Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You have got to stop doing this,” Tighnari said, his voice harsh but his hands gentle as he inspected the shallow wound on Cyno’s hand. They felt like fire against Cyno’s skin, burning wherever Tighnari touched.

The cut wasn’t bad—it didn’t even need stitches—but that didn’t matter to Tighnari. He was angry nonetheless.

Cyno clenched his jaw to bite back his immediate response. It wasn’t Tighnari’s fault that Cyno was short-tempered today. He was in pain from overdoing it the day before and frustrated that something as simple as walking through Gandharva Ville to see Kaveh’s return was ‘overdoing it.’ 

He knew that recovery would be slow, that there would be a cost beyond what he had immediately paid when he chose to live, but that didn’t stop it from being frustrating. Cyno wanted his independence back. He wanted to walk through the village without somebody to aid him, even if that meant using a walking stick of some sort, to wash his own hair or hold a cup of water without dropping it and slicing open his hand on the pottery shards. 

“You should know better than to handle things that could hurt you,” Tighnari continued as he finished wrapping the cut. “You should have waited for one of us.”

“It was a cup, Tighnari,” Cyno said after taking several measured breaths. “I hardly need help drinking water.”

“Well, apparently you do,” Tighnari snapped, finally pulling away. “You’re worse than Collei. At least she has a sense of her own boundaries and knows when to ask for help.”

It wasn’t just about the broken cup or Cyno’s injured hand anymore. It never was, really. They couldn’t speak to one another without the shadow of Cyno’s Eleazar—of his lies and secrets — hanging over them. It was oppressive. Sometimes, the weight of Tighnari’s unsaid words made it hard to breathe. The unspoken demands for answers, the wordless pain at Cyno’s betrayal. It haunted them like a ghost, like chains wrapped around their wrists. It reminded Cyno of drowning, and he wondered what it felt like to Tighnari, whether Tighnari felt the same agony at the gap between them.

Cyno sighed. He was exhausted, his sleep interrupted by pain that not even copious amounts of medication could abate. He’d stopped taking most of them, if only because he hated how tired they made him, but he kept a few for emergencies. 

“Please don’t bring Collei onto this,“ Cyno said. She didn’t deserve to be used as a weapon in their arguments, although Cyno reluctantly admitted to himself that Tighnari was right: he was worse than Collei, if only because he had less experience with these new boundaries.

Tighnari said nothing, but Cyno could see him tense his jaw as he cleaned up the medical kit that was spread out between them. He was likely biting back his own response, but that meant he at least agreed. Collei was off limits.

Once, they never would have had to watch their words so carefully. They trusted each other, even at their worst, and knew that they’d never say something hurtful in a moment of anger. Even anger at each other itself was so rare. That had changed, too.

Cyno stood, his knees objecting to the movement, but he had long mastered the ability to force his body to move at his command. It was still something he could do, but it would cost him later. 

There was a folder full of paperwork on the table that Kaveh brought from the matra. Tighnari was livid—he didn’t want Cyno working while recovering, but Cyno knew some things were time sensitive. Taj had pushed it off for as long as he could. 

Cyno picked up the folder and flipped through the half-finish pages that protocol dictated he sign. It would make the entire process easier if he could, and his subordinates didn’t dare do it for him this time.

“Are you really going to work?” Tighnari asked from behind him, his medical kit all bundled up to return to his hut—the one Cyno hadn’t stepped foot in since the last time he was here.

“It’s just a few papers,” Cyno muttered, sitting down and already distracted by one of the reports they sent along. The matra were holding strong within the Akademiya, and anybody loyal to Azar was being flushed from their ranks. 

“I’m sure , ” Tighnari said, his voice biting. “ Last time, you were doing ‘just a few papers’ for months as you got sicker and sicker.”

Cyno almost told Tighnari to stop, to let him do what needed to be done. He wanted to have one conversation that didn’t end in hurt feelings or the reminder of the bleeding hole in their hearts. Instead, Cyno said nothing. The silence was easier to bear than the frustration and harsh words.

“And now you’re ignoring me,” Tighnari said with a mix of frustration and exasperation. 

“I’m not ignoring you,” Cyno replied as he reached for a pen. “I just don’t have anything to say.”

“So instead, you say nothing,” Tighnari said. “You just keep quiet and don’t tell anybody the truth.”

Cyno gritted his teeth as he tried to hold the pen. He couldn’t. His grip wasn’t strong enough today and he couldn’t make his fingers work properly. The bandaged cut didn’t help, the padding making him fumble even more. He switched to his other hand. It was easier, but still more difficult than it should have been. 

His frustration reared its head. He had done everything right so far. He did all his physical therapy exercises despite the pain, followed every instruction. Why wasn’t he fixed yet?

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Cyno,” Tighnari snapped, grabbing the pen from his hand. 

“What?” he asked, trying to swallow his irritation. 

“You’re going to kill yourself if you keep doing this.”

“It’s just a pen. It’s something I have to learn to deal with.”

“This isn’t about the pen! It isn’t about the paperwork! It’s about you constantly pushing yourself beyond your limits and never once caring about the consequences!” Tighnari snapped, his tail swishing in agitation behind him. 

Cyno sighed, suddenly exhausted. He reached up to rub at his temple, hoping to relieve the headache growing there. It didn’t help. “Can we not do this today?” he asked. 

Tighnari’s body was taut like a bow string. “Then when should we?” he asked, his tone biting. “You’ve certainly never broached the topic. All you ever say is that you don’t know.” he put his hands on the table to lean forward, demanding. 

Cyno wasn’t sure what set Tighnari off. The day seemed so normal beyond the broken cup. Maybe it was just a cumulation of things, the stress of the last months finally too much to bear. Maybe Tighnari couldn’t stand avoiding the topic anymore; avoiding Cyno. Or maybe the lightning scar on his shoulder hurt more than he let on. Whatever the reason, once Tighnari broke the ice, he didn’t stop. 

“I spent weeks at your bedside wondering what I’d done wrong, when I’d made you think you couldn’t trust me. But there was nothing. I never came up with anything.”

“Tighnari-” Cyno tried to interrupt, but Tighnari forged ahead. 

“I think I’ve come to the conclusion that you never trusted me to start,” Tighnari said. 

Cyno’s breath was sharp. 

“That isn’t true,” he said, because it wasn’t . There was nobody in his life that Cyno trusted more. 

Tighnari laughed, a little breathless and a little hysterical. He sounded like he was on the edge of tears as he stared down where his hands curled into fists on the table. His green hair hung forward like a curtain, obscuring his face. 

“You know,” Tighnari said quietly. “I really thought you loved me.”

Pain shot through Cyno’s chest. “What?” he asked. “Of course I love you. What does that have to do with anything?”

“When you love somebody, you don’t do things like this,” Tighnari snapped. He pushed away from the table to pace the length of the small room. “You don’t lie for years about something- something life changing. You don’t get to make those choices for your partner.” He scoffed, looking away. “But I’m starting to think that maybe you don’t know what love is.”

“That isn’t fair,” Cyno said weakly. He felt dizzy, desperately grasping for a response as things spiralled out of control. 

He couldn’t lose Tighnari, not now. 

“Isn’t it?” Tighnari asked. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s a pretty fair assumption! I watched you die, Cyno, and you don’t even have the decency to tell me why .”

He looked at Cyno, his expression pleading. As angry as Tighnari was, it was obvious he wanted Cyno to prove him wrong, to finally explain everything, but Cyno couldn’t. He didn’t know how to vocalize the mess of thoughts swirling through him. 

His throat was dry. Cyno could almost picture the chasm between them, the last bit of rock connecting the two sides. 

“I love you,” he said, desperate and reaching out. 

Tighnari walked out of the hut, and just like that, the last bridge between them crumbled away.

“So you’re leaving. Running away again,” Tighnari said the next morning as Cyno finished packing, his arms crossed over his chest. After their argument the night before, Kaveh agreed to take Cyno back to Sumeru City. There were things Cyno needed to do anyway, and maybe- maybe the distance would be good for them.

“I’m not running away,” Cyno replied, despite feeling very much like he was running away. “You need space and I need time.”

“Don’t tell me what I need,” Tighnari snapped. His tail was larger than usual, the fur standing up in his anger. 

Cyno paused. “I still need time,” he said, which wasn’t a lie. 

He needed to figure out who he was now, or maybe who he had always been, and what he wanted to do. He couldn’t do that around Tighnari, and it was obvious to him that Tighnari needed to be somewhere Cyno wasn’t. 

“I’ll be with Kaveh,” Cyno reminded him. “And I’ll be back soon.”

Tighnari didn’t look happy about it, but he didn’t stop Cyno. He carried Cyno’s bag out to the hired cart and handed it to Kaveh, a silent ghost as Cyno hobbled his way over relying on his crutches. 

The idea of being seen in Sumeru City like this wasn’t appealing, but Cyno felt too exhausted to care about that. He just wanted a break. 

“Got everything?” Kaveh asked, eyeing Cyno and Tighnari cautiously. 

Everybody knew something was up between them no matter how staunchly they’d tried to ignore it. Really, this was a long time coming. They’d been teetering on the edge of disaster for months. 

Cyno grunted but didn’t otherwise respond. Tighnari said nothing. 

“Okay then! We’re all set,” Kaveh said, trying for false cheer. He turned to Tighnari. “I’ll look after him,” he promised. 

If Tighnari responded, Cyno didn’t hear. 

He sat in the back of the cart. It wasn’t dissimilar from the one Cyno had taken when he first arrived at Gandharva Ville from Pardis Dhyai, but he didn’t remember that trip well. He’d been in too much pain and on too many drugs for it to be anything but a blur. 

Kaveh climbed into the cart next to him, drawing Cyno from his thoughts. A moment later, the cart started moving. 

The trip wasn’t long. Cyno had walked it many times; they only took a cart to save his stamina or he would be too tired to do anything for days after. Kaveh spent it making casual conversation with their driver. Apparently the man had a wife and three kids. 

Cyno breathed a sigh of relief when they arrived in Sumeru City. A weight he hadn’t even realized he felt lifted off of his shoulders. He realized with a start how much this was home, just as Tighnari was home. 

Sumeru City was a part of him, the place where he’d grown into who he was. He’d missed it and its busy streets of pedestrians and sumpter beasts, the curving architecture and the scent of cooking food. 

It made something settle inside him, like a missing piece that finally returned. 

“Are you okay, Cyno?” Kaveh asked, looking at him with concern. 

Cyno swallowed dryly and nodded. He felt oddly emotional returning to the city he never thought he would see again. 

Kaveh helped him out of the cart near to his apartment. It was a bit of a process to get up the stairs with his crutches, but he managed it, and Kaveh unlocked the door. 

It was clean. The floors were freshly swept and the shelves had been dusted. Even the rug seemed like it had been washed and beaten. It looked nothing like how Cyno had left it, grungy and dusty with dishes piled high in the sink. There was no sign of those now. And the walls- they were a different colour. Did someone paint them? There was more furniture than he remembered, too, and the low coffee table was piled with a tower of gifts. 

Kaveh rubbed the back of his neck.

“I may have stress-cleaned when I was in the city last,” he admitted. “And stress-decorated. Did you know you had damage on some of your walls, by the way? There were scuff marks everywhere and bloodstains in your bathroom. I hope you like the new colour because there was no way I could get those out. I mean really, Cyno? Blood? ”

Cyno knew the spot Kaveh was talking about. He’d been forced to stitch a wound closed while slumped against his wall before he could bleed out. He still had the scar. 

The ocean blue walls were nice, calming. He liked them, and told Kaveh as much. 

“Good, good. Alhaitham won’t complain about the cost as much if he knows you at least like it,” Kaveh said, guiding Cyno inside to sit down. He was unfortunately getting good at telling when Cyno needed a break. 

“Alhaitham paid for this?” Cyno said, sitting down on one of the new plush chairs. He put his crutches to the side. 

“He said it was worth the cost to get me out of the house. Can you believe that? The audacity! I’m the one who cooks and cleans and yet he wants me out of the house?!”

Cyno leaned back and listened to Kaveh complain. It was an old routine, and one almost dying didn’t change. Alhaitham becoming Grand Sage only seemed to fuel Kaveh’s ire, which Cyno could understand. Alhaitham certainly annoyed him occasionally. Working together had proved that. 

The rest of the day passed in much the same way. Cyno learned that the tower of gifts were from various Akademiya employees, from matra to scholars, wishing him well. Inside were things like more TCG cards, tea, candles, and, from an Amurta scholar with incredibly good foresight, nicely-made compression garments. The gloves eased the ache in Cyno’s hand almost immediately. 

When he mentioned having to write thank-you notes, Kaveh waved him off and informed him it was already done. His pilfered stash of specialty paper was proof of it. 

“The matra are far too good at forging your signature,” Kaveh said brightly. Cyno only sighed. Circumstance had led to that skill although Cyno wished it hadn’t. 

Maybe Dr. Ibtihaj was right. Scratch that, she was definitely right. Cyno shouldn’t have worked for as long as he did.

Kaveh left with a promise to return in the morning, and Cyno didn’t offer to let him stay. He needed time to think. 

Alone, Cyno drifted through his apartment. He ran his hand along the newly painted walls and remembered the time spent here over the years. It was a place to sleep and little more. Then it became a place to hide. He had spent his sickest days here, had vomited over the toilet in the small bathroom and wasted days in a feverish haze. He wondered if his bottles of medication were still in the bathroom. Probably not if what Alhaitham had said about Azar’s tampering was true. 

In his bedroom, he found a box tucked next to his bed. It was full of letters, each one left unopened. The majority were written in Tighnari’s swooping hand, letters of love and concern that Cyno had lacked the energy to read. Standing there, looking at just how desperately Tighnari had tried to reach him, Cyno wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before. 

Somebody—Kaveh probably—sorted the letters by date. Cyno picked up the oldest. He had read and responded to some of Tighnari’s letters, but not all. 

‘My love,’ Tighnari had written.

Cyno put it down again. He picked up another. The unread letters became more frequent as time went on and Cyno found himself with less energy to spare toward anything other than surviving. By the end, Cyno stopped reading Tighnari’s letters entirely.

He put the box away. There would be a time to read them, but it wasn’t now. Not while the wounds to their tumultuous relationship were still so fresh.

Instead, he walked back into the main room where he could imagine glimpses of the past, of long nights spent bent over paperwork by lamplight, of tea and simple meals.

Being here was like standing in a haunted house, only Cyno wasn’t sure which of them was the ghost. Was it the man from before, so ready to die for duty? Or the man from now, with no duty left?

Sumeru City might have been home, but this apartment wasn’t.

He sat in the centre of his floor, his back resting against his sofa. He crossed his legs and summoned his spear for the first time since that day in the desert. The weight of it, of his old oath, was heavier than usual. He rested it across his knees and breathed. His chest rose and fell like gentle crests of a wave, and his heartbeat slowed. He imagined the sand as it fell from cliffs and the shifting dunes of the desert, of the plants still growing in Kasala’s tomb two-thousand years later. 

It was harder to focus without Hermanubis’ aid. Cyno had always been close to the higher realms, but he was no longer anchored to it the way he had been. The gap in time since he last meditated certainly didn’t help. 

The next time Cyno opened his eyes, it was dark. 

He banished his spear and shakily stood, his legs aching from spending so long on the floor. He had to rely on the sofa to manage it.

When he slept, he did so alongside his ghosts.

“Congratulations, you’re officially recovering,” Dr. Ibtihaj said as she dropped Cyno’s test results on the table in front of him, and despite knowing that already, Cyno felt a flood of relief. It was one thing to be told he was recovering, or even to feel it, but it was another to have the empirical data to prove it. 

Dr. Ibtihaj took a seat across from him. She looked better than she had during those days following the Sabzeruz Festival. A good portion of her patients were probably well on their way to recovery by now instead of dying for seemingly no reason, so Cyno assumed that was a large part of it.

They sat in a small office in the Bimarstan. It was identical to every other one Cyno had seen during his visits here, but something about it felt different. There was a weight lifted from the walls, as if the room itself knew it was no longer a harbinger of death. 

“Now that we have that out of the way, tell me, how has your recovery been? I’m glad to see you using mobility aids,” she said, nodding to where his crutches rested nearby. 

The two of them were more casual together now, after the years they’d known each other. For a time, Dr. Ibtihaj was one of the few people in Sumeru that Cyno would listen to. Even if it was only regarding his health, and even if he only sometimes followed her advice, it was a powerful position. 

“Kemia sent me updates until you left for Gandharva Ville, but I didn’t hear anything after that. I assume there’s been no problems?” she asked.

“It’s been slow, which I know isn’t unexpected,” he said. It was more than they expected at all, actually, which was continued proof of the strength of Cyno’s constitution. He still didn’t like it. 

Dr. Ibtihaj nodded, her pen scribbling across the notebook in front of her. Without the Akasha, everything was now done by hand. It was the first Cyno had seen of it in Sumeru City—elsewhere, where the Akasha Terminal’s connection wasn’t as consistent; pen and paper had remained common, but not here.

“Fever?”

“No.”

“Any difficulty breathing?”

“Only when I’ve done too much,” he said. 

And so the exam continued. She asked him various questions about his recovery and the general state of health. Cyno answered as best he could and tried not to think about how much easier it would have been with Tighnari there to recall it all. Cyno had never been the most self aware when concerning his health. 

The longer Cyno sat with her, the more aware he was that something was wrong. Dr. Ibtihaj refused to look at him. She had avoided his eye during the physical examination too, but Cyno had passed that off as her focus on her work. It was more obvious now that she refused to meet his gaze. 

“Is everything alright?” Cyno asked between her questions. Her pen stilled on the page. 

“Of course,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Cyno narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t sure whether to push. Aarav was currently the Acting General Mahamatra, and there was nothing to say that whatever was on her mind was something that matra should be involved in anyway. 

Her grip tightened on her pen. “Well, you know, Cyno,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I wouldn’t be offended if you choose to see a different physician. I can even recommend some wonderful colleagues of mine.”

“Why would I want to see somebody else?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“I just thought that if you had any doubts about my character,” she said. “I would hate for you to feel pressure to see a medical professional you don’t trust.”

Cyno frowned. This was about his medication, wasn’t it? If Dr. Ibtihaj blamed herself for not noticing then perhaps she was projecting that belief into him. 

“I’ve never had any doubts about your integrity,” he told her, “and I trust the matra cleared you of any wrong-doing.”

It would have been a gruelling process, too. Come to think of it, Alhaitham had said they spoke to her about the tampered medication while investigating it. It was probably as a way of measuring her reaction. Cyno wouldn’t have taken that direction, but he had faith in Alhaitham. After all, Alhaitham avoided everything others might do halfway. It meant everything he bothered doing, he did well.

The corner of Dr. Ibtihaj’s mouth curled upward. “They did indeed,” she said. “They are quite defensive of you.”

“So I’ve heard.” He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that, either. Cyno shook his head. “My point remains that I have no issue with you handling my care, although I won’t be hurt if you would feel more comfortable transferring it to somebody else.”

If he didn’t see the new physician, well, that was nobody’s business but his own. Cyno wouldn’t go through the process of explaining and investigating a second time—he’d only gone to Dr. Ibtihaj in the first place the severity of his symptoms, although he didn’t regret the decision. He knew she was the only reason he had retained his abilities as long for. as he had. 

“Well, in that case, I don’t see why we shouldn’t continue onwards as usual,” she said. “If you’d be amenable, I’d like you to track your pain and energy levels during the day. I know they fluctuate, but try to write it down either when you notice a change, or before you sleep, along with any triggers. It could give us insight into a prognosis, since right now, all we have to go on is data from illness and injuries resulting in similar states, although without the Akasha, it’s taking us time to compile them all.”

That reminded Cyno of something. He agreed to her question. “Alhaitham said you’re heading up research into Eleazar recovery,” he added.

Dr. Ibtihaj didn’t seem surprised that he knew. 

“I am,” she said. “I’m sure I would have noticed patterns in my patients and drawn conclusions even if there was no official study, so when Kemia asked me to collaborate with her, I agreed. It’s actually the reason we’re able to have people pulling physical records to compare with current Eleazar recovery—students and researchers are desperate for Akademiya approved projects while the rest are on hold. We have a small army of Amurta and Haravatat applications to go through. We’re lucky that Lord Kusanali created copies of everything in the Akasha before she shut it down, but it means there’s a lot to go through. Hopefully that information, along with what we’re gathering from Eleazar patients, will help us find new treatments and judge the effectiveness of current ones.”

He hadn’t thought of the manpower it would take to find and sort information without the Akasha, and he hadn’t known that Lord Kusanali copied everything, but it made sense. So much information was never written down or was badly stored that they would have lost great amounts.

It meant that without the Akasha, the Akademiya’s archives were probably a mess.

“I didn’t know that Kemia had an interest in Eleazar,” Cyno said, picking up on the part Dr. Ibtihaj would know more about. The current state of the Akademiya and its archives was a question best saved for Alhaitham. Perhaps it did pay to have a former scribe as the Acting Grand Sage. It was too bad Alhaitham wouldn’t have any interest in keeping the position. He would do a good job, as much as Cyno was loath to admit it.

“I don’t believe she did, but Eleazar recovery is about to become a very popular field of study. The sooner somebody can get involved, the more opportunity for success there is.” Dr. Ibtihaj looked up and smiled. “Also, I think Kemia forgot how much she enjoyed helping people.”

Cyno hummed, tapping a finger against the wooden tabletop. “Will you be collaborating long distance, then?”

“No,” Dr. Ibtihaj said. “This isn’t public knowledge yet, but Kemia has actually taken a position here in Sumeru City.”

Cyno blinked in surprise. There were several open Amurta positions after their coup, but few that were more prestigious than the head of Pardis Dhyai. That must mean-

“Kemia accepted an offer to become the Sage of Amurta,” Dr. Ibtihaj told him, confirming his suspicion. “Naphis is going to transition out of office as she moves in. At least the transfer of duties won’t be hard—nothing is getting done right now, anyway.”

Cyno supposed that was one seat solved. He wondered who would become the next Spantamad Sage before pushing the thought away. He was surprised at how much it hurt to know that the sage of his own darshan had conspired against him, even if they’d never gotten along. It was a betrayal he hadn’t quite processed yet. 

“Kemia will be good in the position,” he said. “She’s already used to managing students.”

“She will,” Dr. Ibtijah agreed. “Hazm will be replacing her at Pardis Dhyai, I believe.” 

Another former classmate of Tighnari’s. Cyno wondered if Alhaitham had refused to offer Tighnari that position, too. Everybody knew Tighnari was happy where he was, and even if he wasn’t, Tighnari was unlikely to leave the Avidya Forest until Collei was a full Forest Watcher in her own right. 

They wrapped the meeting up with Dr. Ibtihaj handing him a refill of his medication. She assured him she had tested it personally, although Cyno would recheck it himself. It was easy chemistry to see if something had been added to a substance, and something he had practiced often back during his student days—albeit not for medication purposes. 

As he left the Bimarstan, supported by his crutches, all Cyno could think of was how much things were changing.

Walking all the way up the paths to the Akademiya was probably a mistake, but Cyno couldn’t fight the compulsion to go. 

He forced himself to take a break several times, stopping to balance against the railing or sit on benches to catch his breath, but at least he wasn’t as recognizable without his usual clothes—although his jackal-headed cloak was still clearly distinguishable to anybody who knew him. The last thing Cyno wanted was a well-meaning civilian offering him aid.

The Akademiya was surprisingly empty for the time of day. Usually, scholars and students would gather around the main fountain or rush through the hall to and from classes or meetings. Instead, only a few lingered. It made the building feel strangely empty. 

Despite not being recognized on his way to the Akademiya, there was little he could do to avoid it inside. The first matra he crossed paths with froze with wide eyes, staring between Cyno and his crutches, before sputtering a greeting and offering to escort him wherever he needed to go. Cyno politely declined, although he expected every matra in the building to be aware of his visit by the time he made it to his office. Akasha or no, gossip travelled quickly.

Trepidation rose in Cyno’s chest as he walked. The matra had never seen him so openly vulnerable before. Even in the worst of his illness, he had tried to maintain a strong front. To see them now, limping back weak and sickly, made him feel vaguely nauseous. 

But then he remembered the paperwork stolen off of his desk and returned finished, lunches and invites to take a break, TCG cards sent through Taj, and the pile of gifts on Cyno’s coffee table. 

The matra were his, and Cyno owed them more than hiding away in the forest. Besides, there were still loose ends that needed tying up.

He pushed open the door with his shoulder to the matra offices, revealing the rows of desks the lower ranked matra used. The room’s flurry of motion ceased for a moment before exploding in a den of noise and greetings. 

Cyno took a step back, overwhelmed. 

“Enough, enough!” Aarav called, trying to rein them in. It took a few tries. Many of the matra looked sheepish, some just grinned. 

Aarav approached and smiled. “It’s good to see you, General Cyno,” he said. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think you’d visit yet.”

“I was in the city,” Cyno said. 

“Well, welcome. We’re always happy to see you.” Aarav motioned toward Cyno’s office. “It’s still empty. I’ve just been at my regular desk.” Which was right next to Cyno’s office door anyway, although Cyno wasn’t sure why Aarav wouldn’t make use of the space.

Cyno received more well-wishes as he passed the quieter of the matra on his way to his office. He nodded in thanks to each one, but didn’t stop. It was too overwhelming to be at the centre of attention for that. 

His office was almost as he left it. The only difference was the lack of papers pertaining to his active cases he was fairly sure he had left on the desk. Beyond that, it was like nobody had even been in there, although Cyno knew that wasn’t the case. Somebody had to dust and water the ivy on his windowsill. 

He sat down and was relieved to find he wasn’t as sore as he thought he would be after making the trip all the way here. Cyno counted that as a win. It hopefully meant he wouldn’t have to spend the next few days in bed to make up for pushing himself too hard. 

Cyno looked at the desk in front of him. It was old, the wood cut from the divine tree itself centuries ago, and scuffed with age and use by every General Mahamatra since. Any damage wore away with time until all that remained were divots in the wood, carefully sealed and levelled by Akademiya maintenance crews when needed. 

How many people had sat at this desk? How many hours spent whirling away over one case or another while their families and friends waited on the other end of closed office doors? He couldn’t say. 

There was a knock at his door, and Cyno drew his attention toward it. 

“Come in,” he called, and Nayab appeared, bearing a large cup of coffee. 

“Here, sir,” Nayab said. “I was making myself one, and I thought you might appreciate it.”

Cyno did. He picked up the coffee and let the heat radiating through the clay mug seep into his aching hands. They shook a little when he tried to drink, as they always did now, but Cyno had learned how to handle that. 

Nayab shuffled, obviously trying not to stare at Cyno. “One more thing, sir,” Nayab said. “The Acting Grand Sage sent word that he’ll be dropping by this afternoon for a meeting. Something about paperwork?”

Paperwork that any number of people could easily do and give to Alhaitham. That fact that Alhaitham wanted a meeting meant he either had something specific to discuss or was using it as an excuse to miss work. Knowing Alhaitham, it was probably both.

It took less time than Cyno expected for Alhaitham to visit. He must have really been wanting a break.

Cyno suppressed a sigh when Alhaitham let himself in. The matra were watching with barely restrained suspicion as he closed the door. Obviously, trust between them and the rest of the Akademiya was a wound not yet healed. Cyno hoped having this meeting in what was clearly amicable—perhaps even friendly—terms would help ease some of that suspicion. It wouldn’t do to let it fester into resentment. The Akademiya needed a strong, united front in the face of the current political situation—both internal with the loss of the Akasha and external from the threat of the Fatui.

“You seem better,” Alhaitham said, sitting down without being invited. Typical. “I take it that since you no longer have a babysitter hovering over your shoulder that you’re recovering well?”

“Do you actually care about my health?” Cyno asked. 

Alhaitham shrugged. “It would be unfortunate for you to take a turn for the worse after our meeting and fracture what little trust the matra have. Also, Kaveh would be inconsolable.”

Cyno raised an eyebrow. Alhaitham sighed. 

“And yes, I actually care about your health. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Didn’t you tell me in Aaru Village that you didn’t care if I got myself killed?”

“That was before I would be the one having to do the paperwork for it,” Alhaitham said. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Cyno, assessing. 

Cyno was unbothered. He had nothing to hide anymore, and Alhaitham wasn’t half as intimidating as Lisa.

“I am doing better,” Cyno told him. “We don’t know how much I’ll recover in terms of mobility or reflexes, but they should at least improve somewhat, given time.”

“Which is why you’re here,” Alhaitham said. 

“Which is why I’m here.”

A moment of quiet passed between them, wrought with things left unsaid. Cyno didn’t particularly want to say them to Alhaitham either—a feeling that appeared to be mutual. 

“You could be Grand Sage, you know,” Alhaitham said suddenly, which was so out of the blue that it left Cyno speechless. 

“I’m from the desert, Alhaitham,” he said. It was the first thing he thought of. 

“So? Azar was from the rainforest and look how that turned out. You couldn’t do any worse than him. And even without that, you’ve more than proven yourself by now. Nobody could argue it without losing all respect from their peers,” Alhaitham said. “You were instrumental in aiding us in taking down the sages and freeing Lord Kusanali, who also has the utmost trust in you, by the way. Idiots writing on message boards may have forgotten that you’re an Akademiya graduate, but I assure you that the rest of us haven’t. Even now your thesis is still well regarded among Spantamad scholars. You’re well respected by your enemies and allies alike, and you’re trusted by both the matra and the Corps of Thirty. You have all the qualifications for the position.”

“You really are scraping the bottom of the barrel for replacements, aren’t you?” Cyno asked.

“If I stay in this position much longer, I’ll be stuck with it, but Lord Kusanali hasn’t liked many of the candidates,” Alhaitham said. "So…?”

“I’m not going to be Grand Sage, Alhaitham,” Cyno said flatly. 

“You do have the qualifications. I wasn’t overstating that,” Alhaitham pointed out. “And Nahida likes you,” he added after a moment, which seemed far more important than the list he had given. 

“The answer is still no.”

Alhaitham leaned forward. “What about just the Spantamad Sage then?” he asked. “You’d get to work with well-intentioned scholars like Kemia of Amurta, and without the burden of Grand Sage.”

“Still no,” Cyno said. 

He couldn’t be a sage, not after everything. It was never something he had been interested in, but after the betrayal from his own darshan, from the institution he had put so much faith in… it ached in a way he couldn’t fully explain. 

Alhaitham sighed and slumped backwards. “Figured. It was worth a shot,” he said. 

“You assumed I would say no?” Cyno asked. 

“You’re too smart to say yes,” Alhaitham told him. “Lisa was too.”

The thought of Alhaitham asking Lisa Minci to be the sage of Spantamad was outrageous. 

“Did you really ask her?”

“I did,” Alhaitham said.

“What did she do?” Cyno asked. If it had been anybody but those who helped overthrow the sages, she probably would have electrocuted them for the audacity.

Alhaitham made a face. “She laughed and walked away.”

Cyno could imagine that, too. It made him smile although he doubted Alhaitham could tell. 

She probably thought it was hilarious coming from Alhaitham, who also didn’t want the job. He would have to ask her about it in his next letter—he did owe her one before she got Kaveh on his case.

“So, what are you going to do?” Alhaitham asked, and Cyno stared at the scaled scarring barely visible on his hands. They were deeper on his arms, the pain a constant reminder of the damage done. 

“I don’t know,” Cyno admitted despite his displeasure. He didn’t like not knowing; feeling lost. It was easier to ignore when he was still sick and every action took momentous effort. He could ignore the fact that everything had changed, but now…

Alhaitham nodded and then stood. “Let me know when you figure it out,” he said. “I’m sure everybody is waiting to see what you do next.”

Which was part of the problem, really—so was Cyno.

Alhaitham wasn’t Cyno’s only visitor that day. The matra came and went, bringing flowers and food and other such gifts that Cyno didn’t know what to do with. At least the tachin Shohre brought from Jut was delicious. It was the first time Cyno had enjoyed it in a long time.  

The afternoon drew ever onward. Taj stopped by to see how Cyno was doing and scold him for walking all the way to the Akademiya without assistance.

“I’ve been in the desert with the Traveller,” he said, giving Cyno the coffee he’d brought. “We’re tracking down knowledge capsule smugglers.”

“That’s what you needed their help with?” Cyno asked. 

Taj checked the closed door behind him before looking back at Cyno. “It’s wrapped up with higher ranking Akademiya officials,” he said. “Acting Grand Sage Alhaitham agreed it would be best to deal with it sooner rather than later.”

There was something Taj wasn’t saying. Cyno narrowed his eyes, but Taj reached across his desk to squeeze his good shoulder.

“Trust me,” Taj said. “The Traveller is helping. I’ll tell you all about it after.”

Cyno wanted to argue, but it wasn’t his place anymore. Reluctantly, he agreed and let Taj move the conversation in a different direction. 

“Kaveh won’t be happy to find out you’re here.”

“It’ll be fine,” Cyno said. He had gotten good at talking Kaveh down over the years. 

Taj left to prepare for his return to the desert, and Cyno continued what he was doing. Writing reports, making notes for whoever picked up the investigation next, and closing files.

It was late afternoon when he finished. He stretched, cracking his back, and considered whether it was worth going home to his lonely little apartment or if he could get away with sleeping in his office like he sometimes did before. Probably not.

A knock on his door drew his attention. Cyno sighed and resigned himself to more fussing from his men.

It wasn’t a matra who entered at his call. Instead, it was a god. Cyno had spent enough time inhabited by one to recognize divinity.

Lesser Lord Kusanali—although calling her ‘lesser’ was quickly falling out of fashion—took the form of a child, but that wasn’t enough to hide her true nature. Her eyes were too old, too wise. The kind that had seen far more than any child should have.

Cyno recognized her, a half recollection from his dreams. Flowers and mist and morning dew, freedom from the weight of Hermanubis’ scales.

“General Mahamatra Cyno,” she said, her voice somehow both young and ancient. “I'm glad that we finally get to meet in person.”

“Lord Kusanali,” Cyno greeted, struggling to his feet.

“No, no, please don’t stand,” she said. A tray floated after her, held aloft by green sprouts of her magic. It held a blue gilded teapot and matching cups. She let the door close behind her. “And please, call me Nahida. I was hoping we could have a word, but there is no reason to stand on formality—not after everything you’ve done both for Sumeru and myself.”

Cyno swallowed dryly, but sat. He watched as Nahida sat in the chair across from his desk. It was almost too tall for her and her legs dangled over the edge, only her bare toes barely brushing the ground. The tea set settled on the desk between them.

“I’m sorry for not bringing a better gift,” she told him, reaching forward to pour herself a cup of tea. She silently offered him one and Cyno accepted with a nod of thanks. “I didn’t realize that was a common practice.”

“This is fine,” Cyno said, holding his teacup. “I don’t mind.”

Nahida took his words at face value and nodded. It was a relief after so long of being distrusted by those around him.

“I was wondering how you’re doing,” Nahida said. “I imagine it must be a struggle to adjust. Many things are different for you now.”

Cyno shrugged, his face remaining neutral. He wasn’t exactly comfortable discussing this with his archon. Well, with anybody, really, but he didn’t know Nahida—not like the others did.

Silence passed between them, heavy like lead. Cyno wondered what Nahida was really doing here. Was she unhappy with his decisions? Had she come to ask him to be a sage, like Alhaitham had? Would he be able to refuse if she did?

Cyno sipped his tea. It was good, a premier quality blend of the tea plants that were cultivated along the Yazadaha River. Tighnari always hated their name. Who named a plant “tea plant” or “tea tree” just because people used it for tea?

He watched in mild horror as Nahida added more sugar to her tea than was tasteful. She mixed it with the small teaspoon, the sound of quiet clinking the only noise in the room. It all looked so delicate in her small hands.

“Your friends are worried about you,” Nahida said after taking another sip of her overly sugared tea. “It’s better now than it was, thankfully, but they still worry. I hear it—the prayers they don’t realize are prayers.”

The tea turned bitter on Cyno’s tongue and he put the cup down a little too harshly. The sound of it hitting the saucer cut through the room. Nahida seemed unbothered by it. She stared at him, unflinching. There were few people in Sumeru who were brave enough for that, but he supposed if anyone was, it would be his archon.

“You should have died the night of the Sabzeruz Festival,” Nahida said, and Cyno blinked in surprise. He had known that, of course, but he hadn’t expected his archon to say it so bluntly. It was refreshing not to have to decode meanings of people’s words.

“Alhaitham said as much,” he replied. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that knowledge.

Nahida nodded like she expected that response. She probably did. “You would have died if I hadn’t intervened,” she told him. “Hermanubis couldn’t hold back the worst of your illness with the sages draining everybody’s energy. It was too much for your body to handle, although your spirit remained strong. I kept you there by keeping the last of your dreams from disappearing.”

Cyno didn’t remember that. To him, the Sabzeruz Festival was nothing but a blur of exhaustion and agony. 

“Tell me, Cyno, do you know what your last dream was?” Nahida asked.

He shook his head. Maybe it was of Hermanubis, of that endless fog and blood—his blood—covering his hands, of his own heart still beating in them.

Nahida—no, Lord Kusanali —held his gaze. It was uncomfortable to feel so seen beneath the eyes of divinity. She was no longer the woman who entered, the woman the others spoke of. She was the Dendro Archon. 

“It was of the Chinvat Ravine,” she said. “You dreamed of the coolness of the water and the warmth of the sun. You were picking Nilotplata Lotuses for Collei, who sat on the shore, watching.”

Cyno could almost feel the crisp water she described. He had swum in the Chinvat Ravine several times. 

“Tighnari was there, laughing despite how his wet fur clung in a way you knew he would complain about later,” Nahida continued, “and his voice carried on the wind like music. It was a soft dream, touched by fondness. The last thoughts of a dying man.”

Cyno swallowed dryly. “Why tell me that?” he asked.

“Because it leads me to a question,” she said. Nahida put her tea down and leaned forward. “Cyno, if that was your last dream, your last thought, then I have to ask—why are you here?”

He froze.

“I-” Cyno couldn’t answer. He could never answer. “I had to see my doctor-”

“Lies,” Nahida said, her voice surprisingly harsh as she cut him off. “You’re lying to yourself just as much as everybody else. Why?”

He didn’t know. “Tighnari needed space.” Another excuse.

“Yes,” Nahida said approvingly, like Cyno was a student who finally made the connection his teacher wanted. “Tighnari needs space—understandable, even if a chasm the size of Liyue’s didn’t separate you—but you’re recent actions are responsible for that. He still loves you despite the hurt, so why haven’t you reconciled with him?”

Cyno had no answer. He clenched his hands into fists.

“Why haven’t you told him the truth? Why haven’t you told him—told Kaveh or Collei—why you’re really here, what work you need to do so desperately?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why haven’t you told him about Hermanubis? About the cost you paid?”

“ I don’t know.”

“Yes do you,” Nahida said, her voice louder in the room than it should be, surrounding, digging into his thoughts. His chest ached with memories of Tighnari. “You’re still lying to yourself. You hate lies, Cyno, so admit it, accept the truth. Why didn’t you tell him you were sick? What are you so afraid of?”

“Everything!” Cyno snapped, slamming his hands down on the desk before him as he stood in a rare show of genuine anger. Tea splashed from his cup at the force of it, dampening papers left strewn across it. His heart hammered in his chest like it did when he was sick, his blood rushing in his head until he felt dizzy. If it had been before, Hermanubis would have stirred in his chest, but now all that remained was that same sickening emptiness he had first woken with. “I couldn’t- I couldn’t tell Tighnari because I was afraid. As soon as I told him, as soon as I said something, it was real. I would have to accept that I’d lose everything. Him, Collei, my friends and my family—I’d have to let go of it all, of everything I am. I couldn’t do it. They’re too difficult to leave. I thought I wasn’t afraid of dying, but I was, and the secret was easier to swallow than the truth.”

Nahida sat back. She looked satisfied. 

“You were so afraid,” she said, “every moment, every breath. You were paralyzed. You prayed for more time even if you didn’t realize it. Desperation like spilled ink, like a man trying to halt an avalanche.” 

“I- yes,” he said. He still felt dizzy.

“You aren’t a ghost, Cyno,” Nahida told him, sitting tall. “The remnants of your people's mistakes are not your burden to bear. You do not have to carry the weight of the desert on your shoulders. The audacity to be born is not a crime deserving of punishment.” 

He knew that, he did, but it still felt like so much. His duty, his oaths. The past that pressed on him until he couldn’t breathe.

“You aren’t alone,” Nahida reminded him. “Look around. Can’t you feel it? Your life isn’t a story already carved in stone. It needn’t be a tragedy like so many who bore your oaths before you. It is a river that carves rock in the direction it wants to go, and the water erodes all that was once written along its banks.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“You do,” she told him. She stood, then, and reached across the desk, putting her hand on his. “I know you’re tired, but it’s okay. You can put down your burdens, but you have one more fight left. Just a little longer, Cyno.”

He closed his eyes against the burning in them. Not everything she said made sense, but it resonated in his soul; the pieces of him that Hermanubis left behind when they made the deal for Cyno’s life—that Hermanubis would leave, would take Cyno’s powers with him. The cost was the emptiness, the oaths he would have to give up, the pain of that loss. 

It was worth it. Even now, even with Tighnari so far away, with Collei worried for him, with Kaveh likely ready to tear into him for working today, Cyno didn’t regret it. 

He was still afraid, but wasn’t that courage?

One more fight; the end of a war. Then he could rest. He knew the path to take. He felt it in his chest as strongly as his desire to end this.

“I have to go,” Cyno said, and Nahida let him.

He stumbled past her and into the matra offices. His men looked at him, and some called out, but Cyno didn’t listen. 

Later, somebody would discover the paperwork left on his desk, his official resignation from the matra and his election for Aarav as his replacement, and all of his cases wrapped up. There was nothing left. His cost.

Nobody stopped him as he rushed through the Akademiya or out into the fading sunlight of Sumeru City. The sky was painted with evening colours, but Cyno hardly noticed. He staggered, like a puppet, through the coming darkness, his mind full of cobwebs and gossamer. 

He left Sumeru City, taking the well-worn path toward Gandharva Ville—toward Tighnari. How often had he walked this path before, when he had nothing to stop him but his own duty?

His hands were covered in his own blood, his heart ready to place on Hermanubis’ scales.

The temperature dropped as the sun fully set, and the forest’s humidity stole the heat from his body. Cyno shivered but was hardly aware of the motion, too distant from his own body. He didn’t feel the sprinkle of rain that began to fall even as it dampened his cloak. It wasn’t a hard rain, but it was consistent.

He shouldn’t do this. It was too much strain on his body, and Cyno could feel it. His heart pounded against his ribs, his breath short and his legs aching. He tasted copper in the back of his throat as he gasped, but he continued; he had to continue, something deep inside him pulling him on with the determination he’d felt on the day they discovered Kasala’s tomb.

It was late when he finally arrived in Gandharva Ville, the moon high in the sky as stars twinkled overhead. The rain hadn’t stopped and Cyno’s clothes were damp even beneath his jackal-eared cloak to protect against it. All he knew was that he could see the silhouette of the village dimly illuminated by the moon and stars peeking through the dark clouds.

Cyno came up short, staring at the darkened huts. Tighnari was in one of them, probably asleep after a long day, or perhaps he was up late working like he did when he was too stressed to sleep.

He could come back tomorrow—he could probably even make it back to Sumeru City by dawn, although his body would make it difficult. Kaveh wouldn’t have to know he’d left. They could figure something out, they could-

No. No . Cyno could do this—he had to. He ran away once before, but not again; not now.

His legs protested the movement, but Cyno forced them onward and over the slippery wooden bridges. Nobody noticed him as he stumbled towards Tighnari’s house, barely able to keep himself up.

Tighnari opened the door before he arrived, his expression annoyed at what he likely thought was a traveller caught out on a rainy night and looking for shelter. He would have recognized Cyno’s footsteps if they weren’t so unusual, stumbling and exhausted.

His eyes widened when he saw Cyno, and he reached out, steadying Cyno with strong hands on Cyno’s trembling arms.

“Cyno-” Tighnari said, breathless and worried. “What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night—you’re soaked! Where’s Kaveh? Did you walk here?”

Cyno nodded. “I had to see you,” he said. “I had to talk to you.”

Tighnari ignored him and pulled him into the warmth of his hut. 

“You could get sick,” Tighnari said, fussing and beginning to strip Cyno of his layers. “Hypothermia can occur even in weather we think of as warm, especially if you’re wet. We need to get you warmed up. I have a fire going, I can start heating water for a bath-”

“Tighnari-” Cyno tried to interrupt.

“Are you hurt anywhere? Seven above Cyno, you can’t do this to yourself-”

“ Tighnari,” Cyno said again, this time grabbing Tighnari’s arms to stop him from running them across Cyno’s body to check for injuries. “Tighnari, I was afraid.”

That brought Tighnari up short. He stilled. 

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

Cyno breathed deeply, trying to slow his racing heart. 

“The reason I never told you—I was afraid. I knew that as soon as I said something, it would be real. There would be no way to take it back—it would change everything. I’d have to let go of you, of my work, my oaths, and then later of- of Collei, of family, but couldn’t leave you, Tighnari. I couldn’t leave this, leave us . Pretending was easier than admitting I was afraid of dying, because I didn’t know how to cope with what I was going to lose, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t-”

Water dripped from his hair onto the floor between them. The only sound was the fire and their mixing breaths. 

“Hermanubis is gone,” Cyno continued. “I let it go—it was part of the cost. My life hung in the balance, and I made a choice. I chose this, chose us even though I knew it would hurt—and it does. My oaths are gone; the spirit that has dwelt within me since I was a boy is gone.” He tightened his grip on Tighnari’s arms, chest aching in grief. “I officially resigned from the matra today. Aarav will replace me. I don’t know where to go from here, I don’t know what to do or who I am without these things that defined me, and that terrifies me more than I can say, but I chose you Tighnari. I chose you.”

“Cyno-”

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Cyno said. “If you ask me to go, I'll leave. Just tell me you need time and I’ll wait. I’ll go back to Sumeru City; I’ll let Kaveh fuss over me, so you don’t have to worry. You don’t have to stay with me out of guilt or duty. It will still be worth that cost. Just tell me. Tell me what you want.”

Tighnari took a deep, shuddering breath. He was a stone to Cyno’s frantic energy, grounding the adrenaline coursing through Cyno’s veins. 

“What I want is for you to sit down,” Tighnari told him very calmly. “I want you to let me dry your hair while you drink tea and warm up. I want you to take medication and sleep because your body is going to demand you pay for this tomorrow.”

“But-”

“I love you,” Tighnari said. He pulled Cyno close until their foreheads touched. “I love you, and I’m afraid, too. I’ve always been afraid of losing you to your duty. So let me take care of you.”

“I’m sorry,” Cyno said. His almost delirious energy was fading, replaced by exhaustion so heavy that his legs almost gave out beneath him.

Tighnari caught him. Tighnari always caught him. 

“Rest love,” Tighnari whispered, and oh, they were on the floor now, Cyno half in Tighnari’s lap. “I’ll take care of this; just rest.”

“But-”

“ Rest,” Tighnari told him. “You overdid it, and you don’t have the spirit of a god inside to pull on anymore. Let go, Cyno. Let yourself rest.”

Cyno did, slipping into a light doze, half aware of the world around him. 

Tighnari finished stripping the damp clothes and replaced them with something dry, followed by a thick blanket. He dried Cyno’s hair and held him against his side before the fire until the chill finally left Cyno’s bones. Cyno curled into his warmth, his head resting on Tighnari’s neck. Tighnari woke him enough to swallow down medicine and drain a cup of herbal tea.

Eventually, Tighnari lifted him and carried him to the small bed in the corner they used to share often. He set Cyno down, and Cyno forced himself awake enough to grab clumsily for Tighnari’s wrist. 

“Stay?” he whispered. 

Tighnari bent down to kiss his forehead. “Of course,” he said. He pulled away after. Cyno watched through lidded eyes as Tighnari changed clothes for sleep. Candles went out as he passed them, and he finally crawled into bed like he was crawling back into the fracture of Cyno’s heart. 

“I’m sorry,” Cyno whispered.

Tighnari moved a clump of damp hair away from Cyno’s face.

“I know.”

Unsurprisingly, Cyno paid for pushing beyond its limits.

By morning he had a fever, the flush dark on his desert-toned skin. He shivered in Tighnari’s bed despite the blankets layered over him, exhausted beyond reason and in too much pain to think. Tighnari was at his side, anxiously coaxing water and medicine into him and keeping damp towels on his forehead and neck. Collei came by too with whispered conversations that sounded like they were underwater.

How had Cyno survived months of feeling like this? How had he done it alone?

He clung to Tighnari’s hand with a desperate, half-conscious mumble of, “please don’t leave, please don’t leave.”

Tighnari’s replies were just as quiet as he combed through Cyno’s sweaty hair, his tone soothing. “I won’t leave. I’m here; it’s okay.”

The worst part was how Cyno couldn’t stay awake. It was like he was drowning, waking up just long enough to recognize his surroundings, like a gasp of breath before being dragged back beneath the waves. 

Kaveh came by at one point. Cyno heard his voice, loud and worried. He’d have to apologize for scaring him later. 

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Cyno woke with a mind that functioned—his body less so, but Cyno could deal with that. He had dealt with it for years, somehow.

Outside, rain pattered softly against leaves, pathways, and rooftops of Gandharva Ville, peaceful and familiar. It was too dark to be the clouds covering the sun, so it was night. Either very late or very early.

He wore the loose-fitting clothes he had kept in Gandharva Ville for years. They were even looser on him than they had been before. He still hadn’t gained back all the weight he’d lost, and it would take even longer to gain back the muscle, something he would do even though he was no longer the General Mahamatra.

Compression bandages covered his arms and hands. Cyno supposed that was the only reason he wasn’t in pain. He’d left the newly gifted compression gloves at home. 

Tighnari was awake. He sat in the bed next to Cyno, the fluff of his tail laying across Cyno’s waist as he read what was probably a new medical journal. 

Cyno relaxed, not realizing he’d tensed upon waking for fear he would be alone. Tighnari’s ears flicked toward him at the quiet sound before looking. Their eyes met over the pages of Tighnari’s text, and Tighnari’s shoulders lost their obvious tension.

“Hey,” Tighnari said softly, “how are you feeling?”

Cyno hummed, considering. “Tired,” he said, “sore. Gross.” The fevered sweat had dried on his skin and soaked his hair for days. He felt disgusting.

Tighnari’s mouth twitched upwards before he schooled himself. 

“That’s what you get for walking here all the way from Sumeru City in the rain,” he said, his voice scolding but his hand soft as he gently rubbed Cyno’s shoulder. “What were you thinking?”

“I had to talk to you,” Cyno told him. 

“And you couldn’t have waited?” Tighnari asked, exasperated. 

“No.”

Tighnari sighed and brushed a strand of hair away from Cyno’s face. “I certainly could have waited,” he said. 

Cyno huffed and curled closer to Tighnari. He already felt tired again. Would he always fatigue this quickly? He wasn’t sure how he felt about it if that was the case. 

“You should sleep more,” Tighnari said. “It’s still early.”

“What time?”

Tighnari hummed and looked outside. “About an hour before dawn.”

“And you’re awake?” Cyno asked. 

“I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep,” Tighnari told him, shrugging.

Cyno sighed and burrowed his face into Tighnari’s thigh. 

“I don’t want to sleep anymore,” he said, his voice muffled. “I’ve slept for days.”

“On and off for just over two,” Tighnari corrected him, reaching down to scratch Cyno’s scalp gently. “Pace yourself, love. Both now and in general. You don’t have the stamina you used to.”

And he never would again now that Hermanubis was gone. His chest panged at the thought. He’d given up his afterlife with those who came before him and severed the connection in his spirit to them. It ached, sometimes. The cost. 

But he had Tighnari. He was alive, and he had Tighnari. 

“What did I miss?” he asked. 

“Hm,” Tighnari said, thinking. “Kaveh dropped by in a panic because he couldn’t find you. He brought news that Aarav is officially the new General Mahamatra following your retirement—which you should have told us about before, by the way.”

“Alhaitham knew.”

“Alhaitham isn’t the rest of us and he hates sharing information,” Tighnari replied. “A terrible trait in a scholar, really. Information should be readily available.”

“This from the person who told students, ‘Don’t move anything. Don’t touch anything. If you don’t already know all about something, then don’t ask about it’?”

Tighnari let out an offended noise. “That’s because I’m trying to teach them to read and think for themselves instead of expecting-” he cut himself off. “This is beside the point. Either way, you should have told us you were resigning.”

Cyno nodded against Tighnari’s thigh. “I should have,” he agreed. “I’m sorry. I won’t keep secrets like that again.”

There was a beat of silence. Tighnari’s hand froze in his hair. “You’d better not,” Tighnari told him quietly. “I don’t think I could survive this again.”

Sickly guilt curdled in Cyno’s stomach. He pressed closer, hoping he could express with actions what he struggled to with words. 

Tighnari sighed and continued scratching his scalp. 

“Kemia has also been promoted to Sage of Amurta following Sage Naphis’ retirement. Apparently we’re the first darshan to elect a new replacement—aside from Vahumana, whose sage is the only remaining of the original six. I think Kemia is the most likely to become Grand Sage now. Hazm is replacing her at Pardis Dhyai.”

He’d already known that, but it didn’t matter. He was glad it was all official. 

“That’s good news,” he muttered.

“It is. It means nobody will bother me about being sage—although Naphis did ask for my help treating the recovering Eleazar patients. I told him I need time first. Rumour has it that Haravatat is also choosing between Rifeat and Amandeep.”

“Rifeat,” Cyno said. “Amandeep will turn down the offer. He enjoys living in Port Ormos and mentoring young researchers. Rifeat will take it, which will leave Vikam the only candidate for the Grand Conservator. It makes the most political sense and Alhaitham knows that.” 

“I always forget you’re good at politics,” Tighnari said. 

“I hate them. It’s the one thing I won’t miss.” And it was true. Everything else about Cyno’s job—even the paperwork—he had loved. But that was gone now, passed to somebody else. 

Cyno didn’t know where that left him. 

“What are you going you going to do now?” Tighnari asked softly. Sometimes Cyno hated how easily Tighnari read his thoughts—Tighnari just knew him that well, even now. 

Cyno sighed. He finally pushed himself up to sit next to Tighnari with his back against the headboard. Tighnari shoved pillows behind him to help with the ache. 

“I don’t know,” Cyno admitted, staring down at the bandages covering his arms and thinking of the scars hidden beneath them. “I’m not meant to be a Forest Watcher, or even to stay somewhere like Gandharva Ville.” Tighnari tensed next to him. “Gandharva Ville—you, Collei—is my home, but so is Sumeru City, and so is the Great Red Sands. I know I can’t travel like I did, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to, but I know I belong to more than one place.”

Tighnari relaxed at that, hearing the unsaid reassurance that if Cyno left, he would always return. 

“You should talk to Nahida and Setaria,” Tighnari told him. “They might have some ideas.” He didn’t say what those ideas were, but that was fine. Cyno wasn’t sure he had the energy to figure it out, anyway. He was tired, and being honest—open and vulnerable—took more energy than he expected.

“Are we okay, Tighnari?” he asked, leaning into Tighnari’s side. “I know I hurt you, and I know it will take time to heal, but do you even want it to?”

Tighnari was silent for a long time but he wrapped a comforting arm around Cyno’s shoulders. Cyno let him have the silence. It was the least he could do. 

“Kaveh and I were going to scatter your ashes in an oasis,” Tighnari eventually said. “We were going to bring you here and cremate you in Gandharva Ville so Collei could say goodbye. Kaveh was going to ask Lisa to buy us white clothes from Sumeru City. I thought- I thought for so long that I could save you, and eventually, I had to accept that I couldn’t, that you were going to die. That still hurts. You not telling me still hurts.” He closed his eyes. “Every time I close my eyes I see you dead, every time I sleep, I dream of Lisa coming to tell us that Eleazar is cured, only you’re already dead.”

Tighnari took a deep breath.

“I forgave you a long time ago, Cyno,” he continued. “I’m angry—furious, really—for what happened. That things could have been different if you’d told me. I could have helped you before things got that far. I’m angry at you for that, for lying and hiding and keeping secrets. I’m angry at myself for not pushing harder, at the Akadamya—which, Azar had better be glad he’s in jail because I would do worse things than Lisa.” Some of that fury leaked into his voice, but Tighnari calmed himself. “That all said, I forgave you on your deathbed when I decided that your peace mattered more than my anger, that my love for you mattered more than my grief. I wanted to know why; I needed to understand, but that doesn’t mean I don’t forgive you.”

Tighnari shifted them until he could look into Cyno’s eyes.

I can live with anger,” he said. “What I can’t live with is losing you.”

Cyno took a deep breath at that.

“Are we okay?” Tighnari repeated. “I think, now, that we will be.”

Because Cyno had chosen this. He had chosen Tighnari and Collei and Kaveh, the matra, the scholars who wished him well. It was worth the cost. The change, the fear—it would always be worth it. 

Maybe, now, he could stop killing himself for others who would rather see him whole. Maybe one day his hands would be clean of his own blood until all that remained were the stains beneath his fingernails.

“I love you,” he told Tighnari, although he knew, despite everything, that it didn’t need to be said.