Chapter Text
It has taken no short amount of time to coax their lingering guest from the shadows. Karasaad noticed them first, but eventually Ashkaari catches on to the little one always at the edge of his vision. They are never more than a passing shadow in the night. That his protector does not chase the shadow off sets him at ease and Ashkaari welcomes the visitor, shy as they appear to be.
It takes time, but Ashkaari is as patient as the sea weathering a stone. It pays off eventually. The flash of eyes in the dark does not always disappear so quickly. Once, Ashkaari is certain he sees a form, sliding like silk in the wind over a branch before slipping into the canopy over the creek.
Their shadow watches them both but tends to follow Ashkaari when he leaves for water. Sometimes he washes, cleans their garments or fills their canteens and other days he simply sits and meditates by sunset to the sound of the babbling creek. It always ends with chatter to his audience. Sometimes about the Qun, but more often not. Sometimes he speaks of home, or people they met along the road, places he wishes to see, how he misses his Vidathiss friends. Tonight he rings the water from his hair, wrapping his clothes snugly against the evening chill as he speaks.
"I often wonder if you are a demon here to tempt us." He smiles faintly at the dark foliage beyond him, "But I do not think a demon would make for such good nor quiet company. I think you must be something else. Karasaad does not seem to mind you. I think they might even enjoy testing their powers of observation against your skill with subterfuge."
A laugh.
Light like the tinkling of water on glass chimes before it stops abruptly.
"Was that you, stealthy one?" Ashkaari cannot help but smile, "You have a lovely voice. Like it was made for singing."
There is a long moment before he hears a sigh. He thinks of stones crumbling into the sea.
"I do not like to sing." The voice is measured and cautious, masculine with an unfamiliar edge to the words. Maybe Common is not his native tongue either.
"But I am sure you sound wonderful none the less." Ashkaari tilts his head in the direction of the voice. More silence follows. Ashkaari expects nothing more.
"Genji."
The word in unfamiliar and his confusion must be evident in the lack of a reply.
"My name is Genji."
He cannot stop the grin, does not even try, "I am Ashkaari. But if you prefer the humans call me Zenyatta."