbo.

Kaveh huffed, jabbing at the tray of fruit slices Tighnari had left for him. “So rude,” he muttered under his breath, stabbing a grape. “Always disappearing…ghosting people…asshole…”

“I thought I’d earned at least a day.”

Kaveh looked up so fast his neck nearly cracked.

There—standing by the doorway, was Alhaitham.

Bruised, tired, but still annoyingly composed.

“Visiting hours are over,” Kaveh blurted.

“It’s 6pm.”

“And they end at 6pm.”

“I’m—” Alhaitham paused. “—I’m certain the staff won’t mind.”

Oh? Because Alhaitham was an ex-sage? The “hero” that brought the corrupted sages down? Mr. Popular? Hmph.

Kaveh pursed his lips. Stabbed another grape. Chomped too viciously.

Alhaitham waited for a moment. Then hummed as he walked over, pulling a chair to Kaveh’s bedside. Placed a satchel and a book on the nightstand.

Then, stupidly, ridiculously—

“You were much more agreeable the last time I saw you.”

Kaveh whipped up, red already blooming across his cheeks. Because why would Alhaitham even call back to that.