[ to that, kaveh finds purchase to squint, but does not face alhaitham when doing so. he would see it, nonetheless. alhaitham is, after all, always looking at him.
he bites into the third rambutan, first, before he voices: ] There's no such thing. If you want to learn, you can.
[ nothing can stop an artist from pursuing a dream. kaveh believes wholeheartedly, after all, that passion can move mountains. passion overcomes hardships. passion will not bring food to one's table, or money to one's wallet, but it will make you stand out from other people. it is one of the reasons kaveh, and not one of his seniors, nor any of his juniors, is the light of kshahrewar himself. ]
What stops your hands from picking a pencil and putting it to paper? You know how to draw a circle, or a square. Shapes are not hard. With practice comes perfect. Even you can do it. [ a pause, and then: ] Or are you so advert to the arts you cannot bear to try?
[ kaveh squints. he sees it not in kaveh's eyes, but in the set of his neck, in the way he leans forward just so as the gears in his head spin. the eleazar has robbed kaveh of much. the pain in his fingers, the creak of his joints, the shaking of once-steady hands versus the flaky calluses from dehydrated skin. but it has not robbed kaveh of the alacrity of mind and the singular focus of his existence. this much, alhaitham is sure.
alhaitham removes from his pocket the little wooden container of balm that tighnari had put together. the faint scent of jasmine permeates. ]
The same reason that once stopped you from learning another language. [ he puts down the rambutan peels and the handkerchief so that he can twist open its cap. jasmine now flourishes. ] Unless you have suddenly developed an interest in the syntactic topology of Ancient Enkanomiyan? I turn the question back to you: are you so adverse to languages that you cannot bear to try?
[ a parallel conversation, conducted without words: alhaitham holds out his hand for kaveh's. the intention is clear. his unoccupied hand, please. ]
You know that's different. What use will Enkanomiyan have in my life? If I would like to converse with other Haravatats, I could use the language we both speak.
[ he would have once thought, yes, why not give enkanomiyan a chance, why not visit enkanomiya itself? surely with alhaitham's prestigue and position, he could manage a field trip down sangonomiya. he would have much been willing, but this kaveh does not bear the same hopeful dreams. he would not make it across the sea. he would not have the strength in his legs to explore an ancient civilization. he hasn't in a long time.
he bites into the rambutan, and gives alhaitham his left hand. anyone else, he would have hesitated, likely not even complied. alhaitham knows him, however. alhaitham takes care of him. why would he not? ]
With art, you can easily immortalize memories, or translate dreams into paper. It's more about the sentimentalism of it, and not its usefulness. Though, well, I'm certain you could find purpose for art as a hobby.
[ kaveh slips his left hand into alhaitham's. he has always run cool, even at the height of summer. the eleazar affects body heat regulation, or so tighnari had taught alhaitham early on, when the prognosis was still unclear. it affects the stiffness of the joints and the quality of the skin. the skin is the body's largest organ. it regulates body temperature and protects nerves. alhaitham is no amurta, but he learned. he always did. with care, he turns kaveh's hand over so that he can see his palm. the calluses have faded through years of intermittent use, but the pads of alhaitham's fingers, painstakingly searching for traces, still feels the thick nubs of skin that indicate their existence. pulls out a second handkerchief to wipe away any last vestige of fruit juice, and then, with care, begins to rub ointment.
first, kaveh's joints. the long line of bone and the crook where cartilage swells. they're the first to go in the winter, when the plunging temperature brings out the flaky red of eczema. alhaitham says, as he does so: ]
I already have a hobby. [ next, the pads of kaveh's fingers, the ointment worked in with the gentle touch of someone used to working with irreplaceable manuscripts of dubious fragility. the ointment seeps. ] I am hardly in need of another.
You can have more than one hobby, last I checked. You certainly have the time.
[ alhaitham's touch is routine, and in spite of their touch, their skin has long become one. as always, alhaitham is gentle in the way he holds his fingers, applying salve so carefully on his joints. the jasmine is nice. tighnari is a professional in what he does, and kaveh never fails to thank him for sparing some of his time to take care of kaveh. alhaitham is enough. alhaitham is, at times, too much. wouldn't it be so much better if kaveh took care of himself, without burdening anyone?
thoughts that are haunting. even on such a beautiful day, they do not find will to be merciful. kaveh's fingers twitch reflectively at the touches, and he sets the half-eaten rambutan down.
at last, kaveh turns to look at alhaitham. he bears a half-smile on his face that is all too devoid of feelings. ]
Let me teach you how to draw. [ so when i no longer can, someone will have my skills. ]
[ kaveh smiles. the smile is like that of a hollowed fruit. it is not a pleasant smile. alhaitham recalls a thought. kaveh, amongst the carved statues of masters lining the walls of the kshahrewar hall, each marbled body forever suspended in the dance of ordinary existence. alhaitham remembers thinking thus: that kaveh seems as if one with the petrified storytellers in eternal narration, that their bodies, carefully sanded of blemish and fault is that of the light that surrounds the heart of the kshahrewar. that looking at the display, one forgets that stone, too, can be shattered.
alhaitham's fingers continue their ministrations. he runs his palm over the back of kaveh's hand, feeling for changes in the set of its curve. and then, finally, he lets him go, so that he can gently take his other hand into his. he begins anew: handkerchief, balm, and the first of kaveh's fingers, as cool as freshly fallen snow.
he says: ]
No. [ no is a sentence unto itself, a fully formed thought with no room for dispute. alhaitham gently rounds kaveh's knuckle. he continues: ] Do I seem like a man in need of more sentimentality in my life? If you wish to see more art in this word drawn in your style, with your skills, you will do it yourself, Kshahrewar.
this is alhaitham preventing kaveh from accepting defeat ever so readily. this is alhaitham being his pillar of support. this is alhaitham telling him it is not over yet. this is, simply, alhaitham.
what alhaitham doesn't know is that kaveh has long accepted his fate. what good is an architect who cannot draw straight lines? what use is an artist who cannot hold a pencil? alhaitham doesn't understand, because alhaitham does not draw. he does not understand the inadequacy that comes with inability, how small the once light of kshahrewar feels when he holds a pencil and cannot tell how much pressure is put on paper.
his eyes fall on their fingers. alhaitham, whose touch is measured and careful, does not understand, because he deals in the delicate papers of books and documents, but not the sturdiness of a pencil. here, kaveh holds his fingers back. they are long and slender, and he may not be allowed their warmth or their texture, but neither quite matters. he locks them together — valley to valley, palm to palm.
today, his hands work. he is not as clumsy. today, he thinks, alhaitham would say— today, you can draw. if tomorrow you cannot, the next day you might. if not, there will be a day where you can. draw, then, when that day comes. kaveh smiles that empty smile, and finds that the alhaitham that leaves in his mind is far kinder. the alhaitham whose fingers he holds is too realistic to be so optimistic.
but that, too, is fine. he is more inclined to listen to an alhaitham who exists in his mind than the demons that haunt it. ]
Do you? [ that same empty smile — kaveh is enough sentimentality in his life. it fills his quota. it checks out. ] What need is there for apprentices who carry out their master's legacy, then, with your reasoning? Art may outlive the artist, but an artist's skills die with them unless passed down upon someone else. There is still time for me.
this is kaveh performing a singular, soulful action of selfish sacrifice. this is kaveh looking at fate the eyes and deciding that it is easier for those around him if he were to walk towards it in careful embrace. this is, simply, kaveh.
what kaveh doesn't know is that alhaitham, who knows that kaveh has accepted his fate, will never let into existence an universe that honours it. kaveh's fingers draw back. he locks their hands together - valley to valley, palm to palm, and alhaitham thinks - that kaveh feels not for the strength left in them, the tenacity of his grip and the solid weight of his all-consuming focus because he is putting it all towards something that is not himself. through this single, solitary gesture, kaveh is declaring that he is his art, and that he is nothing else, and that without his art, he is nothing, and therefore nothing to those around him. with this single, solitary gesture, hand to hand, palm to palm, wrist to wrist, kaveh is saying, paradoxically, thus: for alhaitham to be the first to let go.
alhaitham stands the opposite of kaveh. alhaitham, who has never let himself need beyond reason; kaveh, who has never allowed himself to want without guilt. he looks at him. kaveh says please. the word carves through alhaitham, cleaves through the fabric of his existence, and alhaitham continues to look. the weight of his gaze says thus: you say that word knowing what it does to me. you know. you know.
still: his fingers curl around kaveh's. the warm of his hand is like stone. ]
[ the weight of his gaze speaks words that kaveh understands, and he replies with that selfsame smile, weak and forced, small and empty. it says i'm sorry, and kaveh needs not voice the words. he knows.
it is unfair. kaveh is never proud of it. had he not been born with eleazar, he thinks, that sentence would have annoyed him. he would not have laid down pride to beg, and would not have asked such a thing of alhaitham, to begin with. a kaveh who is born with eleazar has no choice. he knows the effects he has on alhaitham, knows the strength of his words. he avoids saying them, time and time again. avoids speaking of his fate, of the inevitable day that he dies, earlier than his friends, way before alhaitham. please is, at least, something he can voice.
he is not proud of it, still.
his fingers curl around alhaitham's, in response. i'm sorry. ]
[ kaveh's fingers curl around alhaithams. i'm sorry, he says, with gestures alone. alhaitham thinks, and not for the first time, that if he were sorry, he ought not have said it in the first place. not like this. not now. but that, too, is an unfair statement to superimpose upon a nuanced reality. the bite of kaveh's sorrow has teeth. an apology is no guarantee that kaveh will not bite again; he cannot stop, he does not know how. not when kaveh has lived its sorrow as if it were the very fabric of his soul himself.
please, kaveh says.
alhaitham, who has never done anything he didn't want to do, looks at kaveh. ]
I am demanding of my teachers. I am not interested in knowledge that does not challenge the fabric of what I desire. I will not stop until perfection. [ alhaitham's hand rests in kaveh's. it is betrayal; it is, also, a statement of precise intent: that alhaitham is not doing this for kaveh. he will do this for himself. ] I also reserve the right to dismiss any instructor that does not teach to my standards. If these terms are agreeable to you, you may choose a time to begin, Kaveh.
[ it is equivalent exchange. kaveh begs, alhaitham demands. kaveh smiles in response, fuller this time, albeit still defeated. alhaitham demands for himself, not for kaveh's plea, not for kaveh's whims, not for kaveh. everything he does, he does it for himself. alhaitham, he thinks, still has no need for a new hobby, not one in the arts. alhaitham, he thinks, has no true use for art. alhaitham, he concludes, is doing this for himself — for if he were not, kaveh wonders, would the regret of his choice be too bothersome to bear? he does not do it to avoid breaking kaveh's heart; he does so because the resounding crack would leave a tear in his own.
alhaitham is not a man for sentimentality. he is reasonable, logical. sensical. but alhaitham, too, is human like everyone else.
it is a victory in itself. he would continue to beg, when kaveh is desperate for a more personal mark to be left in the world, and he could continue to feel sorry for it. it is, he thinks, the least he could do. ]
Practice makes perfect. I hope your books won't be jealous of the time you will spend perfecting the art of drawing, then. [ the joke is lighthearted, and it confesses to kaveh's mood. there is no such thing as perfectionism in drawing. an artist will be satisfied with their work, but perfect is an individual value.
kaveh squeezes alhaitham's hand in response. ] Hmmm, we could start later tonight with the basics. I might have some books that could be of help, if you would like.
[ they had met in kaveh's second year in the courtyard. the back gardens bloomed profusely in the spring. the amurta students were involved in collecting samples in the rainforests. the haravatats utilise the gardens to lay out arguments. and kaveh, of the kshahrewar, drew. he had a reputation, kaveh of the kshahrewar. everyone knew. his work plastered the first-year halls as blueprint exemplars. the herbads welcome the inclusion of his views in their classes. and kaveh, senior kaveh, never said no. the akademiya is a place of collaboration, a social ladder climbed through the alacrity of your research alone, and senior kaveh extended his hand and time to anyone who opened their mouths to ask. alhaitham would often read in the gardens and observe as senior kaveh of the kshahrewar agonised over his drafting papers on projects that burned up so much of the little time he had left, and wondered, and wondered. throughout the years, alhaitham knew - that kaveh thought that was kindness. goodness. that doing so made you kind and good.
it has always seemed to alhaitham that kaveh uses his art as a form of forgiveness. something in him chases the impossibility of a future where his hands worked not just when the weather was good or when the balms worked or when his joints didn't ache, that because he was diseased meant that he had so much more to prove. you couldn't be a good person if you didn't put others before yourself; you couldn't be a good person if you prioritised your illness above all else. and so kaveh didn't; why wouldn't he then change the lives of others for the sole purpose of leaving behind the proof of his existence, and why would he not condemn himself for it? and so, how many ways could alhaitham tell kaveh that he despised that about kaveh without saying that he despised kaveh?
please, kaveh says, after his arguing and cajoling did not move alhaitham. please. alhaitham thinks - that he has never told kaveh that he hated the word please. that he hated it from kaveh's mouth. that kaveh knew that it was so rare for alhaitham to hate something, and that it was kaveh's last resort, and alhaitham would inevitably, always buckle to, with the fury of something de-winged. because alhaitham has always believed that kaveh should never need to beg for anything. not kaveh. never kaveh.
you, alhaitham thinks, wake up all the sentiment in me. this, too, he does not say.
kaveh smiles the smile of a man hollowed, and alhaitham does not say that he hates, too, that smile. instead, kaveh squeezes alhaitham's hand, and alhaitham thinks - he will not learn to hate this, too. there is nary a beat when alhaitham squeezes kaveh's hand back, warm, and full. alhaitham closes his eyes. ]
Begin with your own instructions. What is the point of choosing an instructor, when a book will do equally well? Why would I need you? [ alhaitham's eyes open to green; the red of his eyes are like a forest fire. ] Begin by proving to me that I have not erred in deciding not to look immediately to the instructions left by other members of your darshan, and we shall see from there.
[ kaveh had once thought that no one would understand. it is a culmination of several different causes. it is guilt, it is regret. it is the death of a family member by his own hands, it is the way he had painted the world gray. his mother, then, left, and kaveh allowed her. kaveh lied to her. kaveh had said yes, i will be fine; he had said, no, the eleazar hasn't worsened in years. kaveh had thought, i deserve this.
it is known that eleazar robs. it robs a person of their senses. it robs a person of their motor skills. it robs a person of their identity. kaveh would have been known as the kshahrewar student with eleazar. kaveh's designs would have been obscured by his illness. kaveh's name would have been forgotten. how was he to allow such a thing? kaveh's name would have been synonymous with unattainable.
and so, he proved himself. that he is better than his disease. that he could do his work, and the work of others, and excel greatly in all that he does. he shone, he glimmered, he made himself known. kaveh, the light of kshahrewar. so much more than the eleazar. some had thought he was cured of it. some were sure of it.
he is, ultimately, a sunburst. he burns for others, provides them warmth, but burns himself to exhaustion. he will burn himself into dust, and dust is never remembered. a mark has to be left. and alhaitham, the pride of haravatat, who observes history as it is made, and records it for the future— alhaitham, he begs, please remember me too. ]
The same point that the Akademiya exists alongside the House of Daena. [ kaveh begins, nearly matter-of-factly. ] Books are complements. I will teach you everything I know, but it is within a scholar's nature to seek further knowledge. There is ignorance in relying on a single source of knowledge; otherwise, what basis is there for debate, and what reason would we find in discussion?
[ the sun is warm on his skin, but he cannot feel it. kaveh yawns, nonetheless. ] Don't be so stubborn. I will recommend you books whether you read them or not.
[ with the mulishness of a man who knows the stakes at hand are inconsequential. the basis for debate has always been the conflict between views. there had once been a time where two views were aligned. there had once been a falling out where two views diverged. for kaveh, it has been two years. for alhaitham, it has been two hundred. two binary stars became aware of each other's existence, and began their spiraling orbit. once, alhaitham did not believe in fate. even now, he still does not; reincarnation does not set the course for the same wheels of samsara. one cannot use the past to predict the future when the future refuses to be predicted. this, he has always believed. but kaveh once again repeats another day on the birthdate of a goddess, and alhaitham knows that the wheel cannot continue to churn.
there is ignorance relying on a single source of knowledge. there, too, is ignorance in relying on a single source of faith. ]
To learn from a stubborn, inflexible instructor, must I not be stubborn and inflexible myself? I am yet to be convinced of the value of your teaching. [ kaveh yawns. the day began not four hours ago. sometimes, a day can only be four hours. alhaitham feels the yawn as if it were his own, a shiver that begins in kaveh's shoulders and ends lodged somewhere in his chest.
the motions are rote: alhaitham leans kaveh against him, coaxing him to his feet. he pockets their handkerchiefs and secures his cloak around kaveh's shoulders. alhaitham continues, ] You are, after all, the one who believes that whether the drapes are orange or blue have any bearing on the quality of light through our windows.
[ the next motion eases kaveh up into his arms. alhaitham tilts him just so, the shifting of a motion designed to slide kaveh's arms over his neck. with the line of his lips: ] Don't kick. Argue with words, not violence.
[ a day starts and ends not when the sun rises and sets, but when his body decides.
a day, sometimes, is twenty-four hours. a day, sometimes, is only four. if he is less fortunate, sometimes kaveh skips a day in his life, then two, then three. when he is bed-ridden and a victim of the eleazar, he cannot walk. cannot perform his routine, cannot see the blue sky outside, what color the trees will be, water his plants. it is excruciating. it is limiting. it is, he finds, so unbearably unfair.
kaveh finds, too, that sometimes he hates not being able to touch the floor. it grounds him. it is a privilege of the masses, and what good are his legs if he cannot use them? alhaitham eases him up into his arms, and the motion is not unfamiliar. it is home as alhaitham's house is. it is, still, broadcasted weakness.
the motion is routine: he holds onto alhaitham, bites into his lip. their argument now long forgotten. ]
I can walk. I don't want to go home yet. [ yet, still, he does not fight back. ] At least take me elsewhere.
[ kaveh is light. it is not, however, worryingly so. alhaitham knows the cycles of kaveh's weight, tied intrinsically to the cycle of his illness and what it will allow him to eat or not eat. the fragility of his body is belied by the voracity of his mind. kaveh has always wanted what he could not allow himself to have. a wound gives off its own light, or so the doctors of the bimarstan say. if all the lamps in sumeru were turned out, you could dress this wound by what shines from it. it is only with alhaitham that kaveh's desires, the selfish light of them, can take on form.
elsewhere, he says. alhaitham thinks - there is nowhere where he can take kaveh that is not here, in this place, where his illness roots. where kaveh wants to be taken is not a place for his body, but a place for his mind. there had been a field of padisarahs beneath a sky so ravishingly blue, that one could lean up and drink from it.
the akasha had taken the dreams of the people and used them as fuel for a new god. this, alhaitham can never forgive. but that is neither here, nor there. kaveh's dream remains elusive; this, alhaitham cannot compromise on. not on this, not on kaveh. ]
You may be able to walk, but your manners are atrophied. Is this how you ask someone to take you elsewhere, Senior? [ alhaitham begins to walk. his steps are sure. they take him, with unyielding assurance, down the wending path circling the divine tree. ] In any case, elsewhere is not a location. Be specific.
[ elsewhere, he says. kaveh thinks — there is nowhere where alhaitham can take him that is not here, in this place, where his illness roots. elsewhere, he says. kaveh thinks — alhaitham is the only one who could distract him from reality, sometimes. they argue, still. kaveh is less willing to engage nowadays, but he appreciates in alhaitham what he has not done; he has not changed. not his treatment of kaveh, not how he sees kaveh. he has not once thought of kaveh as the kshahrewar student with eleazar. kaveh has always just been that — kaveh, the light of kshahrewar, sumeru's most renowned architect.
elsewhere, he says. kaveh thinks — anywhere with you is fine. anywhere where it's just us.
alhaitham walks down the wending path. kaveh finds his body trembling, even in alhaitham's grasp. he finds, too, his grip on him tightening. it is an automatic response. it is the fear of being seen. it is, after all, broadcasted weakness.
alhaitham has lifted him up before, in their home, to take him to the bed, once he has fallen asleep on the divan, on his desk. alhaitham has picked him up in his arms before, in lambad's tavern, to take him home, after kaveh has drowned his sorrows in beer and wine. those are routine. this is not. if they are seen, he thinks, people will know. people will assume. they will look. they will pity him. the once light of kshahrewar, sumeru's most talented architect, cursed with eleazar. his legs do not work today. tomorrow, his hands. he will never draw again. he will be forgotten, his designs remembered not for his mastery of the arts, but for the eleazar-ridden hands that have created them.
kaveh bites down on his lip, and tastes iron. he has grown to despise the public eye. ]
Anywhere, [ his voice trembles with his body. it is, too, as weak as he is. he does not, either, have much control on it. not even that. ] Outside of the city. By the river, I don't know. Anywhere with just us.
[ kaveh does not say it this time. please, however, hangs on the tip of his tongue. it is implied. his tone is, by itself, as heavy as the plea. ]
[ anyway, kaveh says. what alhaitham hears: that kaveh hates the public eye. that kaveh hates his hatred; that it festers like something gangrenous, an amputation made form. the darkness is like the disease. what it obscures is hope. but the paradox of alhaitham is that the weight in his arms and the trembling of kaveh's voice is, in itself, comforting. to draw comfort from such a thing is monstrous. this, alhaitham, too, believes. but it speaks to a fundamental truth that even the illness could not rob: that kaveh is yet to be apathetic to the gazes of others. that if you can hate, it means you still care. if you still care, it means you have the will to fight. and if you have the will to fight, then you have not lost.
kaveh has not been unmade. alhaitham draws him close. if his lips skim the gold of kaveh's hair, it is but a mere coincidence. the canting of his head is for the microcosm that he holds in his arms: the wind, the sky, the sea. that is what makes up kaveh. ]
Fine. [ is what alhaitham saids. and then, in that self-same, flint-edged tone: ] Hold on, then. Do not let go.
[ because what the lunatic of the akademiya does next lives up to the reputation of his name. the wind rises. alhaitham's strides lengthen. the barrier between tree and path approaches and is vaulted. a young woman's voice calls out in warning. she is ever so faraway - the world seems ever so far away. the ground drops out beneath them, and they are flying.
alhaitham's glider snaps out behind them with the finality of a chapter shut. the world spins, dizzying, and then -
[ the land, and the sky. it continues to be them, even here. even in a world where kaveh is eleazar-ridden, and alhaitham is still the same, unshakable, unchanged, impossible friend. it is routine. it is them. it is 'kaveh' and it is 'alhaitham', in all their forms, in all their needs, in what makes them them. it is, most importantly, where it's safe. it's home.
kaveh cannot feel the breeze, cold come autumn and winter, dry come spring and summer. his skin has long forfeit the need for touch, yet they fall, they float, they fly — and kaveh, impossibly so, feels the breeze. it is numb against his skin, as though he is wearing five layers instead of one. but he feels it. chill. gentle. a pinch ticklish.
darkness is like the disease, at times. darkness is, too, a canvas. it can be anything the painter wishes. kaveh paints it blue, with gentle greens. his grip on alhaitham tightens. it is natural to fear heights. it is primal. but alhaitham, he knows, would always catch him. always, he knows better, wouldn't allow the possibility to come where kaveh would slip, where kaveh would fall.
he holds. he keeps him safe. he remains unchanged, a pillar through time. ever unmoving, ever reliable. ever the same. ]
... What a show-off. [ a whisper into secrecy, shared between two. ] You could just have walked out the gates... Most people are in the Grand Baazar around this time. What are you doing?
What am I doing? [ alhaitham breathes out much in the way of a laugh. the eddying breeze takes it and whips it behind them like the lofty flight of a half-formed flower petal, the sweet of its fragrance carried far. ] I am taking you away.
[ sumeru city sprawls out beneath the wings of alhaitham's glider. this must be, alhaitham thinks, the view that birds see from above. perspective has always been key to a life lived. who you are, and where you are, and when you are dictates the view that you see when you leap. a vahumana driyosh will see the teeming lines of people as social contracts made bare, a city bound by the lifeblood of order imposed not by others but by the shackles of civilisation itself. an amurta herbad will see veins and arteries and the potential of spilled blood, a burgeoning population serviced by a single, understaffed and underfunded hospital in the beginnings of a crisis of healthcare. a harvatat scribe may see the potential for language flowing like water, each economic exchange tabulated and recorded through spoken contracts and written word, because without language there is no exchange, and where there is no exchange, there is no creation.
a kshahrewar with eleazar -
alhaitham allows them to glide over the spiraled peaks of the akademiya's gazebos. even the rtawahists never look up this time of the day. they are above prying eyes in both senses of the world - the metaphor and the reality coming together in a midday dream.
in the far distance, the palace of alcazarzaray rises from the canopy. ]
[ a kshahrewar with eleazar sees a painted canvas, sees history that has been made, sees dreams that have come true. it is a colorful world, it is tales to be told and memories to cherish. it is said that kshahrewar darshan is made of wide-eyed people, that kshahrewar students must think outside the box, and see beyond what is shown. alhaitham, he thinks, does not show him the landscape of sumeru city, the evergreen trees past it, a part of himself out into the distance. he shows him a world that has not yet abandoned him. a world that exists, beautiful and eternal, eleazar or not.
a world that has not at all been swallowed by darkness. ]
... That's why I told just walking out the gates is fine.
[ it would be simple. it would the guilt of dependency weigh less. it would make him far less happy. kaveh would have succumbed to the loneliness of it all. kaveh would have seen a world yellow and blue and green, and thought, in spite of everything, that he is utterly disconnected from it.
alhaitham, however, is always one step ahead. alhaitham reads him like a book, each and every time, a book he has long memorized, a book he knows by heart. alhaitham never allows him to fall.
he rests his head on alhaitham's shoulder. the breeze, the little kaveh can feel of it, is nice. the scenery is one he will keep to memory, and when his hands work, he will sketch it out. a memory to cherish, a tale to be told. ]
We should camp out, one of these days. Go fishing. Maybe trying out next things aren't so bad.
[ that's why i told you just walking out the gates is fine, kaveh says. what alhaitham hears: that the wind is gentle today, that the sun illuminates the myriad of colours that make up sumeru city, and kaveh, his kaveh, who cannot allow himself to want, once again has no choice but to turn his eyes back to the world. sumeru city glides out from beneath their feet. the canopy casts uneven sheathes of shadow over the flaxen gold of kaveh's hair. alhaitham corrects their course, checks the heading of the wind, and begins to bank. a wing dips just so. the divine tree's trunk is like the fulcrum of a shifting world.
kaveh speaks of fishing, of camping. alhaitham, who has never enjoyed either of these things, considers it. there are ponds, and lakes. there are enough sickly-looking shrubbery dotting the landscape for kaveh to force alhaitham to practice his sketching as they wait for fish to bite. there are the stars out from beneath the canopy of the rainforest, should they choose to pursue it.
the world is vast. the world is also not kind. the medication it would take and the amenities to bring on such a trip to ease kaveh's comfort would be substantial. ]
Is learning a new craft alone not enough novelty for my life?
... Have you ever regretted something before, Alhaitham?
[ the answer, he thinks, is no. alhaitham, he knows well, never does anything that he does not want to do. a man so in touch with his own wants, needs, and feelings has no room to regret. if he wishes to pursue something, he will. failure and success are both part of life. what need is there to regret, then, he would ask.
but kaveh, who tends to do things that he does not want to do, who is not half as in touch with his own wants, and needs, and feelings, has plenty of room to regret. he does. he has. the weight it provides is not one anyone should ever be burdened to feel. regret is haunting. regret is demonizing. regret has made him sick, has made him scared.
and kaveh, who does not have much time left for him, should not have time to regret. he will crumble under its weight before the eleazar takes him. if he does not pursue his selfish wants and meaningless needs, when else will he?
the wind is gentle. the sun paints sumeru the most vibrant colors. kaveh, too, wishes to be part of this painting. ]
Scholars should always seek the knowledge that comes with experience. We may read accounts of Driyoshes who have had to camp out in the woods of Mondstadt or fish in the tenebrous waters surrounding Inazuma, but nothing is more valuable than living through such experiences yourself.
... It could be fun, besides. Isn't that what matters the most?
[ kaveh asks as if the answer is a foregone conclusion. alhaitham thinks - in what universe could anyone answer no? if every decision is made with maximum efficiency, could every outcome, too, be maximally efficient? the world passes alhaitham by beneath him. the wind whistles as he takes him over the heads of vendors and the spread branches of the divine tree, across the rushing blue of aqueducts that make up the lifeblood of a society built on rain and green and loam - and takes them to the frayed edges of the city where the wilderness clips the shape of gardens and the well-worn footpaths that separate sumeru from the rest of the world. there had been another life, once, that alhaitham does not claim as his own. there had been a goddess who danced, and laughed, and died. there had been the purple of the padisarahs. there had been no more. alhaitham does not regret the trajectory of the past so much as he regrets his lack of understanding of it. but therein lies the difference:
that the regret that kaveh speaks of is one that consumes kaveh at night. that the regret kaveh speaks of whispers its name in the rustle of the trees and the eddying of the night breeze. that the regret that kaveh speaks of is thought with such ardent longing that it has become a third person haunting the eaves of alhaitham's roof, a mere emotion made form and given teeth. alhaitham, who has regrets, has chosen not to allow them to haunt him. you could not live without experiencing regret, but you did not have to live with it. or so alhaitham believed. but kaveh, alhaitham thinks, kaveh does not know how to live without regret. he does not believe he has the ability to choose.
once, alhaitham, sitting the akademiya gardens and watching the red of kaveh's eyes bleed, had wanted kaveh, who put others before himself each and every turn, who only ever allowed himself to get in line as the last and final participant to a want so faraway that it might as well not exist, to want without guilt.
but not like this. never like this. ]
Is that what matters to you? Mind your feet. [ but the question is asked without censure. one cannot examine their own thoughts and truths without questions; one cannot understand without questions. alhaitham banks and, finally, allows the two of them to land.
his feet take them forward on a few, long, running steps, the world coming into jostling focus before it, too, stills. around them, the purple of sumeru roses bloom. beyond: the lake. alhaitham's eyes skim the field. he gently, then, lowers kaveh into it. ] It is said that in Inazuma, the fish that grow in the inky depths of Enkanomiya lack eyes.
[ shouldn't it be?, he thinks. that in spite of everything, if one has fun, then maybe it's worth it. the time. the expenses. the regrets.
does fun outweigh guilt?
does kaveh's? ]
What would you think matters the most, if not fun?
[ a question for a question, for kaveh does not want to answer his own, in fear of his own answer. in fear of his own feelings.
the foliage that hugs sumeru is a beautiful green still, a reminder of the summer that greeted them. his skin cannot feel the way it tingles against it, uncomfortable but harmless. the lake beyond, he wonders, must be cold. this is what his life has become.
guesses, and assumptions, and wonders, wonders, wonders.
nothing is ever of certainty anymore. how is he, then, to answer such question, to give himself the room for regret? it is a door that opens. it is a window to his heart, shackled, bound. would having fun be a cure-all for his problems? would it rid him of the nightmares? would it prolong his life? does kaveh remember what it is to have fun, and laugh, and smile?
he kneels by the water. his reflection does not look like him. ]
Are you going to verify its credibility? It is quite the claim. Think of how it could change the lives of Amurta students and graduates both. Tighnari would know no peace.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2023-05-26 02:35 am (UTC)he bites into the third rambutan, first, before he voices: ] There's no such thing. If you want to learn, you can.
[ nothing can stop an artist from pursuing a dream. kaveh believes wholeheartedly, after all, that passion can move mountains. passion overcomes hardships. passion will not bring food to one's table, or money to one's wallet, but it will make you stand out from other people. it is one of the reasons kaveh, and not one of his seniors, nor any of his juniors, is the light of kshahrewar himself. ]
What stops your hands from picking a pencil and putting it to paper? You know how to draw a circle, or a square. Shapes are not hard. With practice comes perfect. Even you can do it. [ a pause, and then: ] Or are you so advert to the arts you cannot bear to try?
no subject
Date: 2023-05-26 03:33 pm (UTC)alhaitham removes from his pocket the little wooden container of balm that tighnari had put together. the faint scent of jasmine permeates. ]
The same reason that once stopped you from learning another language. [ he puts down the rambutan peels and the handkerchief so that he can twist open its cap. jasmine now flourishes. ] Unless you have suddenly developed an interest in the syntactic topology of Ancient Enkanomiyan? I turn the question back to you: are you so adverse to languages that you cannot bear to try?
[ a parallel conversation, conducted without words: alhaitham holds out his hand for kaveh's. the intention is clear. his unoccupied hand, please. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-05-26 10:50 pm (UTC)[ he would have once thought, yes, why not give enkanomiyan a chance, why not visit enkanomiya itself? surely with alhaitham's prestigue and position, he could manage a field trip down sangonomiya. he would have much been willing, but this kaveh does not bear the same hopeful dreams. he would not make it across the sea. he would not have the strength in his legs to explore an ancient civilization. he hasn't in a long time.
he bites into the rambutan, and gives alhaitham his left hand. anyone else, he would have hesitated, likely not even complied. alhaitham knows him, however. alhaitham takes care of him. why would he not? ]
With art, you can easily immortalize memories, or translate dreams into paper. It's more about the sentimentalism of it, and not its usefulness. Though, well, I'm certain you could find purpose for art as a hobby.
no subject
Date: 2023-05-27 01:56 am (UTC)first, kaveh's joints. the long line of bone and the crook where cartilage swells. they're the first to go in the winter, when the plunging temperature brings out the flaky red of eczema. alhaitham says, as he does so: ]
I already have a hobby. [ next, the pads of kaveh's fingers, the ointment worked in with the gentle touch of someone used to working with irreplaceable manuscripts of dubious fragility. the ointment seeps. ] I am hardly in need of another.
no subject
Date: 2023-05-27 09:23 pm (UTC)[ alhaitham's touch is routine, and in spite of their touch, their skin has long become one. as always, alhaitham is gentle in the way he holds his fingers, applying salve so carefully on his joints. the jasmine is nice. tighnari is a professional in what he does, and kaveh never fails to thank him for sparing some of his time to take care of kaveh. alhaitham is enough. alhaitham is, at times, too much. wouldn't it be so much better if kaveh took care of himself, without burdening anyone?
thoughts that are haunting. even on such a beautiful day, they do not find will to be merciful. kaveh's fingers twitch reflectively at the touches, and he sets the half-eaten rambutan down.
at last, kaveh turns to look at alhaitham. he bears a half-smile on his face that is all too devoid of feelings. ]
Let me teach you how to draw. [ so when i no longer can, someone will have my skills. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-05-28 03:49 am (UTC)alhaitham's fingers continue their ministrations. he runs his palm over the back of kaveh's hand, feeling for changes in the set of its curve. and then, finally, he lets him go, so that he can gently take his other hand into his. he begins anew: handkerchief, balm, and the first of kaveh's fingers, as cool as freshly fallen snow.
he says: ]
No. [ no is a sentence unto itself, a fully formed thought with no room for dispute. alhaitham gently rounds kaveh's knuckle. he continues: ] Do I seem like a man in need of more sentimentality in my life? If you wish to see more art in this word drawn in your style, with your skills, you will do it yourself, Kshahrewar.
no subject
Date: 2023-06-01 11:02 am (UTC)this is alhaitham preventing kaveh from accepting defeat ever so readily. this is alhaitham being his pillar of support. this is alhaitham telling him it is not over yet. this is, simply, alhaitham.
what alhaitham doesn't know is that kaveh has long accepted his fate. what good is an architect who cannot draw straight lines? what use is an artist who cannot hold a pencil? alhaitham doesn't understand, because alhaitham does not draw. he does not understand the inadequacy that comes with inability, how small the once light of kshahrewar feels when he holds a pencil and cannot tell how much pressure is put on paper.
his eyes fall on their fingers. alhaitham, whose touch is measured and careful, does not understand, because he deals in the delicate papers of books and documents, but not the sturdiness of a pencil. here, kaveh holds his fingers back. they are long and slender, and he may not be allowed their warmth or their texture, but neither quite matters. he locks them together — valley to valley, palm to palm.
today, his hands work. he is not as clumsy. today, he thinks, alhaitham would say— today, you can draw. if tomorrow you cannot, the next day you might. if not, there will be a day where you can. draw, then, when that day comes. kaveh smiles that empty smile, and finds that the alhaitham that leaves in his mind is far kinder. the alhaitham whose fingers he holds is too realistic to be so optimistic.
but that, too, is fine. he is more inclined to listen to an alhaitham who exists in his mind than the demons that haunt it. ]
Do you? [ that same empty smile — kaveh is enough sentimentality in his life. it fills his quota. it checks out. ] What need is there for apprentices who carry out their master's legacy, then, with your reasoning? Art may outlive the artist, but an artist's skills die with them unless passed down upon someone else. There is still time for me.
[ kaveh needs not repeat his request: ] Please.
no subject
Date: 2023-06-02 01:16 am (UTC)this is kaveh performing a singular, soulful action of selfish sacrifice. this is kaveh looking at fate the eyes and deciding that it is easier for those around him if he were to walk towards it in careful embrace. this is, simply, kaveh.
what kaveh doesn't know is that alhaitham, who knows that kaveh has accepted his fate, will never let into existence an universe that honours it. kaveh's fingers draw back. he locks their hands together - valley to valley, palm to palm, and alhaitham thinks - that kaveh feels not for the strength left in them, the tenacity of his grip and the solid weight of his all-consuming focus because he is putting it all towards something that is not himself. through this single, solitary gesture, kaveh is declaring that he is his art, and that he is nothing else, and that without his art, he is nothing, and therefore nothing to those around him. with this single, solitary gesture, hand to hand, palm to palm, wrist to wrist, kaveh is saying, paradoxically, thus: for alhaitham to be the first to let go.
alhaitham stands the opposite of kaveh. alhaitham, who has never let himself need beyond reason; kaveh, who has never allowed himself to want without guilt. he looks at him. kaveh says please. the word carves through alhaitham, cleaves through the fabric of his existence, and alhaitham continues to look. the weight of his gaze says thus: you say that word knowing what it does to me. you know. you know.
still: his fingers curl around kaveh's. the warm of his hand is like stone. ]
Is this how you beg?
no subject
Date: 2023-06-02 03:40 am (UTC)it is unfair. kaveh is never proud of it. had he not been born with eleazar, he thinks, that sentence would have annoyed him. he would not have laid down pride to beg, and would not have asked such a thing of alhaitham, to begin with. a kaveh who is born with eleazar has no choice. he knows the effects he has on alhaitham, knows the strength of his words. he avoids saying them, time and time again. avoids speaking of his fate, of the inevitable day that he dies, earlier than his friends, way before alhaitham. please is, at least, something he can voice.
he is not proud of it, still.
his fingers curl around alhaitham's, in response. i'm sorry. ]
It depends. Is it working?
no subject
Date: 2023-06-02 05:32 pm (UTC)please, kaveh says.
alhaitham, who has never done anything he didn't want to do, looks at kaveh. ]
I am demanding of my teachers. I am not interested in knowledge that does not challenge the fabric of what I desire. I will not stop until perfection. [ alhaitham's hand rests in kaveh's. it is betrayal; it is, also, a statement of precise intent: that alhaitham is not doing this for kaveh. he will do this for himself. ] I also reserve the right to dismiss any instructor that does not teach to my standards. If these terms are agreeable to you, you may choose a time to begin, Kaveh.
no subject
Date: 2023-06-02 10:59 pm (UTC)alhaitham is not a man for sentimentality. he is reasonable, logical. sensical. but alhaitham, too, is human like everyone else.
it is a victory in itself. he would continue to beg, when kaveh is desperate for a more personal mark to be left in the world, and he could continue to feel sorry for it. it is, he thinks, the least he could do. ]
Practice makes perfect. I hope your books won't be jealous of the time you will spend perfecting the art of drawing, then. [ the joke is lighthearted, and it confesses to kaveh's mood. there is no such thing as perfectionism in drawing. an artist will be satisfied with their work, but perfect is an individual value.
kaveh squeezes alhaitham's hand in response. ] Hmmm, we could start later tonight with the basics. I might have some books that could be of help, if you would like.
no subject
Date: 2023-06-05 02:05 am (UTC)it has always seemed to alhaitham that kaveh uses his art as a form of forgiveness. something in him chases the impossibility of a future where his hands worked not just when the weather was good or when the balms worked or when his joints didn't ache, that because he was diseased meant that he had so much more to prove. you couldn't be a good person if you didn't put others before yourself; you couldn't be a good person if you prioritised your illness above all else. and so kaveh didn't; why wouldn't he then change the lives of others for the sole purpose of leaving behind the proof of his existence, and why would he not condemn himself for it? and so, how many ways could alhaitham tell kaveh that he despised that about kaveh without saying that he despised kaveh?
please, kaveh says, after his arguing and cajoling did not move alhaitham. please. alhaitham thinks - that he has never told kaveh that he hated the word please. that he hated it from kaveh's mouth. that kaveh knew that it was so rare for alhaitham to hate something, and that it was kaveh's last resort, and alhaitham would inevitably, always buckle to, with the fury of something de-winged. because alhaitham has always believed that kaveh should never need to beg for anything. not kaveh. never kaveh.
you, alhaitham thinks, wake up all the sentiment in me. this, too, he does not say.
kaveh smiles the smile of a man hollowed, and alhaitham does not say that he hates, too, that smile. instead, kaveh squeezes alhaitham's hand, and alhaitham thinks - he will not learn to hate this, too. there is nary a beat when alhaitham squeezes kaveh's hand back, warm, and full. alhaitham closes his eyes. ]
Begin with your own instructions. What is the point of choosing an instructor, when a book will do equally well? Why would I need you? [ alhaitham's eyes open to green; the red of his eyes are like a forest fire. ] Begin by proving to me that I have not erred in deciding not to look immediately to the instructions left by other members of your darshan, and we shall see from there.
i wish i could print out this tag and hang it on my wall
Date: 2023-06-05 06:22 am (UTC)it is known that eleazar robs. it robs a person of their senses. it robs a person of their motor skills. it robs a person of their identity. kaveh would have been known as the kshahrewar student with eleazar. kaveh's designs would have been obscured by his illness. kaveh's name would have been forgotten. how was he to allow such a thing? kaveh's name would have been synonymous with unattainable.
and so, he proved himself. that he is better than his disease. that he could do his work, and the work of others, and excel greatly in all that he does. he shone, he glimmered, he made himself known. kaveh, the light of kshahrewar. so much more than the eleazar. some had thought he was cured of it. some were sure of it.
he is, ultimately, a sunburst. he burns for others, provides them warmth, but burns himself to exhaustion. he will burn himself into dust, and dust is never remembered. a mark has to be left. and alhaitham, the pride of haravatat, who observes history as it is made, and records it for the future— alhaitham, he begs, please remember me too. ]
The same point that the Akademiya exists alongside the House of Daena. [ kaveh begins, nearly matter-of-factly. ] Books are complements. I will teach you everything I know, but it is within a scholar's nature to seek further knowledge. There is ignorance in relying on a single source of knowledge; otherwise, what basis is there for debate, and what reason would we find in discussion?
[ the sun is warm on his skin, but he cannot feel it. kaveh yawns, nonetheless. ] Don't be so stubborn. I will recommend you books whether you read them or not.
✨✨✨
Date: 2023-06-06 03:47 am (UTC)there is ignorance relying on a single source of knowledge. there, too, is ignorance in relying on a single source of faith. ]
To learn from a stubborn, inflexible instructor, must I not be stubborn and inflexible myself? I am yet to be convinced of the value of your teaching. [ kaveh yawns. the day began not four hours ago. sometimes, a day can only be four hours. alhaitham feels the yawn as if it were his own, a shiver that begins in kaveh's shoulders and ends lodged somewhere in his chest.
the motions are rote: alhaitham leans kaveh against him, coaxing him to his feet. he pockets their handkerchiefs and secures his cloak around kaveh's shoulders. alhaitham continues, ] You are, after all, the one who believes that whether the drapes are orange or blue have any bearing on the quality of light through our windows.
[ the next motion eases kaveh up into his arms. alhaitham tilts him just so, the shifting of a motion designed to slide kaveh's arms over his neck. with the line of his lips: ] Don't kick. Argue with words, not violence.
https://twitter.com/ToraeKi0319/status/1666804755992313857 a hkvh a day keeps the pain away
Date: 2023-06-09 12:17 am (UTC)a day, sometimes, is twenty-four hours. a day, sometimes, is only four. if he is less fortunate, sometimes kaveh skips a day in his life, then two, then three. when he is bed-ridden and a victim of the eleazar, he cannot walk. cannot perform his routine, cannot see the blue sky outside, what color the trees will be, water his plants. it is excruciating. it is limiting. it is, he finds, so unbearably unfair.
kaveh finds, too, that sometimes he hates not being able to touch the floor. it grounds him. it is a privilege of the masses, and what good are his legs if he cannot use them? alhaitham eases him up into his arms, and the motion is not unfamiliar. it is home as alhaitham's house is. it is, still, broadcasted weakness.
the motion is routine: he holds onto alhaitham, bites into his lip. their argument now long forgotten. ]
I can walk. I don't want to go home yet. [ yet, still, he does not fight back. ] At least take me elsewhere.
https://twitter.com/chikological/status/1666816652141531142 and now im revived... thank u friend ;o;
Date: 2023-06-09 05:38 am (UTC)elsewhere, he says. alhaitham thinks - there is nowhere where he can take kaveh that is not here, in this place, where his illness roots. where kaveh wants to be taken is not a place for his body, but a place for his mind. there had been a field of padisarahs beneath a sky so ravishingly blue, that one could lean up and drink from it.
the akasha had taken the dreams of the people and used them as fuel for a new god. this, alhaitham can never forgive. but that is neither here, nor there. kaveh's dream remains elusive; this, alhaitham cannot compromise on. not on this, not on kaveh. ]
You may be able to walk, but your manners are atrophied. Is this how you ask someone to take you elsewhere, Senior? [ alhaitham begins to walk. his steps are sure. they take him, with unyielding assurance, down the wending path circling the divine tree. ] In any case, elsewhere is not a location. Be specific.
anything to help u recover friend!!!!
Date: 2023-06-09 09:21 pm (UTC)elsewhere, he says. kaveh thinks — anywhere with you is fine. anywhere where it's just us.
alhaitham walks down the wending path. kaveh finds his body trembling, even in alhaitham's grasp. he finds, too, his grip on him tightening. it is an automatic response. it is the fear of being seen. it is, after all, broadcasted weakness.
alhaitham has lifted him up before, in their home, to take him to the bed, once he has fallen asleep on the divan, on his desk. alhaitham has picked him up in his arms before, in lambad's tavern, to take him home, after kaveh has drowned his sorrows in beer and wine. those are routine. this is not. if they are seen, he thinks, people will know. people will assume. they will look. they will pity him. the once light of kshahrewar, sumeru's most talented architect, cursed with eleazar. his legs do not work today. tomorrow, his hands. he will never draw again. he will be forgotten, his designs remembered not for his mastery of the arts, but for the eleazar-ridden hands that have created them.
kaveh bites down on his lip, and tastes iron. he has grown to despise the public eye. ]
Anywhere, [ his voice trembles with his body. it is, too, as weak as he is. he does not, either, have much control on it. not even that. ] Outside of the city. By the river, I don't know. Anywhere with just us.
[ kaveh does not say it this time. please, however, hangs on the tip of his tongue. it is implied. his tone is, by itself, as heavy as the plea. ]
thank u friend... u are a godsend ;u;
Date: 2023-06-10 06:10 pm (UTC)kaveh has not been unmade. alhaitham draws him close. if his lips skim the gold of kaveh's hair, it is but a mere coincidence. the canting of his head is for the microcosm that he holds in his arms: the wind, the sky, the sea. that is what makes up kaveh. ]
Fine. [ is what alhaitham saids. and then, in that self-same, flint-edged tone: ] Hold on, then. Do not let go.
[ because what the lunatic of the akademiya does next lives up to the reputation of his name. the wind rises. alhaitham's strides lengthen. the barrier between tree and path approaches and is vaulted. a young woman's voice calls out in warning. she is ever so faraway - the world seems ever so far away. the ground drops out beneath them, and they are flying.
alhaitham's glider snaps out behind them with the finality of a chapter shut. the world spins, dizzying, and then -
the sky. the sky. the sky. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-06-11 12:44 am (UTC)kaveh cannot feel the breeze, cold come autumn and winter, dry come spring and summer. his skin has long forfeit the need for touch, yet they fall, they float, they fly — and kaveh, impossibly so, feels the breeze. it is numb against his skin, as though he is wearing five layers instead of one. but he feels it. chill. gentle. a pinch ticklish.
darkness is like the disease, at times. darkness is, too, a canvas. it can be anything the painter wishes. kaveh paints it blue, with gentle greens. his grip on alhaitham tightens. it is natural to fear heights. it is primal. but alhaitham, he knows, would always catch him. always, he knows better, wouldn't allow the possibility to come where kaveh would slip, where kaveh would fall.
he holds. he keeps him safe. he remains unchanged, a pillar through time. ever unmoving, ever reliable. ever the same. ]
... What a show-off. [ a whisper into secrecy, shared between two. ] You could just have walked out the gates... Most people are in the Grand Baazar around this time. What are you doing?
no subject
Date: 2023-06-11 09:38 pm (UTC)[ sumeru city sprawls out beneath the wings of alhaitham's glider. this must be, alhaitham thinks, the view that birds see from above. perspective has always been key to a life lived. who you are, and where you are, and when you are dictates the view that you see when you leap. a vahumana driyosh will see the teeming lines of people as social contracts made bare, a city bound by the lifeblood of order imposed not by others but by the shackles of civilisation itself. an amurta herbad will see veins and arteries and the potential of spilled blood, a burgeoning population serviced by a single, understaffed and underfunded hospital in the beginnings of a crisis of healthcare. a harvatat scribe may see the potential for language flowing like water, each economic exchange tabulated and recorded through spoken contracts and written word, because without language there is no exchange, and where there is no exchange, there is no creation.
a kshahrewar with eleazar -
alhaitham allows them to glide over the spiraled peaks of the akademiya's gazebos. even the rtawahists never look up this time of the day. they are above prying eyes in both senses of the world - the metaphor and the reality coming together in a midday dream.
in the far distance, the palace of alcazarzaray rises from the canopy. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-06-12 01:01 am (UTC)a world that has not at all been swallowed by darkness. ]
... That's why I told just walking out the gates is fine.
[ it would be simple. it would the guilt of dependency weigh less. it would make him far less happy. kaveh would have succumbed to the loneliness of it all. kaveh would have seen a world yellow and blue and green, and thought, in spite of everything, that he is utterly disconnected from it.
alhaitham, however, is always one step ahead. alhaitham reads him like a book, each and every time, a book he has long memorized, a book he knows by heart. alhaitham never allows him to fall.
he rests his head on alhaitham's shoulder. the breeze, the little kaveh can feel of it, is nice. the scenery is one he will keep to memory, and when his hands work, he will sketch it out. a memory to cherish, a tale to be told. ]
We should camp out, one of these days. Go fishing. Maybe trying out next things aren't so bad.
no subject
Date: 2023-06-13 05:00 am (UTC)kaveh speaks of fishing, of camping. alhaitham, who has never enjoyed either of these things, considers it. there are ponds, and lakes. there are enough sickly-looking shrubbery dotting the landscape for kaveh to force alhaitham to practice his sketching as they wait for fish to bite. there are the stars out from beneath the canopy of the rainforest, should they choose to pursue it.
the world is vast. the world is also not kind. the medication it would take and the amenities to bring on such a trip to ease kaveh's comfort would be substantial. ]
Is learning a new craft alone not enough novelty for my life?
[ but alhaitham considers it. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-06-15 05:30 pm (UTC)[ the answer, he thinks, is no. alhaitham, he knows well, never does anything that he does not want to do. a man so in touch with his own wants, needs, and feelings has no room to regret. if he wishes to pursue something, he will. failure and success are both part of life. what need is there to regret, then, he would ask.
but kaveh, who tends to do things that he does not want to do, who is not half as in touch with his own wants, and needs, and feelings, has plenty of room to regret. he does. he has. the weight it provides is not one anyone should ever be burdened to feel. regret is haunting. regret is demonizing. regret has made him sick, has made him scared.
and kaveh, who does not have much time left for him, should not have time to regret. he will crumble under its weight before the eleazar takes him. if he does not pursue his selfish wants and meaningless needs, when else will he?
the wind is gentle. the sun paints sumeru the most vibrant colors. kaveh, too, wishes to be part of this painting. ]
Scholars should always seek the knowledge that comes with experience. We may read accounts of Driyoshes who have had to camp out in the woods of Mondstadt or fish in the tenebrous waters surrounding Inazuma, but nothing is more valuable than living through such experiences yourself.
... It could be fun, besides. Isn't that what matters the most?
no subject
Date: 2023-06-17 12:13 am (UTC)that the regret that kaveh speaks of is one that consumes kaveh at night. that the regret kaveh speaks of whispers its name in the rustle of the trees and the eddying of the night breeze. that the regret that kaveh speaks of is thought with such ardent longing that it has become a third person haunting the eaves of alhaitham's roof, a mere emotion made form and given teeth. alhaitham, who has regrets, has chosen not to allow them to haunt him. you could not live without experiencing regret, but you did not have to live with it. or so alhaitham believed. but kaveh, alhaitham thinks, kaveh does not know how to live without regret. he does not believe he has the ability to choose.
once, alhaitham, sitting the akademiya gardens and watching the red of kaveh's eyes bleed, had wanted kaveh, who put others before himself each and every turn, who only ever allowed himself to get in line as the last and final participant to a want so faraway that it might as well not exist, to want without guilt.
but not like this. never like this. ]
Is that what matters to you? Mind your feet. [ but the question is asked without censure. one cannot examine their own thoughts and truths without questions; one cannot understand without questions. alhaitham banks and, finally, allows the two of them to land.
his feet take them forward on a few, long, running steps, the world coming into jostling focus before it, too, stills. around them, the purple of sumeru roses bloom. beyond: the lake. alhaitham's eyes skim the field. he gently, then, lowers kaveh into it. ] It is said that in Inazuma, the fish that grow in the inky depths of Enkanomiya lack eyes.
no subject
Date: 2023-06-17 06:38 am (UTC)does fun outweigh guilt?
does kaveh's? ]
What would you think matters the most, if not fun?
[ a question for a question, for kaveh does not want to answer his own, in fear of his own answer. in fear of his own feelings.
the foliage that hugs sumeru is a beautiful green still, a reminder of the summer that greeted them. his skin cannot feel the way it tingles against it, uncomfortable but harmless. the lake beyond, he wonders, must be cold. this is what his life has become.
guesses, and assumptions, and wonders, wonders, wonders.
nothing is ever of certainty anymore. how is he, then, to answer such question, to give himself the room for regret? it is a door that opens. it is a window to his heart, shackled, bound. would having fun be a cure-all for his problems? would it rid him of the nightmares? would it prolong his life? does kaveh remember what it is to have fun, and laugh, and smile?
he kneels by the water. his reflection does not look like him. ]
Are you going to verify its credibility? It is quite the claim. Think of how it could change the lives of Amurta students and graduates both. Tighnari would know no peace.
[ ... ] That, too, could be fun.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:tell my brain to stop hyperfocusing on the wrong thing i cant tag u like this...
From:i will if u tell my brain to stop being depressed, because this week's killin me hahaaaah
From:prayin so hard this new week treats u better otherwise i'll have to kick its ass?
From:thank u friend... i'm sure the week will be scared into compliance 🙏
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: