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Time passes weirdly when you're a god.
The samsara continues, a chain of life and death and rebirth in a cyclical pattern, cultivated by the hands of time. Humans don't live long enough to completely have their fill of the passage of time. Age settles on the knots between their brows, the wrinkles on their skin, the fading colors of their hair.
But gods… gods see everything.
Well. Almost everything.
"Is reincarnation a process only gods can do?"
"Yes," Nahida replies, "and no."
"How vague of you." Alhaitham closes his book, perches it on the side table next to the couch. "Do you not remember promising that you would answer my questions honestly?"
"Only questions I can answer," Nahida corrects him. "I can't sate all of your curiosities."
"Mandated by the Heavenly Principles?" Alhaitham repeats her words drily, as if he's not afraid of the consequences of saying such names in tones bordering on outright blasphemy. If Nahida could only have half his bravado, she would have been free of the sages some hundred years ago. "I suppose some things can't be explained in this world."
Indeed, some things… like the fact that Nahida is freely perched on the other end of the couch, reading her own book while he watches her with idle interest, questions her with every thought that comes to mind, while answering her questions in return. They are two curious minds side by side on a quiet afternoon, as though nothing in this world could fracture the homely silence between scholars of the same nature.
Cyno once asked her why she spends so much time with Alhaitham outside of Akademiya, the man they call a lunatic to his face, who doesn't bat an eyelid when they insult his desire for more knowledge and what he's done to gain it.
Who lets her in his house as a recurring guest, and asks her questions because he can, because he's not afraid of saying the wrong thing or asking the wrong question to the God of Wisdom.
For that, and for all he has done in her name, she's decided long ago that she'll grant him any boon he desires, within the sphere of her power. The dendro gnosis is gone, but she remains a goddess in the eyes of mankind.
"This world runs in a loop," she tells him. "To the undying gods, a mortal's life cycle is but a blink of an eye; gods are the witnesses to the beginning and the end of all things."
"Humans live and die," he responds, curiosity gleaming in his strange eyes. "That's the nature of mortality; that's why we are mortals."
"How do you draw a circle?"
He pauses, eyes narrowed. All she does is smile back. She does so enjoy the way his mind works, far too different from any other human she's encountered.
"You return to the beginning," he answers dutifully. "You close where you start."
"Life ends at death, and death starts at life. A circle has neither a beginning nor an end. That is the cycle of this world."
"If that's the true nature of this world, then the gods are an abomination," he challenges her, leaning forward in his seat. "You don't follow the cycle that permeates this world's destiny; instead, you defy it. Gods dared to enter the circle of life, but it's like a dream scape of endless circles, and you're the only one aware of your own fate."
This is nothing more than another scholarly conversation to a man who wants to know everything, but Nahida thinks on the gravity of his words alone. No other human, she thinks idly, has ever gotten to the heart of the matter as quickly as this one does — and that alone scares her.
She may be a little scared for him, for the insurmountable wisdom he holds in his mortal body.
For the knowledge that he will inevitably gain in his search for personal peace.
"What are gods, then?" he continues to prod. "And what does this have to do with my question on reincarnation? Are you implying that the circle is a metaphor for rebirth? That mortals can return to this earth and reenter the cycle after the circle is made, but gods cannot?"
The heart of the matter, at last.
"For a god to enter the cycle, they must first draw a circle."
Alhaitham makes an inquisitive noise. "And what does that entail?"
"A circle is a loop," she repeats. There's nothing more to be said, and she's confident that he'll eventually figure it out. "Life starts where it ends. Don't forget it."
Alhaitham wasn't always human, and that's a fact that Nahida just knows.
In his first life, he entered the cycle, and since then, he's been embroiled in the endless circle of life, death, and rebirth for countless centuries. Whether he remembers is past or not becomes irrelevant in the face of fate, of the now, of the life he's been given to lead in all the lifetimes he's in.
In this lifetime, he is a scholar — a madman, a lunatic, and a genius. He is the embodiment of strength and admonition, a wise man with caution in every step, yet already countless steps above everyone else around him.
And that is why… she chooses him.
"Alhaitham? The Scribe?"
"Yes," she says, her eyes affixed on the man sitting near the back of the room, willingly putting himself in the shadows while he jots down the wonderfully eccentric cacophony of noise that bursts out of everyone's mouth at the mention of an acting leader. "I have observed him myself, and what I've seen is thus: he is intelligent and curious, adaptable to change, impartial in judgment, with a sound mind. Temporarily placing him at the helm will be enough to hold the Akademiya together while we find a more permanent replacement."
"He has never been a Sage," someone argues – a scholar from Vahumana, and they do like to argue on the virtues of time and what that does to humans. Time, as a sage that Alhaitham lacks, in this case, is a point against his appointment. "He is not even a Dastur. How will he understand the work? He only writes."
It is precisely because he writes, is Nahida wants to counter them with. Preservation of time, in mortal hands.
"He is someone I trust."
She gives them all a look, knowing that they are humbled, scolded by five worlds for a goddess that looks more childlike than most children. Yet five hundred years trapped in a bubble, she remains their deity – and Alhaitham remains the man who orchestrated her release from captivity.
The man who saved god.
The man in question looks up from his notes, his lips pursed in contemplation, yet he makes no move to speak. He only looks at her with his sharp eyes, carrying unfathomable intelligence and the tiniest sliver of disbelief wrinkling at the corners of them. She knows, without using her skills, what he thinks of all of this. The things he will never say, yet she hears them all the same.
"The Scribe will be the Akademiya's Acting Grand Sage," she repeats, and there's no room for any questions in the way she speaks. The scholars in the room bow their heads in deference, recognizing the will of a god, unswayed. "For the Darshans without a leader, please submit a list of suitable candidates to the Acting Grand Sage's office by the end of next week. The Sages of Amurta and Vahumana will assist you in shortlisting your candidates. Once you have done your part, I shall do mine."
This time, she will ensure that the original House of Wisdom will withstand the test of time and human fickleness.
Perhaps if she's lucky, no more gods will die in the name of knowledge.