The halls of the manor are dark. A few beams of moonlight slip through the cracks between the closed curtain, and the gray half-light casts a haunted look over the marble pillars. There are no lit candles since all the servants have been given an extended vacation. An old grandfather clock sits against the far wall of the foyer, a golden pendulum swinging inside its case in time with the muted ticking like a mechanical heartbeat. A single pair of footsteps accompanies the ticking, and the irregular pace echoes throughout the foyer. With how silent the manor is, it would not be a stretch to say the footsteps echo throughout the entire building, growing as loud as an army's drum guiding the soldiers' march.

The footsteps momentarily stop as a figure stands in the vestibule. He sets a suitcase on the ground beside his feet as he leans down to pull a pair of shoes on. As the shoes are being tugged on, a second pair of footsteps fills the manor. The figure in the vestibule sighs to himself, but the noise is quickly swallowed by the nauseating silence all around them. When Kaveh stands up, he glances out of the corner of his eyes. Al-Haitham is standing in the middle of the foyer. The large window behind him creates a silver outline around his body, and the shadows cover his face as thickly as a mask. Kaveh looks away. He reaches out to grab his coat. As he unhooks the cloth, there is a hand on his wrist. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving," Kaveh answers curtly, not a trace of amusement in his tone even when he was given an opportunity to tease Al-Haitham. Kaveh tugs his wrist out of Al-Haitham's hold. Al-Haitham lifts his fingers, allowing Kaveh freedom without moving his own hand away. Kaveh reaches around to throw the coat over his shoulders. Kaveh reaches up to button his coat up, knowing that the world is still cool with how far off dawn is from the present moment.

"Where are you going?" Al-Haitham's voice is quiet. Each word is said with the same tempo as the grandfather clock that quietly clicks against the silence like a small hammer striking glass. The cracks are growing larger, and the danger of being mutilated by the broken glass is ever-present. Kaveh keeps his eyes off of Al-Haitham, but he feels the warmth of a body right next to him, encroaching into his personal space.

"I am going to finish a project outside of the city," Kaveh answers honestly, seeing no reason why he should keep it a secret. The truth will come out eventually, so he might as well divulge what he can at the moment. It will certainly make this conversation move along more easily.

"Why are your belongings no longer in your room?" Al-Haitham continues prodding. Before anything else, he is a scholar with thousands of questions swirling around in his mind that he sees no problem in voicing when he is eager for an answer. Kaveh has the answers he's looking for, so he stares at Kaveh with narrowed eyes, refraining from physical touch or more aggressive tactics, perhaps from some lingering affection for the man in front of him, for the man that has always been in front of him— just out of reach.

"Because it is no longer my room. I am moving out. When I return to Sumeru City, I will be moving into my own accommodations," Kaveh explains simply, letting the rest of the truth come unspooling from his lips. Kaveh has finished buttoning his coat, his hands lingering on the buttons that warm underneath his chilly hands. Along with being mostly dim and silent, the manor is particularly cold tonight. It is as if someone has spilled the night mists into the building, letting winter and darkness claim the interior. In other situations, Kaveh might have turned to drinking to warm his extremities and letting Al-Haitham hold him to warm his core, but for now, he settles for the cloak that hangs as heavily as a king's robe on his shoulders.

"What are you talking about?" Al-Haitham's voice is straining. It isn't particularly noticeable. There is no explicit reason for the strain. It is only a little tautness like a wire being pulled on both ends. Kaveh notices because he knows Al-Haitham's voice, knows how time and mental states and environments influence it, and he knows that this is the closest Al-Haitham will get to expressing his negative emotions without plainly saying them. Al-Haitham can show his annoyance and frustration, but this sadness, or the flickering sparks of it, is something that Al-Haitham's bodily functions subtly give away, like a code only decipherable by one individual.

"Do not act like a fool. I am going to finish a project outside of the city, and when I return, I will be moved into a new place. I have already gotten permission, but frankly, I don't need it," Kaveh retorts. He leans down to grab his suitcase, deciding their conversation will have to end there.

Al-Haitham is not as keen on letting Kaveh go. He has developed an annoying habit lately of not letting Kaveh leave, chasing after him or holding onto his body. Kaveh is left with that observation as Al-Haitham grabs onto his hand. Al-Haitham's fingers slot the space between Kaveh's fingers. Kaveh lets Al-Haitham press their palms together, but he doesn't close his fingers, letting them hang uselessly toward the ground. Al-Haitham might notice or he might not. He doesn't comment on it as he leans into Kaveh's personal space. "Why are you leaving so suddenly?"

"I'm tired," Kaveh snaps, his voice as airy as a storm blowing across the desert. Kaveh huffs a breath, looking everywhere but Al-Haitham. When his carmine eyes finally land on Al-Haitham, Kaveh frowns angrily at the man currently holding onto him. Kaveh takes a deep settling breath as he jerks his hand out of Al-Haitham's hold. He turns his body to face Al-Haitham, staring right into those eyes unflinchingly. "I'm tired of living here. I'm tired of dealing with you. I'm tired of pretending."

"Pretending?" Al-Haitham's voice is distant as he speaks, his mind working faster than the noises his mouth can produce. The ticking of the grandfather clock echoes in the background, and it seems to wrap around Al-Haitham's body, a perfect representation of his methodical mind. It unnerves Kaveh as much as it genuinely angers him.

"Yes, pretending. I've been doing it since I've moved into this damned place, and I'm sick of it. The regents told me to watch out for you, and I did, but you're just so fucking insufferable. You're bitter, and spiteful, and a jerk nearly all the damn time. I've tried being friendly, but you just have to turn everything into an argument. Doesn't it tire you out to be so contrarian all the time?" Kaveh snaps, crossing his arms over his chest to protect his vital organs as he verbally tears into Al-Haitham. Half of these words Kaveh has said before, all to Al-Haitham's face, but a distinction must be made between then and now. In all the previous times, Kaveh's voice was alight with annoyance and often fondness. Right now, Kaveh's voice is brittle and angry. There is a cackling at the edge of it like electricity, and his hands flex with the urge to close into fists as if he wants to inflict physical harm. His eyes are an extension of these emotions, entirely too cold for how heated his voice is.

Al-Haitham's face does not crumple. It does not turn pale or red. Instead, his eyes twitch and his mouth leans down into a frown deeper than Kaveh has ever seen before. While pain does flash in his eyes at the callous words, the majority of his appearance is dominated by his confusion. He is trying to understand the situation. It makes Kaveh jerkily laugh, causing even more confusion that feeds into his manic response. Al-Haitham's hands lift, ready to touch Kaveh but hesitating. The hesitation proves to be the correct answer as Kaveh glares at the man. Al-Haitham's frown grows ever deeper, filling with emotions Kaveh didn't know Al-Haitham was capable of. "Kaveh, what are you talking about?"

"That's another annoying thing you do. I am talking as clearly as I always have. If you can't understand me, it's because you're acting like an idiot. It's unbecoming of you. Act like the genius above the rest of us like you normally do. I'd rather deal with your real personality, no matter how shitty it is, than whatever charade you put on," Kaveh continues, pointing at Al-Haitham. He strikes his index finger against Al-Haitham's chest. The scribe takes a half-step back as if Kaveh had stabbed him. In other circumstances, Kaveh might have relished the power he had over Al-Haitham's cowardice, but as it stands, he cannot help but narrow his eyes at the display in front of him.

"I am asking because I don't understand what you are doing right now. You are clearly angry right now, but you won't tell me what has brought about this anger. You're moving out when you have only jokingly shown an interest in doing so. You haven't even talked to me about it. You were going to move out in the dead of night. Do the others know what you're doing? Are you going to stay with them?" Al-Haitham explains himself, words light and concise, ignoring the underlying heaviness that seems to physically weigh him down as Al-Haitham leans into Kaveh's face to look into his eyes.

"I have told you why I'm angry. I've grown sick and tired of putting up with you. Everything about your personality upsets me, so I'm sorry if I haven't given you an itemized list. I'd say I would work on it for next time, but I hope I never have to see you ever again. I'm moving out for many of the same reasons. I would end up murdering you if I had to spend another second in the forsaken manor," Kaveh hisses, gesturing around into the dim light of the foyer on the other side of Al-Haitham. The scribe glances over his shoulder. When he looks back, Kaveh is glaring at him. They designed the foyer together. Kaveh remembers helping Al-Haitham carry in the grandfather clock, a legacy left by Al-Haitham's grandmother. Kaveh had to tinker with the clock to make it start working again, and it was one of the only times Al-Haitham had ever properly thanked him.

"And of course, the others don't know. I'm just as sick of them as I am of you, but at least they were more tolerable. Maybe if I was living with one of them, I would have been able to handle all of this better, but alas, I was stuck with you and here we are," Kaveh continues, ignoring the memories as they pop up in his head. His face twists with disgust, and the snarl on his face almost makes him look animalistic as he stands in Al-Haitham's shadow.

"Kaveh, I will never be able to say that I understand you, but I do at least know when you are lying. I cannot say for certain why you are. It must have something to do with the secret you have been keeping from all of us. I was willing to let you come to me with an explanation, but it seems I have to take action," Al-Haitham murmurs, determination spreading across his face like the darkness left in the wake of lightning. Al-Haitham takes a step forward. Before Kaveh can mirror this action with a step back, Al-Haitham grabs Kaveh's chin. He tilts Kaveh's face up, and they are looking each other right in the eyes. Al-Haitham takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as if to compose himself. When those eyes open, the emotion brimming around the turquoise-orange iris is as blatantly clear as his next words are. "I am in love with you. I have been for a long time now. And I am certain that you are—"

"Will you shut up?" Kaveh demands. He moves his hand quickly, slapping Al-Haitham's hand away from his chin. Al-Haitham's eyes widen with surprise, and Kaveh's eyes narrow with anger. "Just shut the fuck up with that bullshit. You are not capable of love, Al-Haitham. You are arrogant. Self-centered. Egotistical. You don't love me. You just see me as useful because I could keep your migraines at bay, but now you have this." Kaveh grabs Al-Haitham's wrist, the one that once held his chin, the one covered by a ribbon and a silver bracelet. "You have this to chase your migraines away, so you don't need me. You can tell your brain to stop deluding itself into thinking you're in love with me."

"I could not care less how you affect my migraines. I am not so delusional or emotionless as to not know how I feel. I am in love with you, Kaveh, and I know you are in love with me, too," Al-Haitham continues, twisting their hands to grab onto Kaveh's hand once more. He presses the pads of their fingers and their palms together, and the warm travels up Kaveh's arm to his heart. The organ inside of him bristles, beating with the same rhythm as the grandfather clock's ticking. Kaveh stares at their hands, the anger clearing from his face for a split second to leave nothing but ashes behind. Kaveh's face relaxes, but there is no emotion to replace it. The emptiness is what drives Al-Haitham forward.

Kaveh shoves Al-Haitham away with his hand. Al-Haitham decides to take a step back, giving Kaveh space to feel his anger return to him. Kaveh scowls at Al-Haitham, wringing his hands as if he touched something disgusting. Kaveh looks away from Al-Haitham, staring at the ground with a scoff. "You're so damn infuriating. Don't tell me how I feel. Don't lie to me about how you feel. Whatever you're feeling, it isn't love. It seems your rational mind has failed you. Maybe your heart is taking revenge on you, making you feel like you love the person you clearly can't stand, but that isn't my problem. Figure it out or don't, Al-Haitham. I couldn't give a shit. Are we done here?"

Despite proposing a question, Kaveh does not wait for an answer. He leans down to grab his bags. He kicks the door open, stepping into the cold air of the night. There are more noises out here, but all Kaveh can hear is the beating of his heart. He looks over his shoulder at Al-Haitham's wounded face. It might have been a kinder fate if Kaveh had just stabbed him, but Kaveh was already closing the door behind him. Physically, a wooden slab was between. In every other way...

Kaveh walks away from the manor that had become his home in this world. He walks away from the man who had become his home no matter what world he was in.

At the end of the path, on the other side of the gate, a carriage is waiting. Kaveh stands beside the carriage, waiting for the curtains to be pulled and the window to be lowered. Khajeh sits on the cushion. His head is facing forward, but his dark eyes slide over to Kaveh with every scrap of his attention. He waits, and Kaveh answers the unasked question. "It's done."

Khajeh nods softly to himself. He gestures for Kaveh to get inside the carriage. Kaveh puts his suitcases in the back of the carriage, looking back at the manor one last time. Fate is powerful, Kaveh notes wryly, since he has become the villain he was supposed to be in the book. But if he has become the villain, at least that means Al-Haitham will have his happy ending. He'll find the records Kaveh left behind. He'll overthrow the regents. He'll free God-King Kusanali. He'll marry Nilou. Tighnari and Cyno will be able to spend more time with Collei and Sethos, too. The other sages won't suffer because of his mistakes. Everything will be alright, Kaveh promises himself as he gets into the carriage.

The promise means little to the silent tears flowing across his cheeks as he settles into the loneliness that has followed him from one lifetime to the next.