Chapter Text
No one’s seen or heard of him before he began appearing in the streets of Sumeru City. No family, no friends, no history. There’s not a soul who can tell you a thing about him other than what they glean from the interactions they have. He’s easy to pick out in a crowd, but finding him in the first place is the real trick. He’s nigh untraceable, flitting from place to place and only leaving an impression as a mark that he’d been anywhere at all. He’s like a ghost, blown in by the wind and swept away just as easily, and he is the bane of Wanderer’s existence.
It starts in the strangest of ways.
“Are you Hat Guy?”
Wanderer, who had been minding his own business trying to finish a paper, turns to the sudden voice, his face twisted up in disgusted annoyance. A strange boy had appeared, a desert dweller by the look of him, standing over him with his green eyes glued to the wide brimmed hat sitting on Wanderer's head.
“Last I checked, judging someone by their appearance is superficial.”
“So you aren’t?” He stands on his tiptoes, eyes dancing over the details and a wide smile on his face.
What is this guy, an idiot? Doesn’t he know how to take a hint? Clicking his tongue, Wanderer packs up his materials and stands. The boy at the very least has the sense to take a few steps back and his eyes are no longer glued to the hat, instead regarding Wanderer with a look that feels like it sees right through him. It’s disgustingly chilling.
“It’s an interesting looking hat,” the desert boy says. “Not like anything I’ve ever seen before.”
Without another word, Wanderer disappears, not intending to entertain that freak any longer. From his new vantage point, he can see the boy looking around bewildered, that same idiotic smile plastered on his face.
From there it only gets worse. Wanderer is running errands for Lesser Lord Kusanali, the green-eyed desert boy is making his rounds around Treasure Street, helping the elderly and doing his kindly deeds for busy shop keeps, and somehow Wanderer will feel that piercing gaze on him only to turn and find the tail end of it turning away as the boy continues on his way. Or Wanderer will be making his way through the winding lanes leading up to the Akademiya, and catch sight of the boy gazing up at the meandering scholars and, almost certainly, at him before striking up a conversation with someone passing by. Or when Wanderer settles down at Puspa Café with a cup of their darkest roast and paperwork that needs reviewing for a rebuttal to another Vahumana scholar’s proposal, and he’ll see that wild mane of hair wading through the passing crowds and only to just barely catch those haunting emerald eyes lingering on him before they turn to someone who has started up an over-eager conversation with the desert dweller.
He’s amiable and charismatic, his smile is infectious and his words flow like warm honey, he seems to make friends wherever he goes, and Wanderer doesn’t trust him one bit. The only reason anyone would be so friendly is to get something out of others. He’s seen this charade before, did the song and dance once long ago, and he isn’t fooled for a second. That being said, not being fooled doesn’t stop his gaze from lingering or curiousity from gnawing at him, and eventually he finds himself in the Sanctuary of Surasthana with Nahida smiling gently over a pile of paperwork, a knowing look in her eye.
“You rarely come here on your own, Wanderer. To what to I owe the pleasure?” She pauses in her scribbling to devote her full attention to him.
He holds back an eye roll, though just barely, and levels her with unamused stare. “There’s someone new in the city. No matter who I ask or how much I try to find about him, I get the same answer: nothing.”
“So he’s a bit like you,” she comments happily, as if there’s nothing wrong with that. “Maybe if you try asking him about himself, you’ll find you have more things in common.”
Wanderer doesn’t try to hold back the derisive scoff he makes at this. “Seriously? I doubt it. For one, if anyone else tried to erase themselves from Irminsul, I’m sure you’d try to get me to be friends with them. Two, we have nothing in common. He’s a busybody errand-boy who strikes up meaningless conversation with anyone who will give him the time of day.”
At this, Nahida’s smile widens, pinching her eyes in a way the unassuming would call cute, but Wanderer knows as threatening. “Just as the desert and the rainforest seem to be very different from each other, they still hold similarities. Both are important parts of Sumeru, filled with history and culture, both have people who care for them dearly, and their own mysteries to uncover. And if you’ll remember, you run errands for me too, don’t you?”
He clicks his tongue and tugs at the brim of his hat. What a mistake it was to think the God of Wisdom would have any to impart to him. She’s always been cryptic and vague with her analogies, never giving him a straight answer when it’s all he needs from her.
Seeing that he has no intention of making a rebuttal, Nahida sighs and hops off her seat, walking towards Wanderer. “I think this could be a good opportunity for you to make friends with someone who isn’t the Traveller. If you really don’t want to ask him outright, maybe you could observe him for a while until you make your decision.”
He shoots her a scowl. “You know, for a God of Wisdom, you sure don’t learn anything. How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t need friends, and I won’t be making any.” He doesn’t wait for her response before storming out of the sanctuary, the weight of her knowing eyes settling heavy on his back.
For all his talk in the sanctuary, it doesn’t take long before he’s heeding her words. First, he searches for all the information he can find about the green-eyed boy, what precious little he does find is vague and rife with subjective details, utterly useless to his needs. He even contemplates asking the people he sees around his target most for more information, but overhearing a particularly awful “joke” is enough to turn him off the idea immediately. He’s left to surreptitiously survey his quarry, and though the tables seem to have turned, it’s a task easier said than done. The desert dweller is sharp, perhaps a trait honed by years of surviving in the unforgiving sands. He acts as though nothing has changed, but it’s obvious in the way his eyes begin to dart around more often and the way he listens more intently when Wanderer draws near.
How interesting. It seems this guy is much more than just a chatty errand-boy. He listens and asks questions that get him more information than the usual shallow talk, he switches gears when he sees he’s not getting anywhere with a particular line of questioning and keeps his wits about him. It doesn’t take much watching to understand that any conversation this guy has is anything but meaningless, the way he wrings everyone for as much information as he can while keeping anything about himself shrouded in playful mystery almost impressive and all too familiar. Wanderer could do without the overly friendly mask, the bright smile and warm demeanor sickeningly sweet, but he supposes to each their own ends of retrieving information. It’s a miserable play to watch, but our actor plays his part with mesmerizing efficiency.
Wanderer’s suspicions only grow the more he watches, the shadow pretending to be human filling him with an unease he hasn’t known in quite some time. It’s the moment when he thinks he’s been perfectly hidden, surveying the stranger from afar, and those piercing eyes land on him, staring for seconds that seem to stretch for an eternity, only to flit away again that Wanderer decides he’s had enough of the cat-and-mouse. He would confront him and put an end to all the mystery, and finally put this curiosity and unease to rest.
It takes a few days, the strange boy seemingly busied with his own tasks and Wanderer trying to catch up on some work he’d neglected in favor of satisfying his curiosity. Thankfully, this puts him in the prime position to confront his quarry. He exits the Akademiya halls in time to see that dark hair streaked with ash gray roving the streets outside and takes this opportunity to strike. In a flash, he’s perched in a tree just as the boy comes rounding the corner, a lunchbox in hand.
“The errand-boy's come running all the way to the Akademiya. Quite the busy little bee, aren't you?" Wanderer calls from the treetop with an arrogant grin.
The boy doesn’t even seem surprised when he raises his eyes to him, as if he’d expected something like this. Something like a chill runs through Wanderer as the boy flashes a sly smile and raises the lunchbox for him to examine. “I'm just here for lunch — someone gave me this. Want some?"
A play at opening up a line of dialogue with him, surely to question him and squeeze him of answers like everyone else. But Wanderer isn't anyone else, and the obvious attempt seizes him with disgust. He drops the act, his grin replaced by a distrusting glare. "I'd say you're no errand-boy at all. You've got a more important role."
The boy’s eyebrows quirk up in amusement and his smile widens. "I'd say that you're no student either. You've got a more important role."
Ah. Caught in the game again. For all his watching, Wanderer never expected that he’d be the one getting investigated. He barely spends time around others, careful to avoid groups unless absolutely necessary, so there shouldn’t be anyone who knows much of anything about him. Perhaps that is where he slipped up, not that he’d be changing that habit any time soon— or ever for that matter. He clicks his tongue and pulls on the brim of his hat before disappearing in the blink of an eye, done with this round of their game.
How infuriating, how absolutely humiliating that he is being beat by a mere human, one who shouldn’t have any information on him given his status in Irminsul — or rather, lack thereof. Despite trying to move on from his past, one of the things Wanderer could never shake is his disdain of losing. He could ask to look through the tree’s branches of memory for any sign of this boy, but Nahida is sure to reject that idea on the basis of unprofessional conduct and improper use of Irminsul. The only way to beat this stranger at his own game would be to play. It seems he’d have to go back to watching, picking up clues wherever he could find them.
The days turn into weeks turn into months that pass as usual. Wanderer completes his duties at the Akademiya, works on rebuttal essays and then proposals of his own that feel less like hypotheses and more like autobiographies, and between errands for Lesser Lord Kusanali, he keeps an eye out for the boy with the striking green eyes, finding little information on him in the process. Everything begins to slip back to normalcy, their game slowly retreating to the back of his mind as the boy seems to fixate on him less and probes the masses more, which Wanderer couldn't care less about. The less attention on him, the better. All is well on the sunny spring afternoon when Wanderer is tucked into a corner of Puspa Café, sipping at a beautifully brewed and deliciously bitter coffee, enjoying his spare time in his own company when that familiar, grating voice comes lilting over the music of the café.
Wanderer narrows his eyes over his cup, careful not to make it too obvious he’s watching as the boy comes in with a scholar who has begun regaling him with the details of a project he’d worked on and been lauded for. The boy listens earnestly, eyes only parting from the scholar to briefly glance around his surroundings until they land on Wanderer. They stare at each other, daring the other to look away first, and the boy’s smile widens as the seconds pass until the student asks him for his order. He snaps back to their conversation, ordering a simple drink: coffee with a splash of cream, no sugar. Interesting. Wanderer took him for the type to have a bit of coffee in his cream and sugar, but the boy takes long, deep swallows between interjections in the student’s ramblings. He’s nearly fool enough to think himself in the clear when the scholar takes a look at the clock and laments his lateness, thanking the boy for his help before departing.
Exactly as he expected, the moment he’s out the door, the desert dweller comes sauntering up to Wanderer’s table. “Mind if I join you?”
“I do, but I guess you’ll just do whatever you want regardless, won’t you?” Wanderer says over his cup, glaring at the boy who just smiles wider in return.
“All that watching paid off, huh? You know me so well already,” he quips, sliding into his seat and leaning against the seat back with the same knowing look Wanderer's seen on Nahida. Positively revolting.
“Don't play your games with me. You and I both know you like to keep as much of yourself hidden as possible,” he shoots back, taking a long sip of his drink and eyeing the boy.
He laughs into his cup and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and lowering his voice to a hushed, gravelly murmur. “Something we have in common, I see. You know, you’re a tricky one to track. No matter who I talk to or where I look, I can’t seem to find anything about you.”
He’s animated when he speaks, his head tilting and eyebrows moving to excentuate his words, even his voice pitching a playful tone that lilts hypnotically. Another trick at seeming open and honest. Wanderer is stuck between finding it repulsive and thinking it praiseworthy. Instead, he leans back and sets his cup down. “Good. In fact, it would be for the best if you stopped looking.”
This only makes his eyes light up as he leans a little further in, lowering his cup to both hands. “Oh, don’t say that, you’re making me even more curious. I mean, c’mon, a guy no one’s heard of suddenly enrolled as a Vahumana student with a recommendation from the Archon herself who writes essays so amazingly detailed and perfectly structured even veteran scholars find them impossible to refute? The curiosity is killing me, you gotta tell me how you do it.”
Wanderer’s lip twitches in irritation and he’s keen to end the conversation here, but the opportunity to pry some answers from the man himself proves too irresistible. “Then die. Flattery won’t get you anywhere. I just do what I need to, unlike you, who seems to have a finger in as many pies as you can manage. You have a real knack for getting into other people’s business, don’t you?”
The boy winces and lets out a half-hearted chuckle, holding a hand to his chest. “You wound me. How about this: Since I know you’ve been looking into me, I’ll tell you something about myself in exchange for a little something about you?”
He quirks an eyebrow, as if the deal sounds reasonable and anyone would be a fool to refuse. It’s a gambit with more loss than gain for Wanderer, no promise of the exchange of information being equal or worth revealing anything to his opponent. He hasn't taken a single sip of his coffee since sitting, making his intent here all the more obvious. Wanderer looks down at his cup, the sight of the drink suddenly filling him with distaste.
“Looks like my free time is up.” He rises from the table, those piercing eyes following his every move, and starts toward the door.
“My offer remains open. Until next time, Hat Guy,” the boy calls after him. He doesn’t look back. Another ridiculous loss this round. Next time, he wouldn’t let victory get away from him.