Chapter Text
•••
“because my love for you is greater than words,
i've decided to keep quiet.”
–nizar qabbani
•••
Kaveh is asleep as Alhaitham flips through the thesis proposal for the fourth time since he'd received it earlier in the afternoon. The proposal itself isn't written poorly—the thick stack of papers follow the Akedemiya's format guidelines to near perfection, save for the binding, though researchers often forgo the precise measurements to keep their research intact as opposed to potentially running a hole through a necessary graph or section. Alhaitham had done so in his second thesis, angling the punctures outwards to save a detailed graph illustration. It isn't the format or the writing or even the topic itself that makes him read the stack again and again.
No, truly there are two separate issues that lie within the nature of the thesis itself.
The first: The topic itself is fine, it is the abstract and researcher's personal statement that give him pause.
Four months ago, following the harshest rain the western portion of the desert has seen in almost nine years, a sinkhole took down a large radius of sand, destroying a few Eremite camps, trading depots, and collapsing one researcher's temporary camp. Investigation into the sinkhole showed a cluster of buildings, later identified as temples by a Kshahrewar researcher, belonging to the time in which King Deshret ruled. Further preliminary research of the exterior gave rise to the theory that the temples, five interconnected buildings, were most likely made in reverence to the Goddess of Flowers.
People have been clamoring for a chance to be among the first to truly investigate. A number of students have written their proposals towards the temples, either in reverence of the architecture present or the lingering curiosity of what a buried temple may hold. A number of mercenaries have advertised their services to adventurers aiming to explore the ruins, and the Akedemiya has turned into a mess of students and researchers fighting to have their proposals accepted before anyone else. The Matra have yet to fully explore or approve of the ruins being any valuable or safe well of information. Alhaitham had had to reject a number of campaigns and proposals since its discovery.
At most, people have begun to clear the main levels and building of the temples, nothing else.
The Haravatat scholar who'd written this particular proposal aims, as is written, to evaluate, record, describe, and understand the lingering history present within the temple. The thesis writes of the scholar's—Payam's—intent to draw guiding maps and infrastructure blueprints of the temples, as well as record and translate any texts or carvings still lingering within the temple from when it was still active. He seeks the funding and permission necessary to do all that his thesis abstract encompasses, driven wholly by the fact he believes that the Goddess of Flowers is not deceased, but living as a human within the land of Sumeru.
That particular point leads to the second oddity: Kaveh is mentioned within the proposal.
It isn't rare to cite an Akedemiya alumni or senior researcher within one's thesis—what is rare is how Payam has used Kaveh's name: part of the thesis research itself.
Alhaitham narrows his eyes, gaze drifting off to his sleeping roommate. He'd been working in the living room when Alhaitham had come home, hair tied away and the rare image of his glasses perched on his nose, specially kept for when his eyes have become too strained and tired to properly read his own handwriting or client notes. He'd stopped working a handful of minutes ago, slumped over the arm of their divan, feet curled to his chest.
Kaveh breathes quieter in his sleep; the sound is still there, not quite a snore, not quite anything else. Alhaitham can never figure out the word to describe it.
Payam makes specific remarks on Kaveh's potential inclusion within the project when discussing funding and permissions—he wishes for almost two-hundred thousand mora to hire a team of adventurers willing to guard and transport him, as well as, should he be amenable, the Light of Kshahrewar to aid in the excursion, given his expertise.
Further down, within Payam's personal statement, he begins a long, drawn out string of praise catered towards Kaveh, with a separate funding outlined just for his services. Not that Payam truly outlines the services as much as heaps praise upon Kaveh in a thesis proposal that reads more as a letter to a celebrity than any form of permission for research. Payam speaks repeatedly on his own ideas—documentation and his own drawings—but little on Kaveh's need to be requested. It is understandable one would want Kaveh for any expertise on the architecture within King Deshret's time, it would make sense if Payam is requesting the knowledge Kaveh may provide.
But he is not. He hasn't specified anything except wanting Kaveh to be there.
He seems fantastical, is what Alhaitham settles on. Perhaps skilled in words, but with half-formed ideas fuelled by fairy tales about what became of the Goddess of Flowers following her death. Thoughts and theories based on reincarnation within the Akedemiya are often rejected, simply due to the fact nothing of the sort can be proven. Coincidences may occur, but until a precedent is set, no research focused on the idea has ever been passed.
Still, the very proposal itself gives him pause. He scans the cover page once more, strokes his thumb over the binding of the pages.
Alhaitham adjusts his feet, crosses one leg over the other, avoids the messy array of blueprints and drawings laying over their living room, and tosses the stack to the other end of their living room table. He watches Kaveh jerk himself awake when the resounding sound slams into his ears. It's louder than Alhaitham expected it would be, but he won't readily complain.
Kaveh squints at him, glasses lopsided and golden strands falling over his eyes. “What's wrong with you?”
“Have you met a researcher named Payam?” Alhaitham asks, gesturing to the thesis proposal. Kaveh rubs his eyes and sits up straighter, pushing his hair away from his face. He grabs the stack of papers, glancing at the cover page before opening it up and beginning to read. “You're mentioned in the ‘Funding’ segment.”
“For citation?”
“For in-person guidance and aid.”
Kaveh snorts. “I haven't agreed to any aid this year; I'm not teaching.”
“No, but Payam seems quite sure you'd enjoy his thesis topic and humbly requests your expertise in the situation.” A divot appears in between Kaveh's eyebrows as he purses his lips. “His topic is the same as others have been proposing; hardly imaginative.”
“Sorry that students aren't up to your great standards,” Kaveh mumbles, flipping quickly through the proposal until he seems to spot his name. He hums, leaning closer to the page. “Why's he requesting funding for me?”
“I wondered the same thing.” Kaveh levels him with a stare as sharp as a sword, eyebrows raised and head tilted at an angle. Alhaitham shrugs. “You're famously overworked and take clients more often than you offer research aid or volunteer to teach any seminars. I wouldn't imagine him or any other student petitioning for your attention. Especially Haravatat scholars. Hardly do I know why he's researching the specific architecture or mapping over simplifying his thesis to potential texts found.”
Kaveh yawns, hiding it against his wrist. He's still attempting to look angry, though the expression melts away for a moment. “The temple cluster is unexplored; one Kshahrewar scholar who specializes in the automatons within the desert identified the ruins, not anyone who focused on architecture. We don't even know if those temples are from King Deshret's rule. Clusters visibly seen don't match too well with the aesthetic of his rule, much less what we've readily explored and written about. The Akedemiya knows better than to trust just one person and allow that to be the presumption before others can attest to it.”
Alhaitham raises an eyebrow.
Kaveh blinks, gaze turning off towards him. “What?”
“Hm.”
“What?”
“The Light of Kshahrewar,” Alhaitham says. Kaveh sticks his tongue out childishly. “You're quite passionate about something you haven't seen yet.”
Kaveh tilts his head and hits the proposal. It winds up back on their shared table, and Kaveh sighs, leaning against the arm of the divan. He tilts his head back, loose strands dangling and catching the remains of the sunlight that streams through their windows. Alhaitham stares at the line of Kaveh's throat and quickly diverts his attention back to the stack of papers.
There's a smear of ink on the lower left corner. It wasn't there before when he'd been reading it.
Kaveh kicks a foot lazily. “You wouldn't understand.”
“The arts,” Alhaitham says, emphasizing the word slightly in the way Kaveh does when they have this particular discussion. Kaveh lifts his head and squints at him, eyebrows furrowing. Alhaitham turns to him and waves a hand, leaning back in his chair. “Continue.”
“You're insufferable.”
“But you're still here, aren't you?”
Not quite rising to the bait, Kaveh clicks his tongue and glances back to the proposal, rolling over onto his stomach. “I want to see the temples, too.”
“Apply to aid in cleaning it out. Or be part of the mapping team. Your skills aren't comparable to a simple student.”
“It's not about that. We're talking about a massive chunk of Sumeru's history just being buried beneath our feet and revealed because of heavy rain. People are already fighting to be the first to step in there. But this is potentially something before King Deshret; has anyone considered that? Or, at least, if the temples were built during his rule, they're bound to be vastly different from the normal architecture the research has drawn up.
“That far west? They're venturing towards the ocean and the different zones even the Akedemiya likes to avoid. I wouldn't be surprised if those temples aren't actually temples at all. I don't know why they let an engineer look at things.”
Alhaitham is quiet for a moment. “You seen upset you weren't asked to peruse.”
“I think it's ridiculous they didn't even ask another architect to look at the buildings, Alhaitham,” Kaveh says, tone pinched. “They didn't even go into the building, those reports are awful.”
“They haven't,” Alhaitham affirms.
“Which is awful.”
“You're very opinionated today.”
“I can be opinionated when it concerns my area of study, Alhaitham.” Kaveh sniffs. His eyebrow twitches. “What are you doing about the thesis proposal?”
Alhaitham hums and sits up, pushing himself to stand. “Rejecting it.”
“Alhaitham.”
“It follows procedure but I doubt Payam will revise his thesis to rid it of his odd ideas,” Alhaitham says, moving through the living room into their kitchen to the cabinets where Kaveh insists they keep their mugs and plates. “His advisor had sent personal notes regarding the thesis. It was approved but Payam handles criticism as well as a child does and tends to cling. He won't rid himself the chance to push the research if he investigates the temple. His time could be better suited elsewhere, with a different topic of study.
He locates one of the mugs, the closest to the door of the cabinet, and moves about their kitchen, taking his time to ensure the water is cold as it runs from their sink. “As I've said: the texts.”
“Hypothetical texts. You don't know if there's anything in there.”
“And you aren't sure those aren't temples, Kaveh.”
“Of course I'm not sure; examining is the only way anyone will learn. He's at the Akedemiya to research. It's alright if he's proven wrong. That's what the research is for.”
“He's thinking out of the realm of what is possible, Kaveh,” Alhaitham hums, shutting his eyes as he sips his water. “If reincarnation were possible, surely Lesser Lord Kusanali would've made such a thing known.”
“Gods aren't all-knowing, Alhaitham. Or, maybe she's aware and hasn't said something. You just like to be proven right.”
“It's an enjoyable feeling.”
Kaveh scoffs and rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up. Alhaitham follows the line, watching how it squishes the skin of Kaveh's cheek. There's a small mole just beneath his lip, just below the corner on his left side. “Your poor juniors; they must still have nightmares about you and your personality.”
“How does my personality correlate to one man's thesis?”
“He's not even being given a chance and you've denied him the potential to do something, Alhaitham. He didn't even get a chance to revise before his rejection. He's got a decently sound area of study. You're not even rejecting him for anything sound. How long have you been looking this over?”
“Since it was delivered,” Alhaitham answers.
“Mhm.” Kaveh nods slowly. “And how many have written a similar proposal?”
“Twenty-four since the beginning of the month, a collective two-hundred fourteen since they were first discovered.”
“And you're rejecting all of them?”
Alhaitham sighs, shutting his eyes again. “Until the temples are mostly cleared, it's advisable to only allow adventurers and mercenaries approved access; hardly do I need students wandering down the halls and potentially hurting themselves or dying just for some simple glimpse at a mural carved into a wall.”
Kaveh hums loudly. The sound of papers ruffling reaches Alhaitham's ears. When he opens his eyes, Kaveh is flipping through the proposal again, pushing his glasses up to the top of his head. “He's very…thorough, at least.”
Alhaitham scrapes his gaze upward.
Kaveh's lips purse.
Often, Kaveh does not exist this quietly. These are truer moments, Alhaitham finds. When Kaveh is quiet, he is thinking. When Kaveh is quiet, it gives Alhaitham time to focus on a hidden, submerged part of his senior he doesn't readily have access to.
Kaveh is not often this quiet, serious sight.
He is loud, he is prideful. He picks fights with him at the slightest inconvenience. There'd been an argument just last night over washing the dishes—Kaveh had seceded and wound up cleaning their pile of plates himself, gloves pulled over his hands and hair tied away, shirt loose and transparent so the line of him was seen where the sun hit him, bathing where his body didn't quite fit in golden light The tan skin of his hands had been molton with light, and Alhaitham had ridiculously followed the angle of it.
Up the inner crease of an elbow, traveling up towards his throat until it overlapped with his eye and painted the red something bright.
The Light of Kshahrewar. It's such a uniquely ironic title for Kaveh.
A light burning himself out to appease the saplings around him, that's it.
Alhaitham stares at the tips of Kaveh's fingers, flipping through the thesis once more. He raises a thumb to his mouth, gnawing lazily on the nail.
His teeth are white.
Alhaitham sips his water again. “If you're going to keep reading it, just submit your own proposal to aid in being part of the first exploration team. The upper levels are almost fully cleared out; there's been discussions of doing an investigation soon while discussions of clearing the bottom-most and connecting sections of the temples begin.”
Kaveh snorts. “You mean you've been thinking about sending me off to the sweltering desert when I have work to do.”
“We'll find someone else then, a less busy architect.”
Kaveh huffs loudly. “Who said I wouldn't want to go?”
“You were complaining about the sun, Kaveh.”
“About the hot desert. You aren't actually listening to anything I've been saying.”
“I only hear your complaints.” Alhaitham hums, swallows down another mouthful of water. “There's an investigation team leaving in two weeks; have your paperwork submitted in five days, or someone else will take your place.”
“Wha—Alhaitham, you're not serious. My work—” Alhaitham ignores the loud, noisy pleading coming from his roommate, and listens to him squawk as he turns the corner down to his room. “Alhaitham!”
“It's your night for dinner.”
“Alhaitham! I'm not submitting the papers, you insufferable scribe!”
•••
Two days later, a thin stack of papers winds up on his desk. Alhaitham sets the papers aside, focusing more on reading over fiscal reports that are so egregious in nature it makes him contemplate simply standing and leaving his desk, work and all, to simply walk back home to relax and read that new book he's so sure has arrived in the mail that day. Kaveh will have picked it up for him and set it on their living room table, lined up neatly with the edge.
It's rare he stays in the Acting Grand Sage's office all day—hardly enough that he seems to get much work done, as many of the assistants have mentioned.
When he finally manages to glance at the papers, what catches his eye is the topmost sheet.
At the very top, written in a sprawling, elegant scrawl, lies Kaveh's name.
Alhaitham sighs, picks the sheet up, and flips through the pages, carefully ensuring each section is filled out correctly.
It is, of course. Simply because it is Kaveh, and even his messier work is always left unsmudged or ruinous.
•••
“This is ridiculous,” Kaveh grumbles, using one hand to lower himself down to the next section of stairs, avoiding where a chunk has collapsed down into the pit of sand and still-damp sediment from the rain weeks ago. “No safety precautions at all, I was under the impression there'd be more people, not just you following me around and watching me flail around.”
“Hardly are you flailing,” Alhaitham says, following after his senior.
Kaveh moves with an odd grace—something that comes from an intent to look presentable and be presentable. It's ingrained in the way he eats, speaks, breathes, fights, holds a pen; grace touches almost every part of him. Alhaitham think it rare enough to have ever seen Kaveh messy. The only thing he can grasp at is the days leading up to Kaveh moving in, when his hair was greasy and tied away, too tangled to do much with it, clothes baggy and long over the tight, elegant style he prefers most.
Tighnari had said it best: “If he can present himself as put together, no one has to focus on the messy bits. The grace helps a bit.”
“At the very least, no one could make a sort of safety for these stairs?”
“If it's approved for research and Akedemiya researchers start submitting good proposals, safety banisters and fencing will be placed.”
Kaveh scoffs, nimble feet slipping along the decaying, crumbling stairs. “Only if it's approved; of course. No care at all for the adventurers or others who may stumble down here to raid or scavenge through it.”
The temple cluster lies deep in the sinkhole that'd been uncovered, almost two-hundred meters down beneath the sand. The edges are marked off with protective fencing, but the stairs themselves that lead downwards aren't as safe. Chunks are missing, wide, gaping holes present that leave them needing to jump to cross. Mehrak thinks she's helpful enough, floating off by herself to the other side of the space, beeping and blinking her lights at them as if urging them to cross.
(Kaveh is adamant Mehrak is a girl; Alhaitham doesn't quite see the use in arguing with him over something of his own creation, so, as Kaveh dictates, Mehrak is a lady.)
The temple's exterior is caked in sand, cracked at the base, but still sturdy. Kaveh's eyes practically light up the closer they manage to edge towards it.
Alhaitham's share of reading has given him enough knowledge to readily identify the bigger markers of King Deshret's architectural aesthetic; and what he says matches quite nicely. The main building is smooth, a mimicry of the Mausoleum that sits in the center of the sand and heat. This particular temple lies evenly west of the Mausoleum, edging off towards the coast. The main building sits at the very center of the interconnected buildings, each building connecting to a side, and a fifth branching off from the east-most building.
The entrance lays high, cutting into the very center.
“Huh,” Kaveh hums. “That's early King Deshret architecture, but only on the center building. I suppose the engineer knew some things well enough.”
“So they are temples?”
“The exterior lines up enough; we won't know until we investigate at all. Is it just us?”
Alhaitham hums. “For now. We're allowed to investigate the upper and main floor of the main building without much fuss from the sages. And I don't feel like cleaning my sword tonight, so it's much more simple to stay localized there.”
Kaveh whips around to face him, squinting. “I clean your swords. You'd let them stay stained and then they'd get rusty and then you'd complain about how disgusting they are. Honestly, you'd buy new ones every time with all that mora you have, I can't believe you.”
“You're more than welcome to continue doing so, Kaveh.”
“Unbelievable!” his senior hisses, moving forward quicker, holding his chin high.
Alhaitham sighs, gaze shifting off towards the temple. Truly, it's an impressive sight. Even if architectural feats aren't something he finds intriguing, there's no denying the sight is something to behold. The size alone is comparable to King Deshret's Mausoleum, tall and a somewhat menacing sight. Large, tall—a building fit for a king, truly.
The trek down yields to be the most time consuming part of their journey. Sand slides beneath their palms when they are forced to lower themselves down a particularly steep drop. The feeling is odd, not quite unfamiliar but not quite comfortable.
Above them, the sun sits at its highest point, bright and harsh. Sweat beads at his temples.
The last set of stairs is still covered in sand, smashed down and compacted by the footprints of matra that have long since aided in ridding the main floor of wandering creatures and aggressive forms.
Kaveh steps out of the sun first, shaking sand from his shoes and settling his hands over his hips. His gaze lingers up towards the entryway, head tilted back as I'd to embrace the full scope of the temple. It's not uncommon, watching him simply admire something because it's enchanting to him.
Kaveh has tried to explain the phenomenon before, has tugged Alhaitham along when furniture shopping to show him the best objects that go with the rest of the house decor. Had it not been for Kaveh, hardly would his house look as nice as it does.
Perhaps, he thinks, it would be more comfortable. Though Kaveh's taste accounts for that as well.
Walk, Senior,” he says, brushing past Kaveh and tilting his shoulder out of the way to avoid running into him. “You may oogle inside, as you signed up to do.”
“You can't even allow me a moment of peace, can you? We're looking at historical buildings almost perfectly preserved, Alhaitham.” Kaveh makes an effort to swat him. “At the very least, I thought you'd also be excited. Imagine when you're old and withering and can read your name in those old tomes you live on when this building is being written about. Hm? How about that? Your ego would adore that.”
Alhaitham hums, noncommittal. “Think quietly about your fantasies, Senior.”
“Whatever.” Kaveh huffs loudly. “Why are you even here; I was under the impression I'd be with an actual team.”
“Am I not pleasant enough for you?”
“Hardly.”
“Hm. Then you should've done as you'd said and not made a move to sign up for this expedition.”
Kaveh's cheeks puff and his eyebrows raise. “I thought you'd stay put! Not follow me all the way out here just to criticize me when I haven't even done anything yet. Can I not appreciate something like this in peace? Honestly, you don't hear me disparaging the things that make you happy.”
Alhaitham turns his gaze away, eyes focused on the entryway. “No, I don't. You wouldn't, not when you're too focused on how closely one's dreams and ideals should be held, hm?”
Mehrak beeps at them, moving out of Alhaitham's peripheral.
“You're terribly insufferable,” Kaveh hisses. “Out of everyone to come here with, you couldn't send out a proper team, Alhaitham. Not even a matra member, nor someone hired. No, you came along just to comment on everything, was that it?”
“Not at all. I'm being quite sincere.”
“Sincere,” Kaveh repeats. His eyes roll and he makes a movement to walk past Alhaitham, crossing his arms as he passes by, quicker and with longer strides. “Of course, because Alhaitham is so sincere.”
“You doubt my sincerity?”
“I don't—let's just go, I want to be somewhere good to sleep before the sun sets. The desert is cold, Alhaitham.”
Mehrak beeps once more, louder, and more akin to a short scream if she were human. Alhaitham and Kaveh turn in sync to stare at her, and it is Alhaitham who sees it first. His gaze draws up a shirt distance, just above where Mehrak has been bobbing herself up and down, beeping and screeching and buzzing.
Edging towards the final drop of the stairs, a figure attempts to stretch his legs downwards, toes scraping the smashed sand.
Kaveh takes a step, leaning forward slightly. “Is that your Payam?”
“With how he spoke of you in his thesis, he's more akin to yours.”
Sticking his tongue out, like a child, Kaveh raises a careful hand, immediately soothing Mehrak's frantic noises with a careful touch. He steps away from his own suitcase, brushing closer to, yes, a struggling Payam, trying to slowly lower himself down with careful, slow effort.
Alhaitham watches as his senior steps up to the younger man, drawing his attention. Payam turns towards him, eyes childishly wide and hair messy and sand-covered. It doesn't take much effort to lower the other, which results in the younger researcher stumbling slightly, face smashing against Kaveh's collarbone. Alhaitham clicks his tongue; his proposal was rejected for a reason, and to follow after them with an intent to begin his own preliminary research without the proper permissions violates a number of Akedemiya laws and regulations.
“Senior Kaveh! Oh, you're so kind,” Payam gushes loudly, cheek still pressed against Kaveh. “Really, I knew you were kind, but to just do something so simple like help me—”
“It's not a problem,” Kaveh says.
“It is a problem,” Alhaitham interrupts, crossing his arms and stepping towards them to save himself the strife of speaking too loudly. “Your thesis proposal was rejected, you've wandered out into an unauthorized zone with the intent to bypass that rejection. You've followed us into dangerous. You're aware, Payam, that there is a strong reason researchers of your caliber have been rejected from beginning any form of research associated with the temple, correct?”
Payam has the sense to look chastised, clearing his throat and straightening himself. “It isn't quite breaking Akedemiya law if I'm not here for research, Grand Sage. I noticed you and Senior Kaveh leaving, and I made an assumption. I won't be any trouble, truly.”
“Your blatant disregard for my word makes it difficult to trust a thing you'd say, Payam.”
“I mean it, truly! No research, simple observation! You're here as an investigation team, yes? I can be of use. King Deshret's variation of Ancient Sumerian is my focus! My thesis proposal is simply part of that focus, King Deshret and his rule are something I'm quite passionate about.”
Kaveh makes a face. “Payam, ah, listen—”
“Senior Kaveh, please! I'll listen fully, I'm very sincere! The most sincere! Please don't send me back when I could investigate this first-hand with you!”
“We wouldn't send you back by yourself! Listen, just…here, wait outside in the shade, alright? We'll be done quickly and then we'll escort you back.” Kaveh grabs Payam by the shoulders, leading him behind Alhaitham to the foot of the steps leading up to the temple. “Did you bring water with you? Extra food? Something to cover your head either if the shade leaves?”
Payam blinks, glancing away from Kaveh. “I used up my water this morning, I apologize.”
Alhaitham sighs.
Kaveh stands straighter, fingers tapping his hip. Kaveh shifts his foot, then turns swiftly towards Alhaitham, grabbing his wrist and tugging him over before beginning to pat him down.
Alhaitham blinks, watching the careful way Kaveh purses his lips. They're chapped; he hasn't really been drinking enough water, too focused on saving it for when it was truly needed.
Kaveh finds one of the waterskins tucked against Alhaitham's thigh, unhooking it from his belt and swiping it without much of a fight. He moves away from Alhaitham before he can swipe the waterskin back, and crouches in front of Payam, offering it in that kind, kind way he does. It's somewhat irritating, seeing Kaveh's kindness so blatantly.
If Alhaitham were to say as much, however, Kaveh would simply continue this silly game of ignoring him.
“We'll be done in a few hours,” Kaveh says to Payam, handing the water to him. “You'll sit here where it's cool, and then we'll escort you back to the Akedemiya afterwards. That was a stupid thing to do, not bringing enough water for yourself, following us out here. Who knows how long we'd be out here? Did you want to make yourself sick?”
“Of course not, Senior. Of course not! But, sitting out here for hours? Can't I come with you?”
“No. No, you're untrained in combat and we can't guarantee your safety inside, Payam. Just stay out here, alright?”
Payam goes quiet for a moment, the skin of his face pink from the heat, eyes wide and dark. He takes the waterskin from Kaveh's hands carefully, pausing for a brief moment before he takes it fully. “Of course, thank you, Senior.”
Kaveh smiles. “Right, we'll be back. If we're not back by sunset, you'll have to head back yourself. Find a temporary camp and someone will find you. Don't waste all your water.”
“You have more, don't you? Just in case?”
“Of course we do,” Alhaitham says. “Don't we, Senior?”
Kaveh makes a face, jaw twitching. “Of course. Come on, then, I don't want more sand in my shoes. We have a few hours.”
“Of course, Senior.”
“You—! Payam, just stay here, please. We'll be back, alright?”
Payam nods, and Kaveh, seemingly sure the researcher will listen, nods and jogs to meet with Alhaitham as he begins walking inside, legs burning with the stretch of walking for so long.
“You're hopeless,” Alhaitham tells him as they step into pace with one another. “Truly hopeless. Giving away your water to a researcher who couldn't quite listen to suggestions to simply stay away.”
“And let him make himself sick? You can pretend to care a little, Alhaitham.”
“He managed to be approved in the Akedemiya's admission roll, he can very much be smart enough to bring the necessary amount of water. Especially if he'd like to be foolish enough to follow us where he shouldn't.”
“He's…excited, that's all.” Kaveh shrugs. “People can be excited.”
“Excited enough to defy safety measures?”
Kaveh's lips purse. “He's excitable and naive, but I can't really judge him much.”
Alhaitham sighs softly, shaking his head and repeating, “Hopeless,” without much of the irritation that was present before.
The interior of the temple's main floor is as Alhaitham presumed it would be: very much in line with the monuments and temples already recorded within the same era. The intricate supports holding thousands of pounds of stone above their heads are carved to depict smooth, indented spots, lined with a deep red. Alhaitham cranes his neck upwards, staring at the center-most point of the roof where a hole lies, where sand still spills down to cover the floor. Beneath their feet, the floor shifts and groans, dust and sand coming and catching the sunlight. The ceiling meets at a point, high above their heads.
In the center of the room lies a hole, dark and coated in warm shadow. When Alhaitham leans over to peer down, he can barely make out the flicker of a torch.
Encircling the hole are panes of blue glass, dirty and cracked from years of lacking the proper care they required.
Overall, the main room is quite bland. The connecting buildings may hold something intriguing, and there's no telling exactly how deep the temple runs, seeing as King Deshret's own mausoleum runs deeply beneath the sand in a sprawling pattern of chambers and hallways.
Kaveh scampers away from him to investigate one of the larger walls, carved to depict a scene told often in children's books.
“This is the Goddess of Flowers,” he notes as Alhaitham drags his fingertips gently down a supporting pillar. “This is a depiction of her death.”
“How astute.”
“Would you shut up for a moment?” Kaveh turns to him with a sharp stare. “Or, better yet, you can use that proficiency in languages of yours to come over and read this. My Ancient Sumerian isn't as polished.”
Alhaitham pauses, rubbing his fingers together to brush sand from the pads. “We took many of the same courses; surely you can translate some bits?”
Gritting his teeth, Kaveh says, “Please.”
“Twice more, and then perhaps.”
“Nevermind then!” Kaveh whips around again, hands on his hips, leaning forward to get a better view of the carved words nestled beneath a sprawling mural of stone and red dye. His hair catches the sun as he moves—golden thread spun from fairy tales he'd been read long ago, tucked inti a chair by a window, watching the light of the moon dapple a page in white. bright light.
He could pluck hair from Kaveh's head and sell it as real gold, if he tried hard enough. It was rare to see blond hair—someone may very well believe the idea.
Alhaitham steps closer, eyes trailing where the nape of Kaveh's neck peers from beneath his hair.
“You're unbelievable,” Kaveh mumbles, squinting. “Honestly. Just so aloof, aren't you?”
“Twice more and I'll do it myself,” offers Alhaitham sincerely.
“Ha! No, no. I know what this says.”
“Oh? Do tell?”
“‘To my one Nabu Malikata; know that between us, I will have wandered the world in search of you and the last remnants of you. What may lie here holds all of you, and, with it, my affection. I pray the world showers you with the rain your flowers so need with only the intent to love and nurture you.’ Oh. Ah, so this is a temple. Or a set. I can't estimate King Deshret saw the full construction in his lifetime; some of the design choices shifted. The main floor was definitely something he may have overseen. That much is accurate.”
“Hm. So the engineer did know what he was talking about.”
“Gloat later. It's most likely intended to be a mausoleum, though this came before Kimg Deshret's. This was probably some sort of prototype—halfway, at least. In figuring out how to build it. It's not exactly to scale, but there's some merit to it. Ah, I'm checking the other walls. You can investigate over here for all I care.”
Alhaitham hums. “Mind the floor,” he calls.
Kaveh yelps and there is the distinct sound of stone cracking and the whistle of something freely falling. “You could've warned me earlier!”
Another hum, distinctly dismissive. Kaveh may complain and yell later, but Alhaitham will buy dinner tonight from that horrible place Kaveh swears is delicious and he'll completely forget about how upset he was until he's warm and sated and the sun is fully down.
Besides, he's in a decent mood despite the annoyance that is Payam’s unauthorized visit. Perhaps, if he can steer Kaveh away, he'll even order that soup he adores so much and hide it away until he stumbles upon it.
Kaveh grows childishly excited by the prospect of soup, Alhaitham has noticed.
The mural Kaveh had first examined seems to depict, as he'd said, Nabu Malikata's death and King Deshret's subsequent descent into madness because of the fact. The story is often told as a fairy tale when the children are small, then slowly reinterpreted upon the proper age to enter the Akedemiya. The facts are placed neatly, then refurbished to suit the academic setting. They've long grown out of fairy tales and silly stories.
Kaveh's translation is correct; the carving of words situated beneath the sprawling mural read almost like a love letter from King Deshret to the Goddess of Flowers. The words are sentimental; vulnerable.
Soft, in a way. Depicting something so deep that Alhaitham finds himself reading it again and again and again in an effort to comprehend the state of mind of such a thing.
He can almost imagine something as frivolous being said to Kaveh; an admirer, someone with an infatuation. He's read enough letters from those admirers, the ones who aren't brave enough to speak to Kaveh in person and instead deliver letters to his studio or ask an acquaintance to deliver them. Sometimes, though rare, they approach him, thinking that, perhaps, Alhaitham would be so kind as to deliver said affections to Kaveh.
Kaveh's affection prefers something akin to romance, not infatuation. A striking difference.
Kaveh appreciates the romance present in novels over the ones present on the radio shows. The radii shows may often be dramatized. The plays, too, though Kaveh will drag himself often to view a play or a dance if he finds the handout appealing enough. It just so happens that. tucked beneath sketchbooks and math books and dozens and dozens of books on architecture and history, lies romance novels, script readings bound neatly.
Sometimes, if the day is right, Alhaitham will catch him asleep in their living room, a book of those silly love stories tucked beneath his chin, cheek smashed against the arm of the divan. Alhaitham will take the book and set it on the living room's bookshelf, and, sometimes, he will stand in the quiet dimness of their living room and, for only a moment, listen to Kaveh breathe.
Only for a moment.
Afterwards, it is simple to cover Kaveh with a blanket and leave him to sort himself out when the sun comes up.
Sand shifts again, and Kaveh yelps. “How many groups have actually set out to investigate in four months, huh? This floor has been bearing thousands of pounds of sand for years; I don't think I trust it enough.”
“Then watch where you step.”
“You're insufferable.”
Alhaitham shrugs, glancing up to meet his senior's eyes. “And you signed up for this excursion, Kaveh. I can't help what you decide to do. You seemed eager enough.”
Kaveh huffs, turning his head off towards a larger doorway. “Fine, whenever you're done, we can go. The carvings over here are the same proclamation as the first.”
“The murals?”
“Different angles of Nabu Malikata's death, I think. The iconography and symbols match.”
“Very well. I'm done here then—”
The temple heaves then, and sand spills down from the roof, hitting the centermost spot and spilling down the hole aligned with the opening. Alhaitham stumbles to his knees, barely catching himself along the wall. Mehrak screeches as Kaveh tumbles, narrowly avoiding the rain of sand pouring down.
Grains shift beneath their hands.
There is a loud groan, and, beneath Alhaitham's palms, the floor cracks.
Slowly, he eases himself away from cracking segment of the floor, turning his head to where Kaveh lays, carefully still. One of his pins has come loose, has slid away from him in the fall. More sand falls.
“Why is it us?” Kaveh hisses, pushing his elbows beneath himself. Mehrak hovers above him, worrying and chirping and buzzing like a frantic bird. “Stay by the wall, it's marginally safer than anywhere near the center. Press against it, if you can.”
Alhaitham frowns. “And you?”
“I'll figure it out, it's fine. Better than the floor collapsing and dropping us both down further than I can predict. If it matches King Deshret's Mausoleum, the spacing between floors is probably large enough to seriously hurt or kill us.”
“Such positivity from you, Senior.”
Kaveh breathes our harshly through his nostrils and tosses a rock at him. Alhaitham ducks his head, eyes trailing back towards the entryway, along the opposite wall of the room. By all means, Kaveh is closer, though angled more towards the center of the room as opposed to where Alhaitham lays, pressed closer to the wall for stability.
The building heaves once more, and one side of the room begins to sink low, the floor bending and cracking as if they've exerted too much pressure.
“These people with their heavy feet and big, clamoring steps. Honestly!”
“Complain in a moment, Kaveh.”
“I am well within my right to complain right no—” Beside him, a chunk of floor drops, and Kaveh's side begins to slip down. He narrowly catches himself, fingers digging down against the floor. “I am having a wonderful time! Of course, who wouldn't!”
Gritting his teeth, Alhaitham stares at the center of the room, the hole where sand has continued to drop. The pedestal surrounding it remains unchanged. Kaveh catches his eye from across the room.
“Alhaitham, don't you dare! Get out, right now.”
“And let your ghost haunt me?” Alhaitham says lowly. Slowly, he sets himself into a crouch, and moves carefully along the floor, pressing the pads of his fingers against the floor to keep his balance. The pedestal surrounding the hole is most likely thicker stone, a stronger point. It encircles the hole as well—and a cylinder pressed so firmly may hold more weight than even the stone floor may.
He moves onto the pedestal, shifting himself for a moment until he can easily face Kaveh.
He curls his fingers then, and Kaveh frowns. “You couldn't have used that vision of yours?”
“And have me fall down this hole? Relax; when you're close enough, I'll catch you. It's much more simple to utilize it on the way out rather than in.”
“You—! That's just more weight for you,” Kaveh seethes, but begins moving as Mehrak's hovers and beeps continuously.
Alhaitham says, perfectly earnest, “Yet I am incredibly sincere, Senior,” which makes Kaveh flush and purse his lips in annoyance and embarrassment. Quietly, Kaveh crawls closer. Alhaitham stretches his fingers out. Kaveh bites down on his bottom lip, stretching his fingers out.
They're long; warm. Alhaitham keeps one hand steadily close to the pedestal, ensuring his own safety in attempting to catch Kaveh, should the need arise.
Their fingers brush, and Kaveh crawls the remaining distance—
The temple heaves, shifts downwards. The floor groans, cracks and falls apart. There is the sound of heavy stones dropping.
“Senior Kaveh! Grand Sage!” Payam stumbles into the doorway, chest heaving and hands “The temple—”
“Get out, Payam!” Kaveh orders.
The researcher hesitates, then shakes his head forcefully and curls his fingers against the stones framing the door. “Not without you, you can just—just be very careful!”
Alhaitham grunts, pulling Kaveh fully along the pedestal, then quickly reaches a hand out towards Payam, focuses himself for a singular breath, and feels elemental energy begin to work in the way he intends.
It is always somewhat disorienting—often, he has enough sense to force himself downwards rather than figure out his exact point of landing. This time, he is simply straight forward, aiming for where Payam stands, a silly researcher who disregards safety precautions.
Kaveh makes a sound akin to a yelp when they wind up meters away from the circular hole, Dendro particles swieling in front of Alhaitham's face.
Payam reaches a hand out, and Kaveh makes a move to grab him. The floor beneath them all gives way, and Alhaitham has the sense enough to feel his eyes go wider before all three of them are falling, Mehrak's frantic chirping echoing above them, illuminated in green.
•••
There is sand in Alhaitham's mouth, and he chokes on the taste and texture of it, sitting up quickly and watching mounds of it fall from his head, down into his lap. Beneath his fingers, the texture is rough. Sand falls from somewhere above him, hitting him in the head in a continuous stream.
Alhaitham coughs, rubbing sand from his face.
Beside him, there is a sound like coughing. Kaveh sits up quickly, blond hair coated in the fine grains of sediment. He rubs his palms over his eyes, groaning lowly. “...wish I didn't sign up for this—bullshit temple, bullshit flooring—”
“Kaveh—” Alhaitham moves, eyebrows furrowing. Across from them, Payam pushes himself up, hacking out a mouthful of sand, eyes squeezed shut. “Don't rub your eyes, you fool,” he chides, gripping Kaveh's wrists and pushing them away from his face.
“How else am I supposed to get rid of it, huh?”
Alhaitham frowns, smearing sand away with his thumbs. “Keep your eyes shut.”
Kaveh scoffs, but does as ordered. Alhaitham takes their extra waterskin from his hip, unscrewing the top and positions it above Kaveh. With that, he forces the architect to tip his head backwards, and watches his nose scrunch when the warm water hits his browbone, running down over his eyelids.
Alhaitham cleans the sand away, clicking his tongue. Above them, Mehrak continues her beeping, slowly descending as if afraid to move too quickly.
After a moment, Kaveh pulls away and runs his palms across his face, slowly opening them. He blinks a few times before sighing, rubbing excess water from his chin. “Lovely,” he says, tone sharp. “Just what I adore: falling into a pit of sand and ruining my clothes.”
“We came to travel in a desert, Kaveh,” Alhaitham says, standing and moving to Payam, who sits with his back against the wall, sand caught against his cheek and in his hair. Raising an eyebrow, Alhaitham asks, “Are you well?”
Payam stares at Kaveh for a moment, eyebrows scrunched, before he turns his attention to Alhaitham. He nods. “Yes, yes, I'm fine. I'm well.” Payam sniffs. “I didn't catch you; I apologize, Senior.”
Kaveh blinks, standing up and carefully grabbing at Mehrak, who beeps and trills and presses close against him. “Eh? Ah, don't worry about it, don't worry about it. We're all alright, aren't we? We're just…”
“Stuck,” Alhaitham finishes.
“Yes,” Kaveh grits, wiping sand from his pants. “Stuck. The fortunate thing is that, if this temple is a predecessor to many of the other temples or buildings in this portion of the desert, and if we assume the connecting buildings also have lower floors—”
“We can assume we'd find a staircase. Any way we head.” Alhaitham frowns, glancing within the room they've landed in. It's about the size of the upper floor, with streams of light dappling the sand.
“Just about. We may also find a tunnel, or some wall may have broken away. It's a matter of trying.” Kaveh turns to Payam with a smile, the sunlight catching his jaw. “We'll be fine, alright?”
With a silent nod, Payam stands, averting his gaze away from Kaveh for a moment, then nodding once more. “Of course.”
“Right; theoretically, whichever way we go, we'll more than likely find a staircase. At the very least, stick close to the walls. I can't assume I know how many floors are present, but if we fall further, we risk not being able to readily get back up.”
“We should head to the northern hall,” Alhaitham says, beginning to move.
“Is that your incredible deduction at work?”
“A theory. We have to start somewhere, don't we?”
Kaveh's jaw clenches, water still clinging to it. “Whatever; lead the way, O’ Acting Grand Sage.”
•••
“...and the temple itself was something that caught my attention,” Payam is explaining, keeping Kaveh's ears and brain busy with the processing of information. “I find the story of the Goddess of Flowers and King Deshret to be my favorite. My mother would read the stories to me when I was much younger, and I suppose the idea of it became stuck in my head.”
“Mm,” Kaveh hums behind Alhaitham. “I read your thesis proposal; your articulation of ideas and wants is astounding.”
“You read it?”
“Ah, yeah. Yes. It included my name, so I was sent a copy of the entire thesis.”
“Oh, did you…what did you think?”
“Truly? I admire your want to see your ideas through; believe me. I understand how harsh the rejection may have been, but it's always admirable to see a person keep themselves true and honest to the way they know things. Besides, one day, a precedent'll be set, and, maybe, you can resubmit the idea.”
Payam is quiet. his shoes crunching sand down beneath the soles. “It may be true now. I won't need to resubmit, if I can just be given an opportunity.”
“Payam—”
“I wasn't given a chance at all. But who's to say my theory is incorrect.”
“It hasn't been proven,” Alhaitham offers, “so, therefore, it cannot be correct.”
“Stories come from some place. And, is it truly so outlandish to believe the very idea of reincarnation may be real when a god rules this land, when Inazuma’s own held visions hostage, when Fontaine's sits and observes a courtroom like a play? Have you heard, out in Monstadt, a dragon terrorized the city and people? That, out here, in the desert, creatures from those tales still linger? Are real? Are truly there? Is it truly outlandish to believe a God from long ago may be sitting beside you, across from you, buying food in the same restaurant?” Payam's steps pause. Alhaitham turns, eyebrows furrowing. “Is that as outlandish as ancient beasts or the idea that Nabu Malikata existed at all? If Lesser Lord Kusanali exists, who's to say those things heard in tales don't?”
“And how,” Alhaitham queries, “do you intend to prove this theory?”
Payam stays quiet, though his jaw is tight and his eyes avert.
Alhaitham sighs. “Your proposal was clean and thoughtful; your fantastical thinking does not belong within the scholarly aspect of your study. Haravatat does not dwell in that fantasy.”
Kaveh clears his throat. “Here, I hear…” He pauses, eyebrows furrowing. “I hear water, actually,” he mumbles, moving forward and brushing past Alhaitham. Their elbows connect.
Payam follows after him, and the look Alhaitham catches him giving is almost murderous—the look of a man scorned.
After a moment, Mehrak beeps in question. Alhaitham follows after them.
•••
The water Kaveh hears winds up leading them to a wide, open, expansive room, a raised dais sat in the center, looking more like an offering platform over anything else. Kaveh's face punches lightly, eyebrow raised.
“Ah.”
“Oh, wow,” Payam mumbles, setting foot down the stairs before Kaveh or Alhaitham can reach out.
“I've never seen any sacrificial spots,” Kaveh mumbles. Alhaitham must do something odd, because Kaveh sighs and begins the long, arduous trudge downwards. Lining the perimeter of the room is stone wells, filled with a water that holds a green tinge and floating bits of green, brightly colored leaves. Dendro particles, if he can read the shape correctly. “Relax; I know you've read this. Spots for animals or vegetation. It'd be more common to show appreciation to a flower Goddess with vegetarian, though. I can't imagine many entertained the idea of human sacrifice.”
“And the water?” Alhaitham questions, eyes trailing towards one of the wells. The water practically glows. “What of that?”
“I can't be certain. Maybe this was also supposed to be a mixture of a greenhouse? The ceiling would've have certain segments cut away to allow light and rain through. Or this water is being filtered around here and then led go where crops may sit. It all depends.”
Alhaitham hums. Squints at Payam, knelt before the dais and trailing his fingers over the script written just beneath the slab. The younger man turns with such a smile it looks painful.
“This was dedicated to her; Nabu Malikata. This is a sacrificial altar.”
Kaveh perks up. “Ah, it is! Probably utilized to offer vegetation to her as thanks.”
“You think so?”
“History dictates that's the most logical thing.” Kaveh steps away from Alhaitham then, squatting down beside Payam.
Alhaitham watches for a moment before crossing his arms. He turns off towards the water, sand shifting beneath his feet. After a moment, he steps closer, crouching before the straight stone of the well.
Up close, floating beneath the Dendro particles, there are spots of purple, too. Larger, floating and rippling within the pool. It seems deep enough he could lay comfortably within and still have enough room to stick his hand straight up.
Alhaitham squints, takes a closer look. After a moment, he grips the edge of the well, and plunges his hand in.
It feels, he finds, almost like being shocked. His hand numbs exponentially, and to move his fingers takes a large effort, almost like pulling teeth.
His fingers brush something soft, and it is the same, slow effort to drag his hand out of the water. Alhaitham blinks, tilting his head curiously. His hand is fine, save for the numbing feeling slowly dissipating. In his hand lies—
“Hm.”
“What?” Kaveh questions over his shoulder. He steps closer, and then his eyes trail to the petal held within Alhaitham's hand.
Payam joins, eyes widening. “That's—”
“A Padisarah petal,” Kaveh breathes. He reaches a finger forward, and the petal curls forward, dropping over his nail. “I've never seen one this color before, though. That's…hm. I can't believe—”
“Nabu Malikata's flowers,” Payam says, wonder coating his voice. He grips Kaveh's arm tightly. “You really—this all should be dead then. If this is Nabu Malikata's work—”
“We don't know that, Payam.”
“Think about it! Lesser Lord Kusanali wasn't present at the same time, this temple cluster has been buried for centuries, King Deshret had no dominion over Dendro—this can be used as submission evidence, Senior!”
“Wh—”
“If these are real Padisarahs, then this just means Nabu Malikata may very well still hold dominion.” Payam's smile grows wide, his fingers digging down against Kaveh's wrist. Alhaitham finds himself staring at the space where Kaveh's sleeve meets his glove. “Think about it: Nabu Malikata may very well be a new person. And her temple and offerings may recognize her.”
Payam turns to Kaveh, smile reaching his eyes.
Alhaitham squints.
Kaveh's lips purse, and he carefully strokes his finger down the line of the petal, watching it carefully move, still wet and soaked. “Payam, this theory—”
“Senior Kaveh,” Payam begins, oh-so-serious, “I think it would be truly fascinating if it were you.”
Kaveh blinks. His vision flares brightly. Within Alhaitham's palm, the Padisarah petal shrivels and wilts, and turns to nothing.
"Oh."