Chapter Text
Zandik couldn’t remember why he’d entered the woods the first time -- perhaps just following the urge to get lost somewhere.
The fantasy of going missing was one only a child could imagine ending well.
Zandik had brought a few items with him. A book, for one -- his favorite. He’d brought a small bag of candied nuts, and his bag from school.
He tried not to think about what the punishment for coming home so late might be. It was a boundary he had yet to strain. Today, though, he was too exhausted to think of consequences.
His hands pushed their way through the green forest, wrestling back a stubborn frond that obscured his path.
The sun overhead showed him no mercy, slicking his body with sweat and spells of heat exhaustion.
Eventually, Zandik did stop to soak in the shade of a large tree, pulling his clothes tight against his body, as though to offer himself the same sliver of comfort a blanket might.
A waxing relief fell through him as he cycled through his breaths. He imagined laying there long and still enough to melt into the vegetation, drunk in by the undergrowth. His cheeks felt hot when he finally did move to touch them, flushed against the back of his hand. He shuddered at last, his head ducking into his sleeve as he felt his ribs rise and fall beneath his skin. For a moment, there was peace in his displacement from the world.
Then, a voice, almost too soft to hear.
“Is Nara lost?”
Zandik’s eyes fluttered open like a tired moth, peering up. The voice had been too delicate to belong to a mother or a father, but unease gripped at him nonetheless. He could feel his heart within him, frantic with the prey animal urge to run.
“Hello?” He demanded, hoping to conjure confidence into the otherwise meek voice of his own. “Who said that?”
“Down here, Nara!”
Zandik lowered his head, his eyes sweeping down veiny vines that enshrouded the landscape. He felt his body tense up, wary of the invisible threat.
Then he saw it stepping free from behind a large, moss-tinted stone. The creature was quite small in size, but drew in the eye with a vibrant blue. The leaves upon its head bounced with each miniscule step towards Zandik’s resting place. When the boy flinched, though, the creature stopped walking. Atop a pair of what resembled slanted down ears rested a mushroom cap, shielding the strange creature’s face from the piercing ray of the sun. It lifted a small, nubby hand to gesture. “Is Nara lost?”
Zandik pushed himself up into a sitting position, giving the little thing an uncertain glare. “I’m not lost,” he lied. “And my name’s not ‘Nara’ either.”
“Ararycan see,” it mused. “What is Nara’s name?”
“My name?”
The little thing dipped its head in a nod.
Zandik cleared his throat, rubbing at his arm. “Um. Zandik,” he mumbled.
“Nara Zandik!” It chimed. “Nice to meet you, Nara Zandik! Ararycan’s name is Ararycan!”
“Why do you talk like that?” It certainly wasn’t the proper way to be speaking -- though he didn’t expect this forest creature to know anything about school.
Ararycan didn’t seem to notice the criticism in his tone. “It just the way aranara talk!” It explained.
As it drew a bit closer, Zandik noticed the small sword attached to its hip. It wasn’t much of a sword, perhaps only dangerous if waved too close to someone’s eye. He didn’t flinch away this time, letting the creature come nearer. “Aranara?” He echoed. “Did you want something?”
“To make sure young nara was not lost!” Ararycan sing-songed, before tilting its head. “Nara Zandik not lost?”
Zandik’s cheeks flushed, his gaze breaking away. “Well, I…” He bunched his sleeves into his fists, the fabric giving the illusion of a hug. He met the stranger’s gaze at last.
. . .
The Doctor had a thing about time.
He had lived for centuries in a spiderweb -- a creature with many eyes and many hands, and one large interlocking brain. And yet, there was always the trouble of time.
The Doctor was not naturally a patient man, but there were plenty of things about him that weren’t natural. One thing about him that was inherent was his curiosity: the insatiable hunger for peeling back the skin of reality and running a hand through its insides -- exposing the nervous system of the universe.
It was that curiosity that drove him to venture deep into the Sumeru jungle in search of a fable, despite the looming risk of wasted time. Normally, he would send a menial to do something so frivolous -- in fact, he already had. When the Doctor demanded that his workers comb the forest in search of spirits that could manipulate the dimension of dreams, they glanced at each other with wary levity.
The Doctor really has gone mad!
It had given him enough time to focus on the pinch point of his research. While the juvenile subjects had slipped between their bars and been swallowed by the forest, he still had two other samples to toy with.
The Withering was proving to be quite the destructive potential. The world’s natural mysteries were those with the most fascinating designs. The Doctor could not help but to marvel at them, to envy them -- to yearn to train his own hands to recreate the violence that came to them inherently. As intriguing as the unknown was, its uncertainty would call for more tests, and closer observations.
If only those children hadn’t escaped. Yet, one undesired variable could open the gateway to a galaxy of untapped knowledge, waiting to be unsealed and exposed by human hand. A scholar had to be prepared for any outcome -- one that gave way to a new, invigorating opportunity was one of the more productive outcomes. A pleasant surprise.
He justified his search for two reasons. The first being that he doubted his lackeys had taken his commands seriously enough. They would not know what to look for -- or how. Neither would he, but he trusted his own blind judgement over those unable view the natural world as a myriad of blueprints. They did not have the experience of an eldritch horror -- one with too many eyes and countless spider fingers with which to dissect the world -- coaxing forbidden knowledge into a tangible form. It was the science of forcing oil and water to mix, unwriting, unpiecing, vivisecting the oppressive manifesto that demanded that a thing could not be. Challenging the order of the natural, the comfortable, and unsettling the endoskeleton from its sheath: biting back with the question, why not?
Secondly, the Doctor was not one to gamble without foresight. At least, this Doctor wasn’t. He was searching for the missing subjects. If on the way to recapture his research samples, he happened upon evidence of his hypothesis — well, his experiment would truly have granted productive results.
The Doctor stopped walking at last, pressing his palm to the bark of a tree and sunning his eyes. His usual uniform in this humidity had been quite the oversight. He tilted his hand down to the forest floor, kneeling to prod at an indent in the damp soil. His gloved fingertips traced the outline, his eyes narrowing beneath his mask as he tried to determine the origin of the mark.
It was small — too wide. It must have been an animal.
Giving a thin frown, the Doctor rose again, but did not continue walking. Even a segment could only be advanced so far beyond human limits. He was the sixteenth — Pi. Pi, like the circumference of a circle, a number with ten trillion recorded digits, and yet, still not yet fully known. He had the indent of a brand on the back of his neck to prove it — he felt it as his hand brushed sweat-dampened hair away from his skin.
Being the sixteenth of twenty-four invited quite the state of being. He was the personification of an older being’s transitional phase. Being caught between mentalities that lauded old age and admonished the folly of youth, embodying the gap between them led to a few curious learned behaviors.
For one, this Doctor, Pi, felt that he had learned patience. The original Doctor was wise enough to know his greatest enemy was himself, and yet, he still put his segments into the world under the illusion of controlling them. Pi had learned quickly that appearing docile in the right ways was quite the super power. He could be relied on not to misbehave, which meant he could almost be trusted. Additionally, he felt that he had learned gentleness.
There was nothing to prove existing as the axis of another man’s life. Sometimes, the most productivity came from feigning little details. A smile, for one. A gentle attitude, for another. A Machiavellian crossroads: so often did men forget that one had to be feared and loved. When any menial worker stopped to remark, ‘you seem to be in quite the good mood today, Doctor,’ he knew he was performing well.
Indeed, he was only one perspective — and that was all he had to be. Why else had he been sewn from artificial bone and sinews, if not to be yet another subspecies in the invasive, unnatural genus the Doctor had manifested?
He pulled the mask from his face, letting a pair of hand-crafted eyes take in the landscape. The Doctor had not yet learned to unwrite exhaustion from his segments, and Pi was no exception. Idly, he traced his thumb along the curve of his jaw, wondering if the tender flesh might singe beneath the Sumeru sun.
What an awkward tan. He smiled faintly at the idea, laughing to himself. How inappropriate.
Pi detached the waterskin from his hip, pressing it to his lips and taking a long swig. Once he was finished, a sigh escaped as he rubbed the back of his hand over the sweat beading his brow. He cleared his throat, sore from the trekking around, and ruminated.
The forest was as familiar as it was different. Being tasked with occupying Sumeru felt both like a punishment and a reward — after all, he’d been implanted with memories of how the region had chewed up his vulnerable young body and spat him across a bed of coals. Yet, at times it was like stepping into a dream.
Some of the eldest trees stretched back into memory that felt like decades, rather than centuries, prior. There was a bitter nostalgia that came from traversing the old paths and taking in the ways the land had bent to the trials of time. This forest in particular was familiar in a way he couldn’t place, his mind skimming back through second hand memories in hopes of pinning down a time or place…
Mm. There was no merit in spending time this way. Just as he was about to give up and write the familiarity off as some Akademiya misadventure when he heard the rustle of leaves. His gaze turned sharply, landing on a multi-fronded plant whose stalks quivered in the air.
The segment’s eyes narrowed, and he stared for a long moment more before inclining his face away, curious for what might happen. Perhaps nothing.
He heard the fronds rub together again, and the scuffle of dried leaves beneath footfall. He only looked over, though, when he heard a voice.
“…Nara?”
Pi glanced down, his gaze falling on a small, round creature.
Its body was bulbous and green, a pale swirl encircling its stomach. Atop its head lay the brown cap of a mushroom, cupping down over a small, unassuming face. Despite the inquiry, the creature still looked nervous, drawing back beneath the safety of the fronds after capturing Doctor’s attention. It waited there, tense like a deer paralyzed with thoughts of flight.
The Doctor’s fingers twitched, his body seizing up. The cogs in his mind turned, comprehending what he saw. Echoes of fables dating back to his vicarious days as a boy chimed like a bell at the back of his head.
There was a sort of unusual feeling he could not place — a déjà vu, the sensation of familiarity that was just out of his probing grasp.
Pi’s gaze softened, his head inclining down. He let his hair hang from his shoulder, his bangs curled around his chin in a delicate frame. “Hm?” He smiled with practiced delicacy. “Are you speaking to me?”
The little creature stared, stiff as a statue, before tilting its head back at him. “Nara Zandik…?”
Pi was unable to hide his surprise at the name. That was a forbidden name — one struck from records and riddled with heresy and spite. It had been unwritten from history, and kept like an oath under the Fatui table. Perplexed, the segment’s brows knit. The curiosity was violent: how do you know that name?
However, Pi prided himself on patience, even when the desire for answers itched at the back of his tongue. “I am Zandik,” he indulged. “May I help you?”
The Doctor was already studying. The creature was small, about the height of his boot, if not an inch or two shorter. It had two appendages on either side of its body, but no digits to give those appendages beyond-tactile use. Appearing fungal in nature, he was already curious about the clockwork to be unearthed beneath the first layer of its ‘skin.’ Ah — there was only so much he could string together with fact and fable alone. Already, his fingers itched to explore the forbidden maps of its anatomy.
“Aramavi sense big dreams from Nara Zandik,” it explained, “saw Nara Zandik exploring forest. Thought…” It trailed off.
The Doctor’s intrigue only grew. The specimen had sensed his dreams? Could it mean his ambition, or the literal substance that occupied his subconscious? He tried to ease the stare that had yet to break, for fear the new subject would manage to escape before he’d had the chance to subdue it. “Aramavi,” he echoed. “Ah, I see. That must be your name.” He shifted down slowly, enough to keep an animal from bolting, in order to take one knee, draping his arm against his thigh. “Could…”
His words ran dry, and he stopped to turn the name over in his head a few times.
Aramavi. That was familiar, too. Familiar, and yet, stuck on the tip of his tongue. Where had he heard it before?
“We’ve met,” he realized.
The name and the memories clicked together like magnets. It was a slow process at first, feelings came before concrete images, but he could recall a time in which that name had brought some semblance of comfort.
Fascinating. A decade of memory was becoming unsealed. Did these creatures’ command of dreams have the power to suppress and awaken the knowledge of one’s own mind with such ease? Oh, he had to know more…
“Does Nara Zandik remember?” Aramavi ventured. “When Nara Zandik was young nara? Used to play with aranara?”
The Doctor tried to keep his reactions reigned in, but his eyes could not help but widen slightly.
His eyes. That was right — his mask had been put away. Now, even centuries later, he still appeared young. He was unmarried with the scars of his maker, leaving him with phantom pains for injuries he had never gained. The Pi build was new in body and flesh. His resemblance to that child was still striking.
He smiled faintly. The Omega build would never have made it this far. There was only so much age and selfish hostility could get a scholar. With an aged mind, his patience had grown too thin, and his approach too harrowing.
“I’m remembering,” Pi said. “It was long ago now, but I recall… you used to sing to me. Isn’t that right?”
A bit of the stiffness in Aramavi’s stance melted away. “Yes! Aramavi sing for Nara Zandik! Aramavi remember.” It tilted its head the other way. “Nara Zandik have lots of dream, still look young… Aramavi wonder if Nara Zandik came looking for aranara?” It shifted, swaying lightly in the breeze. “When nara grow up, nara forget aranara… sometimes come into forest to say goodbye to younger self, but nara fail. Too much mistrust.” Aramavi gestured up to Zandik’s face with its arm. “But Nara Zandik still have flower. Aramavi thought… could say goodbye to Nara Zandik?”
The hen had opened up its house to the wolf, and was inviting him inside. The Pi segment’s mind raced, attempting to commit the hints of the full picture to memory until he could jot them down. Flower? He touched at his cheek just to mirror where Aramavi had pointed, but he could not wrap his mind around the metaphor.
The door that had opened was closing just as fast. The Doctor acted quickly.
“Yes, I was hoping to get the chance to say goodbye,” he lied. “I suppose it’s fortunate we found each other.” He closed his eyes, before risking the glance away. “…Although, I was hoping to get to say my farewells to all of the aranara. Or, at least, as many as I could. Do you think it would be possible for me to speak to any more of them?”
Aramavi lifted its head skyward, seeming to need a moment to think. “Aramavi think so,” though its voice sounded hesitant. “Most aranara not trust grown-up nara… may not want to show themselves. Aramavi thinks it could check with other aranara… in case other aranara want to say goodbye?”
The Doctor had to cull the all-teeth smile that wanted to blossom from his lips. Instead, he conjured a softer one, a gentler one. “If you can truly allow me that chance, I’d be truly flattered…”
Aramavi bobbed their head. “Aramavi will try and remember,” it promised. “It is in nature of aranara to forget. Marana has been hurting forest, aranara use memories to fight marana, makes aranara forget…” Aramavi glanced down, shaking its head. “But aranara try and keep memories of young nara… if Ararycan see Nara Zandik’s flower, may remember.”
Ararycan. That name. It caused something to stir in the Pi segment’s chest, the final beat of a moth’s wings before being consumed by flame. Already, cracks were forming on the ice barricade keeping him from his past. The barrier splintered as he pressed for clarity.
The Doctor had to respond. Aramavi was waiting for a reply. “I’d be grateful if you did. If possible, I thought it may be fitting to hold a final picnic, or play one last game of hide and seek.” He hesitated, before pressing on. “Perhaps even tomorrow? While I’m still in Sumeru…” The anticipation made his artificial heart quicken, just like that of a real human.
If he wanted, he could reach out to Aramavia and grab it, he was close enough. Still, patience and a little risk could potentially earn him not one study sample, but dozens.
Victory flashed in his mind as Aramavi nodded their head, swaying again in the breeze. “Aramavi will tell aranara Nara Zandik here tomorrow. Aramavi will say goodbye, Aramavi promise.”
“Ah, understood. I’ll arrive tomorrow to say my goodbyes to you all.” The segment rose to his feet again, crossing a hand over his heart in faux sincerity, “I promise.”
Aramavi nodded again, before lifting an arm to wave at the Doctor. Without any further dialogue, it slipped away behind the forest vegetation and disappeared.
The experiments with the Withering had already become an afterthought, a bauble that had lost its intrigue. The Pi build had no concept of how to spend his time anticipating the start of his newest project.
He had one chance to make this work. He would have to be decisive.
Already, he forgot about the three missing samples, a new objective overwriting his previous plans and fascinations.
The framework of an idea was coming together in his mind, along with the ghosts of a childhood the clone had never had.
Memories surfaced in an altered mind — memories that weren’t his, and weren’t theirs: an unwritten history.
The Doctor was discovering the root of his own forbidden knowledge.