Chapter Text
Divest yourself of everything. Cast aside all loyalties, and surrender yourself completely. Your ego. Your personhood. Your life. Give yourself to the principles that uphold Akademiya, and snuff out the sins that threaten to corrupt our pursuit of knowledge. Prove your devotion to the seven principles as you take on the Mantle of Matra .
That was the oath Cyno had sworn his life to- not just once, but twice. When first joining the Matra’s ranks and not long after, when his devotion to justice had him appointed General Mahamatra. To preserve and protect the seven virtues whilst suffocating any embers of sin threatening Akademyia and all it stands for . And Cyno had never wavered from that belief. Not once.
Not even his temporary resignation shook those truths he thought he held dear. Truths obfuscated by the endless drone of information in his ear. And information he allowed to dictate his life. He’d been nothing more than a puppet then, and even now, as the dust settles, he can’t shake the notion that his thoughts are not his own-
“Another round won.” Alhaitham, interrupts without his usual brand of understated gloating. “That’s four in a row. If you aren’t going to offer any challenge, I’ll have to find another tcg opponent.”
Cyno doesn’t so much as bat an eye at his complaints. “If you can find anyone else willing to tolerate you for the length of a game, I’d love to meet them.” They sat across from each other, cards splayed out on the table before them. The lively atmosphere the cafe was known for instead replaced with the quiet chatter associated with the mid-morning seniors’ domino club meetings- now accompanied by Alhaitham’s labored sighes.
“So you agree,” Althaitham responds, again lacking any of his usual smugness, “that your performance has been lackluster.”...While still somehow displaying exactly why no one else was willing to spend longer than ten minutes in his presence.
No matter, It wasn’t as though Cyno could deny it. His strategies were pitiful at best, as distracted as he was. He looks away, gingerly shuffling the deck and dealing them out for another round. “I fear I’m losing my touch.”
“You can’t lose something never in your possession.” Truly, Althaitham was a specimen in and of himself. Giving no quarter, not even with stakes as low as this. “But normally, you display more strategy and skill than this.” Again he criticizes, and again it falls on deaf ears. “There has to be a reason for this abysmal display.”
Hm? “Is that concern I hear?” Cyno can’t help the quirk in his brow as he tries to smother his genuine surprise with the inquiry. It’s not like Haitham to ask after anyone, his interests laying solely at the feet of whatever subject he’d chosen to study. So forgive Cyno if he’s slightly taken aback by anything more than an invitation to play cards.
“Hardly,” The other responds without missing a beat. Haitham plays a card, letting his palm lie flat against the table between them, “It’s just that whatever’s troubling you is written across your face.”
Was it that obvious? Cyno can’t help but look away, drawing from his deck and playing a card at random. Now that things have returned to a somewhat tense normalcy Cyno has had more time to think- perhaps too much time. Recently the General had become aware of a… personal dissonance. It wasn’t anything incapacitating, just a slight uncomfortable inkling in the back of his mind while doing the most basic of things. At first, he thought it was just social anxiety, as it was only really felt while conversing with others- relying on humor more and more frequently. But that didn’t explain when that feeling bled into his private time. Bathing, changing, even now, in the company of his closest nuisance, something just felt…off.
Still, Cyno refused to dig any deeper than that, letting the scab lie for fear of whatever lay beneath. So the matra does what he’s good at, “Why don’t you cast your concerns to something that cares- perhaps the calendar? I hear its days are numbered.” If only he had a camera to capture the complete and utter exasperation on Alhatiam’s face.
But he can only commit it to memory, and eventually, the scribe drops his gaze with a disgruntled sound- but that's easy to ignore as his opponent activates his trap card, bringing Cyno’s health points down to a total of 500. “…If you insist on being hard-headed, then so be it.”
“I’m more surprised you thought me capable of anything else.” It’s said concisely, yet Cyno can’t keep the warmth from seeping into his voice. Without the constant tension of Akademiya lording over their every interaction Haitham had proven himself to be …not completely insufferable. At least not all the time. “Now, make your play. It will feel good to end this losing streak once and for all.”
Alhaitham pins him with that serious gaze of his a moment longer before placing a final card in attack mode, draining him of his life points. “That’s five wins…”
“And you’ll stay for a sixth.” It’s not a demand but an invitation- one Alhaitham accepts, making no move to stand.
The scribe eventually sighs, before setting about clearing the board. “Insufferable…”
“Takes one to know one. Now draw your cards; it’s time to duel.”
After another predictable thrashing, the two sat in relative silence. Dominoes clinked together in the background, their fire-glazed sides rattling as the older patrons shuffled them in anticipation of another round. Cyno was weighing the risks of asking for another rematch when Haitham spoke into the calm. “You should work with me.”
Cyno nearly drops his cards, “Excuse me?”
“You have the work ethic, and I, the work.” He responds quickly, busying himself with collecting the cards scattered between them. And when that clearly isn’t enough of an explanation, continues, “Becoming a Grand Sage was never my intention, no matter how temporary the position may be.” Ah. Cyno knew of his recent promotion. That Lesser Lord Kusanali had trusted him to record the events that led to her freedom and act as a Grand Sage for the time being but-
“Why?”
“The more work assigned to me, the less freedom I have.” The Scribe shrugs as though the reasons were obvious. “While idle hands seem to be doing you no favors. Logically the motion is sound.” But there’s more to it than that, more things to consider outside of logic or reason; their differing work ethics and clashing ideals, even something as simple as proximity during that time would be bound to have crossed Haitham’s mind, but the scribe says nothing of his own thought process.
“It appears,” Cyno responds slowly, “as though you’re trying to get out of your own responsibilities.”
“I won’t deny it,” the Scribe answers honestly, moving to stand, a single card left stranded in his wake. “But, I hope you’ll consider the offer.” And just like that, the cryptic bastard leaves to do…whatever he does, his copy of Featherfall Judgment lying untouched.
“I thought you were supposed to be resting?” He can’t help but call out when a tail passes by. It’s a rare occasion indeed to find the fox anywhere near one of Sumeru’s more urban centers, but ever so often- if luck were on his side- Cyno would catch a rare but familiar sight.
Tighnari perks up at the sound of his voice, ears twitching as he peaks over armfuls of leafy greens, the bushels the same shade as the strands of hair framing his face. For a moment, he seems lost- something even rarer considering his naturally heightened senses, yet eventually, those green eyes find him, his gaze softening as they meet. Despite his calm demeanor, Tighnari’s tail was quick to give away exactly how he felt. It waved like a flag behind him as he wandered over, “I was… but, per the doctor’s orders, I’m running a few errands- light exercise.”
Doubtful . But rather than call the lie out for what it was, Cyno simply asked, “I wasn’t aware you were under the care of another. Which doctor?”
Tighnari’s ears (predictably) flatten against his skull, “…I am a doctor, you know.”
“A doctor of mycology. And even then, you refuse to adhere to your own medical knowledge….” it’s said, half in jest and half seriously. Tighnari was stubborn to a fault, and nothing proved that more than his time spent recovering.
The fox doesn’t seem discouraged by his words- not with that smile leaning towards a smirk gracing his face, “And here I thought Matra fought against hypocrisy,” He starts towards his home. It’s a slow gait- favoring his left side, opposite to his bow hand. A consequence of his wound- the injury making itself known in the smallest of ways. Still, Tighnari tries to keep up appearances, turning to Cyno with a knowing look on his face. “Tell me, when was the last time you took any time for yourself.”
He has…he’s taken time off before this…at some point…probably. ”I…that’s a relative assessment.” Cyno starts, following behind the botanist, “Just this morning, I enjoyed a few competitive games of tcg and-“
“Without it being mandated.” oh.
Returning as General Mahamatra had been his plan, but the changes to Akademyia’s structure had made that transition…difficult. All fields of study had ground to a halt as the new sages were nominated and considered by the lesser lord, which by association had brought the Matra’s general modis Operandi to an end. Dehya had told him to think of it as a vacation, Haitham told him not to complain, and now was Tighnari’s turn to bestow advice. Even without the Akasha Terminal, it seemed everyone had an opinion of his newly freed schedule. The only one who had no idea what to do with all this free time was Cyno himself.
He must have been silent too long, as Tighnari falls back with something akin to pity on his face, “That’s only to say that you don’t need a reason to rest, Cyno.” But that was the thing- it didn’t feel restful. Especially now with that lingering sensation coming to the forefront in the wake of Tighnari’s gentle smile.
Cyno needed a distraction. Something to get his mind off…this. “If that’s the case, then let me help carry those.” The request spills from his lips before he can really think about it.
He wasn’t the only one caught by surprise if the bewildered look on Tighnari’s face were anything to go on. “Hm? I mean, herbs aren’t famed for being heavy…but if you’d like to help with the cooking, I won’t refuse you.”
Cyno takes the offending plants from Tighnari and starts down towards the forester’s home, “I doubt you’d refuse me, even if you wanted to.”
He pauses when the archer’s light steps don’t follow his own, turning back to see Tighnari standing stark still, bathed in the vivid yellows and reds of the setting sun just past Cyno. Haloed like this, his shadow is cast upon the fox, soft features scrunched up into a look of exasperation as he squints at the Matra, “…Is that supposed to be a challenge?” he asks, voice flat and ears flatter.
“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.” In the end, dinner reveals nothing Cyno hadn’t already gleaned about Tighnari- mainly that the man was incredibly stubborn and steadfast- until it came to Cyno.
For some reason, Tighnari had taken it upon himself to care for the Matra- be it the not-so-gentle way he wrapped Cyno’s wounds or his scolding of the Matra’s choice in attire as he applied aloe across the severe sunburn on his lower back, or inviting him for mushroom stew like tonight. “You know,” Tighnari had started over dinner, looking pointedly across the table at the Matra, “you can always stay here if having time off is such a curse for you. I can always find something to keep you busy.” Case in point.
“No matter how many times you ask, I will not do your paperwork for you.”
Tighnari quirks a brow at that but lets the insinuation stand, instead gracing Cyno with a smirk, “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” The Matra‘s spoon clanks against the empty ceramic bowl as he stands to collect them. He takes his time with it, almost relishing in such a domestic task. It isn’t often that Cyno has so much as a plate to eat from, much less time to sit and enjoy a meal like this. Cyno lets a slight smile curl on his lips, “You were worse than Mark from our Akademyia days.”
“Mark?” The fox tilts his head curiously, going through a mental catalog of their shared acquaintances as he, too, starts cleaning up.
“Mmhmm, I lent him my dictionary, which he never returned. The last time I saw him, the only thing I could say was: Mark, my words.” Tighnari’s brow furrowed as his ears fell flat against his scalp. Hmm, perhaps an explanation is in order. “Do you not understand? It’s a play on the phrase: ‘Mark my words’, the idea being-“
“I know what your mean,” Tighnari responds flatly as he reaches out, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing against Cyno’s own, as the dishes are taken from him with ease. “I just think you're wrong in your assessment. I’m not recruiting you to do my paperwork…no matter how nice that thought might be.” That last bit was a rushed whisper, letting Cyno know just how right he’d been- before launching right back into the conversation. “It’s not a crime to prefer fieldwork over paper pushing.” Tighnari shrugs Cyno off easily, making his way to the sink, and Cyno lets him, left to wade in his own thoughts.
He knows it was only said in jest, a flippant remark meant to excuse his own preferences, but Cyno can’t help but marvel at how he’s so… sure of himself. Tighnari’s likes and dislikes were proclaimed without any pretense or thought. He knew himself- no, he was confident in himself and his actions as an individual. Meanwhile, the only thing Cyno felt sure of at the moment was that he was unsure . He buried himself in his work as a Matra, keeping his head down and his nose to the grindstone, only to look up one day…and realize just how lost he was. He supposed that lack of identity was always there, writhing just under his skin- he’d simply ignored it. Ignored his own personal tastes in order to chase ‘ justice’ as defined by the Akademyia. Only to be tossed aside. “I…I should be going then,” It’s said quietly, the air growing slightly too thin and warm for the Matra to breathe. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
Tighnari’s tail falls at that, turning from the sink with a puzzled look on his face, “Are you sure? It’s getting late and-“
“I just…have some thinking to do.” He cuts the fox off, unsure if he’d be able to hold his ground with Tighnari looking at him like that- if his will were as weak as everything else about him.
He stumbles out into the street, in such a hurry to go nowhere, that he nearly trips over himself. Hyper-ventilating. That’s what this was, that panic rising in his chest, cutting each breath short and forcing him to gulp the air down, faster and faster as if there simply wasn’t enough air to breathe. It’s not like him to panic like this-
But is that even true? How would he even recognize what’s ‘like him ’ when he barely knows himself. Cyno had clung to a love of tcg, and that was it. He’d staked so much of his personality in the work he championed that every second he spent spiraling only seemed to prove that point. Because, without his work to define him, then….who is he?
A storm was rolling in; he could feel it on the wind. It felt like swimming, the wave of humidity washing over him. He could barely breathe like this; the night air felt so suffocating in the moment, but it wasn’t as though he could stop. Having rebuffed his friends and colleagues, he could handle this… this crisis of self on his own. He’d weathered worse after all.
His panic had brought him to the outskirts of Gandharva Ville just as grey clouds began to gather. The condensation congregated in the sky, blocking the last rays of sunlight as the star crested the horizon. Lightning flashes in the distance, the only prelude to the rain. Celestia opened in what seemed like seconds, the deluge falling to the earth as if the water could simply wash everything away. It ran down his helm soaking through what little clothing he wore, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to return. The rain had those with sense scattering, running to take cover in their homes and with their loved ones, leaving Cyno standing alone in the street. And surprisingly, he didn’t mind it. The isolation was nice, a temporary reprieve from all the expectations placed upon him, even if he couldn’t escape those he placed on himself. That’s why the rainwashed path looked so…inviting. It made him want to keep walking in spite of the frigid rains and stiff winds, bare feet pressing into the mud without thought of where or why he went. He simply did.
There were more paths than clues, so he walked them all. Losing himself in the storm- if such a thing were possible. Can you even get lost if you have no clue where you're going? No sense of self. No destination. Nowhere to be. He stood in the rain, dark clouds swirling over his head and lighting flashing just out of view. Aimless wandering brought him to the desert, the wet sand between his toes a comfort in spite of the storm. Touch as his guide, Cyno felt along the sandstone walls that line the deserts and protect the neighboring forests. It was easy to find shelter here, as he’d done so many times before, his fingers finding a shallow alcove in the stone. And just like that, he is reminded that this, too, is a reprieve. A break from the storm raging just outside. So he rests, laying still as the thunder heralded the lighting.
Waking up alone in the desert should have been terrifying if Cyno didn’t camp under the stars on a daily basis. A yawn pulls itself from deep in his chest as he sits up, stretching as the sun begins its ascent. It glinted off the sands, casting its light over the locks of white hair pooling at his waist. Huh.
“…fascinating…” Cyno lifted a strand of silvery hair and watched it curl around his fingers and fall past his- oh . Well…those were certainly new. Without a mirror, Cyno had no way of discerning just how… well endowed he’d become- but considering the new aches radiating throughout his shoulders and spine, he could make an educated guess. Without sounding too crass, he did feel them, palming at his once chiseled chest- pulling away the moment his slender fingers brushed against the peaks of those breasts, marveling at their newfound sensitivity. His new…features certainly felt real enough, large and cumbersome- considering his usual dress.
At the very least, his lower half hadn’t changed enough to warrant a- oh.
His shorts felt tighter, the fabric tearing at the seams as it struggled to contain his sudden…growth spurt. And logically, that pulled what little fabric he wore…taut.
He again explored this new change- gently this time- as his hands ghosted at hips that were decidedly not his. Laying a hand against his own thigh, he presses down, only to watch the fat give in a way his body hadn’t in years. Another test squeeze proved it to be baby fat padding his hips and rear.
Then there was…the other situation to address, one that technically this didn’t need any exploration. That particular organ was simply not there anymore- that much was clear but-, he couldn’t help but give into his own curiosity, this time venturing lower and lower until his fingers brushed against the slit right between his legs- and pulling away quickly- that thin piece of fabric the only barrier.
This was a matter to be researched. He thought back to the day's events, and, then later, the storm. But that couldn’t have caused such an atypical reaction in the matra. He’d weathered storms like this before, all without this… transfiguration.
That’s the other problem. As it were, Cyno was stuck in the forest, effectively topless. At the very least, he was thankful that whatever transformation he underwent last night caused his hair to grow long, falling well past his shoulders- allowing him to keep some semblance of modesty.
He takes in his surroundings, noting the sweeping sand on all sides from the cliff face. The closest village was Aaru… He could only hope that Candace had an extra shirt.