Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The heat was unbearable under the sun’s cruel gaze as Zandik ventured through the desert. Sweat trickled down his skin, causing his hair to stick to his forehead and his clothes to press uncomfortably against his back. His feet were tired, having trudged for hours just to find an oasis to drink clean water from, and worst of all, every crevice of his shoes had been invaded by sand.

Zandik was miserable. He was parched, filthy, and at the verge of losing consciousness. It was difficult to believe that he was once a proud scholar of the Akademiya.

He became a shell of his former self.

It was a shame. Zandik recalled the day he was expelled vividly. How his crimes had been listed out before he was given his punishment; to be exiled into the desert, which led him to his current predicament. If only he hadn’t been so careless with his plots. Perhaps then, he would still be enjoying the luxuries the Akademiya had provided him with.

The knowledge. The tools. The resources. They were all ripped away from him because of his recklessness. If he had just fabricated the truth behind Sohreh’s death into a more convincing lie, he was certain that he would still be considered one of the Akademiya’s brightest.

His regrets remained at the forefront of his mind until the sky darkened in hue. By then, the sweltering heat of the desert had subsided, only to be replaced by harsh winds that were far too cold that his teeth began to chatter.

The desert was truly torturous.

Zandik wrapped his arms around himself. His entire body trembled like a fallen leaf. He could tell that he was at his limit, but he couldn’t allow himself to rest just yet. He still needed to find a source of water and food, otherwise he would inevitably meet his end, with his corpse ransacked and defiled by scavengers and opportunists. He couldn’t let that happen.

There has to be an oasis somewhere nearby. A nervous pit formed in his stomach. Was this how he was going to die? Alone and with no memorable achievements?

Zandik was on his last straw. Black dots started to appear all over his vision. That was a cause of concern, but left with no other choice, he ignored this ailment and trekked up a sand dune. Maybe if he reached higher ground, he could have a better view and have even a glimpse of an oasis somewhere out there.

“Please…” His throat burned. His vocal cords throbbed at their sudden use.

He never prayed to a God before, not even to the Dendro Archon. He never had much faith in the deities of Teyvat for he believed them to hold no care for humanity. But, as he was one step away from death’s door, he was open to try anything to delay the inevitable.

Sand gathered beneath his nails. His shoulders and legs were entirely numb after the long climb. He couldn’t even bring himself to stand once he reached the top.

The desert was vast, though mostly barren. He had taken many expeditions there in the past—having visited many ancient ruins and even investigated damaged machinery from civilizations long gone. Any other time, he would be ecstatic at the chance to conduct his research without a sage breathing down his neck about regulations. He just had to be expelled and thrown aside without any food or water to sustain himself.

And those brutes dare say that he was barbaric!

The Mausoleum of King Deshret stood tall from where he currently was. Were he not weak due to dehydration and hunger, he would have steeled his aching feet and gone there for a semblance of shelter. A pained breath left him as he lowered his gaze and swept it across the desert’s eroded landscape.

Water. Zandik needed to find water.

His parched tongue was desperate for water.

Panic coursed through his veins. Was there seriously no source of water near him whatsoever? He found that far too improbable to believe. Denial tasted like ash as he let the desert’s strong winds push him down the sand dune that he spent his remaining energy on ascending.

Zandik staggered, unable to keep his balance, before his entire body tumbled down the sand dune. He attempted to cover his face in the hopes that sand wouldn’t cake his eyes and mouth.

“Urgh…!” He couldn’t help but groan.

The descent was merciless. He could feel his breath be knocked from his lungs, which left him in a haze once he finally came to a stop. Sand clung to his blue curls and filled his sleeves with their uncomfortably gritty texture as he was sprawled at the base of the dune. His ears rang, amplifying the sound of his heartbeat that was hidden beneath his heaving chest.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Longer than he would like to admit, he stayed there, his back against the sand, with his eyes staring at the sky above. His limbs felt sluggish, refusing his command no matter how much he willed his legs to stand up.

If he closed his eyes now, he feared that he might never open them again. He knew that death was near, even if he were to deny it with wretched tears.

“No,” Zandik rasped. He forced his fingers to curl into the sand as the word scraped his throat raw. He hadn’t gone through the Akademiya’s scrutiny, the vicious whispers of his peers, and the long tiresome march into his exile just to perish like an insect beneath the dunes.

To die nameless in the desert was an insult he wouldn’t accept. He swore that he would survive this and plot his revenge against those who dared ruin his life.

Zandik dragged himself upright.

As his vision steadied, something caught his eyes. It was faint, almost imperceptible because of the darkness.

There was a glimmer. His heart pounded as he squinted his eyes. He was unsure whether exhaustion was playing tricks on him. After all, this could all just be a figment of his imagination, feeding off of his desire to survive.

Nestled between jagged rock formations in the distance, he swore he saw a subtle sheen reflecting light. Could it be? He didn’t dare let hope take over him.

He was paranoid and doubtful of his own perception.

Could it truly be water?

A fragile spark formed in his heart. He was ready to face disappointment once more, but he still staggered forward even if his steps were unsteady. It could be a mirage for all that he knew, but if there was even a chance that he could finally have access to water, then he would chase it for as long as his legs could carry him.

The wind howled. It tugged at his clothes and tangled his hair as it whispered promises of a peaceful rest. He paid it no mind as he continued to trudge onward.

Zandik’s vision swam again. His eyes burned at the sand that he struggled to blink away. The edges blurred as he approached the glimmer, but the sheen before him grew clearer with every agonizing pace. It wasn’t moving, not wavering like the mirages he had studied and dismissed countless of times in his previous expeditions.

It was steady. It was real.

A hysterical laugh rose up his throat. It sounded broken, dry of any substance before it dissolved into a cough.

“Don’t play games with me now,” He muttered hoarsely.

He was uncertain whether he was speaking to the Gods, the desert, or his own fractured hope. He continued on, nails biting into his palm, strong enough to draw blood.

As Zandik drew closer, the vague shapes sharpened into stone. There, he saw a weathered cliff, and at its center was a shallow oasis. The air felt different. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he inhaled a damp breeze. He drowned out every other sound as he staggered through the last stretch of sand and almost collapsed before the oasis’ edge.

Water pooled at the oasis’ center. Dark and still, he saw the stars reflected on its surface like scattered jewels.

Zandik froze.

For a second, he waited for the water to fade away, for it to reveal itself as some cruel illusion. It didn’t. The water before him stayed still, inviting him to take a sip.

A strangled noise escaped him. He dropped to his knees, plunging his hands into the pool, the cold wet feeling of which shocked his flesh and dry lips. It was real. He was at the brink of tears as he greedily drank from his cupped hands, uncaring of the sand and pathogens that he knew would also enter his system since he hadn’t bothered to boil the water clean.

Whatever. He would deal with that later. At that moment, he only focused on the ache in his throat being eased as relief spread to the rest of his body. Each sip and gulp of water ensured that he would survive.

His stomach growled. He still needed food to sustain his hunger, but at least for now, he had quenched his thirst.

It was enough, even if barely.

Zandik stared at his trembling hands. The desert hadn’t broken him. It had tested him, and it failed. He continued to survive despite its efforts to coalesce him into the sand that still clung to his clothes and hair.

He finally allowed his body to collapse. He laid there and let the cold of the night seep into his bones now that the fire of his desperation had dimmed. He closed his eyes, though not completely, as he knew that it was dangerous to fully succumb to the lull of slumber. The desert was a ruthless land and after struggling to find even a source of water for so long, he knew that he needed to be vigilant so that he could keep his life.

The winds shifted. It carried a hollow sound that echoed between the rocks. Zandik couldn’t relax. There could be predators lurking in the darkness, monsters who want to exploit him for their gain, and other dangers that he had no protection against.

He was vulnerable, lacking a weapon to properly defend himself. It was a miracle that he had yet to run into any thieves. He was aware that plenty of them ran rampant in the hidden nooks and crannies of the desert. They were vicious in nature, but also patient enough to wait for their prey to tire themselves out before they strike.

Zandik curled into himself. He held his stomach when it grumbled louder than it ever had before. He wasn’t just hungry. No, he was starving.

Tomorrow, he needed to find something edible.

Henna berries, ajilenakh nuts, and even desert insects if he was desperate enough. He knew that he was still too weak to hunt any stray desert foxes that could easily run away from his slow gait. He grimaced at the thought of consuming disgusting insects, but if it came to that, then he would do so without hesitation.

Survival demanded pragmatism, not pride.

However, that was a problem for tomorrow. For now, as he laid beneath the night sky, Zandik slept. He was alive and that was enough.

The night passed in fragments.

Zandik drifted in and out of shallow sleep. He didn’t allow himself to sink any deeper, lest his mind forget about his current situation. Each gust of wind jolted him awake and left his chest heavy as if expecting teeth and claws from out of the blue to attack him.

Every sound was a threat until proven otherwise. He was on edge until dawn came, and even then, it didn’t arrive gently.

Light cut through the darkness and stirred warmth back into his stiff limbs. Zandik slowly opened his eyes, which were crusted with sand and fatigue. He blinked before he sat up and pressed his hand against his throat. It ached once more, still recovering from the days in which it had no access to water, but this time, it no longer bore the agony of yesterday. He neared the oasis and drank water in a more dignified manner than he did last night.

Alive, he reminded himself. He was still alive.

He stared at his reflection on the water’s surface.

His appearance was worse for wear. There were cuts all over his face, which ruined what was once his very lovely appearance. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was stuck in a tangled mess, and his cheeks were hollow. He used to be a proud scholar, but now, his reflection told another story. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

Zandik pushed himself to stand up. He swayed for a bit before he steeled his feet and surveyed his surroundings with a sharper eye now that the sun had risen.

There was sparse vegetation surrounding the oasis that saved his life. Convenient, he thought, “Useful.”

Vegetation meant life could grow there.

That meant food.

He followed the scattered trail of flora. Eventually, to his mild surprise, he managed to find a plant with dry leaves, yet swollen buds that he recalled were edible. He heard his stomach growl, pleading for sustenance of any kind, which caused him to crouch and pick out as much of the nuts that he could. He squeezed one with shaking hands and noted that they were ajilenakh nuts that had yet to mature. There must be palm trees nearby or a seed must have somehow made its way to this oasis because of the harsh desert wind.

Zandik took his first bite of the fruit. It was tough to chew and bitter to taste, barely satisfying, yet his stomach was so ravenous that it accepted the paltry offering without any complaints. He chewed slowly, frowning, forcing the food down despite his taste buds’ resistance. He needed to feed himself to regain even a hint of energy.

As he ate, a thought took root in his mind. It was cold, sharp, and familiar.

He wouldn’t be alone at this oasis forever.

Water drew life. At some point, the oasis would be visited by predators, thieves, mercenaries, and more creatures that were born from the desert’s cruelty. Zandik was still weak and unarmed. He wouldn’t survive another stroke of bad fortune.

His eyes narrowed. He started to think of solutions to his current predicament. If he wanted to continue living, luck wasn’t enough. He needed tools and knowledge. He may have been stripped of titles and resources once he was expelled, but the Akademiya couldn’t take away his mind that was too sharp for its own good.

The desert was filled with ruins older than the institution that rebuked him. There were machines forgotten as they were left to rot beneath the sands of time. There was so much technology waiting to be pried open by someone clever enough to understand them.

Zandik ripped a part of his sleeve. He used some sturdy blades of grass to tie it up and form a container of sorts so that he could comfortably carry food with him.

It couldn’t carry water though. With his limited resources, he still lacked the necessary materials to make his own waterskin. That was a problem he planned on solving by hunting whatever pathetic animal was unlucky enough to cross his path later on. After he gathered enough food to last him a day or two, he picked up the sharp rocks that laid at the bottom of the oasis. They were poor weapons, but they would make do for now.

A thin smile tugged at his cracked lips.

He turned his gaze toward the distant horizon. There, he saw silhouettes of ancient structures that pierced through the heat-hazed air.

Zandik lingered for a moment longer. He committed the oasis to memory.

The shape of the rocks. The way that water pooled at the center. The plants that managed to propagate in brutal conditions. He needed to know every part of this oasis as this was going to be his refuge for the near future.

After that, he straightened his posture and began to walk toward the ancient ruins that beckoned him. With every step that he took away from oasis, the heavier the weight on his shoulders became. It felt wrong. He was walking away from the only kindness the desert offered him. Still, he forced himself onward, with his movements slow and deliberate as he couldn’t afford to waste energy.

The more he walked, the smaller the oasis became until it faded into nothingness. The desert grew harsher, with sand flying into his face, aggravating his open wounds.

However, Zandik paid no attention to the pain.

He was instead focused on the machinery unearthed by the sand. There were many half-exposed devices, which he approached almost giddily. He traced his finger along the surface of a particular machine and found that it had parts that he could scavenge to create a better weapon than mere rocks.

“Still intact.” Zandik took apart some nuts and bolts, and pulled out a large piece of metal, “I can work with this.”

There were some components that were broken beyond repair. Yet, he also saw that the majority of it remained intact, preserved beneath the layers of sand despite the neglect it had faced for many years. To an untrained eye, it all looked like junk. To Zandik, he was presented with a rare opportunity.

He could make this into something useful with the right adjustments. If not a weapon, then maybe into a tool that could make his time in the desert less burdensome.

Zandik worked until his fingers ached.

He knelt beside the machine, dismantling it with as much care that he could muster without any proper instruments that could aid him. Each move he made was deliberate, born from familiarity as he recalled the machines he had torn apart and put back together in the past.

Metal scraped against stone. A light click soon followed, which made Zandik’s eyes narrow in interest.

“Degraded, but not useless.”

“Rusty. Could use some polish.”

“Now this is what I need.”

Zandik wiped away the sweat on his face. How long had he been scavenging for parts? He was certain that some hours had passed since he arrived there. He dismantled a lot of machines during that time, with there being a pile of useful components that he planned on tinkering with later on sitting behind him.

He was content with his spoils for the day. He was ready to carry his haul back to the oasis when he came across a strange object that jutted out from the sand.

It resembled a hand. An actual human hand.

Zandik furrowed his brows. Had he accidentally stumbled upon someone’s dishonored corpse? He felt a prickle in his spine as he steeled his nerves and curiously touched the hand. It wasn’t like this was the first time he had been in close contact with a deceased body. He was expelled from the Akademiya due to his mishandlement of one.

The hand was surprisingly soft.

It didn’t feel like it belonged to a corpse. He wondered if this person was still alive. He tried to find a pulse on their wrist, but found nothing. Huh. Well, it was likely that they had just recently died, overwhelmed by a sandstorm and buried under its depths where they eventually suffocated and lost their pitiful life. Zandik mused if this person had any valuables with them.

Maybe some mora, jewelry that he could sell, or even a waterskin which he definitely needed. He glanced at the sun and calculated that he had some time before dusk to dig this deceased body out and loot them.

He used his hands at first. He swept sand away with his fingers bent, moving in practiced motions, before he lost patience and picked out a flat piece of metal to speed up the process. The desert yielded slowly, reluctantly even, but Zandik was nothing but determined. More of the body began to emerge.

An arm. A shoulder. Torn fabric, seemingly white in hue, but now stained by the sun’s glare and the sand.

The clothing was unfamiliar. It certainly wasn’t anything a Sumerian would typically wear, whether they came from the rainforest or the desert. No, Zandik was certain that these clothes were from a foreign nation. The material it was made from was finer than he had expected, thin yet comfortable and even durable to some extent.

He could definitely sell the fabric for a decent price.

More sand shifted as he dug deeper. Zandik brushed his fingers against the person’s chest, where a feather made of gold hung daintily. Just who was this person and why would they venture into the desert without any guards to protect them? Based on their attire, it was clear that this person came from a noble background. They must have been either foolishly overconfident or were unfortunately taken advantage of by scheming thieves, who posed as reliable guards. Not that Zandik cared about how this person got into this situation.

That golden feather could secure him a quaint residence in another nation. He was taking that with him the instant he had enough resources to make his way out of the vast desert. He indulged the idea of creating a new identity to hide his controversial past, and live the rest of his life far away from Sumeru. Maybe he could move to Fontaine, where he heard rampant advances in technology were being made.

Zandik sighed. He could only dream for now.

He continued to dig.

The sand grew heavier the deeper he went, the wind by no means aiding his efforts. But eventually, he knew that he would be rewarded. A face then emerged from under the golden grains.

Zandik froze. The person buried beneath the desert sand was… for lack of a better word, beautiful.

Their features were androgynous—sharp yet delicate all the same, striking a balance in a way that felt intentional, as if they were crafted and not born. Long lashes cast a faint shadow against smooth skin that had yet to mar and decay. Their lips were pale, parted ever so slightly, as if caught in the midst of a breath that never finished.

His hands trembled despite himself.

“How strange…” Zandik commented as he swept away the sand that covered part of the stranger’s face.

His movements were slow, almost reverent. The skin he held was cool, but not cold. Like their hands, their cheeks were soft to touch. Far too soft even. Unease crept in his ribs, coiling tightly around his heart.

How recently has this person died?

It was then Zandik heard something. It was subtle at first, a silent whirr that he could excuse was the strong desert wind toying with him once more. But, as he continued to dig out this person, cautious in preserving their ethereal appearance, the sound grew louder. He wondered where that noise could be coming from as the machinery near him had all been deconstructed of their important parts.

He stared at the body before him. He unearthed most of it, with only the person’s legs left buried. A suspicion rose in his mind.

It was unlikely, but he should still test it out. Like any good researcher would.

Zandik reached for the stranger’s neck. He pressed two of his fingers more firmly this time, thoroughly checking for any sign of life. Still nothing. There was no pulse and it was apparent that this person wasn’t breathing.

Even so, Zandik remained wary.

He placed his hand over the person’s chest. He couldn’t sense a heartbeat. So how come, when he pressed his ear against the same place, he could hear the near-silent turning of what sounded like gears? That wasn’t normal in corpses.

Zandik lifted his head with wide, curious eyes, “Just what are you?”

As if to answer him, the stranger stirred.

This caused Zandik to stumble backwards. His heart was hammering inside his chest. He was still in place as the body he thought was a corpse suddenly arched forward, as if stricken by lightning. Grains scattered everywhere when the stranger, who he was now certain was far from a human, brought out their hand and used it to grasp the golden feather that hung from their neck.

Their eyes then snapped open.

Indigo. Brilliant and warm, glowing softly under the sun’s rays like polished gemstones. They darted wildly, looking at the sky, then the sand that surrounded them, before finally fixing their gaze on Zandik. A confused expression took over their fair face.

“This isn’t right…” The stranger mumbled, their voice a pitch deep that Zandik could finally tell that they were a man, “This wasn’t where I was sealed.”

Sealed.

Zandik swallowed, forcing himself to not retreat from this fascinating specimen any further. Trepidation clawed at the back of his mind, as he didn’t know what this being was capable of. For all the innocence that decorated his wide eyes and small pout, he might have the capability to end Zandik’s life right then and there. Nonetheless, there was also a surge of exhilaration that made itself known.

He knew that feeling well. It was the thrill, the obsession that drove him to conduct his forbidden experiments.

This specimen in front of him was delectable.

His uncertainty was palpable. Zandik swore that he could almost taste it. What a cute thing. He stifled a chuckle as he wore the mask of a well-meaning scholar. He wasn’t a great actor by any means, but he was still decent.

“You were buried beneath the sand. I dug you out after I saw your hand sticking out on the surface, as if you were asking for help,” Zandik said carefully. He didn’t want to leave a bad first impression on who he deemed was now his favorite test-subject.

He heard a low gasp, “Oh, I see. Thank you then, for digging me out.”

“It was no problem.”

The stranger brushed sand from his sleeves. There was a softness that remained on his expression, guileless as though he hadn’t been buried under sand for who knew how long. Zandik wondered what he was. Could he be a machine from an ancient civilization? One so advanced that he managed to survive the passage of time? He had so many questions that he couldn’t wait to ask.

“My name is Zandik. May I have the pleasure of knowing yours?” He offered his hand for the stranger to take.

“What a lovely name you have.” The sweetest words left the stranger’s lips before he frowned. Zandik felt a pinch of panic internally. Had he already messed up somehow? He hadn’t even done anything yet, “Unfortunately, I have no name to call my own.”

The admission lingered between them. It was as fragile as glass.

Zandik didn’t hide his interest. In fact, he did the opposite as his offered hand proceeded to cup the stranger’s face, an act that he knew was far too intimate for people who had just met that day. He watched as the stranger looked at him with quiet bewilderment, though he didn’t bother to push his hand away, which made him cheer inside.

“No name?” Zandik echoed, “None at all?”

The stranger shook his head. His long lashes fluttered as his fingers tightened their grip around the golden feather that seemed to serve as a calming tool, “My creator had sealed me away before she could give me one.”

That struck something deep within Zandik.

My creator. That further proved that the stranger wasn’t a human whatsoever. He brushed his thumb beneath the other’s eye, as if testing the sensation of his flesh, which remained soft under his touch. The stranger stiffened at his actions, but he didn’t recoil. Instead, he watched him with an openness that bordered on naivete.

“How unfortunate indeed. To be denied a name, that’s a cruel thing, wouldn’t you say?” Zandik murmured in faux sympathy.

“I suppose so. It’s… shameful.” The stranger hesitated, timid on how to speak about his complex emotions.

Zandik hummed contemplatively. Shame. That was a word that held much use. It carried weight, pliable enough that it could be molded, sharp enough to cut if applied in the right moments. He withdrew his hand when he noticed a pool of tears gathering around the stranger’s eyes, as if realizing his impropriety too late and not wanting to test the other’s limit any more than he already had.

Just what was he? For someone who wasn’t human, he could somehow cry like one. It piqued his intrigue.

“Shame implies fault. But, how can something unfinished be at fault for its own incompleteness?” Zandik asked, to which the stranger blinked his tears away, thinking about what he had just said and considering it carefully.

The stranger looked down at the golden feather he had yet to let go, “I don’t know. All I know is that I was made with a purpose, but my creator deemed me too weak to ever fulfill it. As such, she sealed me away, abandoning me before she could even give me a name.”

Purpose. Creation. Abandonment. How familiar.

Zandik folded that information away with care. In front of him sat an artificial being, one that was clearly sentient, emotionally responsive, and was additionally capable of autonomous thought. He was a technological marvel and Zandik could only wonder how he had been made. It was clear that his creator was someone powerful enough to seal him away without eroding his consciousness. That his creator was someone who hesitated, someone who preferred storing him away rather than dismantling him.

That his creator was someone who failed.

“What are you?” Zandik finally asked. He kept his tone neutral to make sure that he didn’t sound as if he was demanding the stranger for answers. He didn’t want to push him too much, so he chose to level his voice, patiently inviting him for a response.

A minute passed. It was so silent that Zandik swore he could hear a pin drop. The stranger had this glint in his eyes that he couldn’t decipher. He didn’t know what to make of it as he waited patiently for a reply.

“I am a puppet. A prototype puppet to be exact.”

“A puppet,” Zandik repeated. Well, that was… it wasn’t unexpected to say the least, but he was still left shocked nevertheless.

The stranger, an artificial being, a puppet who resembled a human, which was an inconceivable miracle that he didn’t even think was possible, nodded, “I was made to house a ‘heart’, one so powerful that it brought me to tears before I could even fully wield it. My creator thus decided that my emotions destabilized me, and so she deemed me a failure.”

More questions swarmed Zandik’s mind. He grew to like this puppet more and more as each time he opened his mouth, his curiosity would blossom. What did the puppet mean by ‘heart’? Was he talking about a human heart, or something else, based on how he spoke about it in such a deferential manner? How could emotions be regarded as a source of destabilization? That one honestly seemed ignorant, but then again, he hadn’t been there to witness the puppet’s genesis.

But, before he could continue on with his many thoughts, a lone remark was repeated inside of his mind, leaving him displeased: failure, it echoed. His lips curved into something sharp, and it wasn’t a smile by any means.

“How disgraceful,” Zandik almost spat, which caused the puppet to wince at the blatant disgust on his face, “Your creator, forgive me for saying this, is foolish. She has managed to create something unprecedented, a special little thing such as yourself, only for her to recoil at the slightest variability. She’s an embarrassment to those who pride themselves in being researchers.”

“Z- Zandik!” The puppet looked aghast. His face paled in horror, which was an interesting function. If his skin could lighten in pigment, then could it also tan? Better yet, he pondered if a blush could decorate the puppet’s cheeks.

“I’m just speaking my mind, doll.” Zandik shrugged.

The puppet flinched at his casual disrespect, “My creator sealed me away as a form of mercy. She did it to spare me from any suffering.”

Zandik could only shake his head.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

The puppet floundered. He appeared to be at a loss on what to say. He had no rebuttal against Zandik, who had spoken without even meaning to insult him for his blatant denial regarding his creator.

“You still suffered even after you were sealed. You were alone. Buried. Forgotten. Mercy that requires erasure is nothing more than cowardice dressed in kindness. Don’t deny that you deserved better.” Zandik reached out to the puppet. It was a gesture which made the puppet falter as he finally let go of the golden feather that he had been treating as a crutch ever since he first woke up.

“But, I was a mistake. A failure,” The puppet whispered, which irritated Zandik. Why couldn’t his points be drilled into this specimen’s head already?

“You were never a mistake!” Zandik snapped, “You were just unfinished.”

He observed the puppet carefully. He said nothing more as the puppet finally understood him, watched with glee as realization dawned on the other’s face. The distinction settled in the puppet’s mind after some time. Those that were left unfinished longed not for absolution from their supposed inadequacies, but for their own completion.

“You think that I can be completed?” The puppet asked, voice small, but hopeful.

“Look at yourself. You’re free to be molded into whoever you want to be, doll,” Zandik assured, and at long last, the puppet finally took his hand and allowed himself to be brought out of the pit where he had once been buried by the brutal sands of time.

“You speak as if I’m invaluable.”

“That would be an understatement.” Zandik knew that the puppet was unlike any other. He had studied many ruins and machines back when he was still a scholar from the Akademiya. All of them were dull compared to the puppet before him. They were lifeless—unthinking and obedient mechanisms locked into rigid patterns, incapable of any deviations or desires.

They were useful, yes, but ultimately banal when pitted against the puppet.

None of them had the same intricate capacity to want.

“You’re useful.” Zandik held the puppet’s chin and tilted it upward, forcing their eyes to meet, “In this world, worth is determined not by sentiment or intention, but by rigorous application and experimentation. Worth is determined by results. You’re incomplete, but you have survived up until now. That proves you’re resilient.”

The puppet’s gaze softened. For a moment, Zandik saw a fleeting spark of life blossom within him. It didn’t seem artificial, but something intangible.

Beautiful.

He studied the puppet, his mind racing with far too many possibilities. Every line of his artificial face, every nuance of his movement, and even the faint hum of his internal mechanisms. His pulse quickened as he imagined all that he could accomplish with a mind and body like this at his disposal. A being capable of thought, yet unbound by the limitations of flesh.

“Together, we’d be unstoppable.”

The puppet’s features shifted to show the wariness that he felt, “What do you mean?”

Zandik tucked the puppet’s hair behind his ear. He then withdrew his hand and gestured at the pile of scavenged mechanical parts behind him.

“I was once a scholar from the Akademiya, and my area of expertise was machinery. If you allow me, I can mold you into whatever you desire, be it more human or more artificial, and with enough time I can eventually complete you.” Zandik let the weight of his words sink in. He was essentially offering the puppet what he wanted the most, to become whole.

“You can complete me.” The puppet knitted his brows as uncertainty dripped from his tone. He spared the pile of scattered machine parts a quick glance before he looked back at Zandik, “What do you want from me in return?”

Ah. There it was. The puppet didn’t blindly trust him, and that caused his teeth to form a grin in approval.

“I want access to your body. I want to study your design, to know why you are so unique in constitution, and to see if I can create something like you one day. I would be a fool if I passed up on the opportunity to understand what makes you tick,” Zandik said smoothly, his tone a mixture of earnestness and obsession.

“You want to experiment on me.” The puppet didn’t make it known if he felt offended by Zandik's audacity.

“As would any other scholar.”

The puppet lowered his head. He traced a trail down the golden feather that hung from his neck, “And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll leave you to your own devices,” Zandik replied without hesitation, even so, a shadow of disappointment graced his otherwise blank expression, “I’m not a charity. I have limited resources and energy. If I help every poor soul I come across without asking for anything in return, then I'd be left entirely destitute. Me digging you out was my one act of kindness, and I won’t give you more.”

The tension that followed was taut. It was stretched thin between them like a wire.

“Will it hurt if you study me?” The puppet asked feebly.

“At times. Growth often does. But, pain without purpose is wasteful, and I won’t cause you any unnecessary pain as much as I can help it.” Zandik knew well that honesty, when wielded properly, was a far more persuasive tool than gentleness. So he didn’t bother to soften his words or dress his intentions in comfort.

After a long pause, the puppet’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly in a silent surrender. Zandik felt an arm wrap around his own and pull him close. The puppet clung to him with a pathetic, yet enticing guise.

“Very well. I’ll entrust myself to you, scholar.”

Zandik chuckled, “You made the right decision, doll.”

He made the puppet help him carry some of the parts he scavenged earlier that day. To his delight, the puppet had an inhuman strength that allowed him to carry more than twice his own weight with ease. Good fortune had smiled at him, and for the first time, his life wasn’t as bleak as he thought it would after he had been expelled.

The sun began to set, casting a warm, amber glow over the desert. Shadows stretched across the sand as he led the puppet to the oasis that saved his life the night prior with its clean, life-giving water. The colors of the sky were reflected by the oasis’ surface like a mirror, where ripples danced, undisturbed by the cool wind. Night settled fully over the desert, with the stars brilliant with their twinkle, and the puppet’s golden feather catching the light of the moon.

Zandik crouched by the water. He entrusted the puppet to put away the components he had gathered in a safe place, while he assuaged the ache in his throat with a large sip.

“Rest for now. We’ll work out the terms regarding our… partnership tomorrow.” Zandik patted the empty space of sand beside him.

The puppet obeyed, kneeling near the pool’s edge.

His fingers ran through the puppet’s dark hair. To his mild surprise, it was smooth and easily straightened out, a far cry from his own blue curls that often caught stones and grime if left untamed. The puppet beamed at him before leaning his head against his shoulder. Zandik watched as the pale moonlight illuminated the delicate angles of his fair face. It was a mesmerizing sight.

“Do you think that it’s possible for you to…?” The puppet murmured, his voice muffled by Zandik’s sleeve.

“Speak up, doll. I can’t hear you.”

The puppet winced. He then raised his hand and placed it over his chest before nervously asking, “Is it possible for you to make me a heart of my own?”

Oh. A heart. That was what the puppet must have longed for more than anything in the world. A heart to satiate the gnawing ache in his empty chest. A heart which would make him less of an artificial creation and more of a human. A heart to complete him.

“A heart, huh?” Zandik mused, “Doll, I can turn you into a God if you want to. Making a heart is child’s play once I get a laboratory of my own and better equipment.”

There was a small quiver on the puppet’s lips.

“I see,” The puppet spoke quietly, almost reverent. It was as though he was enlightened by Zandik’s arrogance and insolence when it came to those considered divine.

Soon, Zandik felt the lull of exhaustion tug at him. He had done a lot that day, after all. He let his back rest against the sand, closing his eyes, though sleep hadn’t taken him immediately. The puppet, who was much lighter in weight than he looked, rested over Zandik’s chest, resembling a cat that fiercely guarded its master. Could the puppet fall asleep like any other human? If so, then he was certain that it was a function entirely made for aesthetics as rest wasn’t a requirement for artificial creations.

He wrapped his arm around the puppet’s waist. He kept his hold firm enough to keep him close, but also relaxed enough that if the puppet wanted, he could easily escape it. For a moment, Zandik reminisced. When was the last time he felt the touch of another without it dripping with sheer animosity and disgust?

To think that he only ever received such warmth from an artificial entity disguised as a human. It served as proof that Zandik, for all his intellect and handsome features, could only ever receive ‘affection’ from machinery, none of which held any understanding of ‘love’ or ‘care’.

Not even his own family dared to face him with genuine compassion. Wasn’t that a miserable existence?

Zandik fell into a light slumber. He couldn’t bring himself to completely be at ease, similar to the night prior, as he remained vigilant to the possible dangers hidden by the desert’s unassuming facade. He warned himself that he mustn’t grow complacent. His luck could disappear if he wasn’t careful.

The entire night, the puppet remained still. Zandik would shift his position at times to feel more comfortable, but he never felt the puppet move at all.

How strange, he thought during an instance of lucidity.

Zandik could hear the puppet’s internal gears turning in a rhythmic thrum. He swore that the other was listening to his heartbeat, with his ear pressed against his chest, as if putting into his memory how his heart pulsed inside of his ribcage. Zandik returned to a more sound sleep, but he still had yet to dream. At the end of the day, the people of Sumeru don’t dream, and for all that he was detested by his own nation, he was still Sumerian.

Months had passed.

The oasis no longer felt like the miracle it once was back when it saved his life after he had been expelled. He was still grateful for the water and inadvertently, the food that it provided him. But, after much time, the oasis became a constant in his life—one that was measured and mapped into patterns that Zandik understood intimately.

Stones had been rearranged. Scraps of machinery from ancient civilizations had been hauled back piece by piece and laid out with deliberate care. The desperation he had once felt disappeared, transforming into routine, which he settled into without much difficulty.

Zandik sat beneath a canopy composed of rusted metal plates and cheap fabric. The sun filtered into unorthodox shapes across his workspace. His tools were laid neatly on a carved log that he treated as a desk. Ever since he gained the puppet’s companionship, surviving the desert became an effortless task. The puppet, who appeared to be indestructible in nature, could easily hunt desert foxes for food, carry components double his size, and serve as Zandik’s guard against monsters, predators, and thieves alike. This left Zandik with more than enough energy and time to conduct whatever research he wanted.

And so, Zandik wrote.

That, more than anything, marked the passage of time.

Sheets upon sheets of parchment could be found all over his desk. Stone tablets etched with cramped script were stacked above each other, used during the days he ran out of paper as a tolerable substitute. He recorded all of his research, to the extent that their shelter was overrun by his notes more than experiments.

A distant sound carried across the sand. He knew what caused it very well.

Footsteps. Zandik dropped his quill and went on to greet the puppet, who returned from his latest hunt. In his hold was a slain desert fox, still dripping blood with how fresh it had been slaughtered.

“Welcome back, doll.” Zandik pressed a short kiss on the puppet’s forehead. It was a calculated gesture, born from his desire to better control the artificial being, who would now seek out his affection as a result. Intimacy was quite effective in bonding with the puppet outside of their usual experimentations.

“I hunted enough to last until tomorrow.” The puppet held up the desert fox he hunted with a proud beam. The fox was much bigger than average, around thrice the size of those from the same species.

Zandik hummed in approval, “Excellent work.”

The puppet dropped the carcass near the campfire that was fueled by dried leaves and thin branches, which had been gathered from stray tumbleweeds. Zandik then told him to clean himself up since blood still stained his white sleeves and dainty hands. For some reason, the puppet didn’t want to part from the garb that he wore the day he had been unearthed. Zandik once offered to purchase a more desert-appropriate attire for the puppet after he had sold a few of his projects for some mora. Only for him to be met with a grateful, yet resolute refusal.

It was a shame. The formerly pure white fabric became stained with ink and blood, forever altering its shade no matter how much the puppet tried to scrub it clean.

Stubbornness didn’t always yield the best results.

Zandik brought out a crude knife. Its edge was dull, but it was still capable of cutting through meat if enough force was applied. He was precise in separating the meat from the bone before he then trimmed away most of the fat.

“I’ll leave this for you to cook.” Zandik gathered together the edible parts of the desert fox and placed them within a basket made from long blades of grass, “Remember to drain the blood thoroughly. I’m not fond of contracting an illness due to your carelessness. The last time I fell sick, it was an absolute disaster.”

He shuddered at the memory. The poor puppet panicked the whole time while he was entirely indisposed. He had been stuck in bed since his stomach ached so much that he couldn’t even bear to sit up. He had no access to any doctors or medicine, which caused his discomfort to last much longer than it should’ve. That experience led to him becoming paranoid and particular with how his food was prepared. He could’ve died with how empty his stomach had been during the unfortunate ordeal.

The puppet could only comply with his demands as guilt continued to eat at him. That had been the only instance in which the puppet bore the brunt of Zandik’s rage.

“I’ll be careful.” The puppet’s face flushed with remorse.

“I know you will,” Zandik said before he returned to the canopy to resume jotting down his notes concerning his latest project.

His quill was dipped in ink once more.

The parchment he had been writing on was crowded with detailed hypotheses and diagrams. There were arrows in the margins that connected thoughts which needed to be further expounded. Inkblots dripped in some parts of the cheap paper, blocking out the sentences that weren’t all that necessary to the topic at hand.

A loud crackle came from the campfire. Zandik raised his gaze and watched as the puppet sat by the fire, his legs folded beneath him as he cooked the fox meat which he skewered with sticks like a barbecue.

Zandik felt a sliver of fondness bloom in his chest. It was an entirely self-indulgent sentiment.

It pleased him to see the puppet be so obedient.

His eyes drifted back down to the parchment. His grip on his quill tightened. He tried to extinguish whatever hint of warmth had formed inside him. Though indulgence could provide him inspiration in certain scenarios, it was also a distraction.

The puppet hummed. It was a sweet sound that threaded through the heated desert air, mimicking the melody that Zandik once sang to him during an experiment—done to understand how the complicated mechanism that served as the puppet’s ‘voice box’ functioned. Zandik concluded that the puppet’s capacity for complex speech was like a human’s. It wasn’t limited to just spoken words.

Zandik paused mid-stroke.

The smell of charred fat sizzled over the fire. He heard a low growl escape his stomach. He chewed on some nuts to satiate his growing hunger as he waited for the puppet to finish preparing his meal. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t experienced starvation before. Since he had been exiled to the desert, he repeatedly endured the pang of hunger that left him weak more times than he would ever admit.

Although the oasis was fertile, there weren’t always fruits to harvest. The desert was an inhospitable land. It didn’t matter how many seeds he planted, only a few would be allowed to sprout. Not only that, but foxes too became a rare sight ever since the puppet started actively hunting them. The puppet’s agility and strength were irrelevant if he couldn’t find any desert foxes to pursue. Hunger was inevitable at times, and Zandik accepted that as a part of his new life. He lost a significant amount of weight since the Akademiya expelled him.

The scant muscles he gained during adolescence had all whittled away. He became a husk of skin and bones that the puppet was intent on looking after.

“Here. Food’s ready.”

Zandik snapped out of his trance. The puppet now stood at his side, offering a skewer of slightly burnt fox meat for him to eat.

“Thank you, doll.” He took the skewer and had a bite of the admittedly unappetizing-looking meat. As per usual, it was dry and tough to chew, intensely bitter in flavor, and overall, a poor excuse for a meal. He voiced none of this out though as he had grown accustomed to the puppet’s substandard skill in cooking, “It’s delicious as always.”

The puppet’s shoulders sagged in relief, “I used the fat to add more flavor. I was afraid that I ruined it.”

“Don’t worry. You didn’t,” Zandik lied casually. He took his time swallowing every bite, with his eyes half-lidded, and his thoughts elsewhere to distract himself from the acidic aftertaste of the burnt fox meat.

He finished the skewer down to its sinew. It was unwise to waste food, even if its taste wasn’t up to par. He wiped his fingers and lips on a scrap of cloth, after which he let out a sharp exhale. The puppet lingered close, watching him with quiet attentiveness.

“Sit, doll.” Zandik gestured for the puppet to join him as he recorded the results of his latest experiment.

The puppet did so immediately.

He settled beside Zandik, with his legs folded in a refined pose. He was careful to not disturb any of the papers that were scattered all over the sand. His presence remained steady and unobtrusive. He was quiet enough to not be a distraction, but grounded enough that Zandik didn’t feel the sting of loneliness that used to haunt him often.

Neither of them spoke for a long while. The wind outside slid over the sand and blew against the metal plates that reinforced the canopy’s foundation.

Zandik dipped his quill in ink. His gaze drifted toward the puppet, though he tried to not let it linger.

The puppet was a fine specimen indeed.

He was impossibly delicate, so perfectly designed.

His existence blurred the line between man and machine as he didn’t perfectly align with either label. It left Zandik burning with more questions, his hands twitching to take the puppet apart, study each of his components, and put him back together into something better. The puppet was a vessel through which he could prove the very assertion that branded him as a heretic in the Akademiya. How he believed that: humans were nothing more than machines with a certain level of complexity.

“Tell me,” Zandik began as he set down his quill, “Why is it that you want a heart of your own?”

He had asked it so casually, almost lazily, yet, every part of him was alert. He catalogued how the puppet’s breath hitched and the way his fingers curled above his knees as his expression subtly shifted. The puppet lowered his head, and Zandik had to resist the urge to hold his chin and tilt it up again.

“Because…” The puppet wavered.

Zandik leaned against the carved log. He folded his arms and waited for the puppet to gather his wits.

“It’s because… I feel this absence inside me. It reminds me that I’m incomplete. It gnaws at me, torments me that I’m different.” The puppet’s voice trembled. He laid all his vulnerabilities out for Zandik to see. He wasn’t afraid that Zandik might use this knowledge for nefarious purposes that could harm him as a consequence. The puppet truly trusted Zandik with all his being.

No one has ever trusted Zandik before.

His own family abhorred him. His hometown chased him away with pitchforks and clubs. The Akademiya saw him as a heretic, a monster in human skin. He was unsure on how to react when the puppet held both his hands while his indigo eyes shone with unshed tears.

“If I had a heart, then maybe I wouldn’t feel so hollow.”

Zandik was out of his depth. He expected to learn about the puppet’s insecurities. That was why he asked such a sensitive question in the first place. He, however, wasn’t ready to meet the puppet’s tear-stained face as he poured his metaphorical heart out and so easily placed his trust in him.

He squeezed the puppet’s hands, whose palms were soft to touch, far smoother than any human’s. He noticed that the puppet’s skin somehow remained unblemished even after months of hardship.

The puppet lifted his head just slightly, enough to look at Zandik through his damp lashes, “If I had a heart, then maybe I wouldn’t envy you for being human.”

Zandik nearly choked.

Envy. He knew the feeling well. He had fallen victim to its whims many times, as would most people. It often stirred inside him whenever he saw his peers form relationships with relative ease back at the Akademiya, all the while he remained an isolated, shunned recluse. It was inevitable that resentment made a home in his bones, irrefutable and ever-looming.

For his entire life, Zandik was called a monster. He was a madman, a heretic, someone who was considered too heinous to be human.

But, there the puppet was.

This artificial being, a marvel creation, wept before him, admitting that he felt envious of Zandik’s humanity, of all things. The puppet viewed him as someone human.

Zandik’s lips brushed over the puppet’s eyelid, “…and I’ll make you a heart of your own, that much, I promise.”

The puppet leaned closer. His tears lingered on Zandik’s tongue, crystalline and warm in a way that unsettled him more than anything else ever had. Zandik let the puppet settle against his taller frame as the salinity of his stream of tears made him taste ash. How human-like. How real the puppet was with his emotional displays and physical reactions unbecoming of a typical machine.

A harrowing thought crossed Zandik’s mind.

Had the puppet been human from the start, would he still have chosen Zandik as a companion? Or would he, like everybody else, have seen him as an outcast?

No. A better question was, if he gave the puppet a heart and made him human, would he then be disgusted by his actions and turn his back on him? The mere idea of such a possibility caused a faint tremor to run down his back.

There were no fundamental differences between humans and machines. They could both be broken and improved once they were put back together. But, humans also held onto senseless sentimentality that made them difficult to comprehend when compared to the straightforward hum of technology. Had the puppet been human, would he too be constrained by such convoluted pathos?

He voiced none of his doubts. He never would. Not when silence served him better.

Zandik was a monster in human skin. The puppet was an artificial being who wanted a heart of his own so that he would be considered human.

They were similar, yet different all the same.

The puppet eventually stopped crying. His tears were all wiped away by Zandik, whose clothes were now stained with damp splotches. He stuttered out a feigned exhale, his ear now pressed against Zandik’s chest, as if he was anchoring himself to the sound of a living heartbeat.

“I’m sorry…” The puppet spoke, voice hushed.

“Rest, doll.” Zandik cradled the puppet close, “You had a long day.”

The puppet became limp in his embrace. It was if he was a marionette whose strings had been cut. Zandik let him drown on his lap, even if this ordeal distracted him from his earlier research. He knew that the puppet didn’t even need to sleep, but he didn’t care. His mind was restless, pacing in tight circles even as his body remained still.

He slid his hand through the puppet’s hair. Only the soft, near-imperceptible sound of the puppet’s gears turning in a steady pace kept him grounded. For his own thoughts, though only present in his mind, were far louder than the desert wind.

Zandik’s jaw tightened.

He would give the puppet the heart he always wanted.

In return— His breath brushed against the puppet’s skin as time lost interest in moving forward. His lips lingered above the corner of the puppet’s mouth. He had done so in less than a second, but he stored the soft caress and sweet taste in a memory he swore he wouldn’t forget for as long as he lived.

“You’re mine, doll.” He would make sure that the puppet would never leave his side. A heart was invaluable, after all. In comparison, a life-long partnership was a far less arduous trade.

The puppet’s eyes widened. He said nothing as Zandik grinned at him sharply. Yes. This puppet would make for a perfect companion.

Zandik wouldn’t just give the puppet humanity. He would also give him something far more dangerous. The puppet would receive a heart that would never beat without him, a connection that couldn’t be severed, a dependence on him that acted as an unbreakable chain. He would never let the puppet escape, not even if he grew to resent him for his monstrosity.

More time had slipped them by until eventually, it had been an entire year since Zandik’s expulsion. He had grown taller since then, his height now a head above the puppet, who he used to be close in stature with. His growth spurt was a surprise since he assumed that his circumstances and his diet would hamper it.

Beneath the sun’s sweltering glare, Zandik tinkered with a damaged ruin guard. He wiped the sweat that formed on his brow, his tongue sticking out as he took out a bolt and connected some wires. He wanted to repurpose the broken machinery into something useful.

The puppet must be tired from hunting all the time.

He would definitely appreciate a helping hand. It just so happened that Zandik came across an active ruin guard, which the puppet then swiftly defeated. It was the perfect foundation for a hunting automaton.

“Pass me the pliers, doll,” Zandik said, without bothering to even look at the puppet. He held out his hand, waiting for the tool he requested.

Only for the puppet to never hand it over.

“Doll?” Zandik called after ten seconds had passed. Still nothing.

Zandik frowned. That wasn’t normal. He lifted his head, irritation flickering across his face as he finally looked at the puppet’s direction. There, he saw the puppet staring at the horizon with his indigo eyes narrowed and his lips forming a grimace. The puppet held onto the pliers he had asked for in an unusually tight grip.

The puppet stood up, his stance protective, “We may be expecting company.”

A shadow flickered over the distance. It was subtle and deliberate, moving with purpose unlike any of the bandits and merchants they encountered in the past. He let out a deep breath as he then stood up and placed his hand on the puppet’s shoulder.

“Don’t act rashly.” Zandik pushed the puppet behind him and took a step forward, “I’ll see what they want. If we’re lucky, perhaps they’re just humble wanderers passing by who are in need of water.”

The puppet hesitated at first.

His body was as tense as a drawn bowstring. But, after a minute or two of deliberation, he eventually obeyed and stepped back. However, he still curled his fists at his side as he shook with much fervor.

The figures emerged like phantoms. They were cloaked in uniforms far too dark and heavy to comfortably survive the desert’s unbearable heat. Their clothes were tailored to present their authority rather than survival. Zandik was perplexed by their interesting choice of attire, but he kept his judgment silent.

Masks obscured their faces, angular and cold, reflecting the sun’s glare with clinical indifference. Zandik squinted his eyes when he noticed a faint gleam. Over their chests were emblems that made Zandik’s breath hitch in recognition.

The Fatui.

Would their presence be a boon or a curse? He waited in trepidation as the group halted several paces away from him, far enough to not intimidate, but still close enough to serve as a threat. One man, older than the rest, stepped forward with the clear intention of conversing with him in a private setting. Unlike the others who wore a dark coat despite the heat, the man before him was adorned in all white, signifying his higher rank.

“You must be Zandik,” The man spoke in a gruff tone as he looked him up and down.

Zandik’s lips curved into something measured. He didn’t deny the man who he regarded with politeness. He tilted his head, curious when he asked, “And you are?”

“The Jester. But, you may call me Pierro.”

His expression didn’t falter. He had heard whispers back when he was still a scholar of the Akademiya. Of course, anyone worth their salt had heard of the man who stood before him. The Jester. The Director of the Fatui and its first Harbinger. He was someone who didn’t waste time on insignificant matters.

So why, Zandik wondered, was he here?

“What do you want?” He decided to be blunt. He would rather not make an enemy of the Fatui, but he also knew that they tracked him down for a reason.

Pierro regarded him for a long moment. The desert wind tugged at his cloak, yet he stood unmoved. The heat and sand seemed to bend themselves around his presence, a force so strong that even nature submitted to his will.

“I’ve heard rumors about you,” Pierro said at last, “They called you a heretic back at the Akademiya.”

Zandik rolled his eyes, “Typical.”

“Be that as it may, your declarations managed to intrigue me. I want to make you an offer. Join us. Become a part of the Fatui and we’ll provide you all that you desire, be it money, sanctuary, or power,” Pierro spoke calmly, yet he managed to carry an unmistakable weight in his delivery that made Zandik pause.

He didn’t answer right away.

The silence stretched just long enough for him to feel the desert wind skim across his skin. He heard the faint hum of the puppet’s gears behind him.

“Sanctuary,” Zandik echoed, tasting the word, “You sure do know how to dress desperation as generosity.”

Pierro didn’t bristle at the remark. If anything, he seemed amused. His masked gaze looked past Zandik’s shoulder for a brief moment. That made Zandik shift his position in the sand, using his body to protect the puppet from eyes he believed were unworthy to even glance at him.

“The desert will eventually kill you.”

Zandik frowned, unamused, “Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s the truth. If not through hunger, then you’ll die of stagnation. You’re not meant for this kind of life, Zandik. You’re not a man meant to rot beside ruins.” There was a glint in Pierro’s one visible eye. It taunted Zandik as he was forced to acknowledge that Pierro’s analysis of him was more accurate than he would ever admit. No matter how well he had survived the desert’s cruelty, there was a limit to how much it could stimulate him. If he remained there, it would result in his own mental deterioration.

Even so, that was none of the Fatui's business.

He raised a brow. He never made any dealings with them in the past, so why was Pierro so keen in getting him to join the infamous organization? Unless…

Ah. That must be it.

“What sin do you want me to commit?” Zandik repeatedly tapped his foot against the sand. He rested his hands on his hips, feeling pleased at himself when he saw Pierro’s impassive expression twitch for a split second.

“The Fatui is interested in your… sentiments in regards to enhanced humans.” Pierro didn’t truly answer him, but provided enough information to subtly imply his reply.

Zandik could only chuckle. Enhanced humans, huh?

No wonder the Fatui tracked him down. He was the only one who ever voiced such beliefs about them back at the Akademiya. Since humans could be improved similar to that of a machine, an enhanced human would surely display strength far beyond the average. That very line of thinking was what denounced him as a heretic.

“Merely an enhanced human?” Zandik scoffed. That was child’s play. He almost felt insulted, “If your great nation can furnish me with sufficient resources and ample time, I could even manufacture that which you would call a God. What say you—”

“Zandik,” A familiar voice interrupted him from behind.

The puppet appeared hesitant, afraid almost, as he then walked toward Zandik. He balled his fists around the hem of Zandik’s clothes, acting like a scared child who could only hide behind his caretaker for assurance.

“What is it?” Zandik kept his voice low, not wanting for Pierro to eavesdrop on their exchange.

“I sense something rotten in that man,” The puppet said, his eyes darting at Pierro’s empty expression for a short while before he looked back at Zandik, “I don’t trust him to have your best interest in mind. Joining him might lead to your…”

What was left unsaid made Zandik scowl.

“Hush, doll. You underestimate me.”

The puppet was torn, “I’m not. He just has this dark aura that makes me wary of his true intentions.”

“I know. I’m suspicious of him too. But, he can provide us with the resources we actually need, not just to survive, but to truly thrive. Is that not worth the risk?” Zandik held the puppet’s hand and let his palm be squeezed tight.

“…I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“When have I never?”

It was then that the puppet let go of Zandik and returned to his earlier position a few steps behind him. He still had this apprehension that caused him to knit his brows and scrunch his nose, but Zandik couldn’t exactly pour all his attention onto him right then and there. Not when Pierro was staring at him expectantly.

He wondered just how desperate the Fatui was to make him join their ranks. They managed to track him down in the vast desert, which required much time and effort on their end since his location wasn’t exactly marked on any maps. Just how necessary was his pool of knowledge to the Fatui? It flattered him greatly. It fed his pride that he was deemed worthy of such lengths to recruit.

Him. The outcast labelled a heretic.

The Fatui wanted him.

“Tell me.” Zandik approached Pierro, “Will you treat me like the Akademiya did? Will you call me a monster, a madman? Or will you treat me as my hometown did, and chase me away with pitchforks and clubs...?”

The wind threaded between them. It tugged at their hair and clothes alike, but Pierro remained perfectly still, as if rooted to the earth by will alone.

Zandik steeled himself to match Pierro’s stance.

“Moral purity and academic decorum are worth nothing to the Fatui if they don’t provide results.” Pierro was brief in his response, but it gave Zandik enough reassurance.

He pursed his lips, “I can provide you the results you so desire as long as I'm well-equipped.”

“The Fatui is nothing but well-off in assets.”

This was a rare opportunity. Zandik could finally access a laboratory of his own, use more complex tools that made his experiments easier to run, and most important of all, he could finally make the heart the puppet desired above anything else. It didn’t matter how suspicious he was of the Fatui's intentions. They offered him a deal that would improve his current lifestyle.

And for what? For him to tinker with enhanced humans to his heart’s content?

Zandik would be foolish to turn it down.

“I’m bringing my doll with me.” No ifs. No buts. He would join the Fatui only if the puppet he bonded with the entire year remained at his side.

“We have no qualms against that. Do as you please.”

“Then, we have a deal.”

Pierro lifted a hand. At the subtle gesture, the operatives who silently watched their entire exchange shifted. Their cloaks parted as they brought out a crate that had been hidden in the shadows. The crate was then opened, and inside lay a coat that had a similar design as Pierro’s, an emblem of the Fatui’s insignia, and a dark mask that was meant to cover his eyes.

“Good,” Pierro hummed approvingly, “Then, we are now in partnership.”

Zandik didn’t wear the coat. The desert was no place for such thick and heavy clothing. But, he let it rest over his shoulders, the furred collar of which tickled his neck and cheek.

Pierro nodded, “As for the matter of your title—what do you say to this…”

It was whispered in the wind.

Zandik’s eyes widened. He was taken by surprise by the sheer irony of the title he was given. He couldn’t help but burst into hysterical laughter. The Fatui indeed lived up to their reputation of being an organization that was mainly composed of fools. Not that he could say much now that he was also one of those very fools.

“Doll!” He called for the puppet, laughter still bubbling in his chest, sharp and unrestrained. The puppet was quick to reach his side, with his steps hurried and uneven, and his guise reluctant.

“Does this mean we’re leaving?” The puppet grazed the dark fur of Zandik’s coat before he spared the oasis that served as their temporary sanctuary a glance.

“Yes.” Zandik patted the puppet’s head, tousling his dark hair, “Don’t pout. This is for the best.”

“I suppose.”

“Still, I’ll definitely miss this.” Zandik took one last look at the oasis. The canopy that provided him shade still stood strong, and the pool of water remained clear. It wasn’t a sense of nostalgia that he felt. On the contrary, he felt a mild amusement at the sight of his former refuge.

It just seemed so small now.

How pitiful. He really had been surviving off of scraps.

“Come. Snezhnaya awaits,” Pierro announced before he turned his back. Zandik lowered his hand for the puppet to take as they then followed Pierro into the shimmering heat, leaving the oasis, the desert, and their old identities behind.

As the sands closed over their footprints, Zandik parted his lips and…

“From this day forward, call me Dottore.”

The puppet squeezed his hand. He then replied in a soft, masked calm, “Okay, Dottore.”