#i'm also just fuckin hungry for attention and recognition lmao

[thevoilinauttheory]

title in progress

( the first part of my self-indulging fic, I guess lol. I meant for it to be short but now it has chapters so... here’s the first one. It’ll be under a cut for being so long, though here are some small details.

chapter 1/?

summary: shadowbringers spoilers - this will be tagged appropriately so it doesn’t come up on those who have these tags blocked. a studious amaurotine makes terrible mistakes and gets thrown into a series of events he really didn’t want to be a part of in the first place, but here he is. )

More things that needed tending to. More cataloging, more plants, more… terrifying fish in a pool of water that he shouldn’t have been afraid of, but was anyways. It was his work. To make sure everything was in its place and stayed in its place. Not that anything was going anywhere anytime soon - or ever, he had thought. He shuffled through books and memos, static keeping him company over a small radio device. There were words, though it cut in and out from the loss of signal. “More ill… injured… beasts run-... it’s a mess…” He never minded the static, it was better than the silence he dealt with usually. Something to stimulate him and his ever sprinting mind. He placed books back, moved to a desk and wrote down more. When the silence hit him once more, his head snapped towards his radio. “Philokrates.” The equally robed person in front of him had turned off his white noise. It irritated him somewhat. “Yes?” “Why do you never tune to something more tasteful, hm?” They picked up the small device and tuned to something lighter - soft jazz music, which, while Philokrates did not abhor, found it grating to listen to as he worked. “Taste is an opinion.” His words and body language did not speak the flinching and disgust that was hidden behind the mask on his face. “And in my opinion, I find music to be distracting while I study. The chattering of voices and debates are far more productive in stimulation.” “Very well.” They turned the radio back to the static and voices that echoed gently in the background of his mind. “I wished to make you aware of the group of children that are arriving soon. We have elected you to teach them of our faculties, procedures, and personnel here.” Elected - the word didn’t sit right. It felt more as if they were throwing him onto the duty simply because everyone knew he was a favorite of the budding students that often graced the Akadaemia. They could at least admit honestly to it, he would be more willing then. “I apologize. I am currently in the midst of groundbreaking work - for the illness that has been plaguing our people. If I may request that another take my place for the time being.” “Your work is not going anywhere.” “But our people are. I could debate this with you for the rest of our existence, but that would get neither of us anywhere. Please. Allow me this one day.” An audible sigh emitted from the robed figure, a shake of their hood and mask in disappointment. Their exasperation made known. “...If that is all that you need, then continue your work. I shall get Aniketos to take your place for the time being. Perhaps I could recommend visiting Phantomology for more answers - if it will quicken your progress.” “I appreciate your understanding. The recommendation has not gone unnoticed, however, I do not believe it necessary.” His words were the last that were spoken before he was left to the static and sudden screams that cut the station he listened to back to silence. He stared at it, heaving out a heavy sigh. There was a lot of work to be done, not enough time. This illness was spreading too quickly. His people turned to horrific beasts and monsters which no one had ever thought to create - and now the images were all anyone could see. He had hoped his newest creation would aide those who were showing the first signs of the illness. It was an utter shame that once turned, not even the strongest of creations could revert what damage had been done. Though in the progress of attempting to create asylum to those who suffer, he studied further to attempt understanding what their world was going through. There were nothing left in these books to guide him. He had gone through them all, pulled aside those that could aide him, then stacked them high as he grabbed his papers. One more stop. Phantomology was the section best kept to itself, both its creations and creators - they were not terrible folk. They engaged well in conversation. Though it was for those reasons that he found the quarter rather… intimidating. Having been founded by an esteemed member of the Convocation, the idea of running into such an individual made Philokrates’s spine shiver in anxiety. To be forced to have a conversation with them even more so. He had always lauded himself above others, finding himself to be superior in intellect. But there was a reason why he was but a cataloger of creations rather than a member of the Convocation - he could not deny that his intellect would be but a child’s compared to them. Lost in his thoughts once more, he picked up the small pile of books, his stack of papers, and his radio - which was promptly shoved into a pocket in his robes. He shuffled himself through hallways, tensely past the glass aquariums and caged botany creations. Round the corners of the institution, greeting others he had passed with a nod. Until the halls grew empty, quiet. The silence again. He hated it. It made him more anxious than he already was. His footsteps were all he could hear as he made his way to the Phantomology section. There was nobody here. In his confusion, he looked about for a sign or note that the section might have been closed off - but there was nothing. No students, no creators, not even the slightest hint of life. He cleared his throat loudly. “...Hello?” It was not the most graceful, nor educated, manner of presenting himself. But he would not intrude upon such a place if there were no one here. He peered around the corner, deeper into the quarter. Still no one. It was almost… eerie. Haunting. The halls echoed with every breath. He had a mind to turn around and leave, but his curiosity was piqued. There was no one here, who was to stop him from pulling but one book down to read? As his moral compass spun in circles, he had no time to register the tall being behind him. “It seems there is a visitor here, one from…?” The sudden voice had caused Philokrates to not only let out an uncharacteristic yelp, but jump and drop everything that he held. So startled and drawn back from his mind he was, he had barely the time to realize what happened before the black-robed man laughed at him. He stuttered in embarrassment kneeling down to gather up his belongings quickly. “Ph-Phytobiology.” “Phytobiology.” He repeated the word as he leaned over to pick up the scattered remains of the neat paper stack. He read over them, or at least, what he could of them. “...Is that so? Such progress for a man of one station, do you not think?” “I…” Philokrates cleared his throat. Right, stand tall, don’t show fear or anxiety or embarrassment. “...I pride myself in learning all that I can. I merely work in Phytobiology. I would not say it is my first choice in studies, however--” “However, it has led you to a conclusion that you believe to help our kind, yes?” The man picked up more of the papers, skimming over them. “As much as I would love to say that your conclusion has proved enlightening, we have already tried this method.” He stacked the papers neatly together and piled them on top of the books that Philokrates picked up. “We..?” He should not have questioned so soon. He should have ignored it. Instead, he made a much larger fool of himself. “Ah- I mean-... is that… right? I see. I had hoped some insight in Phantomology would prove to aide my work, though it seems I must return to hypotheses.” Despite the covered face, the position of the man’s body practically screamed that he had an inquisitive brow raised. He stood in silence and thought before lifting a finger to his mask, a gesture to keep silent, before beckoning him to follow. Philokrates blinked, stunned for a moment before scuffling along to keep up. He took in what he could of the area, before he was stopped at the end of another hallway. The dark-robed man gestured broadly to the desk off to the side, littered with papers and books - theories, testaments, pictures. All on the illness that spread so quickly. Philokrates stopped for a moment, turning his head to the mysterious and confusing man before setting down his belongings to look over everything that was scattered across the surface. He tried to read. It was too hard to focus, what with a man standing over his shoulders and the dead silence. He fished in his pocket for his radio, setting it down with a soft “do you mind if I-?”. With a brief shake of the hood, the radio was turned on. Static, barely words to make out in the background as he relaxed in the noise. Back to the papers. Everything he read, it only led to more confusion. He skimmed books, memorized details, pieced together more information. It didn’t take too long before the shock of it all settled in. “The illness… is caused by our own use of creation?” He set the papers down. “I see… that is why no creation can cure it.” He thought for a moment, folding his arms across his chest. “No creation can cure or stop it, for creating only makes the process faster and worse. If that is the case then, perhaps…” He shook his head and let out a sigh. There was too much to process and not enough time to do so. “Perhaps, then, you would like to read over my attempts to find a solution?” The man’s voice was arrogant, like he was asking to have his ego stroked by witnessing the reaction of a lesser groveling to his intellect. He pulled a neater stack of papers from a drawer in the desk to hand off to Philokrates. Why was he even doing this? What purpose did all of this serve? Did he just happen in the wrong time and place? Was this man so desperate for praise that he’d show a stranger - very obviously lacking in the same degrees of smarts - his work? Though after he had read but the first page, he had almost thought to laugh. “Summon a creation strong enough to end the illness? To stop the end of our world as we know it? You would create a god instead of finding a true solution? If I must be honest, this seems to be the easy way out. Instead of honing our craft, you would simply cast it aside as if it were nothing.” Philokrates had no intention of offense, but the mere prospect was as if a child had come up with the answer. “And you have a better one, then, I take it?” The smug response of a man who knew what he was doing. Or at least, had thought so. “With enough time, I would say so.” “We do not have time.” He shook his head with a shrug. “The rest of the Convocation has already agreed that the time we would need to come up with a… less ‘lazy’ solution does not exist. For our end days are upon us already.” “And you would tell me this why?” “Tell me what your proposed solution would be.” “As I stated, I would need more--” “Right now.” His tone of voice dropped. Serious and demanding. Had Philokrates not already expected as much, he would have found it intimidating enough to clam up. He had already dug himself into his grave by practically insulting the work of the Convocation - enemies that he should not even think to make - it was only right that he continue digging until he was the full six feet under. “Instead of using our powers of creation to devise a solution, I would leave our fair city to gather bounty from that which the land has granted us. Use it to treat symptoms as they come. Medicines made from hand, not magic.” The man scoffed. About to debate the idea down, no doubt. Only to stop and hum in thought. The moments that it took him to think about the prospect, Philokrates had already begun to pack up his things once more. “...It would take far more time than what we have. That it may work I will not discredit, but our time is but upon us already.” Was that… a compliment? Philokrates stood up and turned to him, quizzical. “What? Not even a ‘thank you’? That is by far the highest compliment you could recieve, especially from me.” So it was a compliment. Still. That didn’t answer why this man had chosen him to share the ideas the Convocation had come up with - they weren’t his answers to share… oh, they were. He said the paper was his. The Convocation couldn’t come up with anything better. That he- they-. He stopped. Oh… Oh, dear. He had insulted the work of the esteemed Lahabrea, and all he did was laugh it off if not completely put him down. He could almost feel the aether leaving his body as he realized his mistake. He should have never come here. He should have just continued his work in peace, blissfully ignorant of how stupid it was. All he knew next was darkness as he fell to the ground, faint from either the realization or sudden sickness.