Alhaitham takes no chances, he uses the distraction. Throws one of his swords right into the blade of the woman's dagger, making the weapon scatter away from them all. He's not going to engage in a fight here if he can help it, not with Kaveh around, not with himself already drained from the fight from before.
"They were already leaving this place when I left them," this is aimed at both Kaveh and the woman. Meant to reassure and also, maybe, highlight that he does care whether these people live or die. Never mind that he just did something extremely dangerous that would have probably injured the woman at least if it weren't for the Scribe's own skill. Still, he's focused on the fact that just because their attackers were on the move, doesn't mean that the slowest people aren't trapped. "We need to move fast if we're going to check. This area is too unstable."
Alhaitham's words can only bring so much calm to Kaveh. It's not enough in this situation. Kaveh's initial spike of adrenaline is subsiding and his injuries are becoming more focused, the pain is sharper. They've been walking all day, too, and Kaveh's stamina isn't as great as Alhaitham's, but he hides in his silence. He glances at Mehrak. "Make sure you keep that knife with you, Mehrak."
They have no choice but to move forward through the labyrinth, and it naturally gets so dark that only a few fungi in the distance emit enough light for them to not accidentally slip through another hole. Kaveh glances at Alhaitham through the dim light. The woman is in the lead for now. Without a weapon, strength, and bleeding, she has little choice but to walk them through the cavern. Only she's familiar with all the incoming set of traps after all. "Are you okay?" He finally asks Alhaitham, he's tired of the silence, and now his thoughts are better gathered.
The architect's inquiry about his well-being hints at a deeper weariness that goes beyond their immediate predicament. Kaveh doesn't exactly mind silence. Not really, and especially not when they need to be focused, be it due to work or something else. When he does this, Alhaitham already knows that he's slowly careening into exhaustion, running on fumes.
"Hm," he cants his head in what he hopes is reassuring, and folds his arm to tap at his own forearm to indicate his roommate's, that he should be concentrating on himself, too. He's not about to assess and highlight both their injuries in front of someone who could turn on them quickly, but... "You're lucky I don't do a bad job when I can use both hands to bandage up."
Kaveh can't help but sigh through his nose in disapproval of Alhaitham's gestures. Sure, he might be right that keeping to themselves will benefit them in the presence of an enemy. She's hurt, too, the chances of her attacking them again is more unlikely.
They enter a large dome that is less claustrophobic than the previous tunnel. Places like this do inspire Kaveh under other circumstances that isn't so perilous. Mansions with underground, secret tunnels is something he'd like to explore with building at some point.
There are some boxes stacked against one of the stone walls, sealed shut by nails. It would appear they were smuggling something, not that it matters now. Kaveh glances at Alhaitham again, he stands closer to him. "It would have been worse off had I not intervened and you know it. Anyway, you, where are you taking us to? And how much longer are we supposed to delve? I do have blueprints to finish for your boss. He will be unhappy if I don't get them finished in time and it'll be your fault."
Alhaitham can't help but interrupt his scanning of the place to look at the architect, his head snapping so fast that it's a miracle that he doesn't get whiplash. Kaveh is a terrible liar, the diva act doesn't suit him at all, but then again, Alhaitham knows that he's privy to many things about the architect that most people don't know. For a second, he thought that he was actually serious about considering working with the zealots despite them trying to take down Alhaitham himself.
They're both exhausted or skittish. The Scribe instead decides to check everything around them, crouching and touching the water of a puddle as though to check for something in it.
Instead, he focuses on the temperature of his wet finger once he gets back up. One side goes slightly colder than the other. There's an opening, another exit nearby. It's only up to her to see if she's trying to bluff or buy more time instead.
The woman takes his bait for the time being, grumbling as they tread into the depths of the cavern. Kaveh remains close to Alhaitham, it's a more clear indication that his concern for his well being is more pivotal than whether or not he gets a paycheck from this. In fact, Kaveh wouldn't be in a position to accept it anymore, not when Alhaitham has been hurt through this process.
"What are you thinking about?" He asks this in regards to the curiosity on water flow, or whatever it is he's inspecting. He keeps his voice low when he speaks, muttering at best so the sound doesn't travel to unwanted ears.
"There's a draft," Alhaitham tilts his head towards and lowers his chin, eyes cast low as he mutters softly near Kaveh's ears. He thinks this is enough to let the architect know what he's thinking— there's an exit nearby, which means there can be a way for them to leave, or some other people to come in.
If she's stalling, then it means she's hoping for backup. He lets himself stay there in that position, waiting for Kaveh to make any comment or question, but instead he just hears the woman practically roll her eyes and mutter something about 'lovebirds'.
Luckily Kaveh doesn’t hear the comment from her, or his voice might have made it through all the mapped tunnels underneath Sumeru.
Kaveh’s gaze is potent on Alhaitham— his admiration for him has never subsided despite everything between them keeping them apart. He trusts him.
“Can’t we make a run for it, then?” These are words that suggest that any he’s planning to use any extent of their laws to void whatever contract he roped himself into with these people. Even if he’d be walking out on money.
Alhaitham shakes his head, and he makes it look exasperated instead of answering his question by reaching up to pluck some dirt off Kaveh's hair absently like it's the most natural thing for them to do. He looks at the flick of his fingers as they shift in the air to make the dirt flutter to the ground beside them, and holds onto the architect's wrist gingerly as though he's examining his injuries.
In a way, he's concerned. He knows that Kaveh needs that money—to leave their home, build a new future for himself, to settle his debt, to finally revel in the tranquility that comes with it. But somehow, there seems to be some odd karma on his end, where every opportunity comes with a dire catch. "She's stalling, we may get caught," he tilts his head, whispering and tutting as though he's upset that the architect's clothes are ripped at the sleeve. "There's an adventurer's commission from the Matras."
Alhaitham's speech eloquence always follows statements, even when they're derived from all the goodness of his heart. Even so, who's to say that Kaveh will accept a reward from the guild when he isn't part? Still, it is their duty as alumni and representatives of Sumeru to gather the higher-ups who threaten the peace of their city. Kaveh glances down at his wrist being taken, too exhausted - emotionally - to bother with using his energy for bickering's sake.
He also likes it when Alhaitham touches him, not that he'll ever admit it, and reward him with that satisfaction completely free. Yet there's nothing else Kaveh truly wants or thinks about. "What are we supposed to do, then?" He pulls his hand away, crossing his arms over his chest. "She keeps looking at us. It makes me feel uneasy."
If he spends a lot of time thinking about the void that itches within his chest when Kaveh withdraws his hand, he doesn't show. Instead, Alhaitham does look at the woman who brought them there. If there's an exit, at the threat of a collapse, she'd be more inclined to leave. The fact that she's stalling could only mean she would rather remain buried with them both instead of escaping, which is at the very least, concerning.
"You're right to," he doesn't nod, but he does rub the back of his neck as if he looks a bit out of sorts about being rejected. The woman rolls her eyes, and he thinks he hears something about a spat of sorts.
"You know what this reminds me of? Of that one time we started running in the House of Daena. Do you remember that?"
The moment it sounds like there's some untimely but nostalgic flirting going on, the woman tries to distract herself with something else. That's just perfect. She doesn't know which dynamics ran between him and Kaveh, only knowing that they were close enough for all of this to be a problem for them both. Alhaitham moves his eyes down, looking uncharacteristically bashful and lowering his voice with it. "You never could tell when I was pretending to run so I could ambush you. That was fun."
The longer they remain in the depths of the world, the more he begins feeling claustrophobic. In the same way, Kaveh is connected to his heartstrings, as a vision holder, he's sensitive to the unforgiving forces of nature. It is in the same way that he and other vision holders can last inside withering zones.
Yet he still struggles to heal or understand the withering of his heart. When Alhaitham brings up the House of Daena, Kaveh's gaze becomes rigid and offended. His kneejerk reaction makes him click his tongue and roll his eyes away from him and into the past. His bruised arms cross over his chest. "Really," is it really a surprise that Kaveh turns to him again with poison on his tongue? "I seem to recall events quite differently."
It's not until Kaveh fully assesses the look on his face that something in him simply clicks. "And?" He side-eyes her briefly and then the other tunnel, lowering his voice.
Alhaitham reaches for a wrist once again, stepping close and giving Kaveh a pointed look. It's tense, somehow, once he does near Kaveh's warmth, the air between them stifling, added to the humidity of the cave. His grip is strong but careful not to wrap around any injury and make it worse. He watches the way his fingers wrap around it with a cautious gaze, only for him to look up. And nod.
"Then guess who's it, now," and he tugs Kaveh as he teleports them both halfway towards the exit.
Before Kaveh gets the chance to shake Alhaitham off as he would, their dendro element encompasses them and everything turns dark. Kaveh isn't used to this type of transportation, although Alhaitham has made him experience it in the past. The woman immediately tries to chase after them at what could be described as a snail's pace in comparison.
Once teleported, they're still inside the cave, but through another tunnel that will eventually lead to the outside world again. The pouring rain from outside is still rushing down, creating a small creek on the area they teleport to. Kaveh keeps running beside him, short of breath, every muscle burns with the exertion and lack of stamina. "Where... Where are the matras?!"
It's giving them some advantage, at least, as he runs towards where he had last felt the draft come from, tugging Kaveh along as carefully as he could without hindering his gait. Alhaitham looks over his shoulder, then around. Taps on his headphone.
"Outside, we have to get outside," he pants, the lack of proper sleep making him run on fumes. He's not sure they're there, but if they are they should be waiting for people to evacuate the network of caves.
The steepness makes it feel like he's fighting gravity itself. Every splash below them is a reminder of how fast they're moving toward the exit. Somehow, Kaveh's forehead has a trickle of blood running down his temple, it mixes with his sweat and the water that soon greets them the moment they make it out to the pouring rain.
It's not just rain waiting for them, but a large group of ten. Some of them are familiar faces from the cave who had managed to escape via the opposite exit. "Alhaitham," he's panting, he can hear Alhaitham panting, too, and he wants to look at him but he can't take his eyes off of them. We can't take on them all, even with visions. "Stand back," he warns Alhaitham firmly, letting what's left of his energy drain into the puddles around them and creating a radius of pure dendro. The countless cores that bloom from this action could be enough to render an average person hospital-bound.
Still, it's not enough, so he's forced to take this weapon despite his efforts. He knows Alhaitham, will, too. They taunt him with nonsense like, "you'll regret turning your back on us, Kaveh," as metal clashes all around them. It's hard to tell how they're herding them away from one another in the heat of it all. Kaveh turns just in time to witness something out of pure nightmares. The woman previously left behind in the cave had only just made it after chasing them through the tunnels, and while Alhaitham crosses blades elsewhere, she strategically attacks from behind using her knife. She cuts through leather, through shirt, through flesh, through muscle. Kaveh sees red in all senses, he feels his blood boil, he watches as the puddles turn opaquely crimson, and he's running towards him. He can hear a river nearby, it's a thought that rushes as quick as adrenaline, "stop it, no! Haitham! Get away!"
She's clever, Alhaitham will give credit where it's due.
It's not so much that she stabs him, she just allows him to sink into the blade as he moves back. The woman barely had to move, and Alhaitham fell into it, the edge of it unfeeling until he does move again and every fiber that's been cut screams inside him. Until something in his spine tells him to move away, to squirm, to get away from the source of the pain, and it's only his own mind that assesses what's happened.
Her knife. Keep it in. Or he'll bleed out.
The Scribe takes hold of the hilt and wheels on his feet, and he thinks of every single outcome that he had been thinking about and the connections between them, and what begins from there.
Perhaps death. And with it, maybe his savings can go to Kaveh. And with his own demise, could come Kaveh's debt. And he'd live on happily and free at last.
A dome covers the sky and darkens the day further in the rain. A ceiling that then drips green down between the trees. Away from Kaveh's radius, two of the henchmen seethe and charge toward the architect, blindly pulling their punches.
All his reflections become shards, sharp. "Scatter," he commands as he falls to one knee, his weight only propped by the blade he sinks into the ground to hold himself up.
The dendro cuts through her, and the rest under the dome. It's all he can do like this. "What an oversight," he mutters.
He's trapped between the false comfort of his vision and how much more damage it could cause Alhaitham if he used it to defend himself. Never in his life has he wanted to take Alhaitham into his arms as much as now. He catches a few fists to his face, and he feels his world rattle under his feet. He can taste his blood, that is until the cores blast once again. He kicks a man out of his way and lands on both knees once he makes it to Alhaitham. The reality is devastating to him. He has both hands hoovering over him, unsure where he's allowed to touch. He's decides he doesn't want to see how bad his wound truly is, even if it means ignoring the literal knife on his back. If he doesn't look, then it doesn't truly exist and he can keep his calm. Then Alhaitham can keep his blood.
The lunch they packed had been long lost back in the cave, they're far from home and the rain is beating down on them. It's freezing underneath soaked clothes. "It'll be alright," he takes his arm and sneaks beneath him, "I'll carry you back. Who knows when others will show up. Recite to me your latest reading, the last thing you should do is fall asleep on me," because that might as well be a nail on a coffin. They both know this. "Ready? I'm going to stand up now."
He can't help the pained sound that he releases when Kaveh lifts him, the edge of the blade shifting with the new position. Alhaitham tries to slip his cape fully onto his back as opposed to sideways to cover the blade stuck in him from any contaminant or dirt in the air, but also to steady it somehow. He buries his nose in Kaveh's hair, the sweat in his neck somehow more grounding than the petrichor around them.
He's comforting. He's warm. This is the closest he's been to Kaveh in an age. He'd like to rest here, his mind says, as he closes his eyes for a moment.
He opens them. "Follow the river," he rasps, his voice sounding like the gravel under Kaveh's shoes. "The Matra will be doing the same."
Clearing his throat, he starts to whisper. ""All art, regardless of shape or form, is inherently political." This is a simple fact," he mutters, unable to not leave commentary. ""Ishkur asserts in his research that art cannot exist within a vacuum of apolitically, for “the artist’s ability to create art is shaped by their political environment just as much as art itself is...”"
Exhaustion comes in many forms and carries many consequences. He could have never predicted that Alhaitham's life would someday depend on his notoriously lackluster stamina. Drenched as they are, his mouth is dry as a desert. Every breath feels like needles raking the insides of his lungs. He's not sick, yet he's holding back his coughs, the air is heated with humidity, yet he shivers. How is it that a rainforest could be so dehydrating?
He pauses each time Alhaitham's weight steadily starts sliding off of him, and he carefully adjusts him so his thighs are secure under his arms. "We're almost there," they're not. They're far from the city, but what else can he do but throw Alhaitham a string of hope? Something, anything his conscious can latch onto. Although deep inside, Kaveh is trying to comfort himself.
He follows the curves of the river. "It's not inherently political, even though I can't deny that it can in some instances," he can't help countering either, but his words are heavy. It takes twice the energy for him to think of anything else besides taking Alhaitham somewhere safe. Yet to hold onto their debates like this keeps Kaveh calm, even if he's on the verge of tears. His throat full of knots. "Keep talking to me. Where's your pain level at? Are you dizzy?" Translation: Should I start freaking out?
As Alhaitham clings to Kaveh's back, the rain pours down, and he can't help but wince with each breath. That he manages to speak between labored breaths is a surprise. "It hurts when I breathe, but I don't taste blood. I can still inhale and exhale." He pauses, wanting to assure Kaveh that he's holding on, that he's not giving up. "Keep going. We need to keep moving."
Through the haze of pain and fatigue, Alhaitham finds himself wondering if this was the end of it all - the end of their unspoken connection, the end of what they could have been together. "Kaveh," Alhaitham implores, his voice barely above a whisper against the architect's ear, "keep talking to me. Explain to me again, how art isn't inherently political."
He's studied, countless times now, how words could be elusive, how they change meaning, with a mere inflection of a tone, a mere context, a change in perspective. Just like life itself. The danger they face, the threat to his existence, and the fear of losing what they have without ever truly exploring it all paralyze him in a way he can't describe.
The pain is still there, gnawing at him like a relentless fire. In the midst of the struggle for survival, their intellectual strife, bond, connection, is what keeps him anchored to the present, to the hope of making it through this together.
How ironic, that what drives them apart becomes suddenly his lifeline. How ironic, that entangled in a life-threatening situation, all Alhaitham can think about is the prospect of burdening Kaveh with his emotions. He doesn't want his possible demise to be another weight on Kaveh's shoulders. The man has already carried so much. Alhaitham will be damned by himself if he becomes yet another thing for Kaveh to carry.
"I am moving," albeit painfully slow. Their combined weight keeps sinking Kaveh's shoes into the soaked soil and it takes every elemental fiber of dendro and humanity not to slip when the terrain changes on him. He keeps his hands clawed against his thighs, working every muscle to keep Alhaitham's limp body secure. "You're heavy."
I held you back in the cave, didn't I. His mind begins to slip away from him, feeding him flawed logic and guilt so torrential it could bring Inazuma thunder to its knees. Rain keeps getting into his eyes, and the salt in his tears keep his vision blurred. It's not debt that truly drowns him, or his reckless spending, or all the blame he wears. Whatever keeps him up at night, what makes him easily irritable or spiral is a chronic monster that simply feeds off of his miseries.
I have to move out.
You'll die because of me.
I can't lose you.
He forgets his mission to debate him and instead, he repeats: "don't fall asleep."
Kaveh is sinking deeper everyday and just when he’s able to barely break the surface and allow himself to breathe, that something drags him back down. He can function in the eyes of the public except his life is still a mess. "Matra. I see the matra. You'll be okay," he repeats, "you'll be okay."
"You just stopped practicing once you got Mehrak," he tries to chuckle, but it only hurts to laugh, no matter how sweet fondness feels under his skin. Alhaitham winces, foregoing a hiss through his teeth to bury his mouth on his roommate's shoulder, and he realizes that Kaveh feels warm, perhaps even more so than usual, and it's because Alhaitham is the one that tends to run warm, enough to rarely be cold.
He shivers, as if on cue. "Thank you. Senior." He whispers, a tongue looser, more feverish. "I knew you'd do it."
He'd simply gotten busier with work. Not that it's an excuse to put aside a daily regimen. His eyes shift with concern when Alhaitham's voice rumbles on his shoulder. He won't make it much longer if they prolong his treatment. They're both running fevers.
The stress of panic keeps Kaveh silent for the most part. Every ounce of his strength is left solely for the moment they reach the matra and it is only then that he unleashes it all. His cries, the cracking in his voice when he yells at them to alert Tighnari. He reluctantly surrenders Alhaitham to someone else more fit to carry him, and he can't remember very much after that.
They're both carried to the city.
Tighnari suggests they're taken to Alhaitham's house where they can be treated in the comfort of their privacy. The lacerations across his back are worse than any tiger attack Tighnari has ever seen. With herbal anesthetics, he's able to rid Alhaitham of his shirt and clean the wounds, but there isn't anything at his immediate expense that would render him entirely free of pain, especially when there's a knife lodged on his back. He injects numbing agents surrounding the blade. It's a good sign that he's not bleeding from his mouth, it means his stomach is intact. He presses gently along his sides to feel for bloating or swelling. There's no indication of severe internal bleeding, but he can't tell which blood vessels have been punctured and this narrows down his choices. "Alhaitham, it's me, Tighnari. If you can hear me, tap one finger. The less you talk, the better. Don't strain yourself."
He hears Kaveh shouting, and something in his heart wrenches, draining it free. It gives way to relief, but also an emptiness that comes with listening to the person saving him feeling so much about him. It's not as though he isn't aware of it, but materializing in the divots of his voice, ripping out of his throat.
Everything is a blur, but there's the scent of herbs, of incense that's oh so familiar to Tighnari's presence. He taps a finger, but he's stubborn, bull-headed. "Where's Kaveh?" he croaks out, closing his eyes at the feeling of the anesthesia making him a bit bolder and instantly regretting it.
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"They were already leaving this place when I left them," this is aimed at both Kaveh and the woman. Meant to reassure and also, maybe, highlight that he does care whether these people live or die. Never mind that he just did something extremely dangerous that would have probably injured the woman at least if it weren't for the Scribe's own skill. Still, he's focused on the fact that just because their attackers were on the move, doesn't mean that the slowest people aren't trapped. "We need to move fast if we're going to check. This area is too unstable."
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They have no choice but to move forward through the labyrinth, and it naturally gets so dark that only a few fungi in the distance emit enough light for them to not accidentally slip through another hole.
Kaveh glances at Alhaitham through the dim light. The woman is in the lead for now. Without a weapon, strength, and bleeding, she has little choice but to walk them through the cavern. Only she's familiar with all the incoming set of traps after all. "Are you okay?" He finally asks Alhaitham, he's tired of the silence, and now his thoughts are better gathered.
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"Hm," he cants his head in what he hopes is reassuring, and folds his arm to tap at his own forearm to indicate his roommate's, that he should be concentrating on himself, too. He's not about to assess and highlight both their injuries in front of someone who could turn on them quickly, but... "You're lucky I don't do a bad job when I can use both hands to bandage up."
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They enter a large dome that is less claustrophobic than the previous tunnel. Places like this do inspire Kaveh under other circumstances that isn't so perilous. Mansions with underground, secret tunnels is something he'd like to explore with building at some point.
There are some boxes stacked against one of the stone walls, sealed shut by nails. It would appear they were smuggling something, not that it matters now.
Kaveh glances at Alhaitham again, he stands closer to him. "It would have been worse off had I not intervened and you know it. Anyway, you, where are you taking us to? And how much longer are we supposed to delve? I do have blueprints to finish for your boss. He will be unhappy if I don't get them finished in time and it'll be your fault."
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They're both exhausted or skittish. The Scribe instead decides to check everything around them, crouching and touching the water of a puddle as though to check for something in it.
Instead, he focuses on the temperature of his wet finger once he gets back up. One side goes slightly colder than the other. There's an opening, another exit nearby. It's only up to her to see if she's trying to bluff or buy more time instead.
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"What are you thinking about?" He asks this in regards to the curiosity on water flow, or whatever it is he's inspecting. He keeps his voice low when he speaks, muttering at best so the sound doesn't travel to unwanted ears.
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If she's stalling, then it means she's hoping for backup. He lets himself stay there in that position, waiting for Kaveh to make any comment or question, but instead he just hears the woman practically roll her eyes and mutter something about 'lovebirds'.
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Kaveh’s gaze is potent on Alhaitham— his admiration for him has never subsided despite everything between them keeping them apart. He trusts him.
“Can’t we make a run for it, then?” These are words that suggest that any he’s planning to use any extent of their laws to void whatever contract he roped himself into with these people. Even if he’d be walking out on money.
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In a way, he's concerned. He knows that Kaveh needs that money—to leave their home, build a new future for himself, to settle his debt, to finally revel in the tranquility that comes with it. But somehow, there seems to be some odd karma on his end, where every opportunity comes with a dire catch. "She's stalling, we may get caught," he tilts his head, whispering and tutting as though he's upset that the architect's clothes are ripped at the sleeve. "There's an adventurer's commission from the Matras."
Which means there's a reward, at least.
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He also likes it when Alhaitham touches him, not that he'll ever admit it, and reward him with that satisfaction completely free. Yet there's nothing else Kaveh truly wants or thinks about. "What are we supposed to do, then?" He pulls his hand away, crossing his arms over his chest. "She keeps looking at us. It makes me feel uneasy."
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"You're right to," he doesn't nod, but he does rub the back of his neck as if he looks a bit out of sorts about being rejected. The woman rolls her eyes, and he thinks he hears something about a spat of sorts.
"You know what this reminds me of? Of that one time we started running in the House of Daena. Do you remember that?"
The moment it sounds like there's some untimely but nostalgic flirting going on, the woman tries to distract herself with something else. That's just perfect. She doesn't know which dynamics ran between him and Kaveh, only knowing that they were close enough for all of this to be a problem for them both. Alhaitham moves his eyes down, looking uncharacteristically bashful and lowering his voice with it. "You never could tell when I was pretending to run so I could ambush you. That was fun."
Hopefully, Kaveh understands what he's saying.
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Yet he still struggles to heal or understand the withering of his heart. When Alhaitham brings up the House of Daena, Kaveh's gaze becomes rigid and offended. His kneejerk reaction makes him click his tongue and roll his eyes away from him and into the past. His bruised arms cross over his chest. "Really," is it really a surprise that Kaveh turns to him again with poison on his tongue? "I seem to recall events quite differently."
It's not until Kaveh fully assesses the look on his face that something in him simply clicks. "And?" He side-eyes her briefly and then the other tunnel, lowering his voice.
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"Then guess who's it, now," and he tugs Kaveh as he teleports them both halfway towards the exit.
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Once teleported, they're still inside the cave, but through another tunnel that will eventually lead to the outside world again. The pouring rain from outside is still rushing down, creating a small creek on the area they teleport to. Kaveh keeps running beside him, short of breath, every muscle burns with the exertion and lack of stamina. "Where... Where are the matras?!"
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"Outside, we have to get outside," he pants, the lack of proper sleep making him run on fumes. He's not sure they're there, but if they are they should be waiting for people to evacuate the network of caves.
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It's not just rain waiting for them, but a large group of ten. Some of them are familiar faces from the cave who had managed to escape via the opposite exit. "Alhaitham," he's panting, he can hear Alhaitham panting, too, and he wants to look at him but he can't take his eyes off of them. We can't take on them all, even with visions. "Stand back," he warns Alhaitham firmly, letting what's left of his energy drain into the puddles around them and creating a radius of pure dendro. The countless cores that bloom from this action could be enough to render an average person hospital-bound.
Still, it's not enough, so he's forced to take this weapon despite his efforts. He knows Alhaitham, will, too. They taunt him with nonsense like, "you'll regret turning your back on us, Kaveh," as metal clashes all around them. It's hard to tell how they're herding them away from one another in the heat of it all.
Kaveh turns just in time to witness something out of pure nightmares. The woman previously left behind in the cave had only just made it after chasing them through the tunnels, and while Alhaitham crosses blades elsewhere, she strategically attacks from behind using her knife. She cuts through leather, through shirt, through flesh, through muscle. Kaveh sees red in all senses, he feels his blood boil, he watches as the puddles turn opaquely crimson, and he's running towards him. He can hear a river nearby, it's a thought that rushes as quick as adrenaline, "stop it, no! Haitham! Get away!"
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It's not so much that she stabs him, she just allows him to sink into the blade as he moves back. The woman barely had to move, and Alhaitham fell into it, the edge of it unfeeling until he does move again and every fiber that's been cut screams inside him. Until something in his spine tells him to move away, to squirm, to get away from the source of the pain, and it's only his own mind that assesses what's happened.
Her knife. Keep it in. Or he'll bleed out.
The Scribe takes hold of the hilt and wheels on his feet, and he thinks of every single outcome that he had been thinking about and the connections between them, and what begins from there.
Perhaps death. And with it, maybe his savings can go to Kaveh. And with his own demise, could come Kaveh's debt. And he'd live on happily and free at last.
A dome covers the sky and darkens the day further in the rain. A ceiling that then drips green down between the trees. Away from Kaveh's radius, two of the henchmen seethe and charge toward the architect, blindly pulling their punches.
All his reflections become shards, sharp. "Scatter," he commands as he falls to one knee, his weight only propped by the blade he sinks into the ground to hold himself up.
The dendro cuts through her, and the rest under the dome. It's all he can do like this. "What an oversight," he mutters.
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The lunch they packed had been long lost back in the cave, they're far from home and the rain is beating down on them. It's freezing underneath soaked clothes. "It'll be alright," he takes his arm and sneaks beneath him, "I'll carry you back. Who knows when others will show up. Recite to me your latest reading, the last thing you should do is fall asleep on me," because that might as well be a nail on a coffin. They both know this. "Ready? I'm going to stand up now."
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He's comforting. He's warm. This is the closest he's been to Kaveh in an age. He'd like to rest here, his mind says, as he closes his eyes for a moment.
He opens them. "Follow the river," he rasps, his voice sounding like the gravel under Kaveh's shoes. "The Matra will be doing the same."
Clearing his throat, he starts to whisper. ""All art, regardless of shape or form, is inherently political." This is a simple fact," he mutters, unable to not leave commentary. ""Ishkur asserts in his research that art cannot exist within a vacuum of apolitically, for “the artist’s ability to create art is shaped by their political environment just as much as art itself is...”"
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He pauses each time Alhaitham's weight steadily starts sliding off of him, and he carefully adjusts him so his thighs are secure under his arms. "We're almost there," they're not. They're far from the city, but what else can he do but throw Alhaitham a string of hope? Something, anything his conscious can latch onto. Although deep inside, Kaveh is trying to comfort himself.
He follows the curves of the river. "It's not inherently political, even though I can't deny that it can in some instances," he can't help countering either, but his words are heavy. It takes twice the energy for him to think of anything else besides taking Alhaitham somewhere safe. Yet to hold onto their debates like this keeps Kaveh calm, even if he's on the verge of tears. His throat full of knots. "Keep talking to me. Where's your pain level at? Are you dizzy?" Translation: Should I start freaking out?
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Through the haze of pain and fatigue, Alhaitham finds himself wondering if this was the end of it all - the end of their unspoken connection, the end of what they could have been together. "Kaveh," Alhaitham implores, his voice barely above a whisper against the architect's ear, "keep talking to me. Explain to me again, how art isn't inherently political."
He's studied, countless times now, how words could be elusive, how they change meaning, with a mere inflection of a tone, a mere context, a change in perspective. Just like life itself. The danger they face, the threat to his existence, and the fear of losing what they have without ever truly exploring it all paralyze him in a way he can't describe.
The pain is still there, gnawing at him like a relentless fire. In the midst of the struggle for survival, their intellectual strife, bond, connection, is what keeps him anchored to the present, to the hope of making it through this together.
How ironic, that what drives them apart becomes suddenly his lifeline. How ironic, that entangled in a life-threatening situation, all Alhaitham can think about is the prospect of burdening Kaveh with his emotions. He doesn't want his possible demise to be another weight on Kaveh's shoulders. The man has already carried so much. Alhaitham will be damned by himself if he becomes yet another thing for Kaveh to carry.
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I held you back in the cave, didn't I. His mind begins to slip away from him, feeding him flawed logic and guilt so torrential it could bring Inazuma thunder to its knees. Rain keeps getting into his eyes, and the salt in his tears keep his vision blurred. It's not debt that truly drowns him, or his reckless spending, or all the blame he wears. Whatever keeps him up at night, what makes him easily irritable or spiral is a chronic monster that simply feeds off of his miseries.
I have to move out.
You'll die because of me.
I can't lose you.
He forgets his mission to debate him and instead, he repeats: "don't fall asleep."
Kaveh is sinking deeper everyday and just when he’s able to barely break the surface and allow himself to breathe, that something drags him back down. He can function in the eyes of the public except his life is still a mess. "Matra. I see the matra. You'll be okay," he repeats, "you'll be okay."
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He shivers, as if on cue. "Thank you. Senior." He whispers, a tongue looser, more feverish. "I knew you'd do it."
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The stress of panic keeps Kaveh silent for the most part. Every ounce of his strength is left solely for the moment they reach the matra and it is only then that he unleashes it all. His cries, the cracking in his voice when he yells at them to alert Tighnari. He reluctantly surrenders Alhaitham to someone else more fit to carry him, and he can't remember very much after that.
They're both carried to the city.
Tighnari suggests they're taken to Alhaitham's house where they can be treated in the comfort of their privacy. The lacerations across his back are worse than any tiger attack Tighnari has ever seen. With herbal anesthetics, he's able to rid Alhaitham of his shirt and clean the wounds, but there isn't anything at his immediate expense that would render him entirely free of pain, especially when there's a knife lodged on his back. He injects numbing agents surrounding the blade. It's a good sign that he's not bleeding from his mouth, it means his stomach is intact. He presses gently along his sides to feel for bloating or swelling. There's no indication of severe internal bleeding, but he can't tell which blood vessels have been punctured and this narrows down his choices.
"Alhaitham, it's me, Tighnari. If you can hear me, tap one finger. The less you talk, the better. Don't strain yourself."
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Everything is a blur, but there's the scent of herbs, of incense that's oh so familiar to Tighnari's presence. He taps a finger, but he's stubborn, bull-headed. "Where's Kaveh?" he croaks out, closing his eyes at the feeling of the anesthesia making him a bit bolder and instantly regretting it.
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beautiful
LMAOOO i'm so sorry
"is this a flirt? sorry, i have to go" LMAOO
JEEZ
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