Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 – Secrets in the Forest

The canopy was alive with whispers. Cicadas hummed in the distance, their rhythm blending with the croak of frogs hidden in reeds, while the river that wound through the forest murmured quietly under the light of the moon. Fireflies bobbed between roots and moss, flickering like stars trapped beneath the branches.

It was late—too late for any of the scholars to still be awake. Even the lamps of the Akademiya had gone dark, leaving the city and its surrounding woods draped in silence.

But in one house tucked against the forest’s edge, a man stood by the window, staring toward the glint of silver water beyond the trees.

Kaveh pressed his lips together. His quill lay abandoned on his desk, a sketch of an archway only half-finished. He had tried, truly—forced his eyes to follow the curve of each line, forced his mind to focus on the grace of proportion and form. But tonight, as always, the pull beneath his ribs had grown too strong.

The call was impossible to ignore.
With a quiet sigh, he slung his satchel across his shoulder. Inside were a waterskin, a folded shirt, and a knife. Simple enough to pass as supplies for a restless midnight walk, should anyone ask. But no one could ask. No one could know.
Behind him, through the cracked door, came the faintest scrape of parchment. A steady turn of a page.

Alhaitham.

Of course. His roommate’s presence pressed against Kaveh’s back like a weight. Always awake. Always reading. Always listening, whether he admitted it or not.

Kaveh’s chest tightened. He should invent an excuse—say he needed air, or that the night’s humidity was unbearable. Alhaitham would give one of his flat looks, maybe mutter something about wasting time, and let him go.

But his throat closed. No excuse would carry the weight of truth without cracking.

So he stepped quietly toward the door instead, each board of the floor groaning as though intent on betraying him. He slid the door shut with care, but even so, the sound echoed in his ears.
For a moment, he lingered in the stairwell, listening.
Silence.

And yet, as he pushed through the doorway and into the forest night, he could not shake the sense of eyes following him.

ᓚᘏᗢ

The woods welcomed him with a damp breath of earth and loam.

Kaveh’s boots sank softly into moss as he wound his way down the narrow trail that cut from the Akademiya’s outskirts toward the river. Branches reached overhead, filtering moonlight into scattered shards that danced along the path.

His heart beat harder with each step, the ache in his bones intensifying, demanding release.

At last, he reached the water’s edge. The river was wide here, its current gentle, carrying firefly-light across its surface.

Kaveh crouched on the bank, gaze darting across the shadows of ferns and roots. Empty. Safe.
The water shivered with reflected starlight.

He tugged off his boots, then his gloves, then the linen shirt that clung uncomfortably to his skin in the night’s humidity. For a moment, he stared at his reflection—golden hair dampened by the forest breeze, eyes strained with exhaustion and longing.

One breath.

Two.

And he stepped into the river.

The cool water wrapped around his ankles, then his knees, and the ache beneath his ribs surged. He gasped, doubling forward as the change overtook him.

His legs dissolved into a cascade of light, fusing, lengthening. Golden hair spread across the water’s surface like spilled sunlight as a long, shimmering tail unfurled, scales gleaming crimson beneath the moonlight. Fins spread delicate as silk, scattering droplets that caught the glow of fireflies.
Relief rushed through him like a tide.

He slid deeper, submerging fully. The water closed around him, filling his lungs with ease, and the last tight knot of tension in his chest gave way. His tail flicked once, strong and fluid, and the forest river carried him downstream.

Every stroke drew him further from the weight of his secrets, further from the exhaustion of debt and unfinished sketches and arguments with Alhaitham.
Here, in the water, he was free.

Still, even as he swam beneath the shadows of overhanging branches, part of his mind wandered back. If Alhaitham ever found out…

No.

He shook the thought away, scattering silver bubbles into the dark. Alhaitham would never understand. Logic did not leave room for myth.
Kaveh swam harder, deeper, further.

He did not notice the figure standing among the roots high above the bank, hidden in the thicket, eyes narrowed in sharp calculation.

….

….

….

A cloaked figure adjusted the cloak around his shoulders, careful not to stir the branches.

He had followed the man out of the city on suspicion of nothing more than drunken folly. But when he saw the transformation—the architect’s legs dissolve, his body lengthen into a brilliant red tail—he had nearly cursed aloud in disbelief.
A mermaid. In Sumeru.

His lips curved.

The world had cast him aside, stripped him of power and pride, forced him into the shadows while that arrogant boy Alhaitham rose to Grand Sage. But now… now the forest had offered him a secret worth more than crowns.

His gaze lingered on the crimson shimmer below, on the beauty gliding through the water as though born from the night itself.

Yes. This was no mere architect. This was his salvation

Chapter Text

The first rays of dawn filtered through the canopy, spilling across the quiet house. Golden light seeped through shutters, catching dust motes in the air and softening the sharp edges of stacked books.

Kaveh blinked awake to the faint aroma of bitter coffee and ink. He groaned, rolling over, one hand tangled in the sheets. His muscles still ached faintly from the night before—the change always left him heavy on land, as though the water had stolen some part of his strength when it let him go.

For a moment, he stayed still, staring at the ceiling beams overhead. The house creaked gently around him, wood settling into the day.

Alhaitham’s home.

He would never admit it aloud, but it was far too comfortable for someone like him to deserve. A quiet refuge at the edge of the forest, close enough to the Akademiya to make the commute tolerable, far enough to silence the constant chatter of the city. There was even a garden behind the house where sunlight pooled between the trees—though the weeds had long since claimed it, since neither of its residents had the time nor the patience to tend it.

Kaveh dragged himself upright, running a hand through his hair. He should get up, wash, start a new set of sketches. He had commissions waiting. Deadlines.

And yet—

The smell of coffee pulled him like a tether.
He padded barefoot down the hallway, tugging his robe tighter around his shoulders. The wooden floor creaked softly beneath his steps, but the house was already alive with quiet activity.

In the kitchen, Alhaitham stood by the counter, pouring dark liquid from the pot into a cup. A neat stack of books and scrolls already occupied half the table, marked with his usual meticulous notes.
Kaveh leaned against the doorway, squinting at him.

“You’re impossible. Do you ever sleep?”

Alhaitham didn’t glance up. “I sleep enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Then ask a better question.”

Kaveh rolled his eyes, shuffling forward to collapse into the nearest chair. His head hit the table with a dull thump, hair fanning across the wood. “It should be illegal to be this awake before the sun’s even cleared the trees.”

Alhaitham sipped his coffee. “You were the one who stayed out half the night.”

Kaveh stiffened, throat catching. He forced a laugh, tilting his head just enough to flash a grin. “Oh, so you noticed. I thought your books would keep you … distracted.”

“Observation doesn’t require effort,” Alhaitham said calmly, setting the cup down with a soft clink. “You reeked of river water when you came in.”

Kaveh’s smile faltered. He shifted upright, waving a hand dismissively. “Ah, yes, well—the forest paths are treacherous. Moss everywhere. I nearly slipped to my death, you know. Tragic end for a brilliant architect. At least I’d look good in the obituary.”

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow. “You’re exaggerating again.”

“That’s called having a sense of humor.”

“That’s called wasting breath.”

Kaveh groaned loudly, shoving his face back into the crook of his arms. “I don’t know why I talk to you.”

“Neither do I,” Alhaitham said, but his tone carried no bite.

For a long moment, the only sound was the faint rustle of pages as Alhaitham opened one of his books. The quiet filled the room—comfortable, in its own peculiar way.

Kaveh peeked up at him, hair falling into his eyes. The man was infuriating. Stoic, unreadable, logical to the point of cruelty. And yet, sitting here in the soft morning light, his profile outlined against shelves of books, Kaveh felt that familiar tug in his chest.

He looked away quickly, cheeks warming.

Meanwhile, far from the forest house, the cloaked figure for the day before moved through the shaded streets of Sumeru City with a hood drawn low. He kept to the alleys, slipping between market stalls before dawn truly broke.

The memory of crimson scales gleamed in his mind like a jewel. He had spent the night turning it over, considering the possibilities.

Patience. That was the key. The mermaid was not going anywhere, not while tethered to this cold scholar’s charity. Soon enough, an opportunity would come.

And when it did, he would take it.

———-

By evening, the house smelled faintly of ink and dust, the air humming with cicadas outside the windows. Kaveh had migrated to the floor, sprawled on his stomach with sketches scattered around him like fallen leaves. His pencil smudged faint gray streaks across his fingers, his eyes half-lidded from exhaustion.

Across the room, Alhaitham was still at his desk, posture straight, book open, quill poised with maddening steadiness.

“You never stop, do you?” Kaveh muttered into the rug.

“I could say the same to you,” Alhaitham replied without looking up. “The difference is, I’m making progress.”

Kaveh groaned, rolling onto his back. “You’re going to turn into one of those books one day. Dry, heavy, impossible to carry without a satchel.”

“And you’ll turn into a debt notice.”

Kaveh sat up, glaring. “You are—” He stopped, blinking. His vision wavered. “You are insufferably smug.”

“Mm.”

Kaveh’s pencil slipped from his fingers, rolling across the rug. He rubbed his temples with a sigh. He should have been sketching, should have been revising lines and curves, but his mind kept drifting to the pull of water, the memory of scales glinting beneath moonlight. His body ached for it again already.

He startled when something soft brushed against him. A blanket.

Kaveh looked up. Alhaitham stood over him, expression as unreadable as always, before turning back toward his desk.

“You’ll catch a cold sleeping on the divian.”

Kaveh blinked, warmth prickling at the edges of his chest. He tugged the blanket tighter, half-hiding his face in it. “You really should admit you care sometimes, you know.”

“I don’t.”

Kaveh smiled despite himself. “Liar.”

Alhaitham didn’t answer. But the faintest twitch of his lips gave him away.

Outside, beneath the dense shadows of the forest, Azar watched the lamplight flicker against the glass panes of the house.

The opportunity would come. It was only a matter of time.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 – The Trap is Set (Extended Bar Scene)

The tavern at the edge of the city felt alive in a way that made Kaveh simultaneously want to join and flee. Smoke coiled from the hearth in thick, languid spirals, carrying the rich scent of roasting meat that mingled with the sharp tang of spilled ale and sweat. Lanterns swayed above the crowded room, their flames flickering across faces flushed with warmth or excitement, catching the occasional glint of copper or brass, and casting long, irregular shadows along the warped floorboards. The hum of conversation rose and fell like waves, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the sharp, cheerful clinking of mugs.

Kaveh stepped inside and paused, letting the noise wash over him. It wasn’t his usual haunt. He preferred small, quiet corners, places where he could nurse his drink in silence and watch the world move without being noticed. But tonight, the weight of the day, of Alhaitham’s unflinching gaze from that morning, had drawn him here. That look—calm, precise, impossible to read—had lingered in his mind, tightening around his thoughts until restlessness became unbearable. He needed the warmth, the distraction, even if fleeting.

He moved toward the bar, past tables filled with strangers who paid him no mind, and claimed a seat near the edge where he could see the room without being fully immersed in it. He settled onto the stool and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The wood beneath him creaked as he shifted, and he welcomed the small, familiar sound.

When the barkeep approached, wiping his hands on a rag that smelled faintly of smoke and vinegar, Kaveh ordered a drink without looking at him. He wanted something to steady his nerves, to blur the edges of the day just enough to let him breathe. The mug arrived, amber liquid catching the firelight, and he lifted it to his lips with the kind of practiced care that comes from years of habit. The warmth spread through him, a small comfort.

For a moment, he allowed himself to simply exist in the tavern’s chaos. Laughter and music became a dull, pleasant thrum in his ears. Faces blurred into shapes and colors. The flickering lantern light danced over the tables, over the glint of coins and rings, over the rough surfaces of wooden mugs. He let his fingers trace the rim of his cup absently, watching the golden liquid ripple.

And then, the sensation came. A weight, subtle at first, crawling up his arms, pressing against his chest. His limbs felt sluggish, unresponsive. The world seemed to tilt just slightly, almost imperceptibly, but enough to make him glance around nervously. A passing laughter sounded distant, stretched unnaturally. The music’s rhythm warped.

“Odd,” he muttered, shaking his head as if movement could reset the room.

The barkeep slid another mug across the counter. “Another round?” he asked.

Kaveh forced a smile. “Yes… thank you.”

He drank, hoping the warmth would settle him, but it only deepened the heaviness. His chest felt like it was pressed under a weight that should not exist. His thoughts, usually quick and precise, stumbled through the fog. The more he tried to focus, the more the tavern seemed to tilt around him, the flames elongating and stretching toward the ceiling, the laughter echoing off walls that no longer seemed real.

He flexed his fingers, trying to shake off the sensation. His mug trembled in his grip. The edges of the room shimmered as if seen through rippling water. Panic tickled at the back of his mind, a slow, insidious crawl.

He tried to push it down. It’s nothing. It’s just the drink. It’s just nerves.

But something about the way a shadow lingered near the far doorway, still and silent despite the crowd, made his chest tighten further. He felt watched. He told himself it was imagination, yet the feeling refused to leave. The eyes of the room felt sharper, scrutinizing, pressing into him. Each laugh now seemed to have an edge, each cheer a note of accusation.

A man approached his table, cloaked and quiet. Kaveh stiffened, unsure why his instinct was to flee even as the man simply set a hand on the edge of the table. “Mind if I sit?” the stranger asked. The voice was calm, deliberate, with an almost imperceptible edge.

Kaveh hesitated. There was nothing threatening in the man’s posture, nothing overtly dangerous, and yet the instinct to recoil was overwhelming. He nodded once, letting him take the seat, though his heart beat in a frantic rhythm that echoed in his ears.

“Rough night?” the stranger asked casually, voice low, smooth.

Kaveh attempted a laugh, hollow, weak. “Something like that.”

The man said nothing further, just watched him. There was an intensity in the stillness that made Kaveh’s skin prickle. His vision wavered, and he blinked rapidly to steady it, shaking his head as if that could bring the room back into clarity.

Another round arrived, this one sliding toward him from the bar. He lifted it automatically, not noticing when the stranger’s gloved hand brushed against the mug, or the brief, knowing look exchanged between barkeep and newcomer. He drank. Warmth slid down his throat but did nothing to ease the fog pressing against his skull.

Something is wrong.

The thought struck like a stone, sharp and unwelcome. He felt it in his chest first—a tightening coil that grew with every heartbeat—then in his limbs, uncooperative and heavy. He tried to push himself upright on the stool, but his muscles refused the command fully. His arms shook. He leaned forward, gripping the table as if it could anchor him to reality.

“Are you all right?” someone called from the next table. The voice sounded distant, filtered through the thick air of his panic. Kaveh’s own response came out as a thin, wavering whisper. “I… I’m fine.” But it sounded unconvincing, even to him.

The shadowed stranger leaned slightly closer. “You picked the perfect time to come out to play,” he said.

The words struck like ice against Kaveh’s chest. He swallowed hard, voice caught. “Who are—?”

The stranger didn’t answer immediately. His stillness was unnerving, deliberate. Every instinct screamed that this was no longer a simple night of drinking. That the tavern, so full of life just minutes ago, was no longer a refuge. The people around him moved, laughed, and drank, oblivious to the tension bleeding out from his table.

Kaveh felt the room tilt again, the air thickening around him. The music stretched into long, mournful tones, the chatter warped and indecipherable. He gripped the table with both hands, knuckles white.

“I need… I need to go, excuse me” he whispered to himself, barely audible.

The stranger’s eyes flicked toward him. “Soon,” he said. His voice was quiet, but each syllable pressed into Kaveh like the edge of a knife.

Kaveh forced himself to stand, his legs trembling beneath him. The stool wobbled dangerously, and he had to grip the counter for support. The tavern seemed to pulse around him, light flickering, laughter stretching and warping into distorted echoes. Each step toward the door felt heavier than the last, as if the world itself sought to hold him inside.

The warm air of the tavern pressed against him, thick and suffocating. Patrons glanced his way, sensing his unease, but none interfered. He could feel the stranger’s eyes on him, calm and predatory, the gaze like ice sliding over his skin.

Finally, he reached the door. The cool night air hit him immediately, cutting through the fog in his mind. Relief surged for a brief instant, but it was shallow and fleeting. He stepped onto the slick, rain-streaked street, the noise of the tavern fading behind him. The city felt empty, but the oppressive sensation of being watched had not lifted.

A shadow moved in the alley just behind him. Kaveh’s chest tightened. He quickened his pace, heart hammering. He knew, with a deep, instinctual certainty, that he was not alone. The footsteps behind him matched his own. Calm, deliberate, inescapable.

“Wait…” a low voice called from the darkness, smooth and measured. Kaveh spun, but before he could fully react, strong hands grasped him from behind, pulling him into the alley. He struggled, but the weight of the drug in his system made resistance clumsy and weak.

The figure stepped into the dim light, the faint flicker of a lantern catching a glint in his eyes. Azar. Calm. Predatory. Certain.

“You shouldn’t have left,” Azar said quietly, almost amused, but with an undertone that made Kaveh’s blood run cold.

Kaveh’s vision blurred, the world tilting and folding in on itself. He tried to speak, tried to push away, but his limbs refused. Panic clawed at his chest as darkness crept in from the edges of his sight.

Azar’s grip tightened, steady and unyielding. The last thing Kaveh heard, the last thing that sank into his fogged mind, was that low, deliberate voice:

“The world will see you as you truly are...Kaveh...”

And in the few moments before he passed out, the last thought of fear that crossed his mind was Alhaitham—his calm gaze, the certainty in his eyes, the unshakable presence that had anchored him before. Kaveh clung to that memory, fragile and fleeting, as darkness swallowed him completely. W\shing for a home unwelcoming.