Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The blunt butter knife felt heavy on Kaveh's grip. 

His mother’s blonde hair fell in disarray, oily and clumped, an appearance that has not been washed for weeks. Her cheeks were sunken, pallid and skin of sickly pallor. Even with the deterioration of her looks, a vibrant, crimson accessory was holding up the style of her hair, the shiny sheen a striking contrast to what became of the owner. 

Its vermillion petals, a crimson Spider Lily that hailed a land Kaveh has never stepped foot into. A blossom akin to the mourning flower, a beauty many were wary of, an arrangement most were warned against. Despite the tales that grew into the roots of such a flower, his mother cherished it, never took it off, the one thing that remained unchanged throughout the weeks she has forced herself into solitude.

The pungent stench of tobacco engulfed the room, sticking to the furniture like a vice, unable to escape due to the windows that were closed shut. His mother’s hands trembled as she held the cigar between her fingers, eyes bloodshot yet aware, smoke burning on the tip of the stick.

“End it, boy,” his mother hissed, eyes ablaze, a familiar red. "See yourself out of this cesspool." 

"But mother—" 

"You!" There was a harsh rasp at the end of her call, yet Kaveh could do nothing but listen. 

His mother crawled closer, limping, body dragging itself against the floor, a weak display of her failing body. She held the hem of his threadbare pants, bloodied fingers inching higher into his shirt. It pulled him closer, his trembling body—her hands clasped frigidly on his clothes, a small tear forming from her tight grip. 

“You are the bane of my existence,” his mother spat, “you, the source of all such undoing, my disgrace immortalized." His mother snarled, her harsh hold keeping Kaveh in place. 

Kaveh had the knife in his hand—as small and blunt as it was—yet when he faced his weaponless mother, he could barely move an inch. 

His limbs felt like it was weighed down by sacks of grain, an impossible feat to heave onto his weak body, an acute sensation of prickling dread at the surface of his skin. 

"Filthy! Filthy! You of a lesser breed!" Saliva was spitting from her dry mouth, falling onto his cheek. 

His mother grabbed the back of his scalp, pulling the strands of the short, crooked hair she cut herself, ignoring the painful cry he let out as she violently pulled him apart. 

She pressed the burning cigarette against his vulnerable stomach, digging it deeper when he violently flinched, the heated mark forming a scar on his skin. He couldn’t move. He was forced into place, unable to do anything else but smell the smoke on his skin. 

Kaveh’s cries were ripped out of his throat, bloody and unwanted—a sadistic glee flaring from his mother’s face as she watched him do nothing underneath the smoldering cigarette. His chest was palpitating, gasping for air, yet there was no oxygen to sustain him. 

The heavy fumes of smoke held him down, enveloping him in an inescapable enclosure.

“If not for you,” his mother abruptly pushed him away, "you," the unexpected force threw him against the floor, "you!" knocking him to his side.

Kaveh’s hip landed on the nightstand with a harsh thud, the corner of the bed side table piercing into his stomach, his ribs a throbbing ache as a blooming bruise began to form. 

The small hand mirror Kaveh gifted his mother fell from the abrupt force, shards bursting into smithereens. 

As Kaveh’s head pulsed, throbbing, hammering into his ears under such unexpected duress. Then, he carefully lifted trembling fingers onto his temple, a heated liquid found on his forehead, sticking into the roots of his hair. Kaveh had no clue if it was cold sweat or an actual injury, as the blunt force was numb to him. 

To test his theory, a quiet, wounded noise—not too dissimilar from a cornered animal—fell from his lips, pain bursting from his fingertips as he brushed against it too hard.  

Kaveh could not bring his hands to the cigarette burns his mother left him. It was stinging against his skin like a brand, an aggressive ring of red. His hands trembled, shaky, unable to keep himself still. 

”I should have denounced you from the very start. Day in and day out, you follow me around and scuttle by my heel like a rat. I tire of your persistence, a constant reminder of what I should have had!”

Kaveh kicked down the temptation to cover his ears like a child. He held himself together, despite everything falling apart, refusing to show any more weakness.

He clenched his fist, setting his jaw rigid. He looked up at his mother—out of anguish, or of unadulterated hatred, from the swirling heaviness that weighed down on his gut, the dull shine of his beaten face reflecting an image of himself from the knife in his hands. It was blurred, foggy, a distorted image of his young face. A replica of his mother's youth, the new beginning she wanted to mold herself, yet one that will never come to be. 

Kaveh should collect himself; discard any moral attachments he had with a mother he no longer recognizes, focus on the vexation pulsating on his brow, a deep, suffocating hatred that encouraged him to pick up the blade. 

Despite his hate, Kaveh could not lift a finger. 

“Weak.” 

“...no, that’s,” Kaveh tightened his grip on the butter knife, fist a pale white, “not what I am—”

“Do not interrupt me, boy.” She cursed, a tinge of cynical humor at the edge of her tone, taking notice of where Kaveh was looking at. “You could barely finish what you started. An indecisive, bumbling child with a toy he has no idea how to use.” 

His heart pounded against his chest, hammering repetitively, her poisonous words trickling into his ear. “You gave this to me.” Kaveh whispered, voice as loud as a thimble falling onto the floor. 

“And what of it? When your father last visited—” his mother slowed her breath, the tension in the air was as poignant as the thread of a bow ready to fire. “—he promised me marriage. If I were to bear him a proper son, all the better. Yet here I am, still rotting in the basement of a brothel, with an ungrateful son who would sooner hold a knife against his mother.”   

“I was defending myself!” Kaveh cried out, his palms clammy with cold sweat. 

His mother bared her teeth, snarling, the last of her strength pulling her closer to his still figure. 

Kaveh's back was against the wall, legs unable to hold himself together, defenseless as a newborn lamb. He held the knife up to comfort himself, his eyes looking around frantically. 

There was their fallen nightstand, a crumbling piece of furniture ridden with termites—a home to roaches that crawled behind it, holes of varying shapes and size burrowed into its sides. Most of the insects were scared away by their conflict, but some remained, antennas peaking at the corner. 

The sharp shards of the mirror were scattered across the floor, far more effective than the blunt tool in his hand, yet he made no move to acquire it. He was frozen still.  

Despite his wishes, she kept crawling towards him. Like a roach unable to leave decaying matter, a calling for her to burn her words into his head, stubborn, even being ridden with illness she persisted. Her weakness did not abate the pure blame, of the flaming hatred that was intertwining itself into her eyes.

His mother took his chin in a painful hold, lacking the gentleness Kaveh used to receive from her all those years ago. 

Kaveh could not hold her gaze. He looked at the ground, closing his eyes, praying for this to end. 

“You’re a disobedient child,” his mother spat, “an idiotic, foolish boy who will never amount to anything.” 

“I didn’t force you to do anything! I am not a rat, a fool, or a burden—I am your son!” Kaveh was holding onto threadbare strings as he attempted to remind her. 

Before his father entered the picture, she would cradle him in his arms and pet his hair until he fell asleep. She sang him lullabies, of a land her family used to live in, of the wide expanse of a sky littered with stars, the smell of salt by the air of the shore, waves that accompanied the faint cawing of the gulls, singing her younger self to sleep. 

Perhaps it started when his mother received a bouquet of flowers by their bed stand. The dinners they had where his mother would lovingly share about the promises his father told her. When she started visiting Kaveh less, taking barely any clients, reserving herself purely for the man she loved. 

Then his father began to distance himself, leading her by the nose—yet he never called it quits, he continued to shower her with love, yet not as often, until it dwindled into nothing. 

When his mother called Kaveh for a haircut (his hair was far too long, she claimed, the seasons were growing warmer and she was worried for his health) she shredded his strands into uneven edges, ignoring his cries of pain when she cut far too near his scalp—ending with her knife too awfully close to slitting the bare skin that protected his throat. 

“I should have killed you in my womb when I had the chance!” His mother shouted, carmine eyes blazing in utter fury, refusing to listen. 

Kaveh hugged himself tighter. 

Kaveh knew he was a burden, was aware of how often his mother looked at him, empty, filled with derision, bitter for a life without him. 

Despite knowing it deep in his heart, to have it said so blatantly did not make it hurt any less. 

“Yet here we are, rotting away in a brothel while father is out gallivanting around town with a younger woman!” Kaveh screamed at her, forcing his tears back as his voice turned hoarse. “You used up all our money—and for what? For father to take you back? There’s no use hiding an aging, decrepit face behind a cheap facade! So quit acting like you have a chance.” 

Then, there was a stinging pain on his cheek. 

Kaveh was backhanded by his mother. 

It was neither painful, nor did it physically wound him in any way, yet the sting reverberated against his skull. A heated ache that left a wound far more permanent than a mortal injury.   

“I know you believe yourself different. You look down on me like the rest of them, but truly? You are no better. That face of yours is my bitter reminder.” His mother hissed out, no longer shouting. Despite the calmness in her voice, her tone was as biting as winter chill. “You think like me, you look like me, you are me, boy.” 

“You are the embodiment of my worst qualities, and I will forever despise you for it. No matter where you end up, with a pretty face like ours, that disgusting omegan stench that reeks of mine, you are destined for a life beneath breeding stock. A plaything to those who know themself as better. Nothing but a hollow vase, a decoration without actual substance.”

“They purchase us because it is a status symbol. When we age, our radiance will dull, therefore their furniture needs to be replaced.” His mother looked down on Kaveh, eyes blazing a familiar red, brimming with emotion—vivid, carmine, just like his own. “You will eventually rot here, with my decaying body, discarded like the rest of us.” 

Kaveh could no longer speak. 

His hands were shaking, the blunt knife in his grip growing heavier. Dread crawled around his spine, intertwined with his limbs, making itself a home inside the gaping maw in his chest. 

“Kill me," his mother quietly demanded, still asking for more despite it all, "finish what you started."

Kaveh did not answer her. 

"Killing me is the least you could do.”

His mouth was slightly agape, taking in a breath, as a beat or two passed. Smoke entered his lungs, blistering and burning ash. His mother was nothing more than the cigarette in her hands. The flared tip of the stick, sputtering out dying words of derision. 

Father could care less if I took your life. Was he so important to you, a man who you have only known for a few years, while your son who has always been by your side meant nothing? Was I not mature enough? Was a decade worth forsaking your only son? 

Mother, I still…  

The torrent of thoughts came to an abrupt halt. Instead, what came out was pathetic. 

“No.”

His mother laughed, a hateful, choked out sound. “Even then, you continue to disappoint me.”

"I am not you," Kaveh made a promise to himself, a personal commitment he would never forsake. "I will never end up like you." 

"Then leave."

And Kaveh did. 

*

Kaveh was waiting for his turn, looking around, unable to keep still. 

Big sister told him not to move though. So he wouldn’t. 

As much as he wanted to go off and entertain himself elsewhere, this was what he promised, and it was a pinkie promise too! So of course he wouldn’t break it!

Kaveh amused himself by looking at the clouds, finding animals hidden in the incomprehensible shapes and creating stories to daydream about. One of his baby teeth felt rocky, so his tongue also began to play with it. 

There were pennant banners hung up from wall to wall, colorful and a little faded, although a couple lines have fallen, a triangle or two missing. 

People watched from above their balconies, fixing the laundry, chatting from one room to the other, a lax musician lazily singing songs with his guitar, filling the air with his music. 

It was cramped, but it was lively, crowded with people. 

Children ran past Kaveh, chasing after a ball as they playfully pushed each other around, avoiding collisions and shoving past people who were in their way. 

A couple of adults cursed after them, others wisely dodged them. 

There were teenagers who walked not too far from the children, apologizing with an accent, lugging around meals for what appeared to be for a lot of people. 

Perhaps it was for the kids before them?

They were in their own little world, all wide smiles and laughter. 

Their appearances were not as great as his, wearing shirts more befitting rags than actual clothes, barefooted as they hopped across cobblestone roads. 

Their sense of aesthetics were rather odd. 

Kaveh has only seen fur coats and long sleeved sweaters on customers that were not of Kshahrewar. Back at his old home, they spoke his tongue with a weird lilt at the end.

His mother would answer his curiosity, tell him of a land that was as cold as winter, where every time you took a breath, you could see cold mist accompany it. 

What they wore was not exactly meant for cold weather, as the thick padding looked thinner, as if the sleeves were manually cut down to adapt to Kshahrewar’s heat. 

It was as if an amateur adjusted their clothes for a land it was not meant to be worn in. 

The group stood out. Not for their rowdy behavior, but for their facial features. 

Kaveh was not sure what it was, but they felt foreign, as if they were a land far from here. 

Even without eavesdropping, their mouths were shouting words he did not understand, which solidified his curious interest. 

Kaveh felt a twinge of envy. 

He looked away, squinting at the skies as he busied himself with the wonders of clouds. He could always play later. It was not like they’d disappear any time soon. 

The incessant heat of the early afternoon sun was beating down on the backs of the groups of people Kaveh was a part of, huddling closer together to keep their place in line. 

Conversations picked up, rowdy laughter and snippets of dialogue filtering into his ear every now and then. 

Many were worried about their own businesses, how they were driven off their jobs and had to find somewhere else to earn. Refugees coming into Kshahrewar in ships, how this sudden surge of people threatened a local’s livelihood, a bitter taste those parasites left in their mouths. 

Whispers about the power struggles that revolved around Haravatat, a country Kaveh has heard mentions of several times, how tensions were rising amongst its internal hierarchical structure. 

Families were being displaced, rushing to lands that were far from the reach of the empire.

The borders were closing, they said, keeping people in and closing people out. Word of something called a martial law that would possibly be set in place? 

It was the calm before the storm, a disaster waiting to happen. 

A power vacuum would open up after the death of an important imperial, and it would be cut throat from then on. 

There was a week of mourning, and for the duration of that period, it was as if time stopped. Out of respect for the late empress, businesses closed and classes were suspended. Haravatat's streets were all decorated in white, bouquets of mourning flowers planted in every corner, church bells heard from every spot. All for some imperial who unfortunately passed. Supposedly old age finally caught up to the empress, but there was a lot of rumors regarding whether or not that was true.

It was all everybody was talking about.  

Those petty rumors went from one ear and out the other, as Kaveh could care less about a foreign land he will never step foot in. 

From what Kaveh could tell, Haravatat felt so far away. 

Instead of gossiping about a bastard son or a rightful blood heir, Kaveh needed to think about how he was going to get his next meal on his plate. 

The narrow alleyway was not fit to make way for groups of people, but they somehow made it work. 

A community kitchen was set up in this unassuming location, right by the busy markets that attracted hoards of interested customers and merchants ready to make a quick earning. 

There were tables filled to the brim with people who lined up before them, enjoying the efforts of the kind chefs who cooked them these free meals. Others carried packed lunches to bring back to their homes, a few volunteers went around to pass cups of water to stave off dehydration. 

The pungent sweat of body odor and poor hygiene was a stench Kaveh had to get used to. It was unlike the fragrant flowery scents prostitutes favored, as his old home would air out rooms with addictive incense, especially imported from the neighboring lands of Liyue. 

Kaveh scrunched his nose, an attempt to show that it did not bother him. 

“Do you want to play with the other kids?”

Kaveh lit up, as a familiar voice came up from beside him. 

A thin, deceptively weak hand held Kaveh’s own. 

Her skin was coarse, rough with faded scars and toughened by physical work. Her nails were bumpy, broken in and weak, a little bitten at the edges. 

They felt foreign, yet welcoming, a hand Kaveh was not opposed to. 

It was unlike his mother’s, where she would lather her skin with various oils and fragrant lotions, obsessed with keeping it soft to the touch. She would paint her nails in elaborate designs, a flaring, carmine red akin to her eyes, a golden yellow not too far from her blonde hair. 

Kaveh would help his mother soak her fingertips in a basin of fragrant oil, hydrating her cuticles and filing her nails into her desired shape. A crescent, pointed tip.

His mother would teach him how to grind down each edge carefully, as if it were an art form she was passing down from one parent to their child. 

It always appeared inconsequential, as Kaveh did it like a chore he had no choice to do, but the movements have already been ingrained in his bones. 

Kaveh would sit by a short stool, resting his mother’s hand on his lap, as she busied herself with petting his hair as she sat on the higher chair, waiting for her son to finish.  

An omega’s hands were as important as their face, his mother used to tell him, “an alpha wishes for a partner who would hold them, gently, kindly, as if they were still innocent and at the cusp of youth."

Kaveh never understood why his mother told him that, to care for his hands, leave the heavy loads of physical work to the servants of the brothel. "It is a thin line we must balance, to come off as clueless yet sexually experienced. You have what our customers desire. The first taste of a fruit that has yet to ripen. Just like mother, your virginity will be bid, hopefully at a higher price than what I was sold at."

What was there to sell? Kaveh had a clue on what would be displayed, but to understand why there was a demand for it, his questions would never be answered. 

Kaveh wasn't sure if he wanted it to be known to him. 

"Pray that your first will be kind. Despite the nature of my work, work that will soon become your own, sexual satisfaction is not all they are after. If you do not provide a semblance of omegan grace, then you would be no better than those classless whores who sell themselves on the streets.” 

Kaveh wondered what made them so different from the omegas who sold themselves in the beds of emperors, to those who did it for cheap in the streets, or offered their services to high-class clients--but he never verbalized the thought. 

It was a curiosity Kaveh had no need to satisfy. After he ran, there was nothing to look back for. Kaveh left his mother, all of what reminded him of her, behind him. 

Faruzan’s pale blue eyes looked up at him, her coarse teal hair cut short, roughly trimmed to the style of a boy’s. She was shorter than him, but he followed her along, every step of the way. 

“You look like a duckling, small and scruffy, a bit ugly but that’s fine with me. Just stick by your big sister and I won’t let anyone bully you. Promise.”

“Okay, ma’am—”

“Call me Faru, Faruzan for short. You’re a good kid, Kaveh. I don’t want to keep things formal between friends. Faru is fine, only people close to me get to have that honor!”

“But,” Kaveh was as tense as a cornered animal, “it’s only been a few days…?”

“Families could live with each other for years, yet despise each other for decades. Friends that have no blood shared between one another? They could be attached to the hip, even if it has yet to be a month! My instincts are never wrong, youngster, something tells me we’ll get along as well as two peas in a pod.”

As Kaveh watched the girl, shorter than he was, yet claiming to be as old as his grandmother. Even when she bragged so proudly in front of him—too good to be true, as confident as a scammer—he was understandably skeptical. 

Despite himself, he accepted her hand of assistance.   

There were clips on her bangs, to keep them off her forehead. It was easier to take care of, his older sister claimed when Kaveh questioned her, so different she was from the people from his old home. 

Where they would favor elaborate pins, dressed up to look pretty for a potential customer. Lavish themselves in gifts bought by their favorites, covet the shiniest of jewels to decorate their necks, collars that proudly exemplified ownership from another. 

Men and women alike wielded their face as their weapon, conniving words as their sword and shield, a cut throat competition imbued with pettiness and toxic jealousy. His mother was among them, and in the end, it distorted her into something unrecognizable. 

Faruzan broke all his conventions on what it was like to not care for appearances. 

The streets did not care for what you looked like. In actuality, an appearance that stood out was disadvantageous. 

It was a strange new world Kaveh stumbled through, scared and lashing out at anything that could pose as a problem, and it was not long when word of a lost, pretty blonde kid spread across the streets. 

A new face among the ragged, filthy, homeless groups of children who considered Port Ormos as their playground.

Faruzan took him in, an open hand Kaveh was hesitant to accept. Yet it was not long when he figured out that she truly wanted to see him cared for. There was no ulterior motive. Only a selfless, genuine desire to see him survive. 

The affection felt foreign, odd. Kaveh has always known a world of equal exchange, how people often ran in a system of trade. There was nothing true about a free lunch. Yet Faruzan proved him wrong, time and time again. 

Kaveh always wanted to ask her why, but he was too scared to say it out loud. If he were to do it, what if she left him? What if all of this was temporary, like a dream he has yet to wake up from?  

If Kaveh were to actualize it, somehow admit to it, would he be left with anything at all?

Despite her petite build, Faruzan took Kaveh in like a lost duckling looking for a home, to be found and cared for. 

Even as she wielded her rusty knife, an insistence to cut Kaveh’s blonde hair as short as Faruzan’s (with the weather as hot as it was), he stubbornly refused to fall along her example. 

Kaveh did not tell Faruzan of what made him run away, what landed him in the streets. 

Not a lot of children did, apparently. Faruzan would comfort him whenever he felt guilty for not having enough strength to disclose it. 

Cases of poverty, abuses, negligence. Kaveh's own was not far from what was expected. 

About how his mother told him how his hair was too long, with a blunt butter knife almost too similar to the one wielded with Faruzan’s coarse hands, how close it was to his nape, near slitting his throat and breathing his last breath. 

With an exasperated sigh and a roll of her eyes, Kaveh would be delighted to learn (that despite Faruzan’s careless appearance) his big sister was knowledgeable in braiding long hair. 

“Look Faru, look at my teeth,” Kaveh had a lisp as he opened his mouth, pointing at the rocky tooth. “I’m about to go toothless!” 

Faruzan laughed at the silly face Kaveh made. 

“Don’t rush the process, it’ll fall down in its own time. Anyway, I wouldn’t mind if you ran off with the other kids.” Faruzan piped up again, rocking his hand back and forth as she swayed it, slowly walking forward as the line moved. “Just remember to come back before dark, or else the soldiers will catch you after curfew.” 

Did Faruzan see him watch the group of kids earlier? Kaveh was always so obvious, as readable as an open book his mother used to say, and it seemed like even leaving for the streets did not change a thing. 

Kaveh stopped fidgeting, then tried to stand obediently still. 

It was quite difficult, but if he focused hard enough it was doable. He simply needed to phase out the external sensations that bombarded him, strong smells and loud sounds of crowds that bustled around him, and focus on the coarse yet reliable hand that held his own. 

They were still simmering at the back of his head, but it was manageable. 

Kaveh shook his head, the braid Faruzan did for him swaying lightly behind him, “How about the pinkie promise?” Kaveh could still recall this morning, how determined he was not to step a foot out of line. 

Kaveh didn’t want to disappoint her! “I don’t want to be thrown into ice water and have my tongue fall off because of the cold! I’m not a liar! What if my body deflates like a popped balloon, how am I going to eat our boxed lunch without any taste buds?”

“Couldn't our ancestors come up with something more child friendly?” Faruzan frowned. 

She didn’t answer his question, a look of familiar disapproval set on the lowered curve of her lips. 

Kaveh shrugged his bony shoulders. “Dunno. But I’m not sure if those kids would want me to join in anyway.”

“Why not?” 

“They look weird.” Kaveh answered bluntly. 

His mother would smile whenever she entertained foreign customers, but Kaveh knew of how disgusted she truly was when she served them. 

She would ask Kaveh to call the servants, raise the heat of the water and double the amount of fragrant oils placed in the baths, right after she was done dealing with foreigners. 

Petals, candles, expensive soaps. She would wash it all away like they had a filthy disease. More so than she usually did. 

Were they rougher, perhaps less gentle than the usual clients from Kshahrewar? Kaveh never asked outright, as he had known long ago that such questions were better asked when he was older, so he could only mull over his thoughts in his own head.  

Kaveh always prided himself with his intelligence. There were times when his mother would occasionally praise him, receiving compliments too from the kitchen hands and the other workers in his old home. 

He was already used to the pattern, he could tell when his mother wanted something without explicitly saying it. He simply needed to observe the appearances of her clients, listen to the way they spoke, then his mother would reward him with a better mood whenever Kaveh read it right. 

Faruzan sighed, a reproachful expression on her face. 

Kaveh felt a sudden pinch in his chest, sensitive to her disapproval, confused with why she looked so disappointed all of a sudden. His palms were clammy, cold with sweat. He tightened the hold of his hands, not letting go of her for a second. 

"Faru," Kaveh played with the hem of his ragged shirt, unable to hold eye contact. He softened his voice, imitating a coquettish omega, acting wronged as if he were bullied by someone meaner, just like his mother when she wanted more tips from a client, "are you mad at me…?" 

Kaveh hugged her arm closer, nuzzling his face into her dry, teal hair. He ignored the coarseness and the oil that stuck in its strands, acting as if it were the plushest of pillows, as soft as the blanket his mother would use for her bedsheets. 

Faruzan stiffened, then a light blush tinted her dainty cheeks. She pushed him away, but it was not as violent of a refusal. Kaveh was pliant as he followed it along, letting her keep her distance. 

“You only call me Faru when you know you’re wrong.” Faruzan said as she sighed again, reading his intentions. 

“But they are weird?” Kaveh didn’t try to hide it, confused. “Their clothes aren’t like ours, they speak in different tongues, and they easily stand out in a crowd. They don’t care if they’re loud and they shoved past others as if they didn’t have any respect for them.”  

Faruzan shook her head, “would you like it if they called you weird?”

Kaveh would feel hurt if his friends decided to stop hanging out with him because of that. 

“No… but I don’t understand why we should excuse their rude behavior? Mother always said that obedient children were smart when they were quiet—not causing a ruckus and making themselves an issue for everybody else.”

“How old were you when she said that?” Faruzan asked quietly. 

“I’m not sure.” Kaveh thought it through. “Ever since I could remember?” 

If Kaveh were an open book, his mother was not far from what he was said to be. He knew what made his mother tick, avoided her when she was in her moods, indulged in her affections when his father would still come and visit. 

Kaveh was aware of how much his mother valued her space. 

Whenever he heard her quietly sobbing, in the privacy of their shared room, he would either lock the door behind him or ask if she wanted someone to hug. If the latter was chosen, Kaveh would hug her tightly, just the way she liked it, as if she were made of sand—as if she would crumble into dust if he let go. 

If his mother threw her things at him, Kaveh would quietly leave and lock the door, then divert the attention of those who asked for her. 

“You’re young, Kaveh. You have yet to be of age. You're not even an adult who has to have their own set of responsibilities. Those children were not being rude, they were simply being children. To call it rude and to dismiss it as a problem child acting up? They are reproaching a kid for being themselves. It’s irresponsible.”

Kaveh was not sure why his age was being brought up. He was smart enough, even when his mother would sometimes say otherwise. 

He knew that he was mature for his age. 

Kaveh had his own responsibilities, an itinerary of things to complete for his continued survival. 

Kaveh could not rely on Faruzan for everything. As nice as she was, Kaveh did not want to be overly dependent. What if she grew tired of him, tossed him away for being too needy for attention? 

Too much clinginess was never attractive. 

“I don’t see how that explains their behavior?” They were an inconvenience to the general public. It could be brushed off for them just having a bit of fun, but that did not justify anything.

They did not control their volume and were ignorant with where they were going. Those teenagers were apologizing after them, like they were carrying a burden rather than a blessing. 

Now that he thought about it more, Kaveh was irritated when he recalled the way they acted so ignorantly. 

Those kids were around his age, yet they did not mind where they went, who they pushed through. If his mother was there to correct their behavior, she would put all of them on time out.  

“Let’s put it this way. Why do you find them weird? There’s other local children as rowdy as they were, yet your attention was attracted to that specific, group of odd kids.” Faruzan pointed out. She had a clear understanding of their surroundings. “Why is that?”

Kaveh did not give it a second thought. “They talk weird and they also look weird.” 

“Do you understand why they speak that way? How they were born with those features?”

“I think they’re,” Kaveh could recall their appearance, as poor as he was. They wore strange clothes and behaved differently despite their similar circumstances, “...refugees from Haravatat.” Just like what he heard from those scattered conversations, Kaveh did witness a ship disembark groups of people with weird appearances. 

They were similar to the clients who visited his old home, but it was families, rather than single tourists interested for some quick fun. His mother taught him how to identify high quality fabric, to spot a rich client who was trying to remain lowkey. 

These refugees were different from his mother’s usual clientele. 

“Haravatat is an empire far from our own, humble kingdom.” Faruzan began, her tone strict, as if she was about to begin a long lecture. “With this distance, it is expected that our cultures would hold more differences than similarities. Do you remember which nation neighbors Haravatat?”

“Snezhnaya.” Kaveh answered confidently. 

“Correct. Between Kshahrewar and Snezhnaya, which nation do you believe Haravatat has drawn more similarities from?” 

“Snezhnaya,” Faruzan remained silent, quietly encouraging Kaveh to expound. He continued again, “because they’re both cold? And they both have frozen bodies of water, with big whales and mysterious lake monsters that would swallow small fisher boats?” 

Kaveh liked soups, especially creamy seafood, but he would prefer to run away with his tail between his legs than to try out the delicacies from Haravatat's cuisine. He would rather eat the fish, not let himself be eaten by fish that were even bigger than him! 

Kaveh could recall those scary tales, sitting around a dark room as his friends would share it in hushed tones. It still scared him, but he was too embarrassed to admit to it. 

“A culture is more than its threats. Tales of those topics only reveal the tip of an iceberg.”

“Sorry, but I would rather not use anything that came from them.” Kaveh stubbornly rejected. 

Over man and monster, Kaveh could recall the aggrieved reaction from his mother, when she found out that the batch of chocolates he received was from a rich Haravatat client. 

The client spoke their language, but wore clothes fashioned from the empire. He looked of Kshahrewar descent, but his mother always said imperials were as slick as chameleons, conniving as snakes, so he should not give trust to such surface level appearances.

Yet Kaveh always had a sweet tooth, and when the man approached, who was Kaveh to reject his offer? He was flattered, to say the least. 

Older clients never truly looked at him, or bothered to strike a conversation with him in any way. Sure, they only addressed his presence if they needed something, like how they would order him around to ask for some refreshments if they so willed it. 

The man was different from them. He listened to Kaveh, offered him a chance to meet his older, cooler friends, and treated him with pretty new clothes.

When Kaveh confessed his want for more, the older man was all too willing to hear his desires. Kaveh eagerly confessed his interest in books. There was an ounce of hesitation that passed through his face--one that would remind him of his mother whenever she rejected his request to visit the 'filthy' markets--but his reluctance did not last long when he offered Kaveh a trade. He would lend him some books from his prestigious family's library, if Kaveh read them while sitting on his lap. 

Those chocolates were the first food gift he received. The man insisted it should be eaten fresh, but Kaveh felt a strange sense of unease. (Along with Kaveh's book requests. He decided the trade was not worth it after how odd the older man's stare felt on his skin.)

It was easy enough to shrug aside, nerves were silly like that. 

The older man told him not to tell anyone, but Kaveh was too excited to keep it a secret. When he brought it up to his mother, with intentions to share such an unexpected gift, she slapped it out of his hands.  

Sweets that could have been delicious were all but ruined. They splattered across the wall, littered the filthy floor, the beautiful box flung from his grasp. He was too shocked to outright react. There was nothing salvageable, nothing left for consumption. 

Kaveh was too scared to ask his mother why she did it. 

His mother never explained herself, as she always went around in circles and avoided the topic whenever he tried to bring it up subtly. She simply told him to be more mindful, rid himself of his stupidity, and to come to her if ever there were other men that would approach him like the man from Haravatat. 

It was not his time yet, and that was the last he heard from that conversation. Even if it was not explicitly said, he had grown a wariness from those of Haravatat. His only exposure was through that brothel, but he felt like it was enough for him. 

Faruzan hummed in thought. They were closer now, the drop off station nearer than ever. Kaveh could practically smell the free food they were going to get. “It’s a little too late for that, isn’t it?”

“Have the big fish become refugees too?!” Kaveh was not a stranger to exotic pets. 

From peacocks to dangerous snakes, the taste of the rich were practically incomprehensible. He did not understand the appeal of taming something that can kill you the moment you turn away, but that's none of his business. 

A large killer fish was not too far from the potential threats a ship could bring along with them. 

“No, silly.” Faruzan ruffled his hair, setting his fears to rest. “That pinkie promise we used to seal our deal? It came from an old nursery rhyme from Snezhnaya. It spread to Haravatat, and it somehow made its way to Kshahrewar.” 

Kaveh frowned in thought. “I didn’t know that.” It was simply a thing, he was not one to double check the origins of what he made use of. “Maybe if I knew, I wouldn’t have used it as freely as I previously had?”

Faruzan still had that look in her face, the one that made his stomach curl into itself. Kaveh did not understand what he was doing wrong. It was frustrating, as if he were a blind man chasing after an impossible goal. 

“In your own words, what are refugees?” Faruzan brought up that word again. That word people often threw around nowadays, but Kaveh was not exactly sure what it meant. 

Kaveh recalled the conversation he overheard earlier. Their jobs were being stolen, from people who barged in their house like an unwelcome guest. “They left their home to take another’s?”

Faruzan shook her head. Kaveh was wrong again. What was he missing? “Being a refugee is not illegal. Kshahrewar accepted their arrival with open arms. There’s been opposition regarding such a decision, but I am not against what was done.”

“Aren’t they a threat?” Kaveh asked, filled with hesitance. 

“Have they invaded us? Declared our land as their own? They have yet to show a dangerous stance against our people. On the contrary, most violent cases have been made against those from Haravatat.” Kaveh knew that Faruzan handled a small clinic, one that accepted anyone no matter their background. 

He could scarcely recall an elderly pair from Haravatat, how their wounds needed to be bandaged by his big sister. They were nice to him, even with their heavily accented attempts at communication, kind even if he was of Kshahrewar descent. 

After receiving such injuries, he was not sure how they could still thank someone from his own nation. 

“If Kshahrewar is so dangerous for them, why would they leave to steal another one’s home?” Kaveh questioned her again. If they were strangers to this foreign land, what was the use of enduring a hatred that always met them?

Faruzan was quiet for a moment, collecting her thoughts. 

“Imagine a little river hut, made of rattan and built on reeds. Place that fragile house atop an icy mountain, blowing with cold winds and freezing in the middle of winter’s frost. If I were from Haravatat, I would have already grown used to such harsh climates. A sturdier, warmer home is what I find my hearth in, not a silly little river hut that would be blown away within a minute of exposure. Despite my efforts, my livelihood is taken from me and I am forced to move my family elsewhere. Sailing to Kshahrewar, in a tropical climate different from what I have always known, an eternal stranger to a foreign country—which would I call my home?” 

“...I don’t know?” Kaveh said softly, not exactly sure with how to answer her. 

A home was a building of rest. Somewhere to sleep in, to have meals shared, a safehold far from danger. In this hypothetical situation, if Faruzan was from Haravatat, then the obvious answer would be the strong and sturdy house. 

But it was the latter part of the question that was throwing Kaveh off. 

What use was the strong home if it could not protect its family from potential risks? 

If they had no means to strengthen its walls, then there would be no choice but to leave for another. But in what context was this home? 

A childhood home, filled with memories of a yesterday captured by paintings that decorated the walls, or a safer home, in a land that was foreign but far enough from the danger that stood a possible risk? 

“It’s my first time on a ship. I am not a seafarer, unlike the locals of Kshahrewar who navigate bodies of water like it’s their second home. I trek thick forests, climb tall heights and have grown used to thinning altitudes. But my home is no longer safe. For a better future, I brave a strange new world I am not familiar with. It is a risk I must take. Either I die from a familiar threat, or die in land I have yet to venture into. Which is the lesser evil? A nation filled with foreigners, strangers who fear a culture they would rather despise than to understand? Or an environment that I have grown up in, yet has changed for the worse. Despite my attachments, my home is no longer what it once was, with real, pressing threats that can risk my livelihood, especially those I love.” 

“So let me ask you again." Faruzan brought up, ready to throw Kaveh’s own question back at him. "If it was their home, why would they leave it?” 

Kaveh was struck by a realization. 

The brothel was his house, his mother has always been his home. Despite the familiarity he has always known, he left it all behind him. 

Why did Kaveh do it?

“For a better life.” Kaveh said resolutely. He understood those refugees now, and could see why they wanted to escape whatever remained behind them. “To take that selfish future in their own hands. Grasp it by the throat, cup it in their palm, steal it for themselves."

“You make it out to be selfish.” It was not a question, it was a statement.

Kaveh looked down on his hands. He clenched his fists. “I’ve made my decision.”

"Even if it means leaving all that you've known behind?" 

If this question was asked by anyone else, Kaveh would have answered it with his hackles raised. 

Despite the brothel being a gilded cage, it provided their workers well. Many things Kaveh took for granted: a comfortable bed, clean baths, and healthy form fitting food provisions. There was no such treatment after what he did to leave them. 

Kaveh knew that being homeless won't be easy, but having been warned and for their words to be proven right—it took a hit to his pride. For the first few weeks, he was tempted to give up and go back. It was pure spite that kept him going. 

"I will pave my own path, even one that has yet to be walked on. A future given by my mother is not what I desire. Despite the risks of blindly moving forward, relying on bare luck and instincts—for that tomorrow I seek without my mother, I will get there even if I have yet to reach it.”

If Faruzan noted the amount of times Kaveh mentioned his mother, she did not mention it. "You're not so far from them after all, despite the differing circumstances." 

The similarities Faruzan pointed out with the refugees was not lost on him. He may not understand how it felt to be exiled into another land, but the feeling of losing a home can be grounded into resembling one another. 

“I pray the return will be worth it.” Kaveh invested too much time into this to fail. Time he has yet to spend wisely, since he was not sure when an opportunity would appear before him. 

Curious, but not out of malice, Faruzan brought up a question. “Do you have any clue on where you’ll go from here?”

In terms of job prospects, Kaveh had nothing. Sure, he did the occasional errand for Faruzan here and there, but being an errand boy or a glorified prostitute were not jobs he saw himself doing for the long-term. 

Kaveh blushed. It was still a work in progress. He ignored Faruzan’s knowing gaze and looked elsewhere. “I’m still working on it.”

“Everything comes with its own price. You’re still young, it’ll come to you soon.” Faruzan smiled, messing the top of his hair. Even if she had to reach her arm to get to it, Kaveh still felt embarrassed. 

Even with the open affection, Kaveh still felt like what he had was not enough for what she did for him. “And I have yet to pay it in full.” 

Faruzan frowned, but it was not mean-spirited. It was the expression she got when she was admonishing her younger siblings for something petty. 

“You owe me nothing, silly. I’m doing this because I can!”

“Why?” Kaveh felt like he asked this question a thousand times before.

Kaveh was still struck with confusion. She would always tell him to drop his offers to repay his debts, like it was fine. 

But it wasn’t really fine! 

It was as if it meant nothing, like she simply enjoyed his company as it was.  

Faruzan laughed, a lighthearted guffaw. It sounded ugly and befitted a mooing cow, Kaveh thought snidely. 

“Why not?”

Kaveh was left with more questions than answers. 

Before Kaveh could press her for anything more, they finally reached the first of the line. 

There was a selection of food spread out before them, boxed lunches for take out and bowls with ladles of soup for some to dine in. Slices of bread were neatly stacked in a pile, dipping sauces spread beside it. 

It was not like a buffet where a person would freely get their own food. A person by the community kitchen would listen to your request, then serve you accordingly. It was neater but it took longer. 

“Good day, the noble family of Pir Kavikavus bids you well!” The one manning the table greeted, a shining smile still bright in her lips despite the heavy eyebags on her lids. “Do you have your parents accompanying you? I can’t serve a plate without the appropriate supervision.” 

Faruzan got something out of her pocket. It was a crumpled, folded piece of paper that has definitely seen better days. Kaveh could not count the number of times he’s seen that signature forged. 

Faruzan handed it to the server. 

Kaveh didn’t see what else was inside it, but he knew that it would help them out in some way. 

Faruzan began to speak as the server inspected the paper. “Our mom injured her back when she was caring for our baby sibling. She told us to pick up the food since we have the time—but we wanted to get back as soon as possible, since dad isn’t home to watch out for her.”

The server looked at the paper Faruzan gave her, then glanced at them. It was short, but it happened several times. 

From the times he's been here, this hasn't happened before. Kaveh was slightly nervous, but when he glanced at Faruzan who looked the same as usual, he tried to imitate her nonchalance. 

“I really want to give you the free lunch," the server began with some bad news, "but you see, I think my supervisor is catching on.”

Kaveh felt something hit his knee. Something must have shown in his expression so he quickly fixed his face. 

“But my brother and I got lost looking for this place!" Faruzan pushed, not yet admitting to the lie. "We’re not locals, you know. A community kitchen hidden by a narrow alleyway is easy to overlook. I swear it’s our first time over here!” 

Kaveh kept his mouth shut. 

Faruzan was doing a wonderful job doing all the lying, so he let her hard carry. He felt like if he tried to add anything to the story it would collapse into itself. 

“Weren’t you the kids with the dad who uses crutches? The one who settles for those wooden sticks because your family was too poor to afford proper ones? If I remember correctly, that was a few weeks ago.” 

Faruzan never stopped by the same community kitchen twice in a month. 

To hear that they were starting to look familiar, especially with the amount of times they've come without proper parental supervision, might have alerted several of them. 

“I’m not sure how to prove it to you, but a few weeks ago we weren’t even in Port Ormos.” Despite the telling accusations, Faruzan continued to deny.

“I swear my coworkers heard it before!" The server insisted. "That old army story where he fought by the forefront of Kshahrewar a couple decades ago?”

“A disabled dad?" Faruzan echoed it dumbly. That idea was Kaveh’s and to have it parrotted back at them made him more nervous than he wanted to admit. "Are you sure you’re not mistaking us for someone else?”

“Teal hair is quite difficult to mistake. Along with that pretty brother of yours, covered with grime that he is, those eyes are unmistakable.”

Community kitchens were meant to assist the poor, but a system needed to be set in place in order for their services to work. 

So that it didn’t get taken advantage of, the workers will take note of the adults who made use of their service. The law gets trickier when children are involved. 

A loophole is to use underaged children, as their ability to act innocent and cute can lower anyone’s guards. In the hands of an ambitious adult, this is an easy way to profit off of something that’s free. 

If the kid lines up several times to hoard food for whoever adult ordered them to do so, they’ll earn off the backs off people’s efforts without costs of their own. 

Their hoods weren't working anymore and the kitchen workers were getting smarter. In cases of a last resort, which only had a 50/50 chance of winning, Kaveh hoped for the best. 

With the subtlety of a kid up to no good, Kaveh pinched his own hip and twisted it painfully. 

“F-Faru, tell big sister the truth!” Kaveh’s face was scrunched into an ugly pucker, as if he ate a particularly sour lemon. Fat tears were dripping down his eyes, uncaring for how ugly it looked. “Mama’s dead!” 

Kaveh had to evoke the feeling of pity, embrace his new character. 

Kaveh’s cough was filled with phlegm, violently wiping his nose as snot ran down his nostrils. 

As he faced the panicking server, he twisted the same spot on his hip to the other side. The pain triggered another batch of tears to roll down his face. 

His loud crying began to call in the attention of the people behind them, not only for the hold up, but also for the opportunity for others to watch a big show. 

They were impatient and wondering what was taking them so long. Nosy strangers were always bored enough to butt into other people’s businesses. 

Faruzan pulled Kaveh closer to her, hugging him, making a show of patting his back to appease him. “I’m so sorry for our rudeness.” She sighed, bringing out a guilty and regretful tone. 

Kaveh couldn’t see Faruzan’s face, but he secretly imagined a thumbs up to morally support her efforts. “We’ve been lying this entire time. Our father left us and our mother was gone not soon after. The only thing she left behind was her baby.” 

The server sighed, as if she was stuck in a difficult situation. “I sympathize with your issue, I really do, but I have to contact child protective—”

“No!” Faruzan harshly interrupted. 

Kaveh took that as the queue to start trembling, hugging Faruzan even closer to show that he was also against the idea. 

“They took our older brother!” Faruzan shouted, aggrieved, “Father left his burden behind, mother’s in a 'better' place now, and all I have left are two of my younger siblings!”

Kaveh was impressed with Faruzan’s quick thinking. Now they had an older brother? He wondered when Faruzan would introduce that stranger to him. 

“All we ask is a little bit of food and we’ll be on our way. I swear, we’ll be out of your hair and we won't cause any more misunderstandings. As I am now the eldest, big brother entrusted to me the care of my younger siblings. I can’t let them starve like this! And I won’t stand for adults separating our family!”  

Kaveh saw the wavering expression on the server’s face, then struck while the iron was still hot. 

“Big sister,” Kaveh sniffled, looking up at the server as he made himself appear pitiful. “We don’t have much, but we get by. As long as Faru and the baby are there, it’s good enough for me.”

The server sighed, closing her eyes. Kaveh felt his heart beat faster. “Sorry kids, but this is out of my hands.” His stomach dropped. He’s only drank water that day, he could already feel his tummy try to cannibalize itself. “I can’t provide your food without proper parental supervision.”

Faruzan was disappointed, but that did not stop her from being polite. “That’s alright, we understand—”

“But seeing that it’s impossible, I’ll tell you a little secret.” Kaveh’s eyes brightened discreetly. 

They both shuffled closer to her, just so they could be within private hearing distance. “Out back is where the goods are at. We receive deliveries there, keep storages, and it’s also where we throw away the food that hasn’t been finished for the day. You’d think it’s spoiled, but no, they’re all still edible. You kids are smart. Just pick out what’s still good and you have yourselves set.” 

“Thank you so much, I… you’ve been so kind to us, despite how we treated you—” Faruzan sniffled, but she couldn’t force out a tear, Kaveh was better than her at faking it. “—we don’t know how to repay you!”

The server smiled. “Don’t mention it. Now that you know lying is bad, curb that behavior before you grow older.” 

Kaveh released himself from Faruzan’s hug. “Yes ma’am, we’ll keep your words close to our hearts.” Kaveh agreed resolutely, as if he turned over a new leaf. “Thank you again, we won’t forget your kindness.” 

After a couple waves of good bye, they made sure to blend back into the crowds so the pair left the community kitchen’s sight. The server gave Faruzan specific directions, whispering it to her so it wasn’t too obvious, so Kaveh wasn’t worried that they’d get lost along the way. 

Kaveh already stopped it with the fake crying, but the dried stuff on his face made him feel icky. Despite his internal complaints, he directed his attention to Faruzan, giving her a bright grin. 

“Rate my performance!” Kaveh was still reeling from the rollercoaster of emotions, but now he felt like a burden was lifted from his shoulders. 

Kaveh couldn’t understand how scam artists did it, he felt like he was going to break under the pressure of another person’s intense scrutiny. 

Faruzan made a show of thinking about it, putting a finger on her temple in thought. “Could be better.” She told him lamely. 

“What?!” Kaveh glared at her. His hips still hurt from his self-inflicted pinches, so that told him of the bruises that were already forming. “Wasn’t it perfect? I saved our asses back there!” 

Faruzan shook her head, obviously disagreeing. “It was over exaggerated.” Although it was some form of direct criticism, there was a teasing smile on her lips, as if she had fun playing around with him. 

Faruzan took the lead towards the location, holding Kaveh’s hand in her own. They were moving against the crowd, and it would be easy for them to lose each other, so to prevent this they stuck closely together. 

Even with the close contact, Kaveh felt wronged. Despite Faruzan’s shorter height, she walked like she had hounds chasing after her heels, so Kaveh was the one who had to keep up with her. 

Kaveh took it lightly, jabbing back at her not soon after. He glared at the back of her head. “A parent dying is a life changing event! I need to be mourning when their death is brought up in front of me.” 

There was no love lost between Kaveh and his father, as he has grown used to his lack of presence in his life, but his mother was an entirely different can of worms. 

Kaveh will not mourn for her, sob dramatically at what she had done and what he left behind, but a curious pinch has begun to grow inside his chest. 

It was a complicated cacophony of discordant noise, of regret for what he should have said instead, a desire to come crawling back, admitting his wrongs and wanting to be accepted back into her arm—of a loneliness he could not get rid of, despite the relationship he decided to cut off himself. 

Kaveh has never known parents who wholeheartedly cared for their child as their own, but he has seen what they looked like from afar. 

A vicious pinprick of envy behind every smiling family picture he encountered. He knew he was bitter, but that didn’t matter did it? 

The only thing Kaveh could imitate was a second-hand feeling: in how it was like to lose a parent they truly cared for. It would never be as good as the original, a hollow thing, he wondered how a scammer could embody their story and delude themselves into being a character they chose.

It seemed like Faruzan still had much more to teach him. It matters not, he was always an eager student.    

Faruzan scoffed, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Instead of crying, your face was all clenched together. It was unsightly. As if you were sitting on a toilet, constipated and trying to shoot a huge dump into the bowl.” 

Being compared to the shitter was an insult Kaveh could not bear. “I’d like to see you cry on command! All you did was sniffle, do you have a disease I should be worried about?” 

“I’m healthy enough to cover for the both of us.” Faruzan smirked, cocking her chin up arrogantly. “How about when you began crying, could you endure your kidney problems while retelling sob stories to garner some pity?”

Kaveh’s attention was brought back to his aching side, a bruise he could feel even more because of how fast Faruzan was walking. He ignored it again, sucking it up so it wasn’t obvious. 

“...yeah, you’re right,” Kaveh tried a new tactic, complimenting her instead, “some of us aren’t born scammers the moment they come out of the womb.” On second thought, his compliment sounded rather backhanded. Oh well. 

Faruzan was smart enough to pick it up. “You’re calling me immoral?”

“Can morals put food on our plates?” Kaveh did damage control, waving her concerns away. “I had to go through extra measures just to get a decent show of pity.” Faruzan didn’t have to resort to pinching herself to act pitiful. Kaveh still had a long way to go. 

“You’re too young to be this cynical. Where’s the optimism?” Faruzan searched dramatically with a hand motion, not impressing Kaveh at all. “Lighten up, will you?” 

“I’d lighten up if I had my hands on some food.” Kaveh grumbled. 

“Lighten up or get heavier? But since you’re all skin and bones, maybe we should make you plumper.” Faruzan pinched his cheeks, cooing like a neighborhood auntie when they see a particularly cute kid. 

Kaveh smacked her hand away, but Faruzan dodged the hit in general, laughing. Kaveh scowled. “Quit acting like you're decades older than I am! I’m definitely sure you only have a few years on me, and that’s pushing it!” He winced as his shoe almost got stuck in a pot hole. 

Kaveh must have given something away, despite how he tried to hide it, when Faruzan suddenly turned back and gave him a look. Faruzan pulled him to the side so they wouldn’t be a path block for others, then she settled her hands on his shoulders. 

“I saw that.” Faruzan narrowed her eyes. 

Kaveh acted stupid. “Saw what?”

“I may be old, but I’m not blind.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Kaveh raised his voice, indignant. 

“I don’t want my grandson to collapse before we even get there, so follow granny to the clinic and let’s get you patched up.” Faruzan started to walk away, motioning Kaveh to follow along, but he didn’t do so. She looked back and glared at him, asking why he wasn’t following without any words. 

“I’m not going anywhere. So what if I kinda hurt myself? It’ll pass anyway.”

Whatever was on Kaveh’s face, Faruzan didn’t seem to like it. She sighed. Faruzan has been sighing a lot with him lately, Kaveh took note of it. “This is why I told you to only get yourself involved when you’re older.”

There it was again. He was too young, always not mature enough. He wondered when he could rid himself of that label. Frankly he was tired of her bringing up his age. 

It was not as if Faruzan was anywhere farther than he was. 

“It’s our last resort for a reason.” Kaveh shot back. The server was on to them, and it wasn’t like Kaveh could stand to watch Faruzan dig themselves a deeper hole. She’s talented, but fooling someone who’s already aware with even more lies won’t do them any good. Half truths were always an option. “And hey, we got what we wanted, didn’t we?” 

Not only did the server let them get away with it, but now they had access to unlimited food supply. 

This wouldn’t be the first time he dumpster dived, even if the server was nice enough to mention that that was not what they were going to do, but he had already grown a stomach of steel from being out in the streets for so long. 

“Let’s get you washed up.” Faruzan insisted, pulling him along the opposite way. The direction of their backdoor clinic. 

“Wait!” Kaveh set his foot down, pulling Faruzan back to place. She gave him an exasperated look, but it still did not make him budge. “What about the food?”

Kaveh only drank water that morning! Water! He was not letting a tiny bruise delay his free meal!

“Is the food going to sprout legs and run away?” Faruzan rolled her eyes. “We have the time to clean your bruises.” Faruzan pulled again, but Kaveh stayed right where he was. She began to glare at him, not liking that he was being particularly stubborn. Kaveh didn’t care for it. 

“I’m walking normally, I swear I don’t feel a thing. Don’t you think going another round would be a hassle?” Kaveh brought up, not liking the idea of going back again. 

Kaveh walked forward and integrated themselves with the busy crowd, going by his instincts despite not knowing where it exactly was. Faruzan followed along reluctantly, but this time she was being pulled by him. 

“What’s the matter with some exercise? You’re still young and spiffy, let these old bones go for a run. Plus, having a bruised hip needs to get that blood flow going. Another round will do you good.” 

Faruzan listed down her reasons, trying to persuade him. It would work in any other circumstances, but Kaveh was too hungry to listen to her words. 

They turned to a corner, leaving the hoards of people by entering through an alleyway. He hopped over suspicious puddles, tapping his hands against the walls in boredom as they walked along the back. 

“I’m not going to call you granny. Do you think I’m stupid? If the adults don’t see you as anything other than a kid, what makes you think I’ll believe otherwise—”

Faruzan didn’t say anything, placing a delicate finger in front of her lips, motioning Kaveh to quiet down. Even if he felt wronged as it was still mid-argument, he followed along obediently. 

Kaveh didn’t have to strain his ears to hear the ongoing scuffle. 

“Fucking imperials. Haven’t you ruined enough of our lives?” A hoarse voice shouted, kicking against something that moaned in pain. 

Another one laughed, clearly enjoying the show. “Rats should scuttle back to where they came from.” 

“Spreading diseases and stealing our food, you’re trying to spy on us and bring it back to the empire, aren’t you? Good thing we saw right through your pathetic attempts at subtlety.” 

A serious expression fell over Faruzan’s face. 

Instead of peering over with her, to watch whoever was unlucky enough to get beat up, Kaveh observed how the girl beside him fell silent. 

Faruzan would look like this on several occasions, even enduring a gaze of it himself, mostly by her clinic. 

The only times he has seen her in such a way was when she looked at man-made injuries, bruised eyes from punches, jabs on the stomach, a growing dent on a victim’s head. 

Whether it be children or omegas, Faruzan never turned them away, even when they did not have enough mora to pay her back. 

She never asked where they got those injuries from, as it was not in her responsibility to pry into another person’s privacy, but she always kept that door open. 

There was a broiling storm in her eyes, held back by the way she clenched her fists tightly against her side, a restrained fury, a licking flame ready to pour out and burn those who instigated those wounds. 

Kaveh found it odd. 

Faruzan was always unbearably generous with her actions, a kindness Kaveh has never understood, be it in that brothel or out in the streets. Faruzan never asked for recompense. It has gotten her into sticky situations, especially when whoever she treated repaid her with ungratefulness, yet Faruzan kept doing it. 

In all honesty, Kaveh was not as aggrieved as Faruzan was when she witnessed these crimes being done right in front of her. 

Sure, he did find it unfair, but what hasn’t he seen in these streets? Assaults, thievery, humanity at its lowest, turning to petty crimes for survival. 

Despite the risks, Faruzan remained kind. Kaveh always respected her for it. Almost envious of her for it. He wanted to imitate her warmth, make her kindness his own, take her care and mold it to be just like her. 

For Faruzan to keep that aching heart in her chest, not even desensitized even though she has been on the streets far longer than he has, Kaveh wanted for it. 

If he was as nice as her, would she be pleased with his actions? With how he presented himself?

Kaveh may not say it out loud, but he craved for her praise. It was like an adrenaline rush that filled in the chasm his mother left. If Faruzan knew that Kaveh didn’t care for them as much as she did, would she leave him be, just like how Kaveh left his uncaring mother? 

“Those rats are below our attention. We serve the wealthy, the privileged, what use are dogs who bite the hand that feeds them? Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile, gift them unconditional kindness and all that will return to you are your wasted efforts.” 

Kaveh needed to embody Faruzan’s ideals, embrace her generosity and make it his own. 

Kaveh will never be like his mother. 

“We have to help them.” Kaveh whispered, bringing Faruzan’s attention back to him. 

A spark of familiarity flashed through him, realizing that those kids who were getting beaten up were Faruzan’s subject of observation earlier by the community kitchen. “Aren’t they the refugees from Haravatat? Nobody is here except you and I, we can’t just stand aside and let that happen in front of us.” 

“You’re right. They’re familiar faces and I should have known trouble won't fall too far from them. We came upon this by accident, so simply leaving them be won’t sit right with me.” 

Knowing that Faruzan agreed with him, he mentally hyped himself up and prepared himself. 

Kaveh went to walk forward, ready to confront and correct their wrongs. But before he could do so, a strong grip on his arm stopped him from going any further.

“What are you doing?” Faruzan hissed out.

Kaveh gave her a bemused look. “I’m obviously going to help them out. Why are you still hiding? We should stop them before it gets any worse.”

“You and what army?” Faruzan scoffed. “As much as I want to go and help back you up, they outnumber us five to two. You have yet to grow your sensitivity for pheromones, but just to let you know, three of them are alphas. How do you plan on dealing with them?”

Kaveh looked away from Faruzan. 

He was getting irritated with how obvious she was being. It had already happened countless times and she’s always been looking down on his efforts. He only wanted to lend them a helping hand! And maybe impress Faruzan a bit as a bonus… so if he did this, he’d be hitting two birds with one stone. 

“I work better under pressure.” He didn’t have a plan, but it’ll work out. He eyed the loose pipe on the ground and picked it up. This will have to do. 

“No, no you don’t.” Faruzan saw his intentions in using the pipe as a makeshift weapon. She held the pipe too, as if her grip would stop him. “Put that toy down and listen to me. They have real weapons, while you’re trying to deal with them like an immature kid. You’re too young, so let your big sister deal with this.” 

Kaveh rudely ripped the pipe off her hands. 

Faruzan stared at him, shocked. It was like she was seeing him for the first time, looking at him through a new perspective. Being belittled into nothing but an immature young boy stoked the flames of his indignance, especially when she brought up the toy being his weapon. 

Kaveh was going to prove to Faruzan otherwise. He wasn’t a little kid she could always baby and handle carefully with safety gloves. 

“This,” Kaveh raised the rusty pipe in hand, presenting the weapon in front of her face, “is not a toy. I know that. Don’t talk down on me like I might trip and accidentally impale myself with it.” 

Faruzan took a deep breath, then began patiently, “Kaveh, don’t be impulsive. You know that’s not what I meant—”

“I know what I’m doing.” Kaveh interrupted her. 

Faruzan did not take the interruption lightly. “What do you know? Get this through your thick head—you’re a child, shorter than them by several heads, and I doubt you can land a proper punch with those knobby limbs of yours. Over there? Those are teenagers, fully grown adults if we’re pushing it.” 

Faruzan warned him, but they were simply going through one ear and out the other. She was pulling him to get back down and hide, but he was tired of it. 

“So what?” Kaveh already set his mind to the goal, there was nothing that would stop him. 

Kaveh cared for what Faruzan thought, but he also wanted her to listen to what he came up with. If he were to lay down belly up, allowing himself to be brushed aside—then this’ll just be a repeat with his mother. “You’re ‘older’ than me but you aren’t doing anything. Bystanders are as bad as the instigators, if you won’t do it, I will.” 

“Kaveh!” Faruzan whisper shouted. It was a miracle how those bullies have yet to overhear their argument. “If you could just wait for what I’m about to say—”

Kaveh felt like he had enough of hearing from Faruzan. It wasn’t like it was something he hadn't heard before, she’s always trying to baby him.  

As Faruzan said, there were five of them.  Two were sitting on top of boxes, watching the chaos unfold, while the other three were tossing the kids around like a cat teasing their prey. He has yet to grow that particular sense of smell for pheromones, so he couldn’t tell who was in charge of the whole operation. 

Kaveh noticed that the apologetic pair of teenagers who were chasing after those Haravatat kids were knocked out, unconscious. He noted the black eye of one of them, the bruises that littered their cheek. Another was cut up, most likely by a knife. 

One of the bullies was actually playing with one, a lighter in his other hand as he heated the metal up. 

None of them took notice of his presence. Before he could chicken out and run back to where Faruzan was hiding, he steeled himself. 

“Leave them alone!” Kaveh shouted before he could control his actions, slamming the pipe on the ground to gather their attention, presenting himself as someone more confident than he was actually feeling. His throat felt like sandpaper. 

At the unexpected interruption, they went silent. Even the children, although crying, were far quieter than before. The tension could have been cut with a knife. 

Kaveh ignored them and pointed the pipe at their direction, skin white with tension as he tightly gripped the pipe like it was a sword. He noticed his misstep and adjusted it again, holding it like a bat. 

“...is that a kid?” The one sitting on the box broke the silence. 

“I’m not a kid!” Kaveh shot back angrily. He had enough of that from Faruzan already. 

“Another rat?” The bully holding a lighter got up from the box, walking towards him lazily. “Should’ve known there were more of you, imperial whores pop them out like pests.” 

Kaveh didn’t bother correcting him. “We're all starving, but surely—have some decency?  Can't you draw the line against stealing from kids? Especially kids who can't even understand the slurs you're swearing?"

Kaveh ignored the cold sweat that ran down his neck. The language barrier was both a blessing and a curse—more of the latter, but semantics—as the words were not kind to them. But the tone and the needless violence was a point in itself.

He couldn't smell it, but he felt the air thicken with tension, 99% sure that some of them were pressuring him with their pheromones. 

It was useless since he was as sensitive as a beta, but he was sure that if he could take note of it, the musk would most likely smell like shit;. 

"Can basic human decency get us a decent meal?" Another bully piped up, this one was leaning against the wall, looking down on him. "Hook noses aren't kids. Nobody's gonna miss 'em anyway, their real home is shambles. Since they ran, now we gotta deal with their problems. We didn't ask for it!"

Kaveh did not care for their stupid analogies. “They didn’t even do anything to you guys!” 

"Fuck, kid. You hearing yourself right now? Live a couple more years and see where that talk gets you." The one with the lighter added. They didn’t correct the way Kaveh implied it. Seemed like the attack was completely one-sided, proving Kaveh’s point right. "If you get passed that age. I wouldn't be surprised if you get shanked by a hook nose."

Due to Kaveh’s abrupt distraction, the bullies stopped hitting their victims. Kaveh noticed how the kids were curling in on themselves. Their backs were tense, ready to protect their heads, but with the unexpected break, they began to rest a little. 

One of them had a slice of bread tightly clutched against her chest, as if it were a treasure she was too stubborn to let go. Her breath was shaky, back shuddering as each second passed. She was struggling to take in air. She must've broke her ribs, yet she was stubborn enough to keep the food close to her chest.

Kaveh looked around a bit, then noticed that the big sister’s promise from the community kitchen was proven empty. He didn’t know how often that server turned kids away, but the place looked completely nicked clean from any edible food. 

“...a decent fucking meal? It’s nothing but powdered muck and expired bread.” Kaveh snorted, deliberately talking down the food. It shouldn’t be worth the fight. He wanted to express that to them. 

He tried to hide how his mouth watered at the idea of stealing a piece for himself. But Kaveh wouldn’t lower himself to their level. 

The bully with a lowered hood scoffed at his question. “You’re not fooling nobody. Tough luck because we got here first—so hook nose or not, you better fuck off.”

Kaveh clenched his fists, hoping to the archons that they couldn’t tell. “If I tell you there’s a better source, will you leave us alone?”

“Depends on what you’re offering.” The one playing with the lighter replied. He said it lightly, as if he was simply doing it to appease a kid. Kaveh already knew the tone. "But since you're here and not there, I doubt it'll amount to much."

Shit. The guy read him like an open book. He racked his brain, desperate for a solution, then offered them a half-baked one. “If we ask the big sisters from the community kitchen, I’m sure they'll be able to—”

“You think we haven’t gone there ourselves?” The one with the lighter shot Kaveh’s solution right off the bat. 

“If you’ve been directed here, then we’re all at the back for a reason.” The hooded bully added to the conversation. “Pir Kavikavus rightfully banned refugees from his community kitchen, we got caught profiting off of free goods—and I’m sure you’re just as crooked as the rest of us.”  

“You’re harassing them for scraps. If that isn't rat behavior, I don't know what is.” Kaveh concluded, understanding where they came from but obviously disagreeing with how they went about it. 

“A fucker who hasn't even grown their own beard don't got the right to talk.”

They explained enough already, so getting more out of them would be difficult. This was as far as Kaveh could go, but he still wanted to give the wall a little bit more of a push. 

“Fucking hoarder! All you do is bitch!” Kaveh strengthened his tone. He winced, trying his best to ignore how his voice cracked at the end. 

“Did you even hear shit?” The one leaning on the wall got off it, “we wasted enough time as it is, you’re clearly too idiotic to understand our intentions.”  

“No. You’re in the wrong, so let them go or else I’ll hurt you!” 

Kaveh didn’t wait for them to get the first hit in. The best defense was offense, so he took that to heart and hopefully caught them with a surprise. 

Kaveh raised the pipe high, then attacked the one closest to the wall. His arms ached when all he was met with was the hardness of a stubborn surface. 

The bully side stepped the attack, easily getting away. 

Kaveh blindly swiped at where he was, eager to get this over with, hands clammy with sweat. He was further angered when he heard the other bullies laugh, pushing himself to hit harder, wilder, hoping to land on something, anything. 

Kaveh saw that more than half of the group didn’t move from where they were, mostly watching, so Kaveh was invigorated to get all of them beaten up by him. He whacked the pipe against the guy he was chasing, but was only met with thin air yet again. 

“Quit playing around, little kid.”

Kaveh didn’t see the leg in front of him before he experienced it. 

Kaveh felt gravity escape him when he accidentally started barrelling forward, unable to control his balance, tripping onto the dirty floor with a loud bang. His chin painfully impacted the floor, scraping his knees as he tried to steady himself. Tears started to gather on the corner of his eyes, but he sniffed and held it back. 

Kaveh’s pipe fell from his grip, clattering on the ground—rolling far, far away from where he was. 

Another round of mocking laughter fell into his ears. Despite their scornful derision, his attention was attached to the disappearance of his make-shift weapon, the clang all too loud in his senses.

A pounding headache began to form in his temple. He focused on the anger that was escaping him, trying to distract himself with it. Faruzan was right. I don’t have any plans—and now what? After I impulsively ran in despite knowing nothing, I not only got myself injured, but those kids are still stuck in the same place, back to square one.  

There was a lingering fear that made itself known to Kaveh. 

Itching at the corner of his head, spreading to cover his limbs. He stubbornly squashed it, listening to the insults and the jeers those bullies rained down on him. Fucking prove them wrong.  

Blood rushed into his ears, a desperation of a dying bug struggling to lift itself up. He crawled forwards, eyes intent at the pipe—then someone stepped on his palm, painfully grinding it down on the floor. 

Kaveh bit back a sob, trying to get his hand back but unable to. 

“What’s this?” The teen pushed his heel down, targeting the tips of Kaveh’s fingers. “Are you going to cry?" Kaveh was hurting, trying to pull against the force, but it was useless. 

“Is your little toy not good enough for you?” 

Kaveh grit his teeth. 

His eyes flared like a forest fire, burning, all consuming as it ravaged all corners of his head, fueling him with utter fury. Ignoring his aching wrists—Kaveh shot forward, teeth bared to take a bite at the exposed limb before him. 

“Fuck!” 

Kaveh clamped down on fleshy muscle, the bitter aftertaste of filth and skin was metallic on his tongue. 

There was no grace, no sense in what he did—driven by pure spite, without a weapon yet wanting to get his way. He dug his teeth in harder, mercilessly making use of his molars as a rabid weapon, uncaring of his animalistic overreaction. 

Kaveh felt the air get kicked out of him, but he remained stubborn. He breathed heavily through his nostrils, eyes ablaze, not ready to let go of his teeth still clamped on the muscular leg. 

“Get this bitch off of me!” The bully tried to shake his leg, but Kaveh followed him every step of the way. 

His teeth were beginning to hurt, but Kaveh could ignore it for the spiteful glee he got from the distress this wrought from the other teen. 

Suddenly, a tough hand gripped his scalp and ripped Kaveh away. 

Kaveh tumbled a couple steps, rolling and landing against the wall. He winced as he slowly sat himself up. He opened his mouth a bit, tasting the blood in his tongue, then he felt something was missing. 

Kaveh’s question was soon answered after an aggrieved shout. “Fucking—is that a tooth?!” 

“Holy shit, don’t tell me a tooth got stuck in your leg!” The guy sounded unreasonably impressed. 

Another one pointed out the obvious. “Archons he really hates you, the kid got it jabbed real deep in there.”

“Thanks, I wasn’t able to tell the first time I saw it.” He stated sarcastically. 

Amongst the chaos, the kids that were hunched over, trying to protect themselves, finally found an opportunity of escape. They reluctantly glanced back at the unconscious teens that looked after them. They scuttled around to support themselves, giving him a thankful look, then finally left. 

Before Kaveh could join them in running away—he received a kick straight through the gut. That particular spot was close to his hip, the bruise he gave himself still aching, forcing a cry out of his lips. 

Painful kicks started to rain down on his body, no remorse in the strength put behind it. In fact, it was ruthless, using Kaveh as a vent to release their anger. Kaveh quickly curled into himself and huddled together, imitating a small ball. 

Kaveh protected his head and the back of his neck, keeping in his cries of pain, not letting them have that satisfaction. 

“I need a light! Where’s the damn lighter?” The one Kaveh bit barked out.  

There was a scoff at the side. “Should we get that tooth of yours checked? Maybe a toothbrush for your leg?”

“Fuck off!” A scuffle occurred, most likely looking through the bag for what he wanted earlier. 

“Get rabies for all I care.” There was another snide response. 

A resounding slap fell on his ears. “Fucking shut your trap before I do it for you!” 

“Can’t take a break, will you?” 

The tell tale flicker of a lighter, the hiss of its sparks, the singe of a tobacco tip against a small flame. 

Kaveh felt a dribble of something cold crawl down his spine, resting on the flat of his back, an unwelcome presence keeping a hold of him. 

It was a vice grip keeping him still. 

It hugged Kaveh like a heavy weighted blanket, all encompassing, slithering around his chest, wrapping itself into its own despicable gift.  

His heart dropped. Kaveh could not hide from it. Hugging himself, making himself appear smaller, the tobacco still came for him despite his attempts. It was already there before he could hold his breath. It coaxed the smoke into his space, luring it deeper, leading itself right into his throat. 

The familiar fragrance of cigarette smoke, a recognizable bitter after taste sticking against the ceiling of his mouth. “Should I press the cigarette against your face, dig it deeper into your cheek? Maybe then you’ll be grateful for all that I’ve done for you. After you’re ruined with scars, marked up into an unrecognizable prune, will you come crawling back—begging me to take you back in? Our looks are our privilege. If you have forsaken its uses, then please pardon me for taking it back.” 

Kaveh felt like his vision was flipped over its head, tossing it off the ledge without a harness, a free fall without any semblance of balance. 

There were needles under his skin. It pricked against his flesh, stopping the proper flow of his blood. Tiny, pointed tips pressed sharply into the pale flesh of his throat. 

Kaveh swallowed, dryly against nothing, only a huge lump in his throat.

“Hm? He’s trembling for some reason.”

“We’ve been venting out all our anger by hitting him.”

“Yeah, but where’d all the feistiness go?” 

Kaveh tried to speak, but all that came out was thin, choked air. 

Something pulled at Kaveh’s hair, straining his neck against the cool air. His vision was blurry. He couldn’t see anything. His limbs were sluggish, as if he was moving against viscous swamp water, muscles heavy and unable to lift itself.

There was a sudden drop, the tension that held the strands of his hair released itself. His neck fell onto the hard surface like a puppet without its strings. As if he were a ragdoll without any range of movement, his breath kept coming in and out, shallow, too quick yet not enough. 

“Do you still have a mouth on you?” Something nudged itself against Kaveh’s cheek. He didn’t respond. 

There were a couple of disappointed complaints. 

“He’s not much fun anymore.” Another voice sighed. “Now that the others are gone, what the fuck are we going to do with this kid?” 

*

Kaveh was delirious. Time felt like a concept, minutes passing like sand in a huge hourglass. He felt sluggish, yet his thoughts were on overdrive, moving faster than what he could grasp. 

“...veh… Kaveh… Kaveh…” Someone was repeating his name, sounding frantic. “Faru’s right here, come on Kaveh, please, are you with me?”

The sun was too bright. 

Kaveh shut his eyes, but it continued to pierce through his eyelids, pounding into his head. His skin felt flaky and dry, uninhabitable, like he was a stranger in his own body. 

There was someone hovering close to Kaveh, but he couldn’t recognize them. There was a hand, covered in rough calluses, its touch light against his arm—Kaveh flinched, unable to control his movement. 

The hand left him like it was burned. “I—sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” 

He had no impression of her apology. 

“Kaveh.” Her voice was softer, yet it was still stern enough for him to hear it clearly. “Slow down, please, I’m right here with you. I’m sorry I left—but I’m here now, right?” 

Kaveh sluggishly registered her words, focusing on the gentleness of her tone, the voice that felt familiar to him. His breath choked, stuttering, then it tried to find a rhythm to hold onto. 

“I’m here, right by your side, helping you get through this together.” She remained as a constant, sticking by him all the way. “You’re doing great, so well! Let’s do this step by step, okay?”

Kaveh tried to center himself, clutching at sand. Grasping at those tiny granules, trying to keep it close to his palm. 

“We’re doing this together.” She made some breathing motions, raising her hand in front of her chest, slow enough for him to keep up. “Slowly. With some rhythm, breathe in and breathe out, deeper, take your time. I’ll be with you the entire way.”  

Kaveh measured his breath, coming to, blocking out the external sensations that were jumping erratically, back and forth in his head. 

“Faru, F-Faru, where were you?” Kaveh asked her desperately, hands trembling. His voice was as fragile as thin glass. His hands felt like it was dumped into a mountain of snow. “Why’d you leave me? Please, don’t do that again, please don’t leave without telling me.” 

Faruzan didn’t answer his questions. 

Kaveh didn’t mind. He could care less about her silence. He weakly pulled her into a hug, clutching tightly around her arms, indulging in the warmth he was invited with. Kaveh felt a current of relief wash over him when she felt her arms wrap around him too. 

It was constrictive, suffocating—but that was what he needed. Kaveh didn’t want to breathe, he needed to fall in. 

*

Kaveh sat by the grassy patch, legs hanging over the edge of the cliff. 

There was a lighthouse above them, its beam brightly guiding ships into the harbor of Port Ormos. The busy market bustle felt so far away, as if they were detached spectators watching a community thrive without them. 

Faruzan was right beside him, her unclipped hair whipping wildly around her face, a stubborn frown on her lips as she tried to get it to keep still. 

The shore was far below them, waves flecked with white sea foam, a dark, deep blue that tempted one to take a closer look. It followed a churning rhythm, crashing against coastal rocks, frothing at the edge of each push and pull. It was a rising tide, eating away at sand, an uncontrollable depth underneath the dim light of the clouded moon. 

“We shouldn’t be out here this late. There’s a curfew, soldiers will make their rounds and we’ll get caught.” Kaveh broke the silence, implying his desire not to stay here any longer. 

The edge of the cliff was quiet, in the way nature was with wind brushing against the grass, gentle, a light caress to the touch. But he did not want to feel at ease. Kaveh wanted to leave. 

“Since when were you so concerned with breaking the law?” Faruzan pointed out, bringing up his usual candidness. “None of them would cover a location this far.”

Kaveh raised his suspicions. “And you know that because?”

“I wanted to show you a spot, then you followed me up here.” Faruzan shrugged, giving up and clipping her bangs so they’d stop going all over the place. “It’s a great way to get away with murder too. One push and an unsuspecting victim can fall right into Focalors’ gaping maws.”

Give it to Faruzan to be unapologetically blunt with murdering him. 

Kaveh looked at the height below, thinking about it. From what his eyes could see, everything looked smaller from where he sat. They were as small as toys, able to fit his grasp if he wanted to get a hold of it. 

Reality wasn’t in his imagination. That would be impossible. 

It was a funny thought, but it was nothing Kaveh would entertain. 

“Killing me right after contacting those soldiers for help? It’s as if breaking one of your rules doesn’t actually matter to you. But since you’re the one who made it, is there a double standard I’m not picking up on?”

Faruzan has always told him to stay away from soldiers. They were arrogant pricks who got power trips off of abusing their strength. Their usual playthings were making use of street urchins like them. 

Kaveh understood that it should not be the situation in all circumstances, but he could not help but feel bitter when they were the ones who saved him from those racist bullies. 

“It’s a case to case basis.” Kaveh already knew that, but having Faruzan say it out loud was still irritating to the ear. “Your little… scuffle falls under the exceptions.” 

A familiar trickle of anger knocked him at the back of his head. Kaveh held it still, not wanting to ruin the evening, but that did not completely erase the snideness in his voice. 

“You told me they were corrupt.” Kaveh stated, blunt.

“Don’t get me wrong, they still are. But with the right motivation? They could do their jobs at the right price.”  

Faruzan knew the way around it. Soldiers in their part of the city were often trigger happy, but their wages have always been one of the lowest. Their lack of supervision equated to the emptiness in their pockets. 

One of the ways a person can utilize them was through mora. An easy solution to a corrupt system. Kaveh should have expected no less from her street smarts. 

“They’re easily bought out by bribes, are prone to thinking with their dicks, and they’re as reliable as entrusting a drunkard to walk a straight line. You’ve talked my ears off regarding all their shining qualities.”  

Kaveh listed each of them down, one finger per complaint. 

Faruzan has always been out there for the little guy, so he practically had all of these memorized. To hear that Faruzan made use of a force she never agreed with was quite hypocritical. 

“...those soldiers have their uses. They do the dirty work others can't handle, clean up the streets, and keep to an… upright schedule. They're our kingdom's glorified janitors.”

Despite Faruzan’s attempts at looking for their upsides, it was clear to Kaveh that she had a hard time coming up with any. 

"You sound like an alpha." Kaveh remarked sarcastically. 

It was their condescending attitude, relegating everyone else into manual labor, keeping them in their castes. It was more of a joke than an insult, but he hardly hid his bitterness. 

"Who wouldn't want to be part of the top percent?" Faruzan brought up a good point. 

Kaveh thought about it for a bit. He would always be on top if he were an alpha. Sexually, socially, and intellectually. It appeared like there were no downsides to such a deal. Despite knowing that, he had to reject the idea. "It doesn't sound that appealing to me.” 

What was the use of wanting for something that was impossible? 

"Really? I’d enjoy pressuring people to do what I want by a simple push of my pheromones." Faruzan said, a joking smile on her lips. 

Kaveh rolled his eyes. "They could keep to their dick measuring contests, I simply want their privileges." 

"Sounds like a pipe dream to live up to." 

Kaveh raised his brow. "Almost like trusting the corps to help us out without any ulterior motive.”

Faruzan sighed, carding a hand through her hair. She must have tried to change the topic, but when Kaveh wanted to bring something up, it would not be forgotten until it was properly addressed. 

“There was none.” Faruzan answered bluntly. “I paid them to scare those instigators away and that was that.”

Kaveh did not want to recall his embarrassment. 

It was his impulsiveness at its worst, running into a fight without a plan in mind, nothing up his sleeve or an advantage to turn the tables. To nobody’s surprise, it was a complete failure. Kaveh hated himself for it. 

Despite the fact that Kaveh was heavily disadvantaged, his pride refused to let the matter rest. 

The frustration was simmering under his skin, wanting to fix it yet unable to. “...I could have handled it by myself,” Kaveh spat, clenching his fists. “If you just gave me more time—”

“You sound like an alpha.” Faruzan shot that down immediately. 

Kaveh’s insult was returned right back at him. Having it repeated felt like a slap on the face. 

“I don’t even look like one.” Kaveh scoffed, hating his body for feeling wrong. He felt like a stranger to his own limbs. “Everyone would leave me alone if I actually had the capabilities to be one.” 

In the brothel, alpha children were too volatile to be kept. Their temper tantrums were violent, they’re easy to set off, and in a brothel filled with paying clients and omegan prostitutes—it was a disaster waiting to happen. 

Betas and omegas were the only ones allowed to stay. One would work as servants, the other to replace their mothers when they aged. 

Alphas were sent to an orphanage, never to be seen by their mothers again. Kaveh had seen children being separated by their parents, the more dramatic ones being where the mother grew attached to a child that just presented as the wrong secondary gender. 

It was normal at that time. Kaveh had no impression of it. 

“You believe it’d be difficult?” Faruzan asked a stupid question. 

It didn’t take a second thought for Kaveh to answer. “It’s impossible. Everything was assigned genetically at birth, how can I hope to compare?”

“I’ve always believed in the concept of nurture over nature.” Faruzan mused, challenging the status quo. “You’re a stubborn kid, Kaveh. If someone finds a way to do it, I’d expect you to be the first.” 

Kaveh was flattered that Faruzan thought so highly of him, but what compliment hasn’t he received? 

“The first?” The edge of Kaveh's lips upturned. “What kind of alpha would disassociate the moment they face their enemy? If I were born one I wouldn’t stand a chance. It’s as if I were a shattered vase held together by fragile tape. My mother always told me the importance of maintaining our appearances, but what’s the use of looks when it’s hollow and in need of someone else to keep it from falling apart?”

Kaveh has yet to give up, but he felt like the path he was taking felt bleak. Getting mercilessly beat up by a bunch of alphas furthered his point. 

“Why are you worried about being overly reliant? Humans have always been social creatures. We depend on connections to survive on a day to day basis, it’s our way of life.” Faruzan said quietly, highlighting the importance of having someone guard your back. 

Kaveh understood what she meant. 

Kaveh was not the type to shut himself in a room, it felt suffocating whenever he was alone. When his thoughts were too loud, he would rather enjoy the company of being with other people, maintaining relationships with them, to block out what he didn’t want to listen to.   

There was simply a difference between having fun and needing another for survival. 

Kaveh cared for his friends, but he wouldn't burden them with his issues when he could simply handle them all by himself. 

“Platonic relationships are fine, it’s just… I could live a sheltered life, supported by an alpha who… loves me, I hope. It would be the easy way out, but I’ve always enjoyed making things harder for myself.” Kaveh joked, admitting to his bad luck. 

Or perhaps his misfortune can be linked to his horrible decisions. 

Faruzan crossed her legs, leaning on her arm in thought. She combed a strand of her hair on the back of her ear. Kaveh continued to feel the wind on his face, fresh air as it caressed his cheek. He let his eyes wander for a bit. 

Faruzan turned her gaze to his. Kaveh reciprocated the contact. “It’s natural for people to go for what benefits them in the end. So why would you willingly go through such hardships? When we weigh the outcomes together, which decision would fulfill your livelihood in the long run?” 

Kaveh was not sure how to answer such a question. 

“Yeah, what do I hope to accomplish?” Kaveh gave it a second thought. “I’ve always felt suffocated under my mother’s grip, but now that I’ve left her… I feel aimless. Without someone to direct me on where to go, I’m blindly treading a path that leads to nowhere.”

Without a plan, without a future. 

Kaveh ran from what was expected of him, but what does he expect from himself? He has yet to shape what he will become, but at the cusp of not knowing what to do next, he felt like a blind man grasping for some light. 

“You want to prove your mother that she’s wrong, but you don’t know how.” Faruzan summarized his faults. 

“I’ve always been transparent about it.” Kaveh shrugged. “Although, I truly don’t think it’s going the way I wanted it to go. My expectations have been dashed and my non-existent plans are ruined.”  

Kaveh wanted to shake his younger self in the face. Why did he go that alleyway without being patient? 

The reason why Faruzan tried to stop him that day was because she had a plan to contact the authorities. She’d have to pay them off again, sure, but Kaveh didn’t have to get injured for no reason. 

Was it the want to impress Faruzan, how tired he was of being treated like a kid, for a chance to prove that he was more than what he was born in? Kaveh successfully realized the fact that he was an idiot. 

He’s always been sensitive, emotional when pushed hard enough, but in such circumstances it could have ridden him with worse consequences. 

“Nothing is ruined.” As if assuaging his concerns, Faruzan was quick to correct. “You still have decades ahead of you to fulfill your dreams. You’re simply in need of an outline to hash it out.”

Kaveh sighed. “Where do I even begin?”  

Faruzan faced him, garnering his attention. 

Kaveh looked at her in confusion as she picked up a stick. Faruzan started to draw something on the ground, the stick digging deeply into the ground with every stroke of her makeshift writing tool. 

It was a square in the middle, circles at the upper right corner, a heart to the lower left, and a triangle at the bottom. 

“Let’s start with yourself,” Faruzan pointed at the square with her stick, “remove everyone from your drawing board,” she crossed out the triangles, “then take a look at what brings you happiness.” she drew arrows right at the heart, highlighting it. 

“What fulfills you as a person? It doesn’t have to be concrete, it can simply be a concept that has yet to bloom into something more.” Faruzan handed him the stick. Kaveh hesitantly looked at what he held in his hands. 

What did Kaveh desire?

A better life. To be happy. Surround himself with people who love him. How would he even get there? 

Whenever Kaveh helped Faruzan out in the clinic, he would act as her nurse. He learned a couple things from her, how to properly clean a wound, which herbs were helpful, the basics if he were being honest. 

But Kaveh did it because Faruzan was always shorthanded. Learning something new was great too, but he saw it more as a chore than an actual hobby. 

Kaveh enjoyed playing with the other kids, sneaking into the public library when the librarian wasn’t looking, cooking barbeque over an open fire whenever one of the older brothers came back to the clinic after a hunt. 

But Faruzan told him to keep people out of the equation. 

Kaveh looked at the stick in his hand, then he tapped it on the ground. He gave it a thought, then finally came up with something he genuinely started to enjoy.

“I guess... I liked it when you taught me how to draw. It makes me feel like I’m in control. When I draw a subject, the process of creating it and messing with it, looking at the end product makes me happy.” 

Kaveh flexed his wrist, smiling. 

Faruzan taught Kaveh how to read basic vocabulary, along with handing him stories and books on topics she’s read a thousand times before. Other than ink on pages and the books in her shelves, there was an entirely new wonder when she handed him a blank piece of paper and a pen. 

“That’s what matters. You have such a beautiful dream, Kaveh.” 

Kaveh felt a light blush on his cheeks. A burst of warmth wrapped around his chest, making him happy. 

“How do I make it into a reality?” Kaveh asked, not exactly expecting an actual solution. A vague question was difficult to answer. 

“You’ll need strength, a proper foundation, and intellect that will make others think twice before crossing you. Becoming a soldier comes to mind.”

A soldier? How did Faruzan get to an artist to the military? The difference was as stark as it sounded: one sought to create, while the other sought to destroy. And a stereotypical image of a soldier did not follow how Kaveh looked like. Even at his age, his puberty has yet to hit. Without the appropriate nutrients, added with the abuse his body has gone through, he was kept slight. 

Kaveh laughed. He stared at Faruzan, expecting her to continue with the joke, but she looked back at him, dead serious. 

Kaveh’s mood quickly turned from there. “You’re mad.” Faruzan was expecting insanity from him! “Are you asking me to be cannon fodder?” 

“No, I’m giving you the big picture.” Faruzan stated calmly. As if she wasn’t casually suggesting him to serve his life to a bunch of warmongering fools on a platter. 

“Big picture?” Kaveh asked her incredulously. “I didn't even see a picture, or the frame in the first place.” 

“Tensions are rising within Haravatat. There has been word about their ambitions to further their borders towards neighboring territories, and Vahumana would be the first. Across the Sumeru alliance, leaders have been debating on whether or not they should lend a hand.”

Kaveh did hear rumors regarding such a thing, but hearing it from them and hearing it right from Faruzan felt unreal. The war felt so far away, as if he were watching things from a spectator’s perspective. He had nothing to do with it. 

“Why should I care about what those leaders think? I’m an omega too, they’d never let me step foot on a battlefield.” Kaveh said, already predicting the many different ways his file would get declined in enlistment. 

Omegas were the housewives while alphas did all the work. Would those alphas in power even allow a child bearer to get itself killed in the battlefield? 

“If worse comes to worse, and Haravatat succeeds, Vahumana will not be the last territory they’ll set their sight on.” Faruzan did not keep her hopes high. “It's only been a few years since Kshahrewar has been encroached in war. The army will run into a shortage of men. It’s unconventional, but not unheard of. They will open their doors to omegas willing to prove themselves in battle.” 

Kaveh found that quite interesting, but he has never heard of an omega making a name for themselves. 

“Even if I somehow manage to join, I’d end up dying in the frontlines.” Kaveh would be infamous. Not for his talent, but the sheer idiocy of setting the speed run record of the military's fastest death. 

Faruzan shook her head. “You truly think so lowly of yourself?”

“It’s not about thought, it’s about reality. The stakes would be higher. I’ve had my expectations dashed before—if I were to run to the army without a plan, then my life would be easily extinguished.”

Kaveh knew he needed to support himself, but joining the army was practically suicide. There were other fields an omega like him could join, as limited as they may be. Perhaps they wont hold as much influence as a commander, or a general of an army, but that was a dream—not a reality. 

“Then plan it out. Be smarter.” Faruzan said, as if everyone was as blessed as her with her intellect. Kaveh felt a little bitter about it. “Alphas have their potent pheromones, incomparable strength, and a genius battle sense.” 

A moment of silence passed. Kaveh kept quiet because he was expecting her to say something more, but it seemed like she gave it a pause. 

“And omegas have their…?” Kaveh encouraged her to continue. 

“You already know the answer. I won’t hand it over to you on a silver platter.” Faruzan rejected his request, laying over the patch of grass, hands behind her head. She shut her eyes as if she were about to sleep.

Kaveh hated this about her. 

He knew how much she enjoyed it, making Kaveh work for the information, but most of the time it was irritating. If a person knew the answer, why would they withhold it like a bastard? 

Kaveh rolled his eyes. “Do we not have any upsides?”

“You have more than you think.” Faruzan said, her tone making her sound like a teacher. “You already make use of them, but they escape your notice.”

Kaveh pictured his mother and the other prostitutes in the brothel. They were all omegas, each with their own unique charm, coming from various heritages. Despite their differing descent, they all had one similarity. 

“Uh, we’re prettier?”

Faruzan frowned, the look she would give Kaveh when he gave a stupid answer. “Was that a question or an answer? It’s definitely a plus, but look under the surface. You aren’t just a hollow vase.” 

Kaveh’s mom has always been a scheming bitch. He hated her, but even he had to admit that when she was in her prime, his younger self has always been awed by her knowledge. 

“Intelligence…?”

“And?” 

There was more? Give it to Faruzan for always being complicated. 

Kaveh glared at her. “I give up.”

“Charm.” Faruzan thankfully did not answer it hours later. Sometimes she would withhold it until Kaveh figured it out, but thank archons for small mercies. 

“I don’t have either of those! I impulsively ran into a fight without thinking and my mother hated me!” Kaveh was quick to challenge her answer. 

Faruzan thought otherwise. “You’re smarter than you realize. How else did you manage to make me stick by you for so long?” 

Kaveh laughed, not taking her words seriously. “I’m smart because of you?”

“Your charisma attracts people to you. It brings people to stick by you, bend to your wants, and keeps them pliant to your wishes.”

“You make me sound like my mother.” Kaveh frowned. “They just want me for my looks.”

“Are looks enough to make up a whole person? I’m not the only one you befriended. Many people call you by your name, remember who you are, and are thankful because of what you’ve done for them.”

Kaveh was speechless. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He never exactly gave it a thought, but the way Faruzan said it touched him more than he expected.  

“You are more than a hollow vase. Sure, I did find you pretty when I first came to know you, but what makes your face any more unique than the thousand other omegas I’ve encountered? You reminded me of an old friend. Passionate, loving, sensitive. I stuck by you, simply because you knew what I needed. And you gave, and gave, despite never leaving anything left for yourself.”

Something about her words struck a chord in Kaveh. It made him feel guilt, an urgency to correct her misunderstanding. 

“Faru, you don’t understand, I’m selfish. I did that because I wanted you to like me. I wanted to be the exact opposite of my mother. Out of a pettiness to stand for something she would never approve of, molding my personality to fit your tastes—I’m only kind because I want to be like you. But how can I be kind when my intentions were never even pure?”

Kaveh’s idea of kindness was to do it simply for the sake of it. An act of generosity without expectations of return. He felt that if a person did it, waiting for a favor to be given back, then it ruins the purpose of the action.

Kaveh’s sense of pity has been skewed in his time on the streets. 

Crimes, violence, acts of pettiness. He has already become jaded by it. He was kind because Faruzan wanted him to be. Because doing an unconditional favor for someone else opened a connection for them to get to know each other more. 

Kaveh did it for approval, for his desire to please others. 

“Nobody is truly kind, Kaveh. And that’s alright.” Faruzan said, surprising Kaveh to the core. “Do you know why I handle a clinic? Why would I treat whoever, despite the repercussions that may chase me by the heel? I wasn’t the one who built it, I’m simply continuing a dream that was never mine in the first place. It’s out of guilt. Nobody’s ever black or white, my generosity is only a cover to make up for a past that can never be fixed.” 

Kaveh’s understanding of Faruzan has been flipped over the head. 

When they became friends, Kaveh didn’t ask Faruzan how she ended up in the streets. Neither did she ask him about his reasons. It was unsaid etiquette, a form of disrespect if somebody dug deeper into another’s privacy without their consent. 

Kaveh knew the bare minimum, the usual case of an orphanage and the loss of a missing friend, but he did not realize what drove Faruzan in the first place.  

“People have always been driven by their selfishness? And I guess you’re,” Kaveh corrected himself, realizing that they were both on the same boat, “we’re not so different after all of this.”

Faruzan nodded, a rare look of wistfulness on her face. 

Kaveh has always rejected her insistence on being called decades older than she actually appeared, but in that moment, her youthful face looked like it aged beyond her years. 

“It is in the nature of people to choose what benefits them the most. To look down on selfishness comes from a place of privilege, as those who never needed to think of survival in the first place can believe in the insubstantiality of morals.”  

Kaveh found himself agreeing to her words. Yet, it gave him a pause. 

“Why are you telling me this now?” 

Faruzan fell silent. Her expression was unreadable, nothing giving itself away behind her eyes. Kaveh began to dread what she would say next. 

“I wanted to… settle things, so that I won’t regret what I’ll do next.”

Kaveh felt like his heart was caught in his throat. He felt like he knew the reason why, but he didn’t want to believe it before it's plastered right in front of his face. 

“What do you mean?” Whoever asked it out loud, Kaveh felt like a spectator to his own body. 

“I brought you here to say goodbye.”

A million questions crossed through his head. 

It was an overwhelming torrent of confusion, panic, the fear of being left behind suddenly rearing its ugly head—to the forefront of his reality, to be found out as true. 

Kaveh didn’t want to come off as clingy as a leach, a desperate fool running after someone who cared less, to out himself for being the one who poured out his entire soul to this relationship—only to be told that it was temporary, a brief exchange of dialogue that will never happen again. 

Instead, what came out was pathetic. 

“...why?” 

Kaveh was looking right at her, but she couldn’t even do the same. 

Faruzan could not bear to look back. Kaveh wanted to hold her by the shoulders, make her see reason, but that would be encroaching on her personal space. 

Kaveh has yet to be that far gone. Kaveh has always known warmth through contact, yet he felt like if he tried—it would ignite something he was not ready to face. 

Faruzan used to tell him that his sensitivity was a gift. Now that he realized that he was simply a replacement to Faruzan’s dead friend, such a compliment did not resonate with him as much as it used to. 

She said it was a dichotomy between his jadedness and his compassion. A complex series of traits that made him humane, an interesting subject to study, to be around—to entertain when times were dull. 

Kaveh thought otherwise. He felt like it was a burden, shoving him into the deep end, tripping him into a hole it dug itself. 

“I was able to acquire a scholarship. I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning, and I wanted to take you with me, I really did—but they rejected it because you’re an,” Faruzan coughed, awkward, the first time he’s ever heard her choke on her words. Kaveh felt like his chest was thrown off the ledge, “you were rejected due to your status of being an—”

“Omega.” Kaveh finished the sentence for her. 

Kaveh looked away from Faruzan, giving up with his desire of making her look back at him. He stared at the horizon, as far as the eye could see, the midnight skies hiding sights that were usually presented during the day. 

They were submerged, deeply, straight into ice cold water. Churning waves crashing against coastal rocks, a hypnotic whipping of water. 

Faruzan was going to leave him because he was an omega. Kaveh left his mother because she was an omega. 

Kaveh paused. 

“Where are you going to study?” He asked again, voice faint. 

“Haravatat.”

Kaveh laughed, shaking his head. His fingers felt engraved in ice. “Isn’t it ironic? You push me to enlist in Kshahrewar, knowing that you’ll leave our kingdom for the empire.”

“Kaveh…”

“No, don’t worry about me.” Kaveh pulled himself together, putting a smile on his face. “It’s fine. Remember the drawing board? Remove everyone out of it, then put your ambitions into the forefront. If you want a fulfilling future, then I want that for you too. Your potential is wasted here. Go for it.”

“Are you sure?” Faruzan’s question was as faint as his. 

Kaveh tore his eyes away from the horizon, meeting Faruzan’s gaze with his own. He shoved it deep into his gut, locked it into a shelf to look at for another day. 

“Of course. Don’t let your relationship with me hold you back. You’re intelligent, Faru, more than I ever will be, so take that opportunity and go.” Kaveh pushed her to do it. He did not want to be the reason why she would rot here.  

"We'll meet again. I swear it.” Faruzan promised him. 

Kaveh smiled. “Someday?”

“Someday.”

*

Kaveh came back to Faruzan’s clinic, locking the door shut behind him. 

It was now his, as Faruzan entrusted him with belongings she could not bring along. 

Her home was a small thing, not enough for two, but they made it work whenever Kaveh occasionally visited. It was now dark, lacking some of her furniture he used to see as permanent. 

Kaveh silently walked towards her ratty couch, leaving her bed alone despite the fact that he was technically its new owner. He decided to lay on the hard surface. The texture was scratchy against his skin, a couple tears that worsened in age.

Kaveh looked up at the ceiling. 

Kaveh counted the cracks that spread across the surface, the peeling white paint. He kept looking, staring, watching the ceiling that had already deteriorated with time. 

Kaveh simply watched, and kept watching.  

*

Kaveh collected the discarded cigarette ash, pouring it into a piece of paper. He ignored the tremble of his hands, rolling it up, forcing it to stick together. He took a lighter, flicking it with his finger. A small flame came to life.

Kaveh urged his own hands to do what he wanted, not what it instinctively felt like doing. To throw it out before he could overcome it. 

Kaveh brought the tip of the cigarette to the fire, sweat falling from his brow. “Place the edge of your cigarette against your mouth, carefully allow your lips to wrap around it. Slowly, like a lover would to their muse. Take a long drag into your throat, taste the smoke as it prickles with heat, as it warms your chest. Then let it all go. Are you falling in love with my vices?"

Kaveh abruptly tossed it away. 

“Fuck.”

He can't do it. He can't get himself to do it. He was nothing but a coward. 

Kaveh carded a hand through his hair, roughly combing against the blonde strands. He opened the shelf, shoving it into the back, then locked it close to face for another day.

*

Kaveh spat at the ground. 

The floor was of sand and pavement, sparking up in heat as the harsh rays of the sun boiled the army barrack's soil. It had been days since he was last allowed the luxury of a shower, and he felt as happy as a pyro abyss mage under the rain. 

"Lieutenant Pir Kavikavus must be severely overestimating you." His more senior opponent looked down on him, not taking Kaveh seriously at all. "Am I to battle the son of a whore?" 

Blood pooled at the back of his throat, a metallic taste at the tip of his tongue, yet he ignored it. 

He did not care for the names he has been repetitively called during the time he has spent in the regiment. He did not allow it. 

This was a beatdown masquerading as a friendly spar. He has already taken a couple hits, but he kept getting back up. 

There was hazing for all the new recruits, targeting those who especially looked vulnerable. Being underfed and lacking the proper nutrients, Kaveh stood out for being more slender and shorter than the rest of his colleagues. 

The knowledge of his secondary gender did not agree with his case. 

"This whoreson will have you at your back before you realize it." Kaveh said, snarling. He would rather own the insult than let it get to him.  

"Humor in an omega, how rare." His opponent mocked him. "I have not met many of them, but the ones I have were too busy moaning around my cock to keep an entertaining conversation."

The man must have found himself hilarious, laughing at his own unoriginal joke. It was as most jokes usually were, directed at him, taking a shot at Kaveh's expense. 

"Omegas like you have always made for dull company." 

Kaveh was neutral, already used to such behavior. His scent was stronger than most, and the medications used to hide it were far too expensive for his budget.

Disguising his secondary gender as a beta was a pipe dream. So he sucked it up and accepted the treatment as it was. 

"I doubt you can carry a conversation yourself, seeing that you need to purchase the company of prostitutes just to force them to endure your presence." Kaveh smiled, tone as plastic as the whores back at the brothel he used to call home. He followed by example, voice sweet as honey, yet the message was far from it. 

There was a shift in the air, tension rolling off the alpha in waves. He did not take his response lightly. Kaveh felt delight, indulging in the way his words affected the bastard. 

"Insult me all you like, but I see no difference between you and a whiny bitch.” His opponent was snarling, yet had a lascivious look in his face, lumping Kaveh in with the rest of his kind. If he were younger, perhaps less experienced, Kaveh would have impulsively jumped him and started clawing at his eyes—but he knew patience was key. 

“You’re all talk, aren’t you? You look just like the whores I fucked the other day, if not uglier. It’s a shame about the attitude." He walked a step closer, but Kaveh did not give him the satisfaction of moving backwards.  "Keep that mouth shut and you'd look more appealing. Perhaps if you meet me after training, I can escort you back to the brothel where you belong."

Kaveh could imagine the shame that would consume him if he came back to the brothel empty handed. 

His mother—if she was even alive, considering the state of her health when he left her—would look down on him with derision, mock him with thinly veiled insults regarding his dreams of becoming something more, spit at his name for he was the blight in her life. 

His pride did not allow such a thing. 

The image of himself with his tail between his legs, giving up before he even started? 

He escaped that damn cesspool for a reason. And he doubted the master of the brothel would ever take him back. He left telling no one, an impulsive decision that left him hunting for scraps in the streets. 

Kaveh knew what happened to those who ran off. Maybe it was for a lover, a debt they were tired of paying, or for an opportunity to start life anew. They all ended up in the same place. 

The blooming gardens that enriched the beauty of the bathhouse were not only for show. It was hitting two birds with one stone; as what laid underneath the flourishing greenery was not regular fertilizer, but the corpses of prostitutes who fell out of favor, died of illnesses, or were caught in the act of escape. 

Kaveh looked him straight in the eye, refusing to be intimidated. He tightened his grip around the claymore’s handle, irritation simmering underneath his skin. "Touch me and you’ll find a dagger sticking through your gut. I may have been born from a brothel, but my standards are above you." 

Kaveh watched as the other man narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenched. He pushed him even further. "Those prostitutes most definitely fucked you for your money, as even looking at your face dries up any chance of slick. I didn't know it was possible, but talking to you made it dryer than the sands of the Dahri desert." 

His opponent sneered, taking advantage of their height difference by looking down on him. "It does not matter if it's dry. The blood I tear into whores like you works just the same." 

Kaveh scoffed. "Spoken like a true classless man. I could see why you remain unmarried, as I doubt any partner of yours would enjoy themselves in bed.” 

Whoever pushed the stereotype of omegas being the only gossips was an idiot. Kaveh heard word of the many affairs his opponent’s women had, mostly done behind his back. The new recruits he ate with at the cafeteria would often joke, how his opponent’s addiction with fucking whores cursed him to never attract a proper partner with actual values. 

“Balding and without a wife despite his age!" Kaveh mocked, rubbing it in. "Perhaps you're better off dying in battle, rather than coming back to an empty home." 

"I tire of beating around the bush.” His opponent raised his weapon in preparation for the spar. It seemed like Kaveh struck a nerve. Seeing that this man turned to violence, there was no doubt that the gossip had some truth to it. “Do not doubt me, damned omega, I will set you back in your place." 

Kaveh laughed, finding no humor in his words. The unforgiving sun beat down against his back, sweat dripping down his face as he brushed an arm against his forehead to wipe it off. 

This was but a simple challenge. He represented one of the many obstacles that got in the way of his true goal, so Kaveh would conquer him just like the rest. He refused to run from the insult with his tail between his legs. 

"Reconsider the thought, for the one who will be groveling before me will be you." Kaveh shifted his stance, balancing his weight between his heels. 

“Incorrigible!” His opponent rushed towards him, feet beating against the dry sand of the sparring grounds, launching into an outright attack on his front. 

There was no trickery, no finesse in the way his opponent wielded his heavy claymore—yet it nearly caught him by the head. His pure, unadulterated strength needed no introduction.  

“I will never be bested by an arrogant whore!” 

Kaveh nearly let go of his own weapon, a claymore as big as his opponent’s, when he dodged, cradling his side as he ducked out of the way. 

Once, Kaveh made the mistake of letting go of his weapon in favor of evasion. Losing your weapon was a death sentence in battle. He made sure to correct such a mistake. 

“Then I will be your first.” Kaveh weaved away, avoiding a close call as he ducked, steering away from the unrepentant swipes with bated breath. 

Whether it was dumb luck, adrenaline, or a desperate desire to survive—Kaveh's heart was pounding against his ribs, energy pooling into his lithe muscles to move as fast as possible. 

This spar would not go down as immediately as Kaveh was used to. He has fought friendly battles in the past, but only with trainees as new as he was. 

The war has been picking up, to the point that the army has been accepting anyone with the capability of carrying a weapon. It no longer mattered whether a trainee was young or old, a secondary gender that should have been hidden due to discrimination, or if they had an ailment that sickened a failing body, as practically anyone was prescripted for battle. 

"So the claymore was just for show? I have thought you were better off using daggers, or a butter knife to fit your lacking strength." His opponent mocked, taking note of the inexperience in Kaveh’s movements. 

“That would make things too easy for myself.” Kaveh said, taking back the confident front. Despite the way he was cursing inside his head, for he did not expect this bricks for brains to notice it, he cannot display weakness. 

The bastard would sniff out an open wound like a hound. “Beating you with your own weapon would be an embarrassment I will never let you live down.  

“With my claymore? You think too highly of yourself.” His opponent laughed, taking his words as a hilarious joke. 

Although his opponent was an annoying braggart and had a loose mouth, unfortunately, he was a skilled bastard who had far more experience than Kaveh. For one, he was older, had more muscles, and was no doubt in the army longer than Kaveh. 

Kaveh may have been training harder than the rest of the group he came with—spending hours repeating the same drills far longer than the rest, but he has been cursed with a body that was meant to be soft when held, not broad and muscular like the alphas who were training with him. 

While it took them an hour for them to get used to a particular battle method, their strength lending them an ease of practice, Kaveh had to take double their time just to get used to it. 

His stamina was also embarrassingly pathetic. 

It was highlighted especially when their supervisor had them run around the camp. While the rest of the trainees were struggling, yet managing to run as well as they could, Kaveh was practically collapsing in on himself to run any further.  

Kaveh was still getting used to the heavy armor he was forced to wear, along with the claymore he chose as his main weapon out of his own pettiness.

It was to no one's surprise that he was heavily disadvantaged from the very start. 

Despite that, Kaveh did not regret his decision. He will prove to them that he was just as good, if not better. He ignored his screaming limbs and carried on, fueled by pure spite. He wanted to show this alpha bastard that he was wrong. 

Kaveh knew he was not meant for battle, but he was more than what he was born with. 

“Concede! If you show your remorse now, I will not humiliate you with a loss.” His opponent bargained with him, arrogant with the results of their spar. “Your talents are wasted in the battlefield—it is not too late for you to be our public bedwarmer!” 

Kaveh would sooner slit his throat than allow such debasement. “Leave those delusional predictions to our oracles. If I take your word for it, then a loss on your end would have you become a public bedwarmer in my stead?” 

He avoided another blow to his head, gradually getting used to his opponent's striking pattern, watching for an additional hit, patiently tiring his opponent out as he has yet to make a move of his own. 

“I am not the whore between the two of us!” His opponent heaved another heavy swipe of his claymore—yet Kaveh reacted just as quickly, ducking again to sneak past the continuous blows his opponent was raining down on him. “I would sooner jump off a cliff than be compared to the likes of you.” 

“I have been told that your partners change as often as clothes put to launder. What makes you so different from whores who sell their body for mora?” Kaveh taunted, prodding his opponent’s fragile masculinity. 

“For one, I would rather die than be on the receiving end. Such pursuits are a humiliation I will never consider!” His opponent was quick to defend. 

“Yet every woman, every omega you have tried to romance has left you for another.” Kaveh pointed out, taking joy in the anger that took over his opponent’s face. “Perhaps try taking a cock up your ass, maybe getting dicked down by another alpha will be your true calling.”  

There was another swing aimed at his neck. If Kaveh did not jump back as quickly as he did, forcing distance between him and his opponent, his dislodged head would be rolling against the sands. 

“Try it. Maybe then you’ll quit being at a loss with your partners.” 

Another dismissive snarl. He didn’t even bother replying. What a bore. 

“You have yet to land a hit on my armor, yet you speak of winning against me?” His opponent scoffed, spitting at the ground. “You are an immature child with impossible dreams. Know your place.”  

“If I wanted to listen to a mother’s lecture, then I’d bring myself back to that filthy brothel.” 

Kaveh then avoided another swipe aimed at his gut—the hit was not softened, it was as if to kill, or at the very least land him bedridden in the infirmary—mocking him as Kaveh sidestepped each hit, yet Kaveh still did not respond with his own.  

Kaveh hit a nerve. 

“Is it a touchy subject? Perhaps your mother has never given you enough love as a child. Is that why they all leave? They seek a partner, yet you seek in them a mother who has never loved you back.” 

“Disrespectful scum. Leave my mother—and who I fuck out of this!” 

Kaveh took note of the similarities. “Do they not go hand in hand?” 

“How dare you presume!” 

Kaveh was taunting his opponent with a practiced ease, holding himself together despite the surfacing limitation of his lacking stamina, drawing his opponent to strike out of irritation rather than a planned out blow. 

He kept his focus precise, eyes wide open for any sign of weakness, listening for the exhausted grunt of a man tiring himself out. Kaveh had to rely on an alpha’s notorious impatience to land a hit. 

“Whoever I lie with is none of your business!” His opponent stated, slamming his weapon down on him. Kaveh dodged yet again, taking notice of the growing irritation from his opponent. 

Constantly missing their hits would do that to anybody. Adding to the taunts Kaveh kept raining down on the alpha, and his inability to land a decent blow—the scales would sooner lean to his fighting edge. 

“Were you not inviting me to your bed? Matters of your love life have become my interest the moment you extended such an invitation.” Kaveh said, bringing up his hypocrisy. He gave his reasons despite how groundless it was. “Do not take your anger out on me—” saying so did the exact opposite, increasing his reckless blows. ”—Take this as advice, from a place of genuine concern.” He teased, dancing away as his opponent tried to chase after his evasion. 

His opponent had heavier armor than he had, and no man was invincible. Kaveh needed to pay attention to the first sign of weakness, finish this fight with one strong hit, and parry with a blow hard enough to end the spar with a win of his own.  

His hands were clammy, despite the sand he rubbed all over it. He did want to lose his weapon like a dunce, but that was being tested when Kaveh was forced to parry a hit with his claymore, not quick enough to dodge as he did before. 

“Shut your mouth before I do it for you, omega.”

Kaveh grunted from receiving the hit. He caught it well enough, but his opponent practically fucked up his arm. For that integral moment, he lost all sensation from the limb he used, automatically dragging a curse out of his mouth. 

His strength was as useful as a ragdoll.  

As much as Kaveh wished he was capable, he needed to end this spar as soon as possible, lest he risk himself suffering an embarrassment. At this point, it was a battle of endurance. 

For what felt like a split second—refusing the urge to hunch in on himself, to pant like a dog in need of water, his muscles protesting for him to give up and take a break—he wiped the sweat off his brow. 

They stared each other down, waiting for the first side to break. 

Their spar has grown quite the nosy crowd around them. There were spectators hollering for his opponent to finish him off, to quit playing around with his food and beat him up, show him his place—but Kaveh tuned them all out, adrenaline pumping pure exertion in his veins, claymore heavy yet nimble in his hands. 

The clock was ticking. 

Kaveh knew the odds were stacked against him, being that it has barely been three weeks since he joined the regiment, but most battles were never fair. There were no rules in war. He willingly joined the cause to prove something to himself, for he was not his mother, for he knew he had the potential for more.

Kaveh will not lose to a cocky braggart. He had to think of something, make use of the head on his shoulders. 

Due to his damned inexperience, Kaveh could not rely on pure strength, as his own limited physical capabilities were weaker than the other. Therefore he had to aim at his weakness. If not now, his loss would haunt him for the ages. 

At the very least, Kaveh needed to draw blood from his opponents. His claymore was not meant for tiny cuts, bashing against skin for bruises, or any sort of rudimentary play. It had to be a deadly blow, but Kaveh was unable to seize it. 

Kaveh was not the only one simmering with frustration, as the spectators around them goaded them on, his opponent appeared to let the pressure slowly get to him. Kaveh avoided another collision of attacks, more sluggish than before, but a tad bit better than the man who was taking in panting breaths. 

His opponent’s chest was heaving, exhaustion apparent, as he did not reserve his energy for a long spar. He may have had an explosive start, but the gas in his system was beginning to tire, leaving him to dust. 

Kaveh did not let his guard down. The odds might have been leveled towards his favor, but that meant nothing until the spar was truly over. Kaveh sucked in a breath, adjusting his stance as he bounded forward. 

Kaveh knew his opponent also had his dignity at stake. If he did not want to turn into a laughing stock, he had to win against an omega who had only turned sixteen. He was already considered an adult in Kshahrewar, but this man was more than thrice his age. 

If his opponent was unable to defeat a whore destined for the brothel, then perhaps he should simply cut off his own dick and join them. There was no honor found in the continuous copulation of whores among that cesspool. He would be no better than his mother. It would be perfect to humble such an arrogant alpha. 

Aware of the fate that loomed over him, Kaveh had nothing left to lose. 

It fueled his spite, sharpened his blows, parrying the older man’s claymore as he snarled with his teeth. He will not give in to his aching muscles, to bare his stomach and be bested by a simpleton. 

“Your incompetence knows no bounds.” Kaveh continued to taunt, not shutting his mouth at all. “Were you not arrogant when you told me how easy it will be? To steal the win right from under me? Where has your self proclaimed strength gone, to have bragged about showing me my place?” 

Kaveh could see the anger rolling off his opponent in waves. “It may have taken me longer than I have predicted, but the results will still end in my favor.” 

His pheromones were thick in the air, an ashy taste at the tip of his tongue. It reminded him of the charcoal the kitchen hands used to cook, an oppressive bitterness that seeked to subjugate, displeasure clear in its intent. 

Kaveh held his breath for a moment, then slowly breathed in. He will not be influenced by such rudimentary tricks. He has grown used to the savage mix of pheromones that constantly blended together in the barracks. Of course he had to grow used to it. 

“Yield!”

Kaveh did not entertain his word with a response. 

His opponent matched his energy, as desperate as he could, practically reckless, breathing in laborious air. The advantage he had against Kaveh was beginning to wane, his lack of finesse revealing holes in his armor, opportunities Kaveh could exploit.    

His opponent had strength not as great as before, while Kaveh had yet to grow delirious from exhaustion. He leaped to the side to dodge yet another deadly strike—then that was when he saw it. 

Patience laid bloom to opportunities. 

Kaveh abruptly pierced through the air, explosive energy forcing itself through a frontal attack, right for his opponent’s defenseless legs. He penetrated through a parry, going for a diagonal blow on his left side. It was shallow, not enough to chop off his calf muscle— he has yet to have enough strength to do so, but the dislodgement of his leg was not Kaveh’s goal —drawing first blood.  

“For archons—” His opponent winced, cursing out like a wounded animal. 

At the sight of the omega landing a blow, the crowd spectating the spar grew crazy. There were raucous hollering, shouts that blurred together as their words made no sense to Kaveh, a rowdy collection of soldiers who witnessed an underdog take the upper hand. 

Kaveh did not allow their shouts to get to him. He needed to focus. He distanced himself again from his opponent, adjusting his stance as he wielded his claymore onto the air like a shield, giving himself a moment to take a breather, to relax his stringent muscles. 

He ignored the cold sweat dripping down the strands of his blonde hair, falling along the blockage of his collar. The weakness around his neck did not define him. His collar was his bitter reminder, the selfishness that sprouted in his heart, the goal he made the day his mother forsaken him. 

For that, Kaveh will prove her wrong. 

His opponent, unable to stand on stable legs—Kaveh must have cut him deeper than he thought—collapsed onto one knee, exposing his weakness even further. Kaveh was mindful of where he stood, but applied further pressure onto the man who displayed first weakness. 

Kaveh took advantage of his opponent’s wounded side, swiping at him through his armor, pushing him past his capabilities, bruising him when the opportunities showed itself. He was lithe with his claymore, a little rough as he was self taught, but he made do with what he knew, pressing his advantage. 

Kaveh gave him no chance to get back up, blocking any opportunity for a comeback, going for his injured leg like a stubborn dog gnawing at a meatless bone.   

Out of pure desperation, his opponent changed tactics and went for a blind tackle, yet Kaveh saw it coming. He abruptly lowered his stance, dropping to the sands, and avoided it with ease. 

Kaveh sliced his other leg, taking two of his limbs out of commission, his claymore now ruined with viscous blood. 

With a yell that bellowed from his opponent’s chest, a shout that appeared to echo throughout the sparring grounds (blocking out the amalgamation of noise from the crowd, the inaudible sounds were so quiet compared to the pain that he wrought out with his own bare hands), Kaveh tried his best to stiffen his gut from retching. 

It was either him or me. Him or me. 

His opponent was heedless of any danger as he lunged at where Kaveh stood, yet he darted away—leaping around his blind side, ignoring the way his opponent pierced through open air. 

Kaveh kicked his claymore, some of the last of his energy forced into such a strike, then found a tight grip around his opponent’s loose armor, to trip and force him into a stumble, planting his feet to the ground as he sliced the precarious muscle behind his leg. 

His opponent screamed, a shout more painful than the last, falling forward, landing on his hands and knees like a dying animal cornered to its last legs. 

Kaveh took this stalemate to breathe, to loosen the tension on his shoulders, when his opponent suddenly launched himself at him—no plan, no tactic, only pure wrath. 

Kaveh’s eyes widened at the endurance of the man, their distance abruptly cutting itself in half until they were face to face, the glint of his opponent’s claymore reflecting the harsh rays of the sun. 

Kaveh moved before he could think. His claymore pierced through his opponent’s stomach—disemboweling into his guts, the heavy weight in his hands penetrating deep into flesh and muscle. 

Kaveh let go of his weapon despite himself. 

The gory end spilt blood onto his hands, covered his chest and splattered all over his cheek. He watched as the old man—once lively as he mocked Kaveh, fought him back with equal retaliation, did not allow for his dignity to be stained—dropped onto the sand, falling forward onto his frozen face, his claymore impaled right through his front. 

His opponent never got back up. 

Kaveh stared down at his hands. 

There was a slight tremble, a dizzying sensation as the world rocked back and forth, hyper fixated on the weapon he wielded not a few seconds ago, drowning out the inaudible cheers of approval from the spectators that laid witness to a murder. 

"I didn't realize the kid had it in him!"

"Good riddance. I never liked the guy anyway." 

"Shit! I bet all my mora on the wrong fucker!" 

Kaveh tightened his set jaw, clenching his fists. 

The peers he could pick out in the crowd were smiling at him, various soldiers he did not know patting him on the back, congratulating him for the win. 

They were cheering for his unexpected victory, some of them exchanging currency like they were betting on the results. 

They were holding out their hands as they discussed the spar they just witnessed, atmosphere light and airy like they were used to life being taken out in just one move. 

Kaveh shoved past them all, hurrying for the barracks. 

It appeared as if his spar drew the attention of everyone present. Despite his win, the joy he should have felt after taking his victory from a battle he most definitely should have lost—was only left with hollowness. 

Kaveh ignored the shouts that rang behind him, noise unable to register in the mess that was beating against each other in his head. 

Kaveh was on autopilot. He let his legs lead the way, numb as he went through the motions. 

After Kaveh locked himself in an empty room, he stood deathly still. 

He left his claymore in the sparring grounds. One of the rules that was beaten into their heads was how they were supposed to clean up after themselves. 

Everyone saw what he did. Kaveh would most likely be assigned a few nights on the stables, assigned to clean the horses’ shitters.

Kaveh was alone now. 

There were no longer any raucous shouts, left by himself as the echo of voices in the sparring grounds became muted.  

“Fuck!” 

Kaveh collapsed onto his knees, crying, heaving sobs racking from his ribs. He slammed his fist on the ground, ignoring the pain on his wrists as he stressed it after a round of arduous sparring.  

He did not care if the floor was filthy, shaking his head as if in denial, reaching for the spare rag at the corner of the room and rubbing it against his hands. Over and over again, scratching his bloodied fingers, unable to let go of the sensation of a claymore heavy on his hands. 

He had no water, nothing to clean himself of his filth, as the bloodied crust that was drying in his hands refused to go away. 

He killed a man. It did not matter if it was an accident, pure adrenaline fueling his instincts to go for a blow, what mattered was that a man was dead. 

Like a building held up by a weak foundation, the murder of a man toppled it all into dust. 

The stress finally got to him—the painful insults they ragged behind his back, the countless times he caught soldiers looking him up and down, their lascivious gaze as they saw him beneath breeding stock, undressing him with their eyes. 

He killed one of them. Took away the life of one of those who saw him in such a way.

The envy that simmered underneath the surface, his contempt at the men who did not work half as hard as he did, but owing to the secondary gender they were born with, managed to complete drills and orders and exercises without breaking a sweat. 

Kaveh despised his body—these weak limbs he was cursed with, the muscles that refused to bulk up despite how often he put it under strenuous pressure. 

Despite that, he still felt nauseous in his stomach, a piercing chill that emptied out any feelings from the chasm that was his chest. 

Kaveh curled up into a ball as he hugged himself tight. 

He ignored the beds scattered around the room, not in the mood to move from his spot. 

The crust was on his body, under his skin, a viscous thickness in the blood that was plastered all over him, curling at the surface of his nails, his fingers, his hands that wielded the blade that made it so. 

Puke crawled up from his throat, then he retched as nausea took over, throwing up all over the floor. His tummy was empty, so the vomit had nothing but stomach acid. 

Kaveh clawed at his neck, in an attempt to ease the dryness of his throat—but was stopped when his fingers were blocked by his collar. That damned, black collar. He cried harder. 

Kaveh asked for this. Kaveh wanted a chance to prove himself, to show his mother that he was more than her, but he was never prepared to take a life with his own hands. 

Kaveh had to get used to this, to the feeling of a weapon that laid heavy on his hands—yet it was difficult for Kaveh. 

It was so, so difficult. 

“Are you finished feeling sorry for yourself?” A voice sounded from outside the door.

Kaveh froze. 

The sobs were still fresh from his chest, but the realization of having an audience turned him stiff. He felt so small because of it. 

It felt awfully familiar. He must have followed him while Kaveh was too busy thinking to himself. He was not normally this unobservant, but the stranger got through to his attention. 

Whoever said that must have heard everything. He didn't know how to feel about that. 

Kaveh ignored the man, hoping he’d eventually go away.  

“I placed a bet on your behalf.” The man continued, stubborn as he waited for a response. Kaveh’s hopes were dashed yet again. “Are you not proud of emptying the pockets of those who doubted you?” 

Giving up, he pried his dry lips open. “...no.” Kaveh croaked out. 

Even Celestia itself did not allow him time for solitude. Why was his life like this, for archon’s sake?

He wiped his face, knowing that despite the attempts, he was still filthy from the grime that accumulated from days of training. 

There was a huff from outside. It sounded amused. “There will be more deaths.”

“I know.” Kaveh ignored the pain he littered his hands with. 

Despite the stranger's unwanted presence, he provided a distraction that helped him avoid the blood wrought by Kaveh's hands. 

“Do you really, omega?” The stranger doubted. 

“My name is Kaveh,” he was quick to correct, “not omega.”

A soft laugh. He did not take him seriously either. But judging from the weak display he allowed himself to fall into, Kaveh did not blame this stranger for thinking so. 

“Do you truly believe that, Kaveh?”  

“I am not to be looked down on.” Kaveh tried to build himself back together, ignoring the gaping chasm in his chest. “Lest we spar, and you end up like the corpse who underestimated me.” 

“With much entertainment. Come now, I cannot speak to you properly through a locked door. I have a proposition for ambitious boys such as you.” 

Kaveh picked himself back up again, leaving the discarded rag on the floor. 

Time waited for no one. 

Kaveh wasted enough of it already—he had no more time to feel sorry for himself. He fixed himself up as well as he could, then unlocked the shut door. 

It opened with a creak, rusty hinges moaning against the roughness of the swing. Kaveh’s eyes looked forward to meet the other.

It was a stranger, yet not in the usual sense. 

Kaveh has seen this man before. Dirty brown hair, a mousy nose and a pair of sharp cheekbones. His scalp was slicked back by gel, not allowing any strand loose. The man was older now, but it was a carbon copy of a time long past. 

“...you’re the man with the chocolates.” Kaveh croaked out, more of a statement than a question. 

A wispy memory from his childhood entered his thoughts, a time in the brothel where an older man offered him a hand. 

The man capitalized on Kaveh’s loneliness, with his desire to get along with friends more mature than the rest of the other children—but his mother advised Kaveh to stay away from this man. And that he did, dutifully following her concerns. Kaveh was young, but he listened to his instincts. 

Kaveh felt like he dodged a stab wound. 

“Chocolates? No, it’s your senior supervisor, Lieutenant Pir Kavikavus.” He corrected lightly, offering Kaveh his hand, going for a handshake. Kaveh did not reciprocate it. “I am not fond of sweets, so the likelihood of that being true is close to null.” 

Kaveh’s suspicions were raised, yet he could not clarify it for a fact. This ‘Haravatat’ client has always been close to his younger self, taking advantage of his preference by offering him sweets and treats to enjoy. 

But what did Kaveh know? Getting into the mind of an alpha was a venture he did not want to be bothered with. Whether those intentions were innocent or not, nothing was done back then.   

“You’re right.” Kaveh brushed it aside. The past stays in the past, as long as nobody brought it back up. “I must have been mistaken.”

Kaveh grimaced. “May the archons bless us with our fruitful cooperation.”

“May it be fruitful indeed.” Pir Kavikavus smiled. 

Kaveh swallowed his nausea, burying it deeply into his chest. His hand was still waiting—and Kaveh took it.   

*

Kshahrewar was a harbor kingdom that lay on the center of the Ardravi Sea. 

Its coast spread south of the continent of Teyvat, dividing the eastern and western shores, ahead of the trading routes that were shipped by sea. 

Port Ormos beheld spiraling, impressive architecture that would dazzle the average traveler, enticing them to spend their mora in tourist traps meant to blind them with awe. 

The nation was a mixing pot of cultures, spearheading trends that appealed to the elites, a wealthy city with bountiful resources, and an art capital of technology and innovation. 

To an Empire built upon stringent, cold winters, fruitless farmlands, and a boundless greed to expand on their territory—Kshahrewar was a tempting target.

Haravatat and Kshahrewar were territories far from the other, and its distance both held its banes and boons. Throughout their years of coexistence, tensions were a constant, yet neither had made a move to act on it. The potential afflictions far outweighed the benefits. 

Then Haravatat began expanding its military, absorbing territories at a rapid pace, its conquest reaching far and wide. When their greedy hands finally laid interest in Kaveh’s homeland—Haravatat struck first, therefore Kshahrewar needed to respond in kind. 

The siege for the Empire’s capital was a tiresome conquest. Kaveh was at the helm of the vanguard, being the one to push for the attack, it was up to him to lead the fight into where it all began. 

Since the invasion started, Kaveh had successfully led the capture of nearly all the Vahumana territories under the Haravatat Empire. His army was an unstoppable force, steamrolling past opposition no matter the strength of their resistance. 

Kaveh labeled it as resistance, but it was as feeble as a cardboard house, more for show than anything. 

Only three former cities of the Vahumana territory tried to declare loyalty to the Empire, but with pressured negotiation on his end—they were quick to allow them passage towards the capital.

It was easy to exploit the weakness of Haravatat. The Empire controlled its territories with an iron fist; wrought with exploitation of their colonies’ resources, these people have been victims of unfair treatment, were lower than second-class citizens, and were constantly handled with disrespect from being under the control of the Empire. 

As the knowledge of their desire to be free from their captors was known, Kaveh peacefully negotiated terms for their potential independence, only if they agreed to let them pass their borders without opposition. 

It might have taken more time to settle on contracts and written agreements, but Kaveh did not wish to shed anymore blood unless it was his last resort. 

For now, his army has already been riding continuously for a couple of days and nights, so they needed to rest. Seeing that a break was inevitable, they were then camped out for the night. They had yet to traverse Avidya forest, but they knew of the dangers that would welcome them if they recklessly charged in without a guide. 

After Kaveh met with Tighnari in the morning, they would be on the move again. 

War would not only be a matter on the battlefield, but of resources and the routes taken to get there. The distance between the two territories was as much of a threat as the presence of enemy soldiers. In a war of attrition, the equipment, horses, and the men needed to be taken into account. 

It was quite difficult to keep them all in check. 

As they were nowhere close to the beach, it made the homesickness worsen, so far from where he began all those years ago. 

To think Kaveh was meant for the brothel. If his mother would see him now, leading a vanguard of alphas despite his secondary gender, he wondered what she would think?

It was a shame.

Last time Kaveh saw her, he was still a weak, incapable child. 

Was his mother even alive? 

Kaveh would not be surprised if she already passed on. To be honest he was banking on it. Whenever he thought of her, Kaveh felt like his heart was thrown into a vat of acid, corrosive, brimming with hate, a decimated bundle of nerves that served no purpose. 

His mother was the drive that fueled his ambition. Without her, without the words she spat at him on that one fateful day, perhaps he would have done what was expected of him. 

To be one of the many omegas that offered their bodies, competing for the affection of loyal clients, a battle not in war but of subtle tactics in seduction.

Kaveh would constantly look down on what his mother represented: a feeble woman who fell for the lies of a man who saw her as nothing but an expendable, ditzy omega drowning in poverty, filled with delusions of grandeur despite never working for it. 

She may have been a product of her environment, but he still despised her for it. 

Kaveh wanted to hate her for her incompetence, to laugh at the way she had died, to mock her for her meaningless affection. 

She was nothing special among the faceless prostitutes who were ridden with a fate like hers, constantly living and dying in their meaningless pursuits. 

Beautifying themselves behind a glass cage, singing for clients and dancing for their amusement—living a sheltered life that will never allow them true freedom. 

Yet a small part of Kaveh, an echo, one that never died down despite his hatred, continued to speak to him in soft whispers. 

He still missed her.

It was a foolish notion for Kaveh to desire a parent who never saw him as her son. He trusted that time would soften the neglect, those words that ran its rounds around his head, leaving nothing but a wisp of what it once was. It was in his belief that matters of the heart would be soon but a memory. 

He wanted to wish her hell, yet another part of him did not. Was he a masochist? Perhaps he enjoyed the pain, the suffering she inflicted on him? 

Love was only two steps behind hate, and if Kaveh truly wanted to leave her memory to the dust, he should have been indifferent. 

Despite himself, his purpose revolved around his mother. It was a double-edged sword he could not find himself letting go. 

Time and time again, Kaveh failed to let go of what she represented. He could never leave her to rest. Perhaps he was starved of affection, of an ounce of care that never came to him in his youth.  

The parasitic burden she left him with, despite the fact that she was no longer around him. No matter what he did she still remained. 

Kaveh still thought of his home despite his misgivings. True to his blood, Kaveh was the son of the sea. 

Kaveh missed the bustling crowds filled with shouting hawkers advertising their goods, the narrow canals that connected a river of floating markets, the sticky scent of fish in his tongue as he breathed in salty, shoreline air. 

Kaveh sighed, rubbing his sleep deprived eyes. They were dry again. He swiveled his chair towards the direction of his drawer, opening the shelf. He picked up the eye drops and dropped some into his eyes, blinking so it would get rid of the dryness. 

Kaveh has yet to reach his late-twenties, but he already felt like his back was failing him. He needed to stretch his muscles for archons' sake. 

Being stuck in this seat for far too long was practically killing him. It wouldn't be long when he needed to use crutches, have wrinkly skin, and start growing gray hairs before he could have a family of his own. 

Kaveh wanted to have a domestic, peaceful life as a farmer in the meadows after this shit show. 

"Light of Kshahrewar!" The tent flap opened before him, revealing a familiar face. 

Said Lieutenant marched inside Kaveh's makeshift office like he owned the place. Kaveh was too tired to point out his not so subtle posturing.   

"It's General Malikata to you, Lieutenant." Kaveh grimaced. He didn't have to look up from his work to know who exactly interrupted him. He could smell him from miles away. He reeked of tobacco smoke and day old cigarettes. “Put that out, the smell of tobacco distracts me.”

The intoxicating fumes invited itself in, caressing Kaveh’s cheek. 

The smoky essence of tobacco whittled itself deeply into his throat, carving a space, replacing any room for him to breathe. His eyes narrowed, finger tapping rigidly against the table. 

The cigarette was mocking him, red tip lit up with a smoldering flame, reeking of an unmistakable stench. It dug against his cheek, pressing closer, testing him further. It peered under his skin, clasping it wide open. A phantom touch gripped his chin, moving downwards, massaging the dip of his throat. 

Kaveh clenched his jaw, cheeks tight, tapping his finger against the table. “I can stop smoking whenever I want to. A sentence many have heard, an assurance many will continue to hear. It should not be difficult to put it down, yet why do many still pursue such a vice? Truly, your hurt is my hurt, and my insides are as shriveled, as burnt as badly as the scars I’ve left on your skin. So do you ever blame me, boy?” 

“I’m not one to waste a cigar—”

Kaveh abruptly stood up from his chair and reached over, taking the offending item and stealing it from his grip. He crumpled it into an indecipherable ball, ignoring the stinging pain of heat in his palms, and tore it apart. 

Kaveh did not find the time to even take the bin to throw it. He simply tossed it on the floor. His heart was beating against his chest, at a jackrabbit pace, but he disregarded it as simple nerves.

“The stench is distracting.”

Kaveh did not have the tolerance for smoke. 

Especially when his patience was already running thin. It would set him off. He still needed to get his work done and having such an inconsequential item to ruin it was irritating. 

“You could've just asked.” Pir Kavikavus ignored what happened earlier, then took a seat before Kaveh could invite him to do so. "Is there a need for titles when spending time with an old friend?" 

"I worked my ass off for these titles, so yes. It would be appreciated if you actually used them." 

Pir Kavikavus smiled. 

It was an expression Kaveh has always found familiar—after all, that was the same smile he was met with so long ago. 

It was the smile he saw after he opened the locked door. The first impression he garnered from the man who saw something in him: the boy who overestimated himself, the boy who took another’s life for the first time. 

As Pir Kavikavus watched Kaveh wipe his tear stained eyes and his sniffling, runny nose. When Kaveh had to pull himself together after his breakdown. In those cramped barracks, that amused smile was on his face, as if he enjoyed looking at what stood before him.

Their meeting was enlightening, the spring board that helped Kaveh to where he was now. 

Despite the assistance Pir Kavikavus graced him with, it was not without its ulterior motives. There was no such thing as a kind act, a free lunch that did not come with its own debts in tow. 

Pir Kavikavus did not have to lend him an open palm, and he was not as generous as his actions appeared to be. It was never direct, but the way Kavikavus treated him was not like an equal. 

Unlike the direct discrimination he had constantly dealt with: the torrents of abuse that were constantly hurtled at him, bullied for his secondary gender, or belittled because of their jealousy. 

It was much more subtle than that. 

Like an adult talking down to a child, as if their opinion was simply of childish whimsy, to be brushed off and forgotten the next day. His perspective on Kaveh has never changed—despite how different Kaveh was to that crying kid who has yet to grow into himself. 

In short, Pir Kavikavus was condescending. 

"Would you like me to call you sir?" Pir Kavikavus asked, something unreadable brimming underneath his question. It was as if he were testing him. 

They were in private, but this verbal battle of butting heads never seemed to cease. 

Perhaps it was because tensions were high, the day of the siege growing closer, or some other unrelated issue he was not privy to. Kaveh was practically fed up with his subtle lack of cooperation. 

"You ask for my permission but you always disregard them.” Kaveh felt like he had this conversation countless times before. “Why would you still bother asking?" 

"I am not as spry as I used to be." Pir Kavikavus shook his head, a frown on his face. "Remind an old man to be polite to his betters, it's the least you could do for your former mentor." 

"Cut the crap. You're old enough to be my father—I don't even see a single strand of white hair on your head." 

"Then what of it, Light of Kshahrewar? Isn't this title one of many? The public eats it all up, and I don’t blame them for enjoying it. Rather, it's one of my favorites for you." Pir Kavikavus leaned closer, disrupting his work. Kaveh had to stop himself from shoving him off of the documents. "I like the way it rolls off the tongue." 

Kaveh narrowed his eyes. "It's inappropriate." 

"In what way?" 

"We are not living out a fairytale, Lieutenant. Black or white—both sides, even ours, will be heavily ridden with consequences. You act as if we are on a vacation." Initially, Pir Kavikavus was not intended to join his company for the siege. 

It was not blind to Kaveh how often he brushed off his duties. 

"I am aware," Kaveh could hear the 'but' before Pir Kavikavus even began his argument, "however the public needs a hero to look up to. An idol in these trying times. Who else can fit the underdog, moral driven, and 'nothing left to lose' mold than the light of our lives?" 

"Despite your distaste, you inadvertently made it so." His flattery was nothing new. 

If Pir Kavikavus was not wearing his military uniform, he would have thought him to be a sleazy politician in disguise.

"It helps that you've always been a pretty little thing." 

And that was what started it all, wasn't it? Pir Kavikavus was always upfront with what he saw in Kaveh. 

As if Kaveh were a curious beast who performed out of the mold it was expected to be in. A pet to be kept in a tiny bauble, shown around like an exotic trinket, to be gaped at, observed, never taken seriously. 

It was not his skill that attracted his gaze, his desperation to rise against his status, or the murder of another wrought by a boy who was ambitious for more. 

Kaveh was simply a collectible among the many oddities he had in his collection. He knew what Pir Kavikavus wanted—but Kaveh grudgingly took it as it was. He'd take opportunities when he saw it, even when provided by a questionable source. 

"It has come to my attention," Kaveh said, changing the subject, "that Captain Pharez has been busier as of late." 

Few hours prior, Kaveh held a meeting regarding the cartography of Amurta. Their greatest threat would not be Haravatat, but Mother Nature herself. They have come to an agreement with Tighnari, a guide familiar with the safe passages through the forests. 

In exchange for no obstruction, Kaveh agreed to assist them in changing business partners. Amurta was known for the quality of their wood, a necessity that Haravatat needs due to their infertile soils. 

Despite the years they have spent shipping wood to their territory, Amurta's position in the exchange has always been heavily disadvantaged. Kaveh was giving them the opportunity to get out of that. 

Pir Kavikavus had forced himself into his company, yet he has yet to provide any proper contribution as of yet. Frequent absences were the norm for this irresponsible Lieutenant. 

If not for his connection with the church and state, a nepotistic man child if you will, then Kaveh would have long abandoned the man. 

It was ironic, in a way. The group of people he never favored was the one who opened the door to his opportunities. 

"Ah, yes. I hope he did not cause you any trouble? I had unexpected circumstances to attend to, so I had him take my place." Pir Kavikavus said, voice as smooth as a snake’s hiss, leaning back onto his seat. 

Kaveh played with the pencil in his grip. He tapped its tip on the makeshift table, "Even so, your absence was noted."

"Have you not read the letter Pharez gave you?" Pir Kavikavus splayed out his hand like it didn't matter to him. An all too familiar motion that had Kaveh pursing his lips. 

Kaveh could recall the many patrons that came and went to his mother's room. As a servant boy, he was mostly ignored, thus giving him the opportunity to see more than the regular spectator. 

Arrogant smirks that dripped with self importance, slicked back hair combed to perfection, following trends popular with the elite. Eyes that were filled with conceit, reflecting thoughts that spoke of haughtiness, thinking itself too good to look at people like Kaveh with their own eyes. 

Colognes that was meant to mask the heavy stench of hedonistic desires, pungent with sex and drugs, rich in the way they held themselves—yet their morals were never in the right place. 

Pir Kavikavus looked at him as if Kaveh were on a stage. To perform for others entertainment, how his actions were only a temporary fancy that was only emblazoned by his youth. It was simply a phase and he would grow out of it. 

As if he were on the spectator’s side as he clapped with the audience, among the other rich nobles who benefited from his mother's—his type's suffering. 

Pir Kavikavus smiled, filled with teeth. "But judging by the mountains of missives you have yet to go through, I wouldn't be surprised if you missed it." 

"Formalities aside, there was no need for a letter.” Kaveh shot back. “Your consistent dalliances have become familiar knowledge, in our meetings and for the people you drop your work with."

"Am I not giving them their tasks? They need to do their jobs, they applied for it! I've invited you for tea, gave you opportunities to take a moment for yourself—yet you never take them!"

Was he referring to Kaveh's work ethic? Of all people, the man who did not work for anything to get to where he was disagreed with the way Kaveh went about his schedule? His privilege was speaking for itself. 

"You're missing the point. Do you believe a man of my status has the time to spend for himself?" Kaveh frowned. 

"A man of your status has subordinates to make use of. I don't think there's any point to push. Perhaps it's due to the vigor of youth, but I am realizing the joys of a slower life. Give it a try! Maybe then you'll start smiling more."

"Smiling more? Of all times—we are at war, Lieutenant. We are balancing on a tightrope, a thin wire sensitive to every push and pull it’s dealt with. One wrong step will plunge everything into naught." Kaveh clenched his fist, crushing a crumpled piece of paper in his grip. 

His ambition was not done only out of selfishness, but for a change he wanted to see happen. 

Kaveh did not trust anyone to do it except him. 

"I am aware of the circumstances that brought you here, but that does not excuse you in any way. One rusty cog in the system can endanger the machine that is our kingdom. Captain Pharez may have kept quiet, but what is unsaid speaks for itself." 

"That… that my dear Kaveh," Pir Kavikavus sounded breathless, as if he were in awe, “is the passion that attracted me to you, those many years ago.” 

Kaveh took a shallow breath. Pir Kavikavus was doing this on purpose, he should not let it get to him. 

"Was I not clear?" Kaveh said bitterly. 

“It was crystal. As evident as glass, as clear as the purpose that drives you.” Pir Kavikavus clarified, building himself up for another spiel. 

“There are bards who sing of your intellect, poets who rhapsodize of your triumphant exploits. Your pedestal is a state driven project filled with purpose. A mascot to our cause, brimming with youth and victory! You have yet to disappoint me. In us." Pir Kavikavus smiled, praising his ego to an insurmountable degree. It was nothing Kaveh hadn't heard before. “The public loves you because your purpose is real.”

Pir Kavikavus tried to take his hand with his, but Kaveh pointedly moved away from it. 

The action went unnoticed. “An omega at the vanguard of our conquest, the blade that will slay the heart of the Empire, it is a tale that will leave its mark on Kshahrewar’s history books!” 

Pir Kavikavus had too much confidence in himself. He knew that his people had grown compliant, as good news was constantly rolling in, but that did not excuse them to let their guard down. 

“I am not as selfless as you make me out to be." Kaveh strengthened the edge of his tone. "I have killed in the past, and many more will fall before my blade. You romanticize my deeds but I am no better than our enemies on the battlefield.”

Kaveh chose to hold a sword to his opponent' neck, only when all other options were exhausted. 

Kaveh would rather not take a life if there were alternative options, but as a leader responsible for his people, Kaveh had to show a strong front. 

“You would know that if you stopped using Captain Pharez as your substitute.” Kaveh bluntly stated. 

"Was my attendance dearly missed? You have long outgrown the need for me to hold your hand, but you do flatter me!" 

Kaveh had no idea why he kept trying anymore. He was wasting energy, it was not as if Pir Kavikavus would change any time soon. If only he could leave him and allow Kaveh to politely go back to finishing up with work. 

It was not as if it was in Kaveh's job description to entertain a freeloader. 

"Has Captain Pharez prepared you your midnight tea? I am afraid the cup will grow colder the longer you stay here." 

Pir Kavikavus appeared to be surprised. "You remember?"

"I've done it before. It would be difficult to forget." 

Kaveh did not miss the years he was under Pir Kavikavus' thumb. He was not only a glorified secretary, but handled the work meant for a station higher than his position. 

Even when it came to brewing coffee and making tea, Pir Kavikavus made him do duties that should be below him. Despite the humiliation he had to grit his teeth through, he kept it in stride. 

"Are you not going to relay to me what happened?" Pir Kavikavus has yet to move from his seat. 

Kaveh wanted to glare at him, but refrained from doing so. Was he not aware of the mountains of missives he has yet to complete?! 

"What's with the sudden interest?" Kaveh accidently let some of his derision leak out of his tone. 

"Did you not ask me to involve myself more? Were you not serious about your complaints?" Pir Kavikavus shook his head. "How fickle, always so hot and cold." 

It took all of Kaveh's patience not to kick him out of his tent. 

"You have Captain Pharez to fill in the blanks." Kaveh smiled, kindly reminding him. 

Pir Kavikavus leaned into his seat, taking things comfortably. 

It was as if he knew Kaveh wanted him to leave, thus making it more difficult for him by making Kaveh's office his home. "What better source than the original one himself?" 

Kaveh did not know what to make of him. The silence began to stretch, thick enough to cut through. He decided to multi-task, forgoing all politeness and doing his work in the presence of another. 

If Kaveh gave Pir Kavikavus what he wanted, would he leave him alone already? 

Kaveh kept engaging him in conversation despite his distaste, and he was growing tired. Perhaps he should personify a brick wall. 

Pir Kavikavus looked like he was going to open his mouth again—but Kaveh gave him a pointed look. Whatever he tried to express through his gaze must have worked since the other man was now perturbed. 

Seeing that there was nothing else to be done, Pir Kavikavus left him be. 

*

Kaveh let his hands fly across the paper, charcoal dark against his skin, invigorated as he captured the majestic structure before him: the tall, sprawling tree with roots deeply engraved into the earth. Light wooden huts of various sizes were built on the tree’s twisting trunk, wide circular platforms connected from bridge to bridge. Hanging lanterns that swayed lightly with the wind, short pillars made out of deepwood, balancing cabins seated on the edge of dangling ledges. 

From the layman’s perspective, none of these structures have the constructive integrity to keep off the low ground. As if they could fall at any moment, struck by the rainforest’s unpredictable weather. 

But Tighnari—owing much to Kaveh’s insistence—went into detail regarding the rich history, the specialized construction of the buildings in this village. 

Not a lot of its inhabitants were outside, presenting the perfect opportunity for Kaveh to take advantage of. 

There was the occasional dog that would pass by, with sleep mussed fur and a wagging tail, eager to make a new friend. 

When they flipped over and showed off their tummy, Kaveh couldn’t help but pat it a few times, scratching their fluffy ears as a package. As they beamed for him, all happy and cute, Kaveh gifts them a piece of bread so they can bring it home with them.

Kaveh lifted his thumb in front of him, comparing the size of one structure with the width of his finger, closing one of his eyes to accurately make use of the reference. 

He hummed as he went back to his sketch, integrating the street lights unique to the Avidya forest. 

On a separate page, Kaveh noted all of these down into a legend. His notes were written down with a messy scrawl. He flipped through another clean page, looking around to see what subject he wanted to capture next.   

“Another sleepless night?” A soft voice asked from behind him. Tighnari made himself comfortable by his side, sitting down on the plush grass.

Kaveh turned to him, a gentle smile on his lips. "I would say the same for yourself." 

Tighnari was out of his uniform. He wore a comfortable outfit, airy and long, simple due to its casual appearance. His normally straightened hair was not combed, a couple strands sticking out of his head. 

Tighnari rubbed his eyes, a furry ear flicking at an unseen irritant. There was a lazy scent that drifted from him, the subtle breeze of Nilotpala Lotus in bloom, comforting in its familiarity. He looked as if he were about to fall asleep, head lolling to the side every few seconds. 

Kaveh set his sketchbook on the ground, giving his undivided attention to his friend.

Tighnari stretched to garner more energy, speaking up not too soon after. “I should not have shown you this spot," there was no bite to his tone, only fond exasperation, "you're like a hermit who refuses to move. I wouldn't be surprised if nature reclaims you when I'm not looking." 

There was some truth to Tighnari's words, as Kaveh did prefer keeping to himself when he had the rare chance for some free time. Especially when inspiration hits. Kaveh usually found himself losing track of time and hyper fixating on the task at hand. 

"If I have to go I'm taking you with me. Isn't that your life's ambition? Becoming a plant yourself?" Kaveh found the comparison amusing. It wasn’t a bad way to leave, from ash to ash, dust to dust. Back from whence they came. 

"This soon? As much as you want to be one, you aren't an actual plant. When the time comes, sure, but for now living only on water alone won't sustain you.” Tighnari pointed out his bad habits. “Especially when you hand the meals I gave you to those strays." 

Kaveh knew that he was encouraging bad behavior, but those dogs were too cute for him to reject. 

"Guilty. And I have no regrets.” Kaveh shrugged. “Plus I do go outside, just not when you're looking." Kaveh defended half heartedly. 

Tighnari raised a doubtful brow. "To capture more subjects into your sketchbook?" 

"What else? None of them will escape while I'm still around." Kaveh smiled, acting as if he were a villain out to steal Amurta's wildlife. 

"Should I have expected anything else from a workaholic?" Tighnari teased lightly. 

"There's just so much to do. " Kaveh understood how transparent he was to his friend, so he didn't try to hide it. "I have to make the most of it, especially when things are running at a rapid pace. You never know when time will run out." 

“Spending it with alphas all the time, I could make a few educated guesses.”

“I’d say not all of them,” Kaveh noted the questioning stare from his friend, so he sought to redeem his words, “but I’d be lying to myself. The moment I accept that as truth is the moment I truly lose myself to their posturing.” 

Tighnari leaned back down. “You had me worried for a second there.”

“If you no longer recognize me, feel free to do whatever you can to hit me back into shape.” 

“Sounds like a lot of effort.” 

“Then I just don’t have to change.” Kaveh said, not thinking much of it. “As simple as that.” 

“Hm, as simple as that.” He nodded slowly, repeating Kaveh’s words back to him. 

Tighnari leaned on Kaveh’s shoulder and closed his eyes. 

Kaveh settled his head in a more comfortable position, indulging in the rare moment of quiet, the cool blades of grass damp underneath his fingertips. His hands curled into the earth, enjoying the rough sensation of fallen leaves and densely packed soil. 

With no one to disturb them, time stood still. Sitting with each other, on the cliff edge that overlooked the small village, he felt so far from them. As if he were a spectator to a world opposite of what he came to know. 

"Can I take a look at your sketchbook?" Tighnari asked quietly.

Kaveh was slightly surprised. He thought his friend was fast asleep, as he made no indication of being awake, but he offered his work to Tighnari without hesitation. 

"Be my guest." 

Tighnari gently held the thick book, flipping through the pages as if he were looking for something. 

Kaveh’s sketchbook did not have a specific theme to it. There were pressed flowers in some pages: Dendrobiums, Baby’s breath, and a few weeds he found too pretty to leave behind. Cats in several poses, a figure study as they walked, laying underneath the window sill to sunbathe. 

Structures of the lands Kaveh visited. From sprawling towers hugged by twisting vines, to majestic temples made of sandstone, and unique wooden amphitheaters dotted with brightly lit lanterns.  

Tighnari settled on a page, pausing for a moment. Curious, Kaveh looked closer to see why his friend stopped. 

General Mahamatra had an uncharacteristically exaggerated scowl on his face, while Tighnari was laughing at him, more animated than Kaveh could remember. They were sitting on a table, drawing cards of TCG, a couple drinks and snacks splayed out before them. 

There was an empty chair that Kaveh could recall sitting on, but he left it open since he felt like capturing the moment with his sketchbook. 

Kaveh lowered his head and observed the look on Tighnari’s face. There was a softness in his eyes, the warmth that came after winter frost, a genuine glimmer of joy with every second he spent looking at the rough drawing. 

Yet there was a hint of longing in his gaze, a deep-seated yearning that has yet to disappear. 

“You can have it," Kaveh began softly, offering it to his friend. "I wouldn't mind if you ripped the page for yourself." 

Tighnari craned his head to Kaveh’s direction, expression vulnerable. “You sure?" 

“I insist." Kaveh pushed the drawing into Tighnari’s hands. He knew that Tighnari needed it more than him. 

Cyno was at the battlefront for Spantamad. It had been months since the general left for battle, as lacking as time as Kaveh was, preoccupied with defending his people against Haravatat. In the desert, they were not rich in timber or fresh water like the Amurta, but precious metals and oils that could be used as tools of war. 

Spantamad and Kshahrewar were allies in this battle, united against the empire. Haravatat challenged them in their home ground, the land of deep sandy dunes and heat waves from the unforgiving sun, and it was to no surprise that Cyno’s front held the advantage.  

Despite Spantamad’s frequent victories being common knowledge, loved ones could not help but worry all the same. Kaveh may not be able to relate to his friend—but the sentiment could be felt, and he could imagine how terrible Tighnari was feeling right now. 

“When the war comes to an end, it will be like he never left.” Kaveh reached over and took Tighnari’s hand in his, caressing his palm. 

Tighnari raised the corner of his mouth, a small attempt at a smile. Tighnari held Kaveh’s hand in his, fingers clasped together. “That’s a tomorrow I’d love to look forward to.” 

Kaveh tried to cheer him up, looking at him with sparkling eyes. Tighnari gave him his undivided attention, craning his head forward to meet his gaze with his own. 

Kaveh had been working on this with the architecture department back at Kshahrewar, and even if his rough drafts needed refining, it was a start to something more. 

“I have plans, Nari, plans for when all of this is over. I am going to cease this useless bloodshed and rebuild our cities. It will be better than before! I’ve drawn drafts of new structures, figured out how to mass produce them for easy access, and you’re going to help me! It will be like our own oasis. You, Cyno, and me—we’ll spearhead this for the new generation! Nobody will ever go homeless, or want for nothing when we're done with this place!” 

“I’ll hold you to that promise.” Tighnari smiled at Kaveh’s burst of enthusiasm. It felt more genuine, like a weight was lifted from his chest. “Light of Kshahrewar, the genius architect. It sounds much better than your general title.” 

“You think so?” Kaveh grinned, feeling a little shy. It had a nice ring to it. Kaveh the architect. 

“Is your head in the clouds? I should stop now before your ego reaches the pearly gates of Celestia.” Tighnari hit him on the shoulder playfully. 

“Of course, I always have you to keep me in check. When we establish trade with Amurta, your contract for the timber will—“

“We can talk about work on a later date.” Tighnari interrupted him, sounding exasperated, able to read Kaveh before he could go on a tangent. 

Kaveh laughed. “Fair point, if I start now the night will never end.”

“When we win against Haravatat,” Tighnari began seriously, as if it were set in stone. “Cyno and I will help you turn your dreams into our reality.” He pulled Kaveh into a hug. It was tight, as if Kaveh would dissolve into sand at any moment. Kaveh welcomed it warmly, melting into his friend’s embrace. “But promise me one thing, Kaveh.”

Tighnari looked him dead in the eye. “Promise me you’ll come back safe.”

Kaveh felt something warm bloom in his chest, a weighted blanket hung on his shoulders on a winter night. “I swear it on my sketchbook.” He pulled it out, gently motioning Tighnari to have it. 

His friend paused, stiff with hesitance. “Are you sure? You never leave without it. I’m not sure if I could…” 

“I trust you Nari,” Kaveh whispered softly, keeping things to heart, “and all I ask is for you to trust me too. Just think of it as safe keeping. I traded what I believe is equal in value—and I will come back. I swear it. After all, I can’t leave my dreams behind me when I have yet to make it happen.” 

“Can’t let the opportunities pass you by?”

“Of course. I’m selfish like that.”

"Then out of my own selfishness, I’ll have to reciprocate the sentiment." Tighnari unclasped something on the back of his wrists, an area fairly close to a scent gland.  Kaveh stared at it in bemusement. 

It was a subtle silver chain, thin, smelling of lotus flowers. The bracelet was elegant in its design, an ode to the personality of its owner. 

Tighnari carefully clasped it onto Kaveh’s wrist, fingers gently holding it close. Kaveh fell silent, watching as he did it so gently. 

Kaveh raised it to get a better look, watching as the silver shimmered underneath the light of the moon. “A trade?”

“If you would accept it.”

They shared a small smile—and it was as if everything would be alright. And it will be. As long as Kaveh willed it. 

*

“General Malikata, a red flare was seen in the skies.” 

At the top of a horse was Captain Pharez, galloping right by Kaveh’s side to deliver the news. Kaveh slowed down the pace of his horse. Kaveh gave him his attention, all ears.  “The Imperial Army was spotted passing by the Vimara Highway. Our scouts are reporting around 30,000 marching Haravatat soldiers.”

Kaveh tilted his head in thought. At their known pace, his cavalry would collide with the opposition once they left the forest. As Vimara was a coastal highway close to the sea, they could use the steep cliffs to their advantage. 

“Have 6,000 of our foot soldiers found their positions in the terraces? We need them to cull the herd.” Kaveh asked, checking if the forefront were in their places.

Captain Pharez nodded. “Yes sir, the Phalanxes have prepared themselves with boulders and spears to push them back.” It was a savage but effective tactic. 

With gravity as an assistant, rolling boulders against a sensitive landscape can test the roads the Imperials were standing on. 

“When they fall for the trap, we’ll be able to break through them in one united front.” Kaveh reminded, ruthlessly ordering thousands to die within a single sentence. “Make sure the troops are directly below the phalanxes. Since we have the higher ground, it would be easier for us to force them into the open ocean.” 

If all goes to plan, sowing chaos into their numbers would be a piece of cake. Herding them into a tight circle, surrounding them on all sides, except the vast sea behind them—their only option of escape would be to drown in their heavy armor. 

“Should I inform the Lieutenant General?” Captain Pharez asked Kaveh. 

“At ease, Captain Pharez. Lieutenant is already aware of my plans. There are abatises set in place to disrupt the route of the Imperials. Those pointed spikes are a gift I believe they’d appreciate.” It would further impede their progress. With those traps set in place, Kaveh successfully took advantage of Avidya’s natural geography. 

“As expected of General Malikata, a formidable ally to fight for.” 

“None of my plans would work if not for the cooperation from my men.” 

“General, take some pride in your accomplishments! Those imperial scum would be blindsided before they could understand what was happening.” Captain Pharez laughed, as if sharing an inside joke with Kaveh. “They recklessly march to their deaths as if they want it to all end, like a disorganized line of ants without a purpose. I find the very thought of them drowning in those seas entertaining. Perhaps, once I have the chance, I will record their howling screams as a lullaby.” 

Kaveh narrowed his eyes in disgust. 

He noted the pride in Pharez’ tone, as if his victories were invigorating him. The entertainment he sought from killing his enemies was another place of concern. As great as that could be in stoking the flames of his men’s morale, too much of anything was never good. 

Kaveh had to cut it in its roots before it could grow into something worse. 

“You flatter me, Captain. But some friendly advice?” Kaveh gave him a stringent smile. “We are not fighting against a motley crew of mercenaries, without a proper leader, and only interested in their own selfish benefit. We will face men ready to die for their country. This imperial ‘scum’ is a formidable enemy. Do not underestimate them—even if the tides are in our favor.” 

“Apologies General. I will keep that in mind.” Captain Pharez lowered his head, reflecting out of embarrassment or deep in thought, Kaveh was not sure. Either way he hoped the kid wouldn’t let their wins get to his head. 

Kaveh nodded, dismissing him with his hand. “See that you do.” 

* 

That bastard. 

That fucking bastard. 

Pir Kavikavus left their side, right in front of Kaveh, clearly getting on top of an Imperial-class horse. Betraying them so openly, as if he were not scared of the possible repercussions that will follow him. 

It was a betrayal Kaveh should have seen coming. 

Kaveh had been inattentive, let his guard down as he thought nobody would be stupid enough to endanger his plans when they were this close to victory—but he was proven wrong. 

Pir Kavikavus. The man who raised Kaveh from squalor, presented him with opportunities to rise to his current status, gave him impressions of a flighty nobleman, but a nepotistic manchild who loved his nation despite himself. 

Was the traitor who had been funneling their routes to the empire. 

It was quite ironic. Pir Kavikavus saw his potential, then shot it straight through the head with his own hands.  

Their route was intercepted as they were leaving Avidya forest. His vanguard fell victim to a pincer formation, and with both flanks getting hit by enemies, his position in the line was clearly targeted. 

Kaveh entrusted his second in command to recover the casualties dealt by the sudden attack, but luckily enough his army did not face total annihilation. From what Kaveh could deduce, their goal was simply to get to him. 

Kaveh was not sure why they didn’t slice off his head the moment they had the chance—but he was not one to take a stupid opponent for granted. 

Kaveh never expected to open his eyes again.

He was no longer on the road, whatever they gave him was strong enough to last him the entire journey to wherever he was right now. He was bound on his wrists and on his ankles. Unable to move his limbs and have an opportunity to escape, he was a sitting duck. 

Although, judging by the marble pillars that were as high as the skies, glimmering tiles that clearly reflected his ragged appearance, and the heavy accent on the captors who carelessly tossed him around—he was in Haravatat’s territory. 

Kaveh was never a fan of the condescending architecture. It spoke of riches that were only meant for show, no hidden depth behind the main subject, a meaning heavily shadowed by the need to show off to others simply for the sake of it. 

Kaveh felt someone’s hand hover awfully close to his collar— “Bitch tried to bite me!”

Kaveh snarled as he was backhanded, not one to back off without a fight, a metallic taste sharp in his tongue. He spat on the ground his captors stood. Kaveh had no respect for captors, as it was lacking in his nature to bare his neck in front of another. 

“Fucking disgusting.” One of the soldiers tried to wipe off the saliva, a useless attempt. 

Kaveh felt a sharp flash of satisfaction, as gross as it was, despite his beaten up state. He was starving, most likely bruised due to their rough handling, and had seen better days before he was unexpectedly kidnapped by Imperials.  

“Finish what you started! Kshahrewar will not fall when I’m gone—there are many more who are as talented, more capable than I am!” Not a single lie left his mouth. 

Despite his achievements, Kaveh was not the only one working towards the siege of Haravatat. Kshahrewar will find a new light to take his place. The empire will fall, even if Kaveh will not be alive to see it. 

Kaveh was ready to die (no he was not, he still had a promise to keep), yet his captors did not seem to agree with his unsaid sentiment. 

Kaveh bit his dry lips, trying to keep his mind off Tighnari and Cyno.  

There was a kick to his gut, forcing a grunt out of Kaveh. It was a violent distraction, but it did its job. He let the anger roll off him in waves, staying away from any thoughts of home, focusing on the present that was happening before him. 

Kaveh grit his teeth together, refusing to display any weakness, despite the heavily disadvantaged position he was in. 

“So the prideful omega knows when to admit to their faults? I’d better believe them wagging their asses than wagging their mouths. I would be angrier if Haravatat allowed such a shameless thing, but our enemy doing so made it a benefit on our end.” The soldiers jeered at him, disrespecting Kaveh as if they saw him as nothing more than a bug beneath their boots. 

It was as if Kaveh retreated back in time, back when his status as an omega was questioned on a daily basis. 

These words were direct, meant to crush his feelings into nothing. 

But growing up through hurled abuse, disrespectful jeers that never took him seriously, and alphas who thought themselves better was an environment Kaveh was molded in. Without anybody but himself to rely on, this solidified his face against juvenile insults from the likes of these idiotic soldiers.  

Kaveh scoffed. “Imperials are no better than a backwater county.” They were the exact opposite of Kshahrewar. While having their own share of conservatives, his homeland was more lenient than most. Due to its deep historical roots, they valued traditions above all else. 

This backwards thinking led to nothing but alphas with their heads up their asses. 

“We are proud of our rich history. I will not stand for an omega disrespecting our culture, calling us imbeciles like we’re no better than peasants—”

“Culture does not excuse classism.” Kaveh interrupted him, not caring for the heated glare that was shot at his rudeness. “If the thought of an omega being anything other than a sex toy shrivels your dick, then I have no hope for the intelligence in your offspring.” 

The soldier clearly disagreed with him. “Celestia imparted wisdom for us from above. If invalids go beyond their castes, unspeakable disasters will destroy society itself. Kshahrewar spat on the born hierarchy as if it were a joke.” His enemy laughed out of derision. “You are inviting destruction into your homes.” 

“Don’t you have better use for your time?” Kaveh asked, mocking him. “The hours you’ve wasted complaining about omegas can be spent elsewhere. Spreading useless drivel only fuels their spite, emboldens them, rouses their desire for change. The moment you look up from your meaningless gossip, those omegas you so hate have rightfully taken their positions of power.” 

“Above simpletons like you.” Kaveh directed the insult at his captor. He knew it was not a smart decision to rile the enemies who captured him, but his head was bursting at the seams, a pounding headache drilling into his skull. 

Kaveh’s emotions were getting the better of him. He was ridden with furious anger, a deep seated fear for his life, an anguished sadness. He could not help but engage this idiot in a debate despite the uselessness of it. 

Anger was seen as strength. Kaveh will not show weakness. 

“Wise words coming from a bitch who sleeps with his superiors. You’re only a General in name, simply because you stole it from an alpha who deserves it more than you.” The soldier spat, believing that all Kaveh’s accomplishments were a lie. “I doubt you’ve ever had to work a hard day in your life. All you need to do is spread your legs and take it from your betters—but now the fuckhole decided to grow a useless mouth.” 

“Nothing I say will convince you from thinking otherwise, but what should I expect from an idiotic alpha? Just admit that you want to fuck me. You’ve been bringing it up several times, you’re practically transparent with your intentions.”

Kaveh fed into the soldier’s beliefs, not caring for the truth anymore. He was not blind to his appearance. Kaveh utilized this weakness as a strength, turning it into a weapon rather than a shameful act to hide from. Who cares if Kaveh has never had the time to actually fuck someone?

It wasn’t as if the alpha before him would believe a single word that came from his mouth. 

The soldier appeared aghast, as if it were his first time seeing a mythical creature come to life. Were they this conservative in the empire? He quickly collected himself, a glare strong enough to set fire upon whoever it gazed upon. 

Kaveh didn’t care, as he was practically immune to whatever the idiot threw at him. 

“Who would want to fuck a whore?” The soldier was angered, incredibly defensive. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your hole was constantly dripping with another alpha’s semen.”

“Did I invite you to my bed? You were the one who dragged me here without my express consent. I’ll put you down as kindly as possible, as stringing along virgins like you is not a hobby of mine. Try growing that chode of a dick of yours and maybe I’ll consider it.”  

His captor finally snapped, shoving his body to the side harshly. Kaveh choked on his own spit as he landed on the ground. It was a rough landing, but nothing he couldn’t handle. 

“Fucking try harder.” Kaveh provoked, not caring if his defiance was met with another slap. 

“Gladly.”

The angered soldier took his offer, harshly grabbing the back of his scalp with an uncaring hand, making a move to—but was stopped when another soldier stepped in. 

Kaveh did not take that interruption as a chance to let his guard down. He was tense, like a snake coiled and ready to strike. 

“Not the face.” The soldier who interrupted warned, giving the impulsive one a strict glare. “General Deshret would have your head if you marked him anywhere close.”

Kaveh was slow on the uptake. He widened his eyes, not believing in the words that were said before him. 

An opponent even younger than he was, a formidable strategist that matched him in accomplishments, with intellect that astounded many in their field. He had fought him in battle many times before, but Kaveh had never seen him in person. 

He was a frustrating man that was as unpredictable as he was merciless. Unlike the other strategists Kaveh had fought before, General Deshret knew how to play his game, as if he were reading him from miles away. 

Even the single mention of his name can drop the morale of his troops. Just like he were a ghost’s tale, his many achievements preceded him, an unbeatable foe to the hearts of many. 

Most of his victories against General Deshret never felt like victories at all. 

The heavy damages that his army procured made it feel as if they lost, setting them back despite the amount of effort it took to rip the win out with his teeth, a frustrating end that made Kaveh feel as if he were not worthy to lead his troops to battle at all. 

Kaveh never imagined this. To meet the man behind his capture, the puppeteer to Pir Kavikavus’ betrayal, a frustrating hurdle he found himself cautious to face.  

General Deshret was infamous, most known for his cruelty. Whatever he had in store for Kaveh would not bode well for him. 

Kaveh renewed his struggle, as wild as a cornered animal, not caring for his bound hands and ankles. He would crawl out of this hell hole if he had to. 

“So even unruly omegas like you have common sense.” The older soldier remarked. 

The impulsive one Kaveh fought with was now quiet, most likely asked to shut up after the unprofessional engagement he had with the enemy.

“Tell me!” Kaveh demanded, fed up with being dragged off to who knew where, without knowing the exact reasons on why he was kept alive. “What does Deshret want from me? Why did he take me here and not slice my head off when he had the chance?” 

The older soldier scoffed. “Why else would he capture an omega from the opposing side?” 

“Then tell me! Tell me why haven’t I died the moment I was captured? Does he want the opportunity to kill me himself?” Kaveh would have grabbed the soldier by his shoulders if he had the chance, shaking him around as if that would drop an answer, but he could not move from where he was bound. 

Why else would he capture an omega from the opposing side?

Kaveh mulled over the question. 

There should be a hidden implication behind it, a meaning both soldiers were privy to, something he had yet to grasp. War was a battlefield wrought with unspeakable crimes. When an army decided against complete annihilation of the losing side, then they would bring prisoners of war with them.

The winners of the battle would steal their belongings, purge their homes, sell their dignity to slavery. Those who were strong enough would be sent to do the hard work: dropped into mines, till the farms, work in fisheries. Those who were too weak, like babies, sickly children, old men and women, would be killed off as they were seen as nothing of value. 

On the other hand, where did that place beta women and omegas of both genders? Their value is laid in their ability to conceive. In war, they would be taken from their homes. After the winning soldiers began pillaging—they would scour the area for omegas to rape. 

Omegas like Kaveh would be raped. He would be degraded, molded into someone unrecognizable, turned into a creature as lowly as his mother. 

Why else would he capture an omega from the opposing side?

“Let me go!” Kaveh screamed himself hoarse, hysterical with the conclusion that may befall him. “ Let me fucking go! ”

The soldiers no longer responded to him, entertaining none of his tantrums. 

Kaveh felt his wrists ache against the ropes, the rough attempts leaving harsh, raw ring marks around his skin. 

Kaveh yanked against it, taking no issue with pulling a muscle, shouting out obscenities to the deaf ears of his captors. He was practically hysterical in his attempts to trigger them into doing something they would regret. 

Preferably killing Kaveh before he could find out what General Deshret wanted from him. 

Kaveh knew that the soldiers did not confirm anything. But why else would an enemy alpha keep an omega alive? To have tea with him and discuss the weather? What logical conclusion can he garner from that? Of course it would be the worst case scenario. 

Despite his attempts at pissing them off, none of them spoke to Kaveh, as if he were not even present. They dragged him by the hair, pulling a few strands off his scalp—then seeing that their pace was slow due to Kaveh's constant struggling, carried him through the arms. 

Kaveh kept struggling, trying to get out of the soldier’s grip despite the uselessness of the act, but there was nothing that could be done. His hysterics were slowly dying from his lips, head lolling to the side as he tried to detach himself from what Deshret had in store for him. 

Kaveh lost track of time, exhaustion deep in his bones, unable to focus on the various directions the pair of soldiers were carrying him through. He tried to recuperate the lost energy, but the anger was fading, his righteous hatred that worked as a double-edged blade—replacing itself with the deep seated fear that was slowly making itself known to him. 

Kaveh was dragged along: passing by dimly lit hallways, majestic paintings of old Haravatat soldiers, sprawling walls that were spacious—yet it felt like it were closing in on him, densely compacted rigidness. 

As each door was clicked, knob twisted and locked behind him, Kaveh felt closer and closer to his death sentence.

Kaveh wondered why these soldiers—why Deshret wanted him lucid and not knocked out. It would have been easier on his captors if he were just a pliant body to lug around. But Deshret told them to not leave any marks, as if the only one who had the privilege was Deshret himself. 

Was it an intimidation tactic, a way to show off his wealth, or an attempt to take a blow at his morale? 

Whatever it was, Kaveh hated the fact that it was working. His thoughts were going overdrive, practically cannibalizing itself as it gave him scenario over scenario with what his future held over him. 

Despite the pompous decor that spoke of wealth, wide spaces that could house thousands of families and have space for more, there was no other soul to be found. 

Unlike what he experienced during his time as Pir Kavikavus’ glorified attendant, there were no maids, butlers, or even their children playing around the gardens. No kitchen maids to take care of the meals, servants to brush dust off the lamps, musicians to fill in the empty air. 

The soldiers beside him no longer responded to his taunts. It was as if he were a ghost in their eyes. A shadow that could no longer be seen. 

Kaveh felt a piercing ache in his chest, spreading to his limbs, settling itself into a new home. 

It was an old friend he had not seen in a long time. 

Back when Kaveh ran from the brothel, from a mother who used up all her love on an uncaring man, from the kind kitchen helpers who would spare him a piece of bread, the orphans who held the same fate as him. As omegas born in a prostitute’s hovel, they would have shared the same future. 

Kaveh threw that all away when he decided to run. 

Adapting to the streets was harder than he thought. Kaveh was used to small spaces filled with bustling chatter, a constant rush from one place to another, thin walls that could easily leak conversations from room to room. 

Loneliness was a new concept to him. 

Kaveh figured that out young, when he had to run from overcast skies, telling of a heavy downpour. When he was kicked out of bridges because there was not enough room for a child. Other street rats stole the last of his rations, beating him up so that he stayed down. 

How there was nowhere else to find shelter except the sewers. 

Kaveh had to ignore the strong smells despite his sensitive nose—emboldened by the heavy rains from above. It would flood at times, reach up to his ankles if he were not careful. The only company that did not seek to hurt him were other rats. Animals who did not seek to hurt, only to survive. 

Loneliness was the familiar friend that peered out of memories long gone, hanging over his shoulders, making him regret his actions. He hated his mother, but she was the only one he had left. It made him rethink his actions. It questioned his drive, on whether his spite was strong enough to fuel him further. 

It made Kaveh want to take the easy way out. 

Faruzan, a figure he has not thought of in a while, came to mind. 

Kaveh hoped that wherever she was, she got what she wanted. Her scholarship will not be wasted on her. Kaveh knew she was intelligent, and that potential would thrive in such an environment. 

When Faruzan left him be, the way he left his mother, it was as if he were besieged with another set of challenges. He threw himself at his ambitions, taking what she said to heart, to reach for that fulfilling future for himself.

Yet there would be another life where he didn’t have to think—freed from the shackles of hardship, a shaky future that was constantly unsure, and the hurdles that would block his path. 

If Kaveh went back to the brothel, he wouldn’t have freedom, but he would have safety. Stability. A gilded cage many would adore, rather than to be hated. 

Deep in the sewers, nobody was aware of where he hid. Nobody was aware of where he stayed. Alone in the clinic, he had a home, yet he had nobody to come back to. Now deep in a mansion, bringing along memories of a loneliness he never wanted to be reminded of—Kaveh felt dread creep along his back. 

After years of getting carried along twists and turns, a sprawling staircase laid before them. He was dragged along the steps, one by one, each lift of a leg feeling longer than the last. 

The floor was spotless, clearly reflecting his appearance back to him. He furrowed his eyebrows together, disoriented by what he saw. 

Kaveh did not look as if he were a distinguished general. He was shamed, hair messy, uniform filthy and crumpled. There was blood on his lip, wounds littered on his skin. 

Kaveh looked away, unable to take it. 

What would Tighnari think? What would Faruzan see, if she realized the boy she encouraged to chase after his dreams—would stop half way from reaching them? What would they say if they realized how Kaveh gave up this quickly? 

Kaveh clenched his fists, nails digging into his skin. He was smart. Smarter than these idiotic alphas who had sticks up their asses. 

It would be in their nature to underestimate Kaveh. And once that opportunity reveals itself, when that time comes, because it will, Kaveh would take it. He would find a way out of Haravatat and return to Amurta. 

Kaveh would keep his promise with Tighnari, then he’d get to see Cyno again, victorious from his front against Haravatat. Everything would be like one bad nightmare, and Kaveh would act as if this was another trial to overcome. 

Kaveh would get his sketchbook back, retire from being a general, then work his dreams into Kshahrewar’s architecture. He would leave his mark in history, not as the omega known for winning a war—but for the omega who constructed several structures in his name. 

Kaveh endured shit like this before. He would get through it again. 

The pair finally landed at their destination. Intimidating, deep wood carved doors laid before them, the faint sound of classical music heard from the other side. It was softened by the divide, but the first noise Kaveh heard was other than his captor’s footsteps in a while.   

Kaveh swallowed the dryness in his throat. 

The older soldier walked off, knocking on one of the doors. After a few seconds, a muted, “come in,” was heard. Before Kaveh knew it, he found himself in a different room, out of the hallway, dragged again to meet with the unseen voice. 

It was a meeting room. 

A chandelier hung low to brighten up the dimly lit room, along with libraries of books on each wall. A long Karmaphala wooden table laid before them, surrounded by several ornate chairs plush with deep red cushions. 

Unlike the hallways Kaveh had been dragged into, the painting was not a portrait of some dead guy in the past. 

The painting held a familiar sight. Looking back at him was Port Ormos, a regular destination to those locals of Kshahrewar. The perspective was on a cliff’s ledge, overlooking the sea’s rolling waves and deep blue waters. It was on low tide, revealing tidal flats exposing shells and hermit crabs, trinkets from people who left them along the shore. 

Afar was a bustling community, fitted with a lighthouse and ships sailing by the sea. Kaveh was reminded of Faruzan, the way her hair whipped against her face as tall winds flew past the pair. A discussion he has always kept to heart, locked in a shelf he would peer into when his nights grew quiet. 

Kaveh would have felt homesick, if not for the fact that he was seeing a memory of his land in the hands of an enemy. 

“General Malikata, it’s an honor to meet you.” said a voice, deep, not as intimidating as he thought, pronouncing each word clearly. “Not through the best circumstances, I’m afraid.”

It was spoken in Kaveh’s mother tongue. 

Not the universal language foreigners made use of when they encountered one another. It was the language Kaveh was familiar with ever since he was young. Deshret speaking to him this casually did not make him feel at home, in fact, it did the exact opposite. 

Deshret looked down on him, dressed in an immaculate Haravatat’s General uniform, sitting on the head of the seat like an Emperor addressing his subjects. He held a cigar between two lithe fingers, taking a whiff of smoke the moment their eyes met.

The smoke punched him in the face. He winced, unable to help himself, glaring as Deshret clearly took note of his misstep. The other should excuse it for nerves, or hopefully brush past the badly hidden flinch for something else. 

It was a heavier musk, permanently infused in their environment, reeking off of the upholstery and the way the man held himself. “It’s an acquired taste. Wouldn’t you want to understand, boy?””

Kaveh felt cold sweat run down his brow. He wanted to cover his nose, run out of the room and never come back, pounce on Deshret to get him to keep the cigar away. There was so much shit to do but his hands were tied. 

Kaveh felt the rope around his limbs more than ever. 

Deshret smelled of books, the way the pages turned crisp with age, yellowing as time passed it by. It was strangely domestic on such a dangerous man. An intimidating alpha if not for his scent. Kaveh would have expected blood, charcoal, or whatever manly pheromones alphas usually had to hold dick posturing competitions with each other. 

Kaveh hated how transparent Deshret was, sitting on a seat much more elaborate, bigger and clearly more expensive than the other seats around the table. 

Deshret’s tone was unassuming, as if he were an ordinary man in any other circumstance, not befitting the merciless reputation General Deshret was known for. He did not carry bloodlust with him like a veil, wielded it like a blade against the throat. Kaveh’s first impression of Deshret did not cater to his expectations.  

His enemy’s lips were as sweet as honey, coated with vermillion, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Deshret was adorned with medals, fresh from the war room. A trace of his intimidation could be seen by the formality of his robe, the strictness in his leather gloves. The edge of his uniform engulfed the carpeted floor, long and elaborate, holding it in place as if it were blessed to be touched by such majesty. 

Deshret’s eyes were as green as Avidya’s sprawling trees on a rainy day, droplets owing it a unique sheen, a dash of red at the center. His expression was stoic, as unreadable as a stone wall. 

Kaveh narrowed his eyes. 

“Were my instructions not clear?” Deshret asked, switching back to the universal tongue, bringing his attention to the two soldiers who brought Kaveh into his room. 

Despite Kaveh’s lack of response, it looked as if he did not take any offense. He ignored him for the meantime. 

Kaveh kept silent, watching as the situation played out. 

“Excuse me, General?” The older soldier spoke first. “We brought the omega. Was there anything else we forgot to do?”

“What matters is not what you forgot, but what you already did.” A deceptively soft voice, coming from a deceptively unassuming man. “Private Ziryab. Step forward.” 

The soldier Kaveh fought with dropped his arm, following the orders of his General. There was sweat in his brow, a slight shake in his hands, but he tried to stop it by holding his wrists tightly. 

But even Kaveh could smell his fear in the air, a stringent citrus scent with sour undertones. It was quite unpleasant to the nose.  

“Yes, General Deshret Sir.” Ziryab strengthened his voice, but there was a slight crack in his address. 

Deshret motioned for him to come closer with his finger. Ziryab followed along, until he stopped within reaching distance from the general. 

Deshret handed him a sharp, ceremonial knife encrusted with green jewels. Ziryab accepted it reluctantly, holding it with his own hands, not sure what to do with the weapon. 

“Kill yourself.” Deshret gave him an answer to his pressing question. 

Ziryab laughed nervously. “E-excuse me sir?”

“Must I say this more than once? Slit your throat.” Deshret repeated to him coldly, casually ordering one of his subordinates to take their life as if it meant nothing. 

It was not a joke, some sick prank done out of cruel humor. This was a genuine order, from a superior to his subordinate. 

General Deshret wanted to kill his own soldier, right in front of the enemy, as if it were an everyday occurrence. 

Kaveh was going mad. 

“But sir, Sergeant told me—he said that, uh, as long as the o-omega was not harmed on the face, it would be okay.” 

This was about Kaveh? Was Deshret this strict about his orders being followed? 

When a subordinate went against Kaveh's orders, he would punish them to do cleaning duties or increase exercise rounds for them to suffer through. He had never thought any of his soldiers as expendable as this. 

But clearly, Deshret had a different way of going about things. This went along Kaveh's expectations, as he was aware of the discipline his men had to go through.

How else did Deshret have armies dedicated to the empire's cause? To have them so loyal, willing to act out any demands from their superiors. Without question. 

Each one of them was willing to take their life just because Deshret ordered it of them. Yet this Private was going against what was expected of him, speaking for himself. 

Kaveh wondered how Deshret was going to handle him. 

“Is that so?” Deshret tapped the tip of his cigar onto an ashtray. The gray particles fell, tumbling one by one. Kaveh held his breath, inhaling through his mouth, a futile attempt at turning away from the scent. 

“Believe me sir, if I was aware of it earlier, I would have been able to follow your instructions exactly as you wanted." Ziryab was practically on his knees, begging Deshret for forgiveness. "But because the sergeant left me in the dark, I made a careless mistake and disappointed you. General, please show mercy to your subordinate.” 

Deshret smoked his cigar, looking as lax as he first was when Kaveh entered the room. 

Even though Kaveh was not included in the discussion, the man stared right at him, gaze unnerving, eyes as perceptive as a hawk’s vision. 

Kaveh felt like he was pushed, without his consent, in front of thousands of heavy gazes before the stage. 

Yet it was a simple exaggeration, when the only one who was looking right at Kaveh was a single man. 

Kaveh looked away, his eyes hyper fixating on the tobacco stick Deshret held in his hands. He could not get a read on Deshret. 

Unlike the other alphas he had been with, the general kept his pheromones to himself, coiling it around him as if it were a shield. He did not let it leave him, make the room smell like him, Deshret had it constantly under his control. 

Admirable to find in others, but not a quality he wanted to find in his enemy. Deshret was an unpredictable factor. Kaveh was unsure with how to deal with such a man. 

“Sergeant, is this true?” Deshret brought the question back to the other soldier. 

Kaveh had no love lost between this pair, but to witness a betrayal so fresh from what happened in Avidya, his distaste for Private Ziryab worsened to an insurmountable degree. 

The older soldier nodded his head resolutely. “Yes sir.”  

Deshret opened his palm, motioning towards Ziryab. 

The Private looked at Deshret as if he were Celestia himself. There was hope in his eyes, as if he dodged the guillotine's swing. 

“Return the knife to me, Private.”

Ziryab quickly followed his orders, his scent smelling of a clear sigh in relief. “Thank you sir, you will not regret this!” 

“Sergeant.” 

Deshret motioned him forwards. 

The older soldier had no qualms with following the orders. He made a movement with his hand, then gave the soldier his knife. 

“I have no use for traitors.” 

Ziryab was not given enough time to comprehend what happened.  

Kaveh could only watch as the Sergeant brutally slit the throat of his colleague. Blood spurt out of the open wound, not a clean kill, falling like a fountain on the deep red carpet. 

There was a thump of a dead body. Kaveh stiffened at the show of unneeded cruelty. 

"Get him out of my sight." 

The Sergeant cleaned the blade off with a handkerchief, not having to be told to do so. It was as if this was a regular occurance with Deshret. 

He saluted, stock still. "Yes sir." 

The older soldier carried off the corpse, not saying a word as he left the room behind. 

Kaveh was now alone with Deshret. The man who killed another without a second thought. He clenched his fist tightly. 

"I apologize for the injuries my subordinate left on you." It was not long until Deshret broke the empty silence. He smoothly shifted back to Kaveh’s language, as if he were born from his homeland. "Was the delay an issue? It was not in my intentions to be such a discourteous host." 

Kaveh grit his teeth. Why act as if he were a gracious man when he captured him from the battlefield? Dragged him in here like a prisoner? Killed a man in front of him as if it mattered not? 

"Private Ziryab did not deserve his death." Kaveh stated resolutely. 

Kaveh may not have agreed with the Private's stances when he engaged him in debate, but that does not change the fact that he was still too young for his light to be put out. 

Deshret raised an inquisitive brow. "Are you not familiar with training obedience into your subordinates, General Malikata?" 

It was not lost on Kaveh, how Deshret implied that he was shirking off on his duties. 

"Who will be left to train if all of them have been killed?" Kaveh asked bitterly, pointing out a hole from Deshret's actions. "To have a superior not of sense but of uncontrollable hubris. For soldiers to be commanded by an iron fist?"

"I set an example for Sergeant Gregor to follow. This was not done to satisfy my blood lust, however lowly you view us from Haravatat to be, but to establish why orders must be followed.” 

“And does it work well for you? Cutting the roots out of youths who have yet to grow?”

“Private Ziryab was a bad seed.” Deshret admitted, hating iron for not becoming steel. “I have no use for a traitor and a coward. Making an example of him, getting rid of him, and finally disposing of him. It’s an efficient method most have adapted in the empire.”

Kaveh looked down on such a savage mindset. It was like people were only toy soldiers to them, easily replaceable as the next.

"Such tactics do not bode well for the long term. If a small infraction is instantly met with the blade of a guillotine, all that would remain of them is not respect, loyalty, or honor. It will be fear that will hold up the shaky foundations of what you've built obedience on."

Deshret let out a soft laugh, as if he were indulging in a child’s immature whimsies. Kaveh was used to being babied, as if omegas weren’t adults the same way, but the manner in which this alpha did it was incredibly infuriating. 

Deshret brought the cigar to his lips, breathing it in slowly, taking his time with his response. He exhaled, the smoke leaving his mouth. 

Kaveh held his breath, pursing his lips at the irritant. The man didn’t have the common courtesy of turning away as he blew it, as if he didn’t care if it was inconveniencing Kaveh. 

"And what would you suggest?” Deshret asked, looking down on him. “Put them on timeout? Have them banished into the corner of reflection, to watch drying paint for an hour? You’re letting your maternal attributes blind you from handling your subordinates.” 

"This has nothing to do with my secondary gender.” Kaveh denied bitterly. “If an unruly recruit could be corrected, then his behavior will be addressed. People can change for the better. It’s the responsibility of the superior to set them straight.” 

“How kind of you, General Malikata. Imparting words of wisdom to the enemy of an opposing side. Your reputation precedes you, the Light of Kshahrewar, capable of turning the tides in battle—now sharing advice with an Imperial. Your generosity truly knows no bounds.” 

Did Deshret get off on acting like Kaveh wanted this to happen? What sort of delusions did his sick little head entertain? Kaveh saw those words as mocking, not taking it kindly. 

“I am not here to have tea with you. Your subordinates dragged me by the hair, kicking and screaming, no host can ever be so kind with their guests. Especially after getting a man killed in front of them.” Ziryab died a messy death. It was not honorable, honest, or worth the life he lived. It was a waste. “All because of a stupid mistake.”

“Private Ziryab treated you with less than respect, yet you still feel remorse for his death?” Deshret asked, appearing slightly amused.  

It was a fair question, as the Private did not show Kaveh kindness during the time he spent with his captor. In fact, it was the exact opposite. 

“Lives should not be carelessly tossed around. During a time of war, there is no limit to the lives that are taken. He was an enemy, but that does not make him any less human. Think me a fool or an idiot, however I will never agree with how you dealt with his infractions.”

“You criticize the way I handle my men during training?” Deshret repeated, words light and condescending. “So your bottom line is when their deaths are not made use of? I do understand where you’re coming from, as Haravatat outnumbers your population by landmass alone. I respect your frugality. Why waste them in training when their deaths serve a better purpose in battle?”   

“Do not twist my words to your benefit. Kshahrewar honors their dead, holding days of mourning and establishing a cemetery for their heroes during war.” Kaveh was quick to correct, hating how heartless Deshret made him sound.

“As does Haravatat. Morale will decrease if the public believes that we do not value their service.” 

Was Haravatat all for show? A grandiose front meant to play out the exaggerated wiles of the noblemen perched behind it? The inside felt hollow, retaining no depths in its focus on acting as if they were grander than they actually were.

“Haravatat is too drunk in their folly to comprehend the importance of a human life. I have witnessed those detestable suicide missions your empire favors so much, how eager they are to march towards battle like they have nothing left to live for. Your system encourages that abhorrent behavior. An endless cycle of brainless soldiers.” 

Deshret was immune to his insults. If he were offended, he did not show it. He was as unreadable as he first started. 

Deshret hummed. “You value freedom above all else?” 

“Freedom is why I bare my blade against the empire’s throat.” Kaveh grinned, tone dripping with hatred.

"Killing for the freedom of your people, killing for a worthless infraction. Does it matter why they died, when their corpses still end up on a maggot’s plate? Unidentifiable, regardless of status or morality. At the end of it all, our flesh will be feasted upon, becoming nesting grounds for larva to begin another ruthless cycle.” Deshret said lightly, as if he were discussing the weather. “No matter the reason, the tally of the lives you have taken are still counted on your hands.”

Deshret was implying that Kaveh was no better than he was. It was a fact he already knew, a thought he had already come to terms with. There was nothing to be exploited in that discovery. 

“Get off your high horse.” Kaveh scoffed. He was not falling for a sham. “If I were not aware of what I had to do, I would not have taken the mantle of leading an army. I have already bloodied my hands; they’re as red as yours and no amount of water can wash the sins off my skin. Nothing can ever make up for the deeds that have already been done, but unlike your cold-blooded tactics, I only retaliate with violence as a last resort.” 

“I’m astounded by your magnanimity. Should I take a page out of your book and try the long route for a change? Although, I am not fond of having my good nature get taken advantage of.“ 

Kaveh straightened his back, attention sharp. He clinched at those words, as tight as a vice grip. Was he referring to what happened with Pir Kavikavus? That backstabbing bastard? He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, the pounding ache in his head. 

“Did you have a hand in his betrayal?” Kaveh felt the words tumble out of his lips before he could stop it. 

“I did not have to offer that rat anything.”

A simmering anger was bubbling in his chest, ready to boil over. “Quit lying!”

“What reason do I have to lie to you?” Deshret pointed out, an attempt to show transparency within his words. 

Kaveh gave him a humorless look. 

Was that an actual question? Did Deshret think he was an actual idiot? 

If this were any other situation, where they were having a nice cup of tea with a long time friend he hasn’t seen in ages—then Kaveh would be much more polite. But no, he was miles away from home, stuck in a dreary mansion, right before an unreadable psychopath who enjoyed playing with his food before killing them. 

Kaveh still couldn’t understand why an enemy would allow a threat to keep breathing. He was clearly merciless when it came to his own subordinates, but how was he any different? He could obviously strike out being left alive because of Deshret’s mercy, he was far from abiding by morals. 

At least Deshret was giving Kaveh an opportunity to eventually escape? Although, Deshret was not an idiot. Whatever event that will happen after their discussion is one he will dread. 

“I’ll take an educated guess and point out the uniform you’re wearing right now.” 

“What an admirable leap of intellect.” Deshret praised, as if a child did particularly well. Kaveh did not take it nicely. He was definitely sure he had a few years over Deshret, so this type of treatment was not welcome. “With such a charming tongue, I expect your mother had a hand at teaching you how to use it?” Deshret cocked his head to the right, mocking Kaveh, as if he wanted the other to take the bait. 

Kaveh pursed his lips. 

He restrained that impulsiveness, standing stiffly to the side. He was no longer that immature kid who would jump at the first chance for a scuffle. Omegas like him did not have the build to act like an alpha brute, so Kaveh had to value his intellect in order to counterattack. 

Patience was the key to many opportunities. 

“My mother?” Kaveh raised his brow. If Deshret was going there, so be it. “I’m surprised you even know the concept of a parent. I’ll let you in on an open secret, Haravatat is well known for the hellspawns that it churns out every year. A little bit of self reflection would do you well.” 

Kaveh did not hold back. He wanted Deshret to know that his impression of Haravatat has always been a land filled with psychopaths. It was in their nature to be self fulfilling assholes. 

“In the same way Kshahrewar is famous for its brothels?” Deshret retorted, bringing his home and Kshahrewar to the same level. “Once the Empire puts a stop to your alliance’s pitiful charade, we can come to a compromise if you tour me around your own home.”

Kaveh scoffed. “You’re asking a pipe dream to manifest itself into reality.” He had already shared his thoughts on who was going to win the war, so he clearly was not going to be intimidated. 

“If that’s what you believe.” 

“With Haravatat’s renowned general constantly thinking with his own dick, I doubt you’d succeed in encroaching our gates.” Alphas were all on the same wavelength. Society called omegas the sluts, but have they ever been exposed to the soldier’s barracks after some particularly hard training? “Save yourself the disappointment and give up on catching a glimpse of a street whore’s ankle.” 

“I’ve always valued efficiency,” Deshret began, a hand raised to demonstrate his meaning, “to find blunt solutions for tasks that could be done without a second wasted. I appreciate the kind offer, but I already saved myself the journey. Although, how can a simple street whore compare to the Light of Kshahrewar? You desbase the value of your charming tongue.” 

Kaveh could not believe what he was hearing. Was Deshret comparing him to a sex worker? 

Why else would he capture an omega from the opposing side?

Cold sweat ran down his scalp, slowly, going down the back of his neck. When he first imagined Haravatat’s renown general, he expected an unruly brute, a receding hairline, and a man who could care less about hygiene. 

Proving his first impressions wrong, Kaveh saw a man who would better fit caring for a library rather than leading battalions of men in the battlefield. 

But appearances could be deceiving, and perhaps he was looking too deeply into this—maybe he was letting the words of that enemy soldier get into his head, but his gut also felt like there was something off about Deshret. 

Was it the way Deshret looked at him, observing him like he was a particularly curious specimen under a microscope? Kaveh hoped that Deshret’s intent was nowhere close to what he thought. 

“Do you treat all your war prisoners like this? I can’t tell if you have an unhealthy obsession with my tongue or this is your fucked up way of humiliating others—”

“Only you.” 

Kaveh frowned. He did not like the implications that came with Deshret’s interruption. “You’re singling me out again! What are you trying to say?”

“Think nothing of it.” Deshret brushed his concerns away, as if he was not the source to all of his issues. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

Kaveh was not going crazy. Deshret was simply too confusing for Kaveh to comprehend, running on hot and cold, an attitude with invisible land mines Kaveh can step on at any moment. 

Even though Deshret clearly reeked of danger, Kaveh kept poking the sleeping bear with a stick. Kaveh could tell when someone was trying to shove something under the rug. 

“You know exactly what you’re doing. Don’t act stupid with me.” Kaveh was not falling for Deshret’s crap. “Filthy whores, omega sluts, what haven’t I heard before?” 

Kaveh’s mental capacity to take an insult was practically indestructible. “If you think that would embarrass me then I’ve overestimated your intellect.” 

“I would never think to disrespect a senior in our field." Deshret said, but Kaveh highly doubted that. 

There was a semblance of politeness (how polite could you be to a prisoner you captured?) when he was first greeted in Deshret’s office, but as they shared their opinions, they got along like oil and water. 

"Your reputation could be compared to the likes of the Lycoris,” Kaveh’s attention was piqued, unexpectedly coming across a familiar title he had not heard of in a while, “the crimson Spider Lily of Kshahrewar’s most prestigious bathhouse, a brothel for the layman. A rather… morbid title for a glorified whore, don’t you think?” 

There it was again. If not for his appearance and the way Deshret carried himself, Kaveh would have expected these types of words from a rude holler off the street. 

“...excuse me? A glorified whore?” Kaveh repeated, a bemusing mix of confusion and simmering anger. Yes, it was his mother Deshret brought up, but he has yet to explicitly connect Kaveh and her together. “You preach about respect and compare me, a General who has not only bested you in battle once, but countless times—to the likes of that? I don’t understand how this is related to our discussion.” 

“Don’t take it to heart." Deshret saying that made Kaveh feel the exact opposite. "You’re the first prominent omega I’ve known in this field, and my knowledge of other famous omegas are lacking.” 

Kaveh found that incredibly doubtful. 

Kaveh noted the amount of books that littered every wall in the office. It was practically bursting with heaps of knowledge, stacked volumes on a coffee table by the couch, a hard bound series of an author even Kaveh found familiar due to its universal popularity. 

Although Kaveh despised this man to the core, if he based this on the frustrating discussions he’s been having with Deshret, he is far from lacking any knowledge. Kaveh could admit that this man held a dangerous sort of intellect.

Being told that Deshret was unaware of other omegas felt like a complete lie. If this was for flattery or other more nefarious purposes, then Deshret must think him an idiot. Everything that came out of his mouth had Kaveh’s hackles raising. 

But without much else to do, Kaveh resorted to using the last of his weapons—his words. To make himself the worst inconvenience, he’d be an awful prisoner for his ever so gracious host. Spending quality time with Deshret was awful, so might as well piss him off while Kaveh wasn’t gagged. 

“Your knowledge of omegas consists of porn illustrations and seeing them as nothing but masturbating material. It would be a miracle to expect anything less from your kind.”

Deshret didn’t come off as an insatiable pervert, but appearances could be deceiving. What if Deshret was secretly into that type of stuff? Then Kaveh would have taken some truth into his insult. 

“My kind? So we’re all humans when it fits your holier-than-thou narrative, but when I express an honest opinion, it’s ‘your kind’ again?” Deshret pointed out, as if Kaveh wasn’t the only one being two-faced. “A tad bit hypocritical, but I’ll brush it off. Will you help remedy my lack of omegan knowledge in recompense?”

Kaveh could not believe his audacity. Deshret was trying to make Kaveh owe him an imaginary favor! Kaveh’s impression of Deshret worsened. 

“Bigots are incapable of improvement. I was not born yesterday. Alphas can act like they understand, but it’s all an act to get in an omega’s pants.”

“Then it's a stalemate.” Deshret concluded.

“Did you expect anything less?” They were both clearly too stubborn to acquiesce to anything, so Kaveh was not surprised at all. 

“I simply heard about the Dendrobium through the grapevine. In her prime, such a title was given to her from both her admirers and those who detested her prominence." Deshret brought the topic back to the famous escort. 

"Beautiful yet cruel.” Kaveh smiled humorlessly. “Garnering similarities from a flower that blooms before the corpses of soldiers speaks a lot about the way she held herself."

Alphas were truly superficial. The surface may appear tempting, but what was hidden underneath should have served as a warning. Animals that wore bright colors in their scales are as mesmerizing as they are dangerous, yet fools continue to approach them, despite how nature gave these creatures poison to accompany their beauty. 

"It was an open secret, rumors kept in hushed whispers, how she picked off husbands like seasonal accessories—even more so to the children she bore in her womb. If she was ruthless to her partners, she had no issues with ripping blood and bone out of her own body. In the brothel, the garden behind her rooms has always been the most beautiful. Perhaps her fertilizers have a secret component we don’t know of?”

Kaveh may have been biased, but Deshret was correct. His mother’s gardens were the most beautiful out of the rest. There could be a secret underneath the soil, one his mother has never told him. 

Kaveh could recall the gardens Deshret spoke of. How could he forget when he personally grew up there, how he was a child when his mother first taught him how to do floral arrangements, picking out the petals of plants that were in bloom. 

His mother showed him by example, how to prolong the life of these flowers, the meanings these gifts could carry. Kaveh forgot a fair amount of them, but his mother told him how her clients enjoyed thoughtful gifts like these. It showed them that his mother was well learned and talented with her hands. 

The servants did most of the gardening work, as his mother was still vain, averse to the sun’s harmful rays and the manual labor it took. But there were times his mother would bring him along for a walk. Those were his favorites, as it was in the solitude of the gardens where his mother found most of her peace. A happy mother equated to a happy child. 

“I’m not interested in idle gossip. If you have the time to put your nose in useless drivel, especially from a land not your own, I’m surprised you get any work done at all.”

“The Dendrobium was a female omega,” Deshret began again, as if Kaveh did not express his disinterest, ”whose beauty reaches the interest of those from my homeland. With hair of spun gold, eyes that blaze as hot as Murata’s own flames. A gaze reminiscent of a brutal aftermath, akin to fresh blood spilt over fields of Lycoris, an ominous warning that lures in the weak of heart.” 

Kaveh sighed. “If you’re so interested, save yourself the disappointment and don’t bother visiting. Time comes for us all. Her aged appearance caught up with her morals, and now she’s rotten to the core.” 

That, and his mother was most likely ten feet underground by now.

“It was a pity, the fate that befell her end. A tragic case of parricide. Or so they have said.” Deshret tapped his finger against the plush arm of the chair, his voice even. Kaveh felt like Deshret was insulting his intelligence, beating around the bush like this. “Will you satisfy the curiosities of a scholar? As a local, have you any opinions on this matter?” 

Kaveh was going to continue the charade, not willing to admit to any sort of connection with his mother. “Don’t lump me in with the rest of those destitute prostitutes. I do not live in a filthy brothel. My family raised me in a humble clinic.” 

Faruzan and the others felt more like family. Cyno and Tighnari, the men he led to battle—all of them he grew close to due to adversity, they felt more like home than his mother ever did. 

“You’re truly unaware?” Deshret questioned his intelligence. 

Kaveh did not take the bait. “Uninterested is the correct term.”

“The Dendrobium of Kshahrewar was never impoverished. Alphas flocked to her like flies, attracted to the way she carried herself with born elegance. Her clients would keep coming back, but they never truly had her for themselves. We are but simple creatures, we wish to own something that cannot be caged. This prominence of hers was what many of her kind hoped to grasp, but have never been able to replicate.” 

His mother’s needless pride. That was both her claim to fame and the quality that led to her downfall. With talent, luck, and ambition, his mother’s ruthlessness kept her afloat. 

It was love that broke her, which was an ironic chain of events. Or maybe it was an obsession at the end of it? When she realized that the man she cared for only wanted her because she was ‘unattainable’, it tore her apart. 

When his mother began to reciprocate his father’s affections, added to the way his mother’s aging appearance could not beat time itself, being thrown away was the only outcome for her. It was karma’s way of getting back to her. How his mother was usually the one turning others down—yet when it happened to her once, she could no longer take it. 

His mother was a coward. Instead of doing the deed herself, she tried to force the deed on her son. But the way the rumors spread, further supported with how Kaveh ran right after her attempted suicide, the suspect fell onto the nameless son of the infamous Dendrobium. 

“Even her son was unable to bear the pressure of living up to her name. I do not blame him. For what is a son before his creator?”

Kaveh was quick to disagree. “Whoever he is, I doubt he even wanted to follow his mother in her footsteps in the first place. Where is the glory in being trapped in a gilded cage?”  

If Kaveh did not step out of that brothel, he would not be the man he was now. 

“Glory can be found in many things. An alpha can conquer others through their strength, while an omega can do so through their charm.” Deshret brought up the uses of each gender. 

“As expected of an Imperial. You churn out brainless soldiers and you relegate secondary genders into small boxes. I wouldn’t be surprised if all your minds were in the shape of squares.” Kaveh couldn’t help but insult them again. 

“If I were to talk about each and every trait that made all these genders tick, then I would have to keep you here for the entire night.”

Kaveh scoffed. “It’s not like you gave me much of a choice. Death through your incessant chatter or death through a blade slitting my throat, my prospects have never been so bright.”

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?"

"How come I'm not dead yet?” Kaveh clarified, prodding Deshret for an actual answer. “I'd like to throw the question right back at you."

"I know you find it difficult to believe, but you bring more value to me alive than dead." And that was what made Kaveh nervous. 

"I see no difference."

"Some may have already been blessed with bright prospects, yet they throw it all away for an uncharted path.” Deshret said, in a voice that expressed pity. Kaveh was not buying it.“To those who saw her son before he ran away, some would claim that his beauty surpassed his mother at her prime. Even as a child he had his own fair share of admirers.” 

Kaveh could read between the lines, and he did not like what he saw. “You’re repulsive. Who would admit to such a thing?” Though it was not named, they were clearly talking about him when he was still younger. The thought gathered bile from his gut. “Aren’t you telling me this just to disgust me?”

“Reserve your cruel words for another.” Deshret deflected, quick to appease. Kaveh did not hide his distaste, so it was not a surprise that his anger was picked up. 

“Who else is there but you?” Kaveh shot back. “Don’t hide your deplorable opinions behind a ‘friend’ you so happen to have out of convenience.”

“I’m referring to the trustworthy words of the grapevine. He shares a history with her son, as he could be considered a rare eyewitness. This grapevine of mine is a part of the few men who laid eyes on a genius before his claim to glory.” 

There were not many people Kaveh could recognize from his childhood.

It all felt like a blur to him, a time better left forgotten than remembered. What use was there to look back on? Sure, there were omega courtesans who would greet him in charity galas, who claimed to recognize him when he was younger (they would pry on why he ran from home, and Kaveh would redirect the conversation into something more pleasant), but Kaveh has met so many people back then.

They were all but a mish mash of names to him. 

Although, there were a few memories that simply just stuck. 

A mousy nose. Slicked back hair. Clothes that were in the fashion of Haravatat. His mother warned him off the man, a rare moment of defensiveness Kaveh could count with his bare hands. 

“...is this grapevine of yours fond of chocolates?” Kaveh asked, voice soft. His fingers were forming crescents in his palm, fists tightly closed, the only thing that held him back from throttling a man he had yet to see. 

“No, his taste in food was ironically much more mature than that. I will not say the same with his preferences. It was what he used to lure them in.”

Kaveh could recall their first meeting. Or what he thought was his first. 

“General Deshret, do not treat me like one of your subordinates.” Kaveh spat, striking while the iron was hot. “You think yourself so intelligent, hanging the answer in front of me by the thread. Acting as if I would obediently sit there with my mouth wide open, waiting for your favor to hand feed it to me like an owned pet—”

“A tempting offer.”

“An offer you cannot afford! I would sooner bite the hand that feeds than allow myself such a humiliation. I downed a man thrice my size wielding a weapon that weighed heavier than me, and it was all done when I was but a simple child.” Kaveh wished he could do that to everyone who saw himself in that repulsive way. “The more you taunt me, wasting my time as you idly beat around the bush, the higher the chances you’ll have of that becoming your reality.”     

“I tower over you? Aren’t you the one in the position of power, as it is I who is sitting while you’re the one standing over me, practically looking down from where I am? I do not doubt your skill, General Malikata, it was what drew me to you in the first place.”

Even now, Deshret was trying to flatter him? After revealing a suspicion he’s been cradling in his chest for years, but always brushed it off as his head overthinking?

“Cut the crap you fucking piece of shit!”

A moment of silence. A dense, thick, ooze of air that held nothing but white noise.

Valse sentimentale, Op. 51, No.6. Somewhere in the room, played an echo of a song that Kaveh detested. 

Deshret kept silent, tapping his finger against the table. He had a look of patience in his face like a reticent parent, watching him like he were a child making a tantrum. As if Kaveh would tire himself out and they could go about their conversation again, like civilized people. 

This only made Kaveh flush in anger. 

Kaveh shed any formalities of patience, entirely too fed up. “Was it Pir Kavikavus?” 

The last time Kaveh saw him was during that betrayal. Added to a newfound realization, he wanted to wrap his hands around the man’s neck and throttle him. 

“It’s all coming together, isn’t it?” Kaveh’s expression must have revealed something to Deshret. 

“So everything’s your fault!” Kaveh was quick to accuse. 

“You overestimate my hand in his betrayal.” Deshret defended himself. “I didn’t have to lift a finger when he decided to do it all by himself.” 

“Then why?”

“Pir Kavikavus could not handle the humiliation of being ordered around by an omega. Especially one he had an eye on when he was still a child.”

Kaveh felt sick to the stomach. He has yet to eat a thing, but acid was rolling around his gut, bringing a putrid weight to the realization. 

How long had Pir Kavikavus known? While Kaveh remained oblivious, serving under him as a soldier who gained the favor of a Lieutenant, that the alpha was actually looking at him in such a deplorable, disgusting manner. 

Pir Kavikavus has never shown any sexual interest, but Kaveh felt like his promotion was underhanded, now filled with shame rather than pride. He knew that his secondary gender was what interested Pir Kavikavus in the first place, but this new realization dirtied it even further. 

“I… is he fucked in the head? That disgusting excuse of a human being. How can he still think of me like—even talking about it makes me want to vomit.” Kaveh fell back onto his anger, grasping it with his hands, not wanting to think about anything else. “What else did that bastard tell you?” 

“He came to us, running with open arms, too eager to spill out every one of your secrets. His greedy hands wanted the benefits of an Imperial citizen, all for the price of selling you out.”

To have his reasons be so shallow, revealed to be as inconsequential as an issue involving pride. Men do not need pride to have a meal on the table. Pride will not allow shelter underneath heavy rain. An ego did not equate to the fates of men who died because of Kaveh’s mishap, his inability to foresee the betrayal that sealed the lives of the battalions he was supposed to lead. 

It ignited the flames deep in his stomach, a blazing vexation that was fueled by Deshret’s words. 

General Malikata was sold out because an alpha was throwing a pity party.

“That fucking bastard!” Kaveh shouted, enraged, forgetting his fear for the moment. “He was always absent, constantly shirking his duties, and never gave me face! How dare he complain about unfair treatment under my hand!” 

Deshret simply watched him, cigar still in hand. He did not correct him for his violent behavior. He simply leaned back, as if he were a spectator, watching a show play out before him. 

Kaveh reigned himself in, not liking the idea of him being there simply for Deshret’s amusement. 

“Imperials look upon traitors as kindly as you do. Yet, I spared his life for you.” Deshret mentioned offhandedly. 

Kaveh paused, thinking about what he said. Did he want something in return? Tough luck getting anything back. 

“Do you expect me to thank you?” Kaveh snapped. 

Deshret did not look offended. “I’m learning how to be generous.”

“No, this isn’t kindness. You have an ulterior motive. You’re planning to use him against me.” Kaveh accused, not falling for his crap for a second. 

“How so?”

"To humiliate me? To lord over my incompetence? All this for leaving a traitor alive in my midst?” Kaveh answered, not so sure himself. He just knew that it did not bode well for him. 

“You think highly of yourself.” The damn bastard started to clap, a slow, dramatic one. “I applaud you for your confidence.”

"Keep delaying the inevitable. Pir Kavikavus betrayed his homeland to embark on a sinking ship.” Kaveh spat, hating the way Deshret did not take him seriously. “One person’s absence, my lack of involvement in Kshahrewar’s battles, will not be enough to break my people’s unstoppable force.”

“As accomplished as you are, I did not invite you to my home for your public expertise.”

“Then why?” Kaveh felt like he was repeating that question thousands of times. It would help him out if it was actually answered. “So I could give it to you and finally leave!”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”   

Kaveh was fed up with Deshret. He did not know if he wanted to die, to escape, to take the knife and bury it into that unreadable face of Deshret’s. 

“You will go down in history as an insignificant speck.” Kaveh snapped, packing enough vitriol to melt a septic tank. “Kshahrewar will cut off the greedy hands of the empire, untether the chains of your colonies, and leave the empire’s name to die in the dust. The generations ahead of us will not look back fondly. They will deface your legacy, the rich history Imperials are so proud of, and spit on the accomplishments you claim to hold dear.” 

Kaveh breathed heavily, the rant taking a lot out of his chest. He looked at Deshret to see if he was affected in any way—then saw nothing but unreadable stoicism. It was like throwing pebbles at an immovable wall. 

"There is no use in resurrecting a dying invalid,” Deshret raised the corner of his lips, an empty little thing, “an era must come to a close and the tides will eventually change. You and I seek the same end to the current Haravatat Empire. It’s only a matter of directing a headless chicken on where to go next.” 

Before Kaveh could ask what Deshret meant, his words were interrupted by a heavy knock on the door.