Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Blooms,

Beautiful; radiant with their soft and comforting green glow. Life itself to those who don’t know of their true nature:

Blooms,

Destructive; their blast inflicts ruin on all in their close proximity. Harbingers of death and peril.

Neither definition contradicts the other. In fact, in supporting one another, they amplify the plant’s deadliness. In basking in their beauty and allowing oneself to draw closer to their alluring glow, one becomes vulnerable to their true devastating nature.

How ironic, — A plant that ruins others, heals him. It shouldn’t be possible really, and yet, who else would be deserving of such a cruel joke bestowed by the Archons? Who else could be made to suffer in such a unique way? Who else, but the one whose every act is for the betterment of others?

One who carries guilt like a sacred possession, determined to shoulder pain and endure whatever comes. One who would bask in the physical afflictions that blooms would otherwise bring to his life. One who would always lighten others' loads if given the chance.

How ironic, — One who would heal others in a heartbeat at his own expense, cursed to walk knowing that his selfish abilities can only benefit himself, and worse, bring ruin to those close to him.

Kaveh knows that his blooms can only heal himself.

Archons, his only wish is that they could heal others too.

_____

Cyno and Tighnari had already left the tavern some time ago. TCG cards were packed up and alcohol had left a light buzz in their systems. Kaveh is left to his own devices, having decided to stick around and enjoy the subdued ambiance of his favourite retreat.

A rare sense of calm takes root in his mind. While his woes still occupy his thoughts, they now quietly take a back seat. He can truly exhale for the first time in months.

With the sudden influx of commissions he received this week came a substantial amount of mora. His savings were steadily accumulating.

He was close now, just a few more small jobs.

Or, one big job.

In his momentary bliss, he fails to notice a man seating himself across from his table. Perhaps it’s because of his calm state of mind, or maybe it’s the booze. The man flashes a suave smile and offers to pay for drinks. Kaveh sits up a little straighter, now alert enough to register the stranger’s extended hand.

“Dahak, Kshahrewar student. It’s an honour to meet you, master architect.”

“Kaveh is fine. What brings you to my table?” He struggles not to slur his words. Dahak either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

The student freely pours his problems alongside his wine. Through his excessive flattery and slowed speech, Kaveh gets the gist of his issue — his final thesis project.

He and his partners are looking to explore a new domain and decipher its history. They have ambitions equal to his own; but while they want to discover the next Hidden Palace of Zhou, he wants to examine architecture and common motifs that connect all domains.

Dahak is determined to break new ground, but to do so, he needs someone of great expertise in his field.

Why not ask the master himself?

“So? What do ya say, master architect? Curious?”

The night is young, and Kaveh has plenty of time to entertain such a proposal. He leans in, interest only growing as the man flatters his architectural expertise, citing its value, and how their crew needs someone like him.

Of course, his interest peaks with the mention of the mora he would be paid to assist in their expedition. A hefty sum, enough that when combined with his current savings, would be enough to pay back Lord Sanghema Bay, and everyone else he owes.

No more debt.

No more excuses.

With a shake of a hand and a celebratory drink poured, Kaveh accepts the proposal.

_____

It takes completely sobering up the next morning for Kaveh to realize some gaps in his conversation with Dahak. The letter addressed to himself on Al Haitham’s porch certainly helps. He collects his findings:

First, students know that I live here.
Second, how does a student even have that much mora to offer me?
Third, why was he so determined to get me on the team?
Fourth, students know that I lived here, in Al Haitham’s home.

After the Interdarshan Championships, he isn’t surprised that people knew of their status as roommates. After all, word spreads and his drunken slip-ups are inevitable (according to his scribe).

While no one knew of the true nature of their relationship, anyone can deduce that the two are close. After all, the split following their collaborative thesis project is legendary gossip among students — A fire only fueled every time someone catches a glimpse of the Acting Grand Sage shouldering a stumbling architect out of his favourite tavern in the moonlight.

Packing his things for the day, Kaveh continues to ponder the events of last night, re-examining the pieces and opening the letter.

To the esteemed architect,

Thank you for pledging your services to our thesis, we will set off in two days. Please meet us outside of the city at the attached location by noon. As discussed, 50% of your advanced payment will be deposited into your accounts, the rest will be given on completion of the assignment.

We will be assisted by a company of security to ensure our safety through the domain. Please relay your absence to the Acting Grand Sage; ensure he knows you will be out for the next month. We look forward to working with you!

— Dahak & co.

Kaveh amends his list of red flags:

Fifth, the crew needs Al Haitham to know that I will be leaving.

Thus, Kaveh comes to a new conclusion:

They need him for his connection to Al Haitham, more likely, the Acting Grand Sage. They might not even be interested in his architectural expertise at all.

He doesn’t know what to make of this knowledge. Should he ignore it? It’s still an incredible opportunity at the end of the day, and the pay is enormous.

If he’s lucky, then his relationship with his roommate will not matter — he’s overthinking this, as he always does.

If he’s lucky, then he can explore an ancient domain with enthusiastic students, maybe even contribute to an architectural discovery that will earn Kshahrewar the respect it deserves as a Darshan.

Perhaps his own ambitions are blindsiding him, encouraging his excitement and naivety.

There are so many reasons to decline — The stars are suspiciously aligning in ways unnatural and contradictory to his usual bad luck.

But this? Maybe he could have this.

If he’s lucky, Al Haitham will be clear of his blast when he blooms, inevitably laying waste to everything around him but himself.

Perhaps Lady Luck is on Kaveh’s side.

_____

Lady Luck is not on Kaveh’s side.

Lady Luck is laughing at his misery and spitting in his face. Kaveh, to his regret, only realizes this when the carriage crawls to a halt in the middle of the desert, surrounded by Eremites.

The eight other scholars stumble out of the carriage, completely unphased by their company; Dahak follows behind them.

Kaveh is still in the carriage. This is the ‘company’ coming along?

His mind races, unable to discern what Dahak is asking him.

Breathe. That’s it, in and out.

Good.

Kaveh focuses on the weight of his claymore strapped to his back, the taste of dry sand in the air, and Mehrak’s emerald glow.

His feet drag him out of the carriage and towards the scholars.

Three, no, four. Plus two behind me. Worst case scenario? Yeah, I could tak—

“Kaveh! I’d like to introduce you to the rest of the team.”

Dahak’s voice pierces through his thoughts. When he is sure that he has Kaveh’s attention, he lists the names of the scholars and their roles in the expedition, but Kaveh cannot care less — His gaze is fixed on the Eremites glaring at him.

“Don’t mind them, and they won’t mind you. Now then, onwards! We’ve got a domain to investigate!” Dahak flashes another suave smile and takes Kaveh’s arm, pulling him towards the rest of the group.

Kaveh is glad that he left a note for Al Haitham. The last thing I need is for him to show up and make this mess worse, better he stays away and lets me handle this myself.

_____

As a claymore user, Kaveh would say his endurance is above average. Nevermind that Mehrak carries it most of the time, and swings it for me. I am perfectly capable of defending myself with my Mailed Flower blade.

Nonetheless, he is sure that hours of walking under the boiling sun would make anyone exhausted. His back is drenched with sweat, his water skin felt lighter by the hour, and he has fallen to the back of the pack of scholars who trudge on in front of him.

Kaveh isn’t paying much attention to the voices around him until he hears a name uttered by an Eremite behind him.

He is speaking in one of the old tongues of King Deshret, one that he himself took as an elective. Kaveh caught six words:

“Ploy… sage… eliminate… Al Haitham… lure…”.

His blood freezes in the desert. He can feel Lady Luck’s icy grip around his throat where Death’s will one day clutch.

Just my luck. Not only am I surrounded by men who will kill me on command, but they have the audacity to use me as bait for the most selfish man in Sumeru.

Except, he isn’t selfish. He might even be the most generous man Kaveh knows, and they both know it.

Who else would offer their home to a broke artist? Who else would ask for nothing in return? Al Haitham has spent nights waiting on the divan for Kaveh to come back from the tavern. He cooks his favourite meals when he is noticeably low, lightens his moods with witty banter, and challenges his ideologies when bored.

Al Haitham pushes Kaveh forwards in ways no one else ever has, nor ever will.

Kaveh doesn’t know how to describe his relationship with his scribe. Romantic doesn’t feel like the right word, not yet. On the other hand, he certainly wouldn’t call it strictly platonic either.

Kaveh had drunkenly confessed his affections weeks ago. Al Haitham made his position on the matter clear the next day — ‘As long as I am the Acting Grand Sage, I cannot fully devote myself to you as I’d like to. Let’s discuss this again after I find a replacement.’

As far as proposals go, Kaveh considers it as pretty reasonable.

He presented his own, to which Al Haitham nodded in understanding — ‘I can’t be in a relationship with someone that I am fully financially dependent on. Give me time to stand on my own two feet, then sure, we’ll talk then.

So they carried on with their lives — Kaveh taking on more commissions than ever before, Al Haitham searching for a Grand Sage candidate himself.

The atmosphere of the house had changed over time. The once tense and constricting air had vanished between them, leaving only anticipation, excitement, and a gentle warmth that envelops Kaveh every time he comes home.

Home. Home? When did that happen?

A nudge to his arm brings him back to reality — Mehrak is looking at him with a questioning gaze and gesturing ahead.

They had arrived at the domain.

Chapter Text

Kaveh knows his strengths: Architecture, interior design, cooking, and battle. As an architect, it isn’t unusual that he himself would have to survey an area on his own before starting a project. He gathers his own materials, commutes for commissions in other cities, and often explores ruins supposedly deemed safe. Thus, his skills with a blade are kept as sharp as his mind.

He had come across Hilichurls before, Fungi and Whopper Flowers too. Eremites weren’t exactly new either; he remembers a skirmish with a dozen or so last year on his way to Aaru Village.

Half a dozen Eremites he can handle with ease, especially with Mehrak by his side and claymore on his back.

What he can’t handle is the Hydro Abyss Herald.

Oh, and Al Haitham showing up.

He could feel Lady Luck cackle with delightful anticipation.

_____

The company trudges through the domain for what feels like hours. They stop only to take notes and briefly examine ruins.

Most of the area is sand and stone, not the most stable foundation. Worse, the ground seems to become less stable the deeper we go.

There is little dirt and light, yet desert plant life endures around him, literally seeping through the cracks and taking root in the walls. The domain itself seems to spotlight its growth, revelling in the attention its beauty brings.

Kaveh finds himself as part of the leading party that separates from the greater group. Not once have the students mentioned architecture — only speaking of the potential mora hidden within the chamber.

The Eremites trail behind them. Their fixation on his back does not go unfelt, but nonetheless, Kaveh keeps his analyses to himself. He stumbles over an unstable stone beneath him, then reels in his growing nervousness. Just think about literally anything else, like the patterns on the wall.

Or the unsupported ground, the leaning columns, or the partly caved-in roof.

He presses on, knowing that maintaining an image of complete calm is integral to his survival.

Stay calm, survey the area, find exits, exploit weak spots in their foundation. Just another day at another building site. I can still get out of here with more than enough mora to clear my debts.

Although, there is something more pressing tugging at his mind that makes his heart beat with excitement.

No more excuses. Nothing’s in our way now.

The very thought brings a soft light to his eyes.

Still, he can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. It was as if the chamber’s walls were whispering in his ear to mind his blindspots.

Kaveh’s heart stutters when he hears the shrill scream.

The sound of blades clashing rings in the hall behind him. A flash of green pierces through the dark.

Dahak’s smile falls and he turns to the Eremites,

“Keep going! Leave them! We have to draw him further in!”

Kaveh sees the Eremite next to him reach for his curved knife with a gloved hand.

With one clean swipe of Kaveh's claymore his hand is on the floor, still clutching the knife.

The Eremite screams and clutches the stump where liquid life gushes, he drops into its pool.

Bloody claymore in hand, Kaveh feels his senses heighten, ready to take on whatever threat emerges from the dark.

Dread pools in his stomach as more bodies drop and interrupted screams echo in his ears. The stench of blood had reached him, but Kaveh stands his ground. The Eremites behind him stagger backwards and draw their weapons.

Finally, the flashes halt. From the darkness strolls a figure. The blood on his green blades dripped onto the floor behind him, his stern gaze fixed on Kaveh.

Oh, great.

“What are you doing here!? I told you that I could handle this!”

“A ‘thank you’ would suffice.”

“I had it under control!” Kaveh gestures to the Eremite bleeding on the ground.

“Your definition of ‘control’ is abysmal.”

“You’re—”

Al Haitham parries a slash from another Eremite. A crowd of foes gathers, the shock of the intruder having worn off.

“You’re abysmal!”

Dendro energy swirls around them as Kaveh blocks an Anemo user’s strike. He finds his footing in the sand, ducks, and delivers a killing blow. “Behind you!”

But Al Haitham turns too late, taking the full force of a Scorching Eremite’s Pyro blast. Dendro crystals dance around him, flickering in and out of form — as scattered as his own focus.

Kaveh blocks the next blow, Al Haitham recovers behind him. They were back to back now, circled by enemies. Their feet share the same shaky slab of stone, Kaveh feels it shift as the sand around them is disturbed with every move.

“I’m still waiting for my thank you.”

I can’t believe this. “Are you kidding me?” Kaveh scoffs and swings for the Stone Eremite who had summoned a Geo crocodile.

“I didn’t come all this way to be belittled by a hostage.” Al Haitham activates his Dendro field, finishing off the crocodile.

Kaveh spins and counters the Scorcher’s blast, annoyance and confusion painted on his face.

“Hostage? I’m not a hostage! This was just a job. And you haven’t answered me!”

Al Haitham’s crystals fly into Kaveh’s hand with a paper attached. He dodges another fireball.

“A ransom note? And you took it seriously?”

“As Acting Grand Sage I had to inves—”

“No! You didn’t!” Kaveh lunges, smashing his claymore into the stone.

“I know you. You know that you could have ignored it.” He dashes towards the Geo user. “You just said it yourself, you didn’t have to come. You knew this was a trap too!”

Kaveh hears Al Haitham groan behind him — The Scorcher had landed a lucky shot to his leg.

He has to wrap this up quickly.

“Mehrak!” She flies from his back into his hand. Duel-wielding his claymore and case, Kaveh unleashes his painted dome. With Dendro strikes, he advances on the enemy who’s now on the defensive. A surge of power wells inside his eyes — His strikes grow wild and rapid. With a final swing of Mehrak, the Eremite falls.

Adrenaline still pumping in his veins, Kaveh turns to help his partner but slows upon seeing him.

Al Haitham stands over her body, flicking the blood off his sword.

“You knew? Why would you come here if you knew this was a setup for me?”

“Don’t give me that. You know exactly why.”

Al Haitham finally meets his gaze, the pieces falling into place.

“Kaveh.”

“I’m so close, Haitham.” Kaveh looks away, reaching for Mehrak’s burn kit.

“Kaveh.”

“This could have been it, I know you’ve been looking for a Grand Sage and I just wanted to—” His breath hitches when he bends to wrap his partner's leg with gauze. Just a broken rib or two, nothing serious.

Al Haitham’s critical gaze falters, concern replaces all traces of irritation. Kaveh notices a tendril of blood running from a cut on his forehead, past his teal eyes — their flecks of orange dance with perturbation.

“Kaveh, you don’t need to risk yourself like this. Mora will come in time, I know how much this means to you”, he takes his hand, “but we don’t have to rush.”

He doesn't get it. Before Kaveh can retort, he hears someone stumbling behind them.

“YOU!”

Kaveh and Al Haitham turn, Dahak is rising to his feet a few meters away from the shadowed void of a corridor behind him.

“You’re s— supposed to be dead! This wasn’t the p— plan! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” His voice is trembling now, his heartbeat loud enough for Kaveh to hear meters away.

“Enlighten us then. Your ambush failed, and by this time tomorrow I’ll have stripped you of everything you have left to your name.” Al Haitham is seething. He pushes away from Kaveh and limps towards Dahak, raising his bloody sword again until it’s pointing between the other man’s eyes.

Kaveh hears Dahak gasp, but not from shock.

A blade is impaling his heart from behind. The man exhales for the last time and drops to the floor. His blood mixes with sand, staining red as it fills with iron.

Kaveh is familiar with dread — The kind that looms before a deadline approaches, the kind that filled his chest in the carriage not hours ago. That dread is fear, intricately woven with an anticipation that usually keeps him firmly rooted in place.

Whatever Kaveh’s senses were experiencing right now was far worse. Visceral, nauseating, stupefying.

Then the voice cuts through the air like a silver tongue dripping with venom.

“So, this is my target?”

Kaveh’s eyes dart to Al Haitham — still hurt and only paces away from the corpse beneath the shadowed figure.

"This will be easier than I thought."

The Hydro Abyss Harald steps into the cavern's light.

Chapter Text

Kaveh drops the burn kit and grabs his claymore, ready to defend himself and his scribe.

His scribe, who had already lunged for the enemy.

Kaveh sprints to catch up — the tip of his claymore grazes the sandy floor behind them, ready for a powerful swing. Channelling his strength, Kaveh leaps into action.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline playing tricks on his mind, or the mild blood loss, but Kaveh lets himself bask in the brief yet warm familiarity of fighting with Al Haitham.

Al Haitham is a wonder in battle. His movements are calculated and quick, each one more precise than the last. He is methodical — It gives his form a certain grace that could never be tainted by the blood he spills along the way.

If he himself is a tank, then Al Haitham is a glass cannon. While he stands his ground and takes lighter blows head-on, Al Haitham is already behind his target with his sword to their back.

Repetition and patterns in battle are powerful, but nonetheless, a fighter is doomed if their opponent can predict their next move.

Al Haitham is practically undefeatable, his patterns are wildly complex, but highly consistent. He knows what works and sticks to his style — something that only serious fighters and Kaveh can pick up on. It takes a careful eye to read Al Haitham, but it certainly can be done.

Kaveh knows his partner’s style intimately. They spent hours between their thesis blowing off steam in the academia’s training grounds. Kaveh hadn’t fought next to Al Haitham since their project collapsed.

No matter, a few dances with their enemy later and muscle memory kicks in.

Alone, they are excellent swordsmen.

But together?

Together, they are a force of nature.

“Well then? Come meet your end, pathetic humans.”

They charge. Blades clang against the Herald’s gauntlets who parries with ease, sending a surging tide their way. Kaveh’s shoes skid across the sand, struggling to find solid ground after dodging again. Al Haitham flickers behind the enemy and slashes at his back.

They circle the Herald and attack in unison, creating openings for the other to exploit, keeping the pressure up. The Hydro wielder staggers backwards, his hands clutch at the sand.

Al Haitham flickers beside Kaveh and the Herald’s gaze locks onto his target. “Cover me.”

“What do you mean cover me? You cover me!” But Al Haitham had already dashed again.

Kaveh never bothers to watch his blindspots, he knows that Al Haitham does that for him.

So imagine his surprise when this time, it’s Mehrak blocking a Hydro blade to his back instead of his partner.

“Mehrak!” The blow is bad, Kaveh can see water seeping into her circuits. Her expressions contort and her usual beeps of content are absent.

Panting, he grabs her handle and leaves her behind a boulder away from the fight, “I’ll fix you up, don’t worry Mehrak!”

A stray tide grazes his shoulder, bringing him back to the moment.

Kaveh can see Al Haitham’s movements growing sluggish, especially his lower body. He’s flickering more to avoid straining his burnt legs, meanwhile, the Herald is getting better at predicting where he will appear.

Kaveh staggers on approach when he notices the green glow of new plant life — Al Haitham’s Dendro energy had reacted with the Hydro currents to make blooms. Kaveh pales at the site of their green hue.

Nope, absolutely not. We are not doing this again.

He quickens his pace, careful not to draw attention to himself. Neither of them hears his approach over the sound of the blooms exploding, rippling the sand and shocking the stone columns. He locks eyes with Al Haitham who then ducks out of his way, Kaveh blindsides the Herald and slashes his back.

“AGHH! Miserable insects!”

Slash, dodge, flicker, parry, scan, repeat, repeat, repeat.

Kaveh pulls his stubborn scribe out of harm’s way by the arm more as the fight intensifies. Blooms erupt around them, Al Haitham grabs Kaveh and flickers them to safety.

Flicker, dodge, grab, flee, bloom. The enemy is relentless while they only grow more tired.

Then, they make an irrevocable mistake.

Kaveh lunges, swinging wide.

Al Haitham flickers behind the Herald again.

A wicked grin crosses the monster’s face — in one swift move he turns, grabs Al Haitham’s blade mid-strike and sidesteps Kaveh’s swing. The shift in momentum makes Kaveh stumble forwards and leaves Al Haitham completely exposed. One swift kick to his stomach has Kaveh flying backwards, leaving their foe alone with his target.

Mehrak beeps from behind the boulder, encouraging him to get back up. A wave of dizziness rushes him, his face hits the ground again.

“Is this the best you can do, Acting Grand Sage?”

Kaveh almost wishes he didn’t look up.

Al Haitham’s feet are dangling in the air, his hands desperately claw at the gauntlet constricting his throat. Kaveh hears his gasps wretched for breath and sees the colour draining from his face.

“I could never be satisfied with such an easy victory.”

The monster tosses Al Haitham’s body into a leaning column like a rag doll. The pillar finally gives, collapsing on top of the scribe. The peridot light of his vision glows faintly through the dust cloud, but Kaveh can’t see a rise and fall of his chest.

He isn’t moving.

The air stills.

He isn’t moving.

All traces of sound vanish, as if the domain itself holds a bated breath. It is waiting in elation, muzzling anything that could taint the beauty of its latest offering of iron.

Unbothered, the fiend examines his kill and licks Al Haitham’s warm blood off of his gauntlet.

The signature sound of Hydro energy echoes in Kaveh’s ears — the Herald activates his shield.

“Perhaps you will present a greater challenge.”

A breath in, then out. Another, deeper, slower, then still.

Kaveh steals one last glance at Al Haitham’s body with carmine eyes.

Then, his vision roars with life.

_____

Al Haitham wakes to the sounds of metal scraping against stone and heavy breathing. He can feel his legs pinned beneath the rubble, the sand grinding against his open burns, and his heart beating out of his chest.

Localizing the noise, Al Haitham finds Kaveh — The Abyss Herald is unrelenting in his attacks and has him on the defensive.

His throat is hoarse — Kaveh can’t hear his pleas, begging him to run. Panic fills him as he glances at the battle, he has to get Kaveh out.

Then he looks closer.

It had been years since Al Haitham had seen Kaveh in a fight. Even then, it was never outside the training arena of the sheltered academia grounds.

This, this is a version of Kaveh that he has never seen before. Cold, devoid of restraint, and seething with power.

He’s beautiful.

Each move is spontaneous, unpredictable, like a code that only Kaveh himself knows how to read. How he dodges the enemy’s wicked torrents and surging tides so quickly while carrying his massive claymore with ease, Al Haitham will never know.

And were those, blooms? The sand and blood loss might be hindering his sight but he sees their unique gleam nonetheless.

Actually, his sight must truly be damaged.

Must he always be so needlessly reckless? Why isn’t he dodging the blasts?

Definitely damaged. Even his architect isn’t that stupid.

No matter how many times they fought, Al Haitham had never seen Kaveh duel with water. Kaveh has given millions of superficial excuses for not fighting with blooms, some of which are actually decent points. Nonetheless, his aversion to the reaction has never gone unnoticed. So, why now?

Al Haitham can see Kaveh’s mind at work — his face is serious and void of emotion, as if tuning out the entire world outside of his opponent. His eyes were no longer the crimson blend of saffron and cinnamon he grew to love. Instead, they hold a green luminescence of determination, pure will, and something else he cannot quite place.

Kaveh scans the enemy’s moves, he could almost see the architect mapping out every one of the Herald’s weak points for later exploitation. With every angle the enemy leaves open, Kaveh searches for a new blindspot and prepares to counter.

He dodges another Hydro slash, tumbling into the sand.

“Run child, your fate is already sealed.”

“Not yet it’s not!”

Al Haitham, bloody and broken under the weight of the column, smiles with pride. It fills his chest and floods his other senses. For just a moment, it masks the agony stemming from his pinned form.

In the dark of the domain, covered in his enemies’ blood, Kaveh is radiant. His light touches every surface, including the darkest parts of Al Haitham’s mind — The parts filled with doubt for their survival and fear for their future.

Kaveh’s crimson eyes never fail to soothe these woes. But right now, Al Haitham sees no fiery warm tones.

Kaveh’s eyes are the colour of his blooms: a bright green that embodies life itself. Life, and all of its grief, pain, and fury — its joy, love, passion — its strength.

Oh, so that’s it. He smiles to himself.

Kaveh’s green eyes shine with hope.

Kaveh will get us both out of this.

He swears it to the Archons.

They will leave this place alive, together. They will go home to the city, where he can cook his architect his favourite dahls, take him dancing after Nilou’s shows, and watch the sunrise from the comfort of their home.

We will get out of here.

Of all the deities above, none hear his pleas.

Al Haitham will never forget the piercing sound of Kaveh’s scream, nor the thud of his severed hand dropping to the floor.

Chapter Text

Pain spreads from the stump to his very core — like a bolt of lightning that sets a forest ablaze in a drought. He can feel himself spiraling. His breathing is getting shallower and faster. His vision is getting spotty. The tips of his fingers and feet grow cold as all his blood rushes to protect his viscera and head.

What ju— what just h— happened?

I can’t do thi— I ca— I—

He’s seeing double now. Clutching his arm to his chest and staggering forward. He drops the hilt of his claymore that lay in his other hand. Spurts of Dendro fly from his vision and react with the ground wet with his own blood — Kaveh feels sick.

One day, he’ll be able to laugh at the fact that it isn’t his hand getting hacked off that makes him almost lose breakfast. No, it’s the sight of the bewitching little green orbs that now huddle around his weak form.

What a sick, twisted joke. It’s a plant, as beautiful as it is cursed.

It’s his burden nonetheless, one that he no doubt deserves.

He deserves to helplessly watch those around him in pain, incapable of easing their agony. Worse — Instead, he can heal himself. Cleanse his own body of afflictions, while those around him wither away.

A nauseating thought crosses his mind —

He deserves this guilt.

It’s perfect, poetic justice even. In wallowing in his guilt and feeling its burn, Kaveh atones for his selfish desires that have ruined those close to him—

His desire to see his father in the championships that got him killed.

His longing for his mother to stay in Sumeru, knowing she’d be better off without him in Fontain.

His ambitions and inability to compromise on a thesis that ruined his bond with his best friend.

His pathetic yearning for comfort that let him accept his roommate’s offer.

He’s ruined them all.

I deserve this.

No one else can possibly be worthy of Kaveh’s punishment. He is the last person in all of Teyvat who deserves to get better.

So, he’ll do anything he can to help people in need.

Because unlike him, they deserve it.

And now here he is, trembling in a domain, severed hand cooling on the floor, face-to-face with an enemy that will bring his end.

I deserve this. His chest feels lighter as guilt eats away his sorrow from the inside, replacing it with a twisted sense of relief.

I deserve to rot in this tomb, where no one will find me.

I deserve to die, surrounded by the very thing that could save me.

At least Haitham knows that I lov—

Wait.

Haitham.

His gaze frantically scans the rubble and finds his scribe again — eyes landing on the flickering light of the other man’s Dendro vision, then locking on his dimming teal eyes. The colour has drained from his face, whether from blood loss or shock, Kaveh doesn’t know. From his forehead trails a stream of blood. It taints his silver hair maroon.

Breathe.

He’s alive.

Again, in and out.

Good.

He sees Al Haitham try to call out to him but his chest stutters, body lurching. He coughs up blood instead.

It trickles down his lips and onto the floor. He looks so…

Defeated.

And all Kaveh can do is watch his love fade.

Wait.

Why does he get to feel relief from his guilt? How does his wallowing help others who need him?

Haitham needs him.

And then it clicks — It doesn’t.

And, he was wrong earlier —

He’ll do everything he can to help people in need.

Tonight, that includes himself.

Kaveh feels the chains around his heart snap.

It must have been clear as day on his face — he sees Al Haitham’s eyes widen and his jaw slacken.

Even through his dizziness, Kaveh can see the light emitting from his own Dendro vision, feel its power radiating in waves. Vine-like tendrils of energy flow from its core, surrounding him protectively. From the strands that seep into the wet sand emerge a dozen more blooms, hazing his sight with green and a tinge of red.

He sets aside his curse, just this once.

He’ll reap its rewards now, atone for its greed later.

For Haitham.

“Site clear.”

The blooms detonate with their signature pop. His vision improves — his foe is finally in focus. More blooms spring from the bloody sand. The Herald steps back.

“Scanning.”

He stands straighter — the pain from his broken ribs slowly recedes. Blooms emerge once more as Kaveh draws on his remaining strength.

The ancient tree roots in the domain seem to reawaken with new life. Desert redcrests blossom from cacti, Kaveh smells their pollen grace the air. Roots and vines creep closer to him as if summoned by a master who has finally come home.

A master of his craft — he spots Mehrak’s still form behind the boulder.

The master of his vision — wet sand rumbles and the tree roots pulse.

Plant life explodes around Kaveh. Tall grass springs to his knee height and vines wrap around his arm where his hand should be. He spots cacti, aloe, and pothos among many others. It's thanks to Tighnari and Cyno that he knows what they each represent.

There is only one master of his love — he glances at his scribe.

Kaveh picks up his claymore.

“What a measly gesture, let this be your final pathetic stand.”

Kaveh lifts his head and meets his opponent’s conceited gaze. His grip on the blade tightens.

“Come at me!”

Blooms burst with life. His arm no longer drips with blood.

“As you wish. You have sacrificed the right to a quick death.”

He rushes Kaveh.

Kaveh doesn’t hesitate. The grass beneath his feet propels him forward. The moss supports his every step. Dendro and greenery roar with life in front of him, paving his way with a meadow of Sumeru roses, padisaras, and mourning flowers. The domain is brighter than ever before — Kaveh’s light overpowers the slivers of sunlight and illuminates the entire cavern.

He should be thrown on the defensive — the Herald lands blow after blow to his chest drawing blood.

But Kaveh doesn’t flinch. His stride is unbroken. His claymore is light as a feather in his hand.

Kaveh’s vision revels in the elemental reactions, blooms spring from his wounds and explode as they fall.

Vines wrap around his remaining hand, reinforcing his grip and adding more power to his swings. He swipes for the neck, tendons, and any kinks in the armour he finds.

Swipe, faint, jab, faint — there are no patterns for his foe to predict. He’s ruthless, never once letting up.

He doesn’t dodge anymore — Kaveh takes all blows head-on. Surging tides tear through his body and more blood seeps into the ground.

Kaveh’s blooms grow darker in hue, born more from his own blood than the Herald’s water now.

His pain keeps him awake. His blooms keep him alive.

It doesn’t matter that every bone in his body is screaming for him to stop. He presses on, countering and dodging every Hydro attack sent his way until finally, Kaveh’s blade pierces his armour, sinking deep into the Herald’s side.

The beast screams and lurches backwards. He sends a final aqua slash Kaveh’s way.

It completely misses him.

Kaveh raises his claymore, ready to end this night once and for all, but his legs are trembling with exhaustion. No, no not yet, no—

He stabs his blade into the ground and falls to his knees, leaning on his Mailed Flower for support. He’s overused his vision, and while blooms heal his physical body, his strength only depletes. Vines rise around his torso, lifting him, begging him to go on.

“It seems like you’re at your limit, child. May death welcome you to the Abyss.” Hydro energy swirls around his gauntlets.

The Abyss? Is that where he’ll end up when he goes? Kaveh feels fear seeping into his trembling hand again.

What does it mean to die? Tighnari would say death is to return to the soil, to become one with the forest. He could practically hear one of Cyno’s tales of the ancient desert gods: ‘In death, a new cycle begins’.

But what will his death mean? He already knows the answer to that: Al Haitham’s death.

Haitham. Kaveh can practically hear the Haravatat alum scoff at the existential question.

‘Why does that matter, Kaveh? You should instead be asking what it means to live.’

Even in his head, he’s as annoying as ever. Yet, at the mere thought of his scribe, Kaveh feels himself inhale deeply. His heart relaxes to a steady pace.

To live is to hope and dream of a future next to those who cherish you, to be your most authentic and passionate self.

It’s the pursuit of one’s happiness, the ability to enjoy the moment, to love without restraint.

Life is the tranquility of our home, as death is the rot of this domain. He finally exhales.

“It is time to finish my task at hand”. Kaveh closes his eyes and waits for the final blow.

But it never comes.

He looks up and sees that the Herald’s back is to him.

Instead of striking him down, he’s advancing on Al Haitham’s trapped form.

Kaveh’s glowing green eyes see red.

Every thought leaves his mind. There is nothing left but a seething rage left alone to boil over its edge.

Kaveh’s fingers clutch at the greenery, channelling what little energy he has left into its growth.

From the tall grass shoots thick rope-like vines that grab and twist around the Herald’s legs, forcing him to kneel. Surprise and shock contort his face.

He tries to stabilize himself, striking the ground with a closed fist to push himself up against the pull of his chains.

Kaveh doesn’t relent. His target struggles to no avail.— Tall grass grabs his arms, dragging him down on all fours.

“What is thi—” The chains strangle his throat cutting off both sound and air.

Kaveh releases the blades of grass and rises to his feet. He limps towards the beast, claymore dragging behind him.

With one swing, Kaveh beheads the monster.

Chapter Text

The sound of the head hitting the floor registers before his eyes have the chance to process what happened. Kaveh’s remaining blooms pulse with energy, steadily growing stronger alongside the silence. The domain exhales.

Then, he hears the clang of Kaveh’s claymore slipping from his hand and striking the floor, followed by laboured breaths.

Kaveh’s back is slashed badly — more blood trails from his wounds with every heave of his chest. His Dendro energy recedes and no longer lights the entire cavern. Now, it surrounds Kaveh in a reddish-green haze, leaving their surroundings in darkness once more.

His Light of Kshahrewar turns, facing him now. Al Haitham can finally see his eyes again, still faintly green. He hobbles towards him in a drunken-like daze, staggering left and right. He can practically see the adrenaline wearing off as Kaveh’s steps get smaller and slower.

He is clutching his arm to his chest now, the stump is wrapped in mourning flower leaves stained red. With a quick glance behind his light, Al Haitham’s eyes land on the severed hand, damaged beyond repair. He shivers.

Beautiful red and green Harra fruits spring from the grass next to Kaveh where his blood drips. Only, they are glowing.

And they are not Harra fruits.

Why? The fight is over. Why is he still making blo—

Al Haitham feels his breath catch as they burst, expecting to hear his architect at least gasp in pain.

Instead, he hears his breathing even out. Al Haitham can finally see him clearly as he draws closer.

More burst — He sees his skin begin to weave itself back together, like a master craftsman on a loom. What’s going on?

He looks closer.

Are they, healing him? Kaveh looks better already, physically at least. His wounds are closing. His purple bruises seem to fade. He seems stronger with every explosion of red and green.

But why wou— Another bloom goes off. Kaveh is getting closer.

Kaveh?

A healer?

Why would he hide such a gift?

Just when he thought he couldn’t be more beautiful, his architect surprises him once more.

Kaveh stands next to him now, knees quaking. More red cores blossom around them but never burst. His eyes, still tinged green, are glistening with tears that stubbornly refuse to fall.

They are even more radiant up close.

He fell in love with rubies years ago. Now, he can feel himself falling for peridot and jade.

He still sees their hope even though it is hanging on by a spider-like thread — so thin that it is only visible in certain lights, yet strong enough to carry massive weights.

How ironic. Kaveh, a frequently emotional drunk crier, refuses to shed any tears after being battered in a domain for hours. He can see the pain, exhaustion, and grief they hold.

How is it that those stunning eyes carry so much light and remorse at the same time? But, remorse for what>? Al Haitham is still here.

Can you grieve for something that you haven’t yet lost?

“Hey.”

Kaveh’s breath hitches, snapping him out of his daze.

“You did well.”

He drops to his knees. Rubble shifts around them as grass grows in the sand. He winces as he feels his body being pushed by the ground.

“Are you okay?” Kaveh avoids his gaze. Al Haitham can see his lips sealed tight.

But he knows his partner — He can’t stand silence, especially when there are things that need to be said.

Finally, Al Haitham hears his voice.

“Stupid question, from my stupid scribe.” Kaveh’s shoulders sag and he leans closer to him. “I should be asking you that.”

The ground shifts again and he feels pinches of pain in his leg and chest. “I’m fine.” Kaveh shoots him a look.

“I’m still waiting for my ‘thank you.’”

Kaveh scoffs and throws on a smile that Al Haitham sees right through. “Give up already. You’ll be waiting forever. Let’s get you out from under there.”

There’s another flash of green. Vines slowly creep from the grassy sand and support the rubble burying him. Al Haitham feels the pressure pinning his body release. Blood rushes to his head and chest, he feels so much worse now than he did when the weight was keeping his viscera in place.

Kaveh’s arms reach under his shoulders and around his chest. With a heave, he drags him out. Al Haitham ends up on his back, with his head in Kaveh’s lap.

It seems like an eternity ago, but it was only last week when they were sitting just like this on their divan. Kaveh was combing his fingers through his silver hair and tracing patterns onto his cheek with his thumb. The soft setting sun gave the room a warm hue and a light breeze gently lifted the thin curtains from the wall. He himself was trying to read a book on ancient languages — He flipped the pages occasionally, trying to maintain his appearance of composure to no avail. He could feel his blood rushing to his face, dusting his cheeks and ears pink with Kaveh’s every touch. The blond surely noticed, but didn’t say a word.

The popping sounds return and wake Al Haitham from his daydream. Only the cores behind Kaveh’s back are bursting.

Kaveh’s body is shielding him from the healing blasts.

Why?

The blooms next to Al Haitham steadily swell — the red in their aura grows darker. He raises his hand, touching one that’s no larger than an acorn. The other man flinches and bats his hand away but the tiny core had already burst. Al Haitham swears he catches a glimpse of panic across his love’s face.

Then, he feels it —

A tiny bruise is already darkening his fingertip.

Kaveh’s gaze locks on his own, tears welling again. Al Haitham’s heart sinks into the Abyss.

Oh, so that’s it. His smile fades.

Kaveh’s red eyes are dull.

Kaveh will get out of this.

He swears it to the Archons.

Kaveh will leave this place, alone, but alive. He will go home to the city, where he can build the greatest monuments Sumeru has ever seen, drink in as many taverns as he likes, and watch the sunset with his friends and those he loves.

He’ll be okay without me.

“No.”

What?

“We’re both getting out of here, don’t you dare say something that stupid and cruel.”

Of course, he said that out loud.

“Kaveh I—”

“I’m not done with you Haitham, not yet. Not ever.

“Kaveh, face the facts. You—”

“No!” Kaveh chokes back a sob, tears about to spill but they stay put. The blooms behind him keep popping like tiny firecrackers.

“I won’t just ‘be okay’ without you, Haitham I need you.”

Tiny blooms continue to blow. The ones that would harm Al Haitham, should they explode, continue to grow. Their red light becomes more intense by the minute. Their once bright green hues are fading away.

“I’m not leaving here without you. You don’t get it, I — There won’t be any monuments. I’ll never see the tavern again. No stupid sunset will ever be worth looking at if you’re not next to me”

Al Haitham is dumbstruck into silence.

“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, for everything”. Kaveh is ripping his cape off his shoulders, tremoring as he begins wrapping it around Al Haitham’s burns.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Every word physically pains him to say.

But Kaveh’s words pain him more.

“You would never have been here if it wasn’t for me! Archons, Haitham I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this —”

“Kaveh.”

“I can get you out Haitham, I promise, I swe— I swear it to Lesser Lord Kusanali herself, we’re going ho—” his oath abruptly halts.

Al Haitham opens his mouth to reassure him but stops when he feels a tear fall onto his cheek. Kaveh is holding his breath and his eyes are squeezed shut. More blooms pop behind him.

Kaveh’s hand is shaking again. It spreads through his entire weakened body like leaves in a storm.

“Kaveh, stop.”

He takes his architect’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together over his chest. He blinks tears out of his own teal eyes. The cores cease their detonations and the air is quiet once more — the only thing Al Haitham can hear are their heartbeats.

“Please.”

Kaveh’s trembling slows — Al Haitham can see him collecting his thoughts and slowly returning to the moment. He sees carmine eyes focus and snap out of their daze. They travel from the cut on his forehead to his lips, then past the gem embedded in his chest — They finally rest on their intertwined hands.

Al Haitham can feel himself growing weaker. The pain in his legs is only getting worse and each new breath is more shallow than the last. Although the column was lifted off of his chest earlier, he feels as if another three are added all at once — a heavy realization sets in:

Neither of them are getting out.

Al Haitham will die in Kaveh’s embrace,

Kaveh, who refuses to leave him, will rot away by his side,

Their bones will rest in this domain, together,

Forever.

Perhaps this is Death’s idea of a cruel joke — Al Haitham’s dream of falling asleep next to Kaveh for the rest of their lives is coming true. Only, in the most brutal way imaginable.

With Lady Luck nowhere in sight, Al Haitham exhales.

One look at Kaveh’s defeated eyes tells him that he understands as well — The last thing Al Haitham will see is Kaveh’s face in the dim red light of his blooms.

Perhaps this isn’t the worst way to go.

“Do you get it now?”

Al Haitham hums in response. Kaveh chokes out a bittersweet laugh.

He may know over twenty languages, but even when dulled by pain, Kaveh’s laugh leaves him at a loss for words.

In his eyes, Al Haitham can see all of the crimson sunsets that they would have shared over cups of hot chai.

The auburn leaves that would fall as the seasons change, the mahogany brooms they would use together to sweep them from their porch.

The vermilion ladybug that might have landed on Kaveh’s nose as spring blossomed, one that must have flown from the ruby roses they would have planted together.

The scarlet fireworks of the next Sabzeruz festival, the maroon chutney that would have coated their street samosas and pani puri.

The red wine on the table, paired with the carmine ring box that would have sat in Al Haitham’s pocket.

Kaveh is cradling his head now in his hand, gently tracing the same patterns onto his cheek from last week.

There are certainly worse ways to go.

In his eyes, Al Haitham sees the blood-red blooms that Kaveh refuses to blow. Instead, he pours the last of his strength into their growth.

In their red glow of life and death, he sees the Light of Kshahrewar.

“Tell me, what’s going on in that big head of yours?”

And he does.

He can feel Kaveh’s heart rate slow with every word. It's as if he's falling asleep in his lover’s arms in the comfort of their home.

“Tell me you see it.”

“So bossy.”

“Kaveh.”

After a moment, Kaveh leans down and their foreheads touch. He closes his eyes.

“I see it.”

He feels their breaths deepen in sync, living, for just a moment, in the memories they couldn’t make.

“What else do you see?”

His own eyes close, a soft smile tugs at his lips.

Al Haitham’s last words are of love.

Chapter Text

Al Haitham’s face is growing cold in his hand.

How he picked up on his hatred for silence, Kaveh will never know. In his final conscious moments, Al Haitham did everything that he could to fill the gap between them with hushed words - echos of their past, melodies of their future. Words that would remind Kaveh that he is worthy of love.

With every harmonized exhale comes a deeper acceptance of their shared fate.

In the absence of his pounding heart and laboured breaths, Kaveh can hear the sounds of the domain. It’s quiet, not silent.

Quiet is the sound of life — heartbeats, breath, movement. Silence is stillness — the absence of life.

Al Haitham’s speech had dwindled to whispers long ago. Now, only small puffs of breath escape his lips. Kaveh can feel him slipping away as Death draws near.

How much longer can they share this peace? He feels the mourning flower leaves covering his arm. He could just remove them and bleed out right now. Perhaps Luck will be merciful, and Death will embrace them both at the same time.

But he can’t.

Not until he’s done everything to help the one he loves.

He’ll stay like this, holding him, until he goes.

Only then will he follow.

The blooms’ red aura grows stronger as both men grow weaker.

This wasn’t how their life was supposed to go.

They were supposed to spend an eternity challenging and supporting each other through their best and worst days.

He was supposed to teach Al Haitham to dance. They were supposed to step on each other’s feet and laugh at the other’s expense until they both got it right.

Al Haitham was supposed to take him shopping in Port Ormos. He promised to let him pick out a new carpet for the foyer, knowing perfectly well that they would bicker for hours over its design — regardless of who picked it. They’d do anything to hear more of the other’s voice, and they both knew it.

He was supposed to finish the job and collect his earnings from the student. He would have come home early, dropped his shoes by the door, and made dinner for two.

Free from his debt, he would have finally told his scribe that he was ready.

Perhaps, in some other world, there is a version of himself that did all of those things.

Perhaps Lady Luck is watching over him because it’s only now with his love on the cusp of death does he realize something —

He would never have been ready to love Al Haitham.

Not while he had no love for himself.

That version of Kaveh would have lived a hollow life desperately clutched to his scribe — starving himself, completely reliant on the other as his only source of love.

Even then, he would never feel worthy of it.

That Kaveh would never grow past his guilt — It would have consumed him. He’d have given everything he had left to others, leaving himself with nothing. He’d be an empty shell — a perfect husk for his self-hatred to fester in.

That Kaveh would be convinced that he deserves his self-hatred and isolation.

He would be wrong.

He's starting to see that now:

Tonight, I’ll lose him.

I’ll be left alone, again, in another empty house of phantoms and dreams.

I’ll rot, slowly, but surely.

Then he thinks of his scribe. He remembers how peaceful he looks when he sleeps — as if nothing is wrong,

As if he knows that his job is done.

He’s almost afraid to look now. Yet, his image soothes him.

He thinks of his severed hand instead — another nauseating punch of reality hits him. Al Haitham isn’t the only love that he’s lost tonight. His right hand will never hold another pen, sketch another blueprint, or map another site ever again.

What was the last thing he held? Was it the bandages to wrap Al Haitham’s burns? His claymore? Mehrak?

Without his career and his skills as a designer, what’s left of him? Who is left? What could he possibly be worth?

The last thing he wrote was a letter to his scribe — the man he loves.

The man he would give the world to. The man he wants to see smile and thrive every day.

The man who loves him, too.

Kaveh would never want to see his love suffer in such a way. He wouldn't even wish that turmoil on his worst enemy. With a stutter of his heart, another new conclusion is reached —

He wouldn’t want that for me.

He feels his blooms grow warmer.

Al Haitham loves every part of him,

That includes his heart.

In the dark domain, Kaveh makes a vow of light.

To love and cherish his life.

To never again doubt its value, his right to exist.

To protect it — to use it to protect others.

Now, as he thinks back to the morning after his drunken confession, Kaveh realizes that he made a mistake. He asked for time to save mora. What he should have asked for was time to learn.

Time to learn how to manage his guilt.

Learn to express it in healthy ways, without his need for self-sacrifice and pain.

Time to learn to love himself, before learning to love another.

Then, and only then, will I be ready.

His cathartic smile reaches his closed eyes. He can taste the salt in his tears. He lifts his head away from Al Haitham’s and takes in his surroundings once more. A tiny green light on his scribe’s cheek catches his eyes.

A bloom — small as a pea, bright as a star.

It pulses with life. Kaveh watches it grow larger when another tear falls. A swell of hope, perhaps misplaced.

Or perhaps, it’s exactly where it needs to be.

He remembers his scribe’s words —

‘You have nothing to apologize for.’

His first instinct is to scoff and tell him that he’s wrong. But now that he’s alone with the thought, it lingers and grows alongside the red and green orbs.

He’s right.

Kaveh didn’t summon the Abyss Herald, didn’t burn Al Haitham, and he certainly didn’t design the column that crushed him. He did everything that he could to protect his scribe.

Al Haitham knows this.

He knows, and he would want his architect to move on, to grow,

To heal.

‘You have nothing to apologize for.’

He’s right.

Kaveh deserves to love himself. He deserves the chance to grow into his new convictions.

But a chance to heal?

Al Haitham loves every part of him,

That includes his gift of healing from blooms.

Green hues pulse in his periphery.

But as for moving on…

He will never truly move on.

Part of me will die with him today — that part will never get to move on.

Red overtakes his vision once more.

Part of him lives within me. I’ll carry him wherever I go for the rest of my life.

He’ll never let that part go.

Green sparks again.

Do you feel the same?

Then he remembers the way Al Haitham would look at him — the intensity of his gaze, the passion lingering behind his eyes. He remembers waking up at his desk with blankets over his shoulders and a hot cup of chai by his hand. He remembers how they would hold each other, closely, with an intimacy Kaveh only dreamed of.

He will never be held like that again.

He feels his heart clench at the thought, constricting, desperately trying to fill a void that grows as Al Haitham fades.

I guess you’re taking part of me with you too.

There’s another gleam of red.

His scribe must know that he holds a piece of Kaveh’s heart — and that if he asks, he can have the whole thing.

Part of Kaveh lives within Al Haitham.

Part of —

Wait.

Part of himself, lives within Al Haitham.

And Kaveh can heal himself.

He looks again at his blooms.

Green for birth and creation, peace and tranquillity. Green is optimism, growth, and balance. Yet, it’s also envy, jealousy, sickness, and greed.

Red for destruction and ruin, anger and heat. Red is courage, sacrifice, strength, and power. But to others, it’s passion, joy, desire, and love.

Then it dawns on him — Red and green aren’t all that different, you see. Both are colours of determination and will — they just show it in their own unique ways.

A perfect complementary pair — Only when balanced do they manage to capture the complexity and beauty of life. Complements that together, complete each other — Opposites was never the word for their dynamic.

Sounds familiar.

Their light brightens his eyes.

I think I get it now.

Ordinary blooms are devastating — only capable of taking life.

But not for him.

His blooms are architects of their own making — constructive, able to build life and grow to new heights.

They are destructive too, yes.

But any good architect knows that a site must first be cleared before new ground can be broken.

He holds his breath, basking in the sounds of life.

Kaveh knows that his blooms can only heal himself.

He’ll thank the Archons every day for helping him realize what it truly means to share a life with the one he loves.

He thinks back to his vows, his choice, and his love.

I’m ready.

Energy erupts around him in reds, greens, and golds.

_____

His senses slowly flood him. One by one, they pool into his consciousness —

The smell of grass, a shuffle of movement, the warmth of a figure behind him. He can feel his body being cradled and a soft hand cupping his cheek.

He steadily draws his knees up from where they rest on the floor. His hands grasp at the air. They clench and stretch — a test of each muscle and tendon.

He hears his steady heartbeat and gentle breathing, no longer burdened by damage or blood. No, two heartbeats. He opens his eyes.

He’s never seen such a beautiful mosaic. It’s completely surreal. A fog of rubies and emeralds dances with roses and mints, chased by cherry and sage. They flicker in and out as they overlap and part.

Yellows sparkle where the complementary colours mix.

In it, he sees his love —

The buttercup ribbon that ties his blond hair,

The mustard paint that smears on his canvas, the yellowwood brush in his mouth,

The earrings that frame his stunning face,

The honey that they add to each other’s tea,

The lemonade they share in Sumeru’s hot summers, the blooming sunflowers and daffodils,

The rays of glee that beam from his smile — rays that outshine the sun.

Of all the hues, none are as beautiful as the tendrils of gold that radiate from the deity looming above him. They swirl and spiral, caressing his heart.

It’s undoubtedly ethereal.

Celestia’s blonde locks dangle above his head. Her hand is on his face, and she’s carrying him to the beyond. She leans back, tear-stained carmine eyes lock onto his own.

Not Celestia then.

He marvels at his architect. His soothing smile perfectly compliments his soft eyes.

So, he figured it out.

Warmth mellows in his heart at the thought before reality weighs in. Al Haitham can see shock hitting the blond all at once.

“I must be dead.”

Or, perhaps not.

Al Haitham slowly raises his hand from his side.

He gently squeezes Kaveh’s hand that still rests on his cheek. He intertwines their fingers.

“Definitely dead.”

Of course he would come to such a moronic conclusion. Surprised by the lack of pain in his chest, he shifts his weight to his side. His arms test their strength as they brace against the ground, pushing himself up — now facing the other dumbstruck man.

Al Haitham takes Kaveh’s hand and places it on his chest so the blond can feel his heart. “See for yourself.”

Even when tinged in bloom red, Al Haitham can see the pink on his cheeks. Kaveh scoffs and looks down, smiling. “Great. That just means we’re both dead.”

The bloom light is fading — they can barely see each other now.

Al Haitham activates his vision — green crystals dance around them. The little sunlight that streams into the cavern strikes the prisms, diffracting towards them.

His own vision is slightly blurred by tears but he can still see the shock fading from Kaveh’s smile, leaving only relief. Light reflects on carmine eyes that sparkle with elation. In a whisper, he asks,

“Do you get it now?”

Kaveh hums in response, Al Haitham smiles.

He leans in, pressing his forehead to the blond's.

“I knew you would.”

He can feel both of their smiles through closed eyes. His hand cups Kaveh’s jaw, tilting his head. He pauses, letting them both just exist in each other’s space, reminding their hearts of their bond, their life. He feels Kaveh’s love.

Then he feels his lips.

He’s undoubtedly ethereal.

“Hey, Haitham?”

He shifts, teal meets carmine.

“Thank you.”