the burden of the scribe

Chapter 1

You sit, staring blankly at the plain walls for hours, because you never knew the thrill of life. You'll never see the joy in existing. You'll never look forward to tomorrow.

Because when what becomes where and where becomes when and when becomes why and its all so dizzying it sweeps you off your feet, there's no place for you in this world anymore.

At least, that was the conclusion you came to.

—

The air was still around Alhaitham as he stood in front of an endless black void. The tense atmosphere was suffocating, and he had the strange feeling that if he made any noise—even if he just breathed too loudly—something unpleasant would happen. He stared at the dark abyss, paralyzed and unable to move his body. And staring back at him was something—no, someone that filled his heart with petrifying horror. It was..no, it was his...own reflection...?

The dark vacuum expanded, and Alhaitham's widened. He was trapped, unable to move. The darkness moved closer and consumed his legs.

It was your fault, it murmured. It was all your fault. And you know it, don't you?

No, Alhaitham thought. My grandma—no, everyone—they said there wasn't anything I could do.

The murky darkness crawled up his spine, making Alhaitham's skin prickle uncomfortably. Alhaitham, it jeered. You are a rational being. You are what all those other useless scholars lack. You are a true genius. Surely you, with all your intellect, could figure out the truth? Or is it that you're running from it? Alhaitham, Scribe of the Akademiya, the renowned scholar who wins and never runs away in the face of danger...terrified of but a few short moments of his life, lasting for only a few minutes. What would they say if they knew?

The tempo of his breathing sped up as he thought, it wasn't me—it wasn't—it wasn't—

You killed them, the darkness slithered up around his neck. And you know it.

Alhaitham struggled to breathe, he couldn't get enough air, he was—he was suffocating. He was going to perish to the darkness, and nobody would show up to his funeral—nobody cared about him, and how could he even begin to blame them? Dark red blotches appeared in front of him and from somewhere behind him he heard ear-splitting screams. Everything was beginning to spin and blur together, and the darkness began to cover his eyes, his ears, and it felt like he was drowning in a pit of rough sand, he was going to die here, all alone—

"Alhaitham!" A muffled but familiar voice startled Alhaitham and he sat up in bed swiftly. Breathing heavily, he brought a hand up to his hair and ran a hand through it. Cold sweat appeared on his hand when he was done.

It was just a dream. He nearly fainted with relief, and sank back down in bed, before being unceremoniously interrupted by the knocking on his door and the annoyingly familiar voice once more.

"Alhaitham! Are you going to wake up or not? Jeez, I had to make breakfast for the two of us. Who's the incompetent one now, huh?"

"Kaveh...Okay, fine. I'll be out in six minutes."

"Hmph! I make you breakfast while you're busy lazily sleeping in bed and this is the thanks I get? I might as well leave you to starve next time."

Alhaitham could practically see Kaveh rolling his eyes. Gathering his wits, he replied, "But you won't, because you're living in my house and still haven't paid your share of the rent yet."

"Agh, how can you be so shameless to your senior? Honestly, sometimes I swear you have no conscience."

"I don't know, but since you're the renowned Light of Ksharewar—a title you like to flaunt every two seconds—Instead of 'how can he be so shameless', I think the real questions here are, 'why isn't he paying his rent?' Or 'why is he living in the scribe's house?' And of course, the answer to both is that he doesn't listen to me."

"Y-you! I swear, every time I do something even remotely nice for you, all you seem to do is—"

Alhaitham shoved his noise-canceling headphones on and flipped the switch with his left hand. He then walked to the bathroom, splashed some cold water on his face, and wiped his head with a clean white towel, before throwing it next to the sink, planning to wash it later. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. Good, he thought. It's impossible to tell now.

Kaveh rudely barged in a few seconds later. "Hey, I'm talking to you, Alhaitham! You can't just leave in the middle of a conversation!"

Alhaitham stared at him through the mirror and scoffed. "I think I just did."

Kaveh glared at him, narrowing his eyes. "Are you being serious right now!?"

"What do you think? I don't see you laughing."

"You—agh, I can't with you this early in the morning. I'm heading out to meet a client. I'll be back after seven."

Kaveh exited the doorway of the bathroom and walked back to the kitchen irritated.

Alhaitham stared at his reflection in the mirror and mentally cataloged all the details that he saw.

Gray and mint green hair. Turquoise irises with blood red pupils. Teal noise-cancelling headphones.

It was all so familiar. He didn't kill them. How could he have?  Not even a sliver of the blame fell into him, because—

Because—because he killed them. But it wasn't on purpose, it wasn't done directly by his hand—but death is eternal stillness, eternal silence, and he sat there and watched it happen like a fool. He watched the life drain out of their eyes. He watched their bodies drop lifelessly like puppets whose strings had been cut ruthlessly by the puppet master that was Celestia.

Alhaitham had never wanted to smack the mirror—to hit something—more than in this moment before. He always kept his cool in front of other people—Lesser Lord Kusanali, he always kept his nonchalant and uncaring atticude in front of even himself. But for some reason...something strange about this time was different. He couldn't shake off his dream, no matter how hard he tried today. When this happened in the past, he had no trouble ignoring it. But now...it was like pure exposure to Kaveh made him a sensitive weirdo like him or something.

His growling stomach yelling at him to consume some food broke him out of his thoughts. He walked into the empty kitchen. On the messy counter lay a plate of scrambled eggs and sliced harra fruit on the side. Freshly ground black coffee was laid to the side of it.

Something inexplicably warm rose up in his chest as he sat down on the chair next to the counter and ate his meal silently.