Work Text:
The Building Block of the City of Wisdom is a vital representative of Sumeru’s history of urban planning and development including, but not limited to, Greater Lord Rukkhadevata’s influence on the development of the Kshahrewar Darshan. Despite historical materials indicating a unified relationship and association with surrounding flora in conjunction with the growth of the Divine Tree, most of these materials are speculative and suppose an inherent connection between Greater Lord Rukkahevata, the Divine Tree, the Irminsul (not to be conflated with the Divine Tree but considered as its own whole and separate entity), and the Dendro ley lines located throughout Sumeru proper rather than basing their findings on empirical facts. Based on these existing findings, this paper explores the Kshahrewar’s development of the Building Block of Wisdom and its effects on urban development using Sumeru City and Port Ormos as two primary examples of its significance and role in Sumeru’s history. Using both concrete fieldwork and historical records predating the establishment of the House of Daena, this paper will analyze the impact of the Building Block of the City of Wisdom through its layout, pervasive use, and synonymous nature with both the Kshahrewar Darshan and Sumeru as a nation.
Rubbing his eyes, Kaveh staves off a yawn and blinks rapidly at the research paper. The words on the page are beginning to swim together and Kaveh rubs his now-burning eyes again despite knowing how bad it is for both his skin and his eyesight.
Thesis defense looming in front of him, Kaveh thought that Puspa Café would provide a different type of atmosphere to stir creativity. The House of Daena is too quiet and stuffy for Kaveh’s tastes and he cannot walk around the Kshahrewar campus without being reminded by one of his peers of how much they’re looking forward to his presentation.
At first, the attention had been nice. He had basked in it at every opportunity, soaking in praise like a dusk bird preening itself on a rooftop.
Admittedly, it’s still pleasant to hear but now comes with a mounting pressure that Kaveh doesn’t particularly want to be reminded of in this moment. Not when he has to focus more than ever before.
In dismantling the idea of the Building Block of the City of Wisdom as the quintessential Kshahrewar achievement, Kaveh is effectively skewering the history of the Kshahrewar itself, all while knowing that the Darshan has been in disrepair since the days of Pir Kavikavus.
Yet if they can get past that, if he can prove that the Building Block of the City of Wisdom has been as much a detriment as it has been a strength, Kaveh knows that the Akademiya will be better for it. Myriad scholars who are now lauded for their achievements were initially thought of as silly or even mad.
He must succeed. For his family.
The voices of his peers and even his own sage fill his ears.
“You could have chosen any other darshan yet you chose the most useless—”
“You’re so smart Mister Kaveh! I can’t believe you’re in Kshahrewar instead of Haravatat or—”
“The one hope of us gaining any sort of funding is now turning against the very history of our Darshan as if we were not already the laughingstock of the Akademiya—”
Kaveh slams his fist onto the table, crinkling the research paper in the centre of the page.
He will prove that the the universal building with its perfectly-calculated cost-to-benefit ratio is not the flawless achievement that the Akademiya thinks it is, nor is it the Kshahrewar’s only achievement.
He will prove that beauty and aesthetics have their place alongside practicality.
He will prove them all wrong.
Sighing loudly, Kaveh tugs at his hair. Already matted against his forehead and pushed down awkwardly against his ears and neck — he knows the Akademiya doesn’t care about fashion but these hats really are the worst possible thing for one’s looks — it sticks out and curls limply around his fingertip.
A low laugh rises above the noise of the café and Kaveh unwittingly chases the sound until he spots a familiar face at a corner table.
He hasn’t spoken much to Alhaitham but he does know of him: his junior and prodigy of the Haravatat. When Kaveh last spoke with them, his parents had taken every opportunity to talk up the bright and talented young scholar whose high position in their shared Darshan is all but guaranteed.
Pen snapping loudly in his hands, Kaveh quickly scrambles to ensure that ink doesn’t fall on the paper or his robes.
The low laugh rings in the air and Kaveh looks over at Alhaitham again, following the line of the Haravatat scholar’s throat as he tilts his head back, still laughing.
For someone who is supposedly singularly focused on reason, Alhaitham moves like an artist.
Thoroughly distracted now, Kaveh pulls out his sketchbook and begins to draw.
***
Kaveh loses track of how many glasses of wine have been pressed into his hands with words of praise and congratulations after the third.
He feels his laughter become sharper, the room grow brighter, and his steps become less steady with every glass.
A larger number of people than Kaveh had expected had attended his defense and even more had come up to him afterwards praising him for his “forward-thinking nature.”
Kaveh had swallowed these compliments with the sourness of the wine as they had begun to swirl inside his head, accompanying the doubts of his peers and Sage Firouz that he had armed himself with before standing behind the lectern.
“Imagine someone from the Kshahrewar being so willing to think creatively rather than focus on the past—”
“—you get too far ahead of yourself! Think of the history of what the Kshahrewar has been through—”
“—turning your back on the Haravatat when your father did everything he could to—”
“—make a definitive statement about the Akademiya’s future! Why it’s enough to consider contributing more funds to—”
“—the Kshahrewar will never receive more recognition if you continue down this reckless—”
And his own voice, more incisive than any other.
"It's your fault your father died. You must atone. You must—"
“Excuse me,” Kaveh says, smiling brightly at the unknown man in front of him while interrupting whatever he was about to say. He takes care not to slur his words although his head spins and his cheeks burn. “I believe my colleague is calling for me.”
The man laughs with his entire body and takes Kaveh’s empty wineglass, replacing it with a full one.
Kaveh watches as the liquid splashes precariously against the bowl of the glass. It’s only after he stumbles forward that he realizes the man patted him on the back firmly.
The wine is dazzling in the light, not a burgundy colour like Kaveh initially thought but instead a deep and lovely carmine.
“Of course!” the man says with an overly-familiar smile. “You are the man of the hour, after all!”
Kaveh bows and gracelessly walks away.
There is no colleague. All of his colleagues are already drunker than he is, lapping up the newfound attention from all of the attendees outside of their Darshan, hoping to turn Kaveh’s successful and unique defense into their first proper funding since Pir Kavikavus’ death.
The usual soft hum of Sumeru City is like a balm to his nerves. Taking a few tentative steps away from the lecture hall, Kaveh revels in the way the cool night air feels against his flushed cheeks.
When he looks down at the city, all he sees are the Building Blocks in every house, tavern, café, even the more recent Adventurer’s Guild building. They’re all the same.
Kaveh doesn’t realize that he’s laughing until he hears his own maniacal cackling in his ears. He takes a sip of the wine left in his glass — some of it must have spilled on the carpet in his rush to escape and Kaveh cannot help but feel a bit badly about this.
Above him, the leaves of the Divine Tree rustle in the wind.
Sometimes Kaveh wishes that Sumeru was cold enough at night for him to see his breath in wisps of steam in the air. He thinks it would be quite appealing for everyone in the city to walk around with cherry — not burgundy or carmine or scarlet — red cheeks and puffs of breath from the cold.
He puffs out his own cheeks and then breathes out all at once, as if the act of doing it will change the temperature enough to see it.
Behind him he hears a low and oddly-familiar laugh.
Kaveh must turn his head too quickly because suddenly the Akademiya building and the Divine Tree are spinning. He hears footsteps at his side and suddenly an arm is underneath his own, supporting him at his shoulder.
When he looks down he sees the two-toned irises that had immediately caught his attention from across Puspa Café earlier that week.
“You…you watched me,” Kaveh says, taking time to enunciate as clearly as possible. Perhaps it comes out a bit more like an accusation than Kaveh would have liked.
Alhaitham raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms in front of him and Kaveh watches as the fabric tightens over the scholar’s chest. Firmly pressing his lips tightly together, Kaveh makes sure that he’s not doing something completely inane like drunkenly drooling over how Alhaitham manages to make even the hideous Akademiya robes look good.
“It is your thesis defense,” Alhaitham says. “I see you have been enjoying the reception.”
Kaveh doesn’t know if Alhaitham means the reception as in the drinks and food that was served afterwards or the more figurative reception of his thesis but he shakes his head because there are more important things to say.
“You’re beautiful…”
Kaveh knows his words are likely slurred from alcohol but is imperative in this moment that Alhaitham knows how beautiful he is.
A surprising warmth spreads through Kaveh’s body when he takes in how Alhaitham’s eyes widen, almost-gold pupils dilating.
It makes him want to draw Alhaitham again and again until his entire sketchbook is filled with nothing but this specific man he hardly knows.
“The way you move through space,” Kaveh presses on because Alhaitham must know, he must absolutely know this. “It’s so graceful, so…graceful.”
Wincing at how his booze-soaked brain refuses to come up with anything better than repeating a word — what is the point of being the prodigious star of the Kshahrewar, the next Pir Kavikavus, if he cannot express something as simple as this — Kaveh shakes his head, noting that it brushes up against something firm and warm.
“I don’t know. What is the point?” The voice, low and amused, rumbles from whatever Kaveh’s forehead is pressed against.
It takes another few seconds for Kaveh to realize that he’s leaning on Alhaitham’s shoulder and another to recognize that he likely said all of that aloud.
“You did,” Alhaitham responds.
Kaveh feels Alhaitham release him and can’t help but sway in place, bereft in the loss of warmth and grace.
“You should probably go back to your dormitory,” Alhaitham says.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Kaveh snaps and immediately feels awful about it because Alhaitham couldn’t have possibly known how much he hates being told what to do by others.
This should be his night. It’s his triumph, his proof that Sage Firouz was wrong and his peers were wrong and everyone was wrong.
“I can’t believe you’re in Kshahrewar instead of Haravatat or—”
Kaveh shakes his head violently, ignoring how it makes his growing headache worse in order to rid himself of the voices.
“You know… I bet your thesis is going to be great. Really…really great…” Kaveh says, punctuating his statement with a hiccup.
“I hope so,” Alhaitham says.
They’re walking towards the Akademiya dormitories and Kaveh doesn’t know when that started but he thinks that he should have and that maybe Alhaitham is trying to trick him into going to sleep.
“A junior…should not have to take care of his senior,” Kaveh slurs indignantly. He means to push away from Alhaitham but instead finds himself being drawn closer, in towards the warmth of Alhaitham’s body.
“It’s…it’s…undignified.” Words are coming more slowly than ever and disappear inelegantly into the cool night air.
He feels Alhaitham’s rumbling laughter again and stumbles into him, nearly causing both of them to fall. Alhaitham grumbles something under his breath and Kaveh finally succeeds in pushing himself away.
“Well I didn…did not ask you to take care of me!” Kaveh yells. “I would have been fine.”
A hand is in his hair, stroking it softly.
Kaveh wonders what Alhaitham does to keep his hands so soft.
“Fewer construction projects,” Alhaitham says. “Language studies don’t wear down your hands.”
“This is my room,” Kaveh says as he notices the bed in front of him.
He doesn’t remember how they got here or even inviting Alhaitham in. Alhaitham must have walked him back from the party and now he owes something because even on what should have been his night he can’t help but be a burden to others—
“Here,” Kaveh yells, pressing a piece of paper into Alhaitham’s hands. It crumples from the pressure and Kaveh tilts his head before shaking it in disapproval.
“Here’s another one…they’re you…”
Kaveh watches as Alhaitham’s pupils dilate again and his eyes seem to sparkle as the scholar looks down at Kaveh’s drawings from the café.
“You really are…beautiful,” Kaveh says.