Chapter Text
In retrospect, seeing the dinosaurs of Ixalan explains all of Huatli’s poetry.
To Sarkhan the warrior-poet is still simply an acquaintance, but even he has overheard the stanzas she would mutter to herself in times of stress. Or, more commonly in this excursion, love sonnets as she gazed lovingly at Saheeli Rai.
The artificer looks out of place among the wild foliage and tangled roots. Sunlight gleams off her metal adornments, like the crystals of Ikoria he had visited a little while back. But while those grew out of the mana of the plane, Saheeli looks as foreign as an Abzan trader lost in Temur territory.
She follows the path Huatli leads with confidence, and whenever her delicate shoes catch on a root and she stumbles, Huatli is quick to catch her.
Behind them, Tamiyo and Angrath chat animatedly about their respective children. Having neither interest nor experience in parenthood, Sarkhan pays little attention.
Sarkhan finds himself, much to his discomfort, in the company of relative strangers at Narset’s behest. In the relative peace after the war on Ravnica, he finds himself traveling between planes for reasons sundry and mundane. If it were up to him he would find a plane uninhabited by humans to settle down and enjoy some long-awaited peace, but over and over he gets drawn into escapades at Narset’s insistence.
The woman in question walks beside him, taking in the surrounding scenery a scanning gaze. An onlooker would describe her as tranquil, but Sarkhan has known her long enough to recognize that she is brimming with wide-eyed wonder.
“Such formidable beauty!” she remarks as the group watches a family of dreadmaws hunt from afar, clumsy juveniles playfighting with each other as the two adults stalk through the trees with surprising stealth for their size.
“It must be a fierce storm indeed to have spawned creatures such as these,” Sarkhan begrudgingly agrees.
A few steps ahead, Huatli turns and stares at them. “What do you mean?”
“Dinosaur storms,” Sarkhan says matter-of-factly. “Surely these creatures you worship spawn from them, same as dragons from dragon storms on Tarkir.”
Now everyone save Narset is staring at him as if he has grown two extra heads.
Narset comes to his aid. “He means it as a sign of respect. Only the fiercest, most primordial of creatures are still born from storms.”
“There were never storms on Ixalan,” Huatli says, scratching her head. “Perhaps some tempests over the sea, but all the dinosaurs here hatch from eggs. Even the great elder dinosaurs were once small.”
“That is ridiculous,” Sarkhan counters. “Beings that so closely resemble dragons, the true paragon life form, do not experience something as ignoble as birth.”
“But animals are born,” Saheeli says. “Humans are born as well.”
“Inferior beings such as humans and beasts must stoop to breed.”
“Breeding is not some lowly act,” interjects Tamiyo, who has been rifling through her bags during this conversation. “It is a necessary process by which species evolve.” She holds out a book and opens a page. Its contents are inscrutable to Sarkhan for many reasons, the least of which being he cannot read the language it’s written in. Curling through both pages is a diagram of some enormous tree, with words and sometimes pictures of animals interspersed within them.
“Evolve as in mutate?” Narset asks.
“Mutation is necessary. Only the animals that survive to adulthood are able to mate, and thus the traits that allow for that survival become passed on. So if one group of dinorsaurs find it more advantageous to be small and fast, while another find it advantageous to be large and strong, then the two factions benefit more from seeking out others of their ilk. And eventually, the swift become raptors while the mighty become dreadmaws.”
“I was taught as a child that there’s a reason why different dinosaurs often share jaw shapes and features,” Huatli adds.
Saheeli studies Tamiyo’s diagram. “There was a scholar on my home plane with similar ideas. He theorized that some of the sentient races of our plane–humans, dwarves, and elves–shared a common ancestor, whatever that might be. And by choices of mate we separated into what we are now.”
Sarkhan glances at Angrath. “By that logic our friend is here because some man fucked a cow.” The minotaur snorts in anger, and Narset has to step in front of Sarkhan, arms out as a sign of peace lest a fight between the two break out.
“More likely an early bovine gained sentience, as humans developed from apes, and my kind from rabbits,’ Tamiyo says.
“So you better watch yourself, ape,” Angrath growls.
“I always thought there were once other mana storms,” Narset says. “And the dragon storms on our plane are the last remnant of them.”
The rest of the group stares at her. “You think there used to be sabertooth storms?” Angrath asks incredulously.
Narset smiles. “Yes.”
“Dog storms? Bug storms?”
“Bugs still swarm,” she replies.
Tamiyo opens her mouth to say something, but is unable to find any words. Sarkhan can’t help but feel a puff of pride at how Narset brought this ridiculous conversation to a close.
The group wakes up early at dawn to watch Zetalpa rise.
The great pterosaur raises its head to eclipse the rising sun. Its wings stretch far in either direction, matching the subtle curvature of the horizon.
In the face of dawn herself, Huatli stands tall, the first rays of sunlight gleaming on the pauldrons resting atop her broad shoulders. The light likewise glinted on the intricate filigree of Saheeli’s corset. The light dances between the two metals, so different in design and purpose, but so beautiful in contrast as well. It may be a trick of the light, but Narset thinks she sees Saheeli lean against Huatli and their hands intertwine.
Narset looks down at Sarkhan’s hand close to her own. There is a slight twitch; she wonders if it is from their closeness or an itch in his palm. She has held his hand before in passing, helping him up or pulling him towards a point of interest, but now she feels an urge to take it with no reason other than to feel his palm against hers and their fingers interlaced.
She breathes out and expands her awareness. She feels the cloth of her robes against her skin, the ground soft and loamy beneath her feet. She hears the beating of the hearts around her, Sarkhan’s beating the loudest next to her own. She takes a breath and modifies her heart rate until their two hearts are beating in synchrony.
His presence has become as familiar as the monastery bells once were. Since the war on Ravicna they have often traveled together, though they also spend quite some time apart. Though they are similar in age, Narset’s spark is much younger compared to Sarkhan’s. There is still much of the multiverse she has not seen; the skyclaves of Zendikar, for example, or the mechanized streets of New Capenna.
She goes to them now, and brings back trinkets and tales to Sarkhan, who for the most part has made a quiet home near the snarls of Arcavios.
Across the multiverse, Sarkhan is the closest thing Narset has to home.
She feels the dragonfire stirring in his chest but it does not frighten her. To her it is not the destructive wrath that destroyed Tarkir’s khans, but the warm hearth she would return to as a child. Somewhere safe. Somewhere held.
It has been a long time since she has been held. Why does she want it now? And why does it feel like jealousy when she looks at Huatli and Saheeli together?
She looks over and catches Tamiyo’s eye. The moonfolk gives her an indulgent nod, like her Ojutai teachers would when she was a child sneaking away to watch dragons fly along the cliffs.
Narset is no longer young. Why then this feeling, this centerless turmoil? It feels like something that belongs to the young.
And why, as dawn turns to day, does her body refuse to move?
The two of them peel off from the group in the evening.
“Well, that was fun,” Narset says.
“I suppose,” Sarkhan replies.
“The elder dinosaurs were impressive, wouldn’t you say?”
“You didn’t even pretend they were dragons.”
“No, I guess I didn’t. But I thought you wanted a change of pace from your stuffy professors on Arcavios.”
“I didn’t have to come.”
Narset chews the inside of her cheek. “I wanted you to come. When I visited it seemed like a while since you spoke with other sentient beings.”
“I don’t need enrichment ,” he snarls.
“Everybody does,” she counters. “Life thrives because of change. Otherwise there would be no nights or seasons.”
“I have plenty of both. And unlike you, I do not find the multiverse to be a gift . I would rather have my gift ungiven, my wishes unfulfilled.”
Narset focuses her darting gaze at him. “What do you want then, Sarkhan Vol?”
A pause. “To fade with time,” he confesses. “Once you piece together Tarkir’s history, there will be no more need for me.”
“I’ll still need you,” Narset counters. The words fall easily from her lips and she looks down in embarrassment. Quickly she changes the subject. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”
“What?”
“Assuming that everybody thinks like me.” With that statement she shrinks into herself, all of her previous confidence gone.
Sarkhan hesitantly reaches for her. “If everybody thought like you, the multiverse would be a better place.”
She allows his touch, though her body does not relax. “I assumed you were bored, all alone with no goals to pursue.”
“I am, but…I should not be allowed to pursue things.”
“Why?”
“The last time I pursued something, I broke the timeline of our plane so deeply–”
Narset slaps him lightly. “None of that now. If you hadn’t done what you did, I wouldn’t be here.”
Sarkhan nods slowly, the hand on her shoulder moving upwards until he can feel the thrum of her pulse beneath his thumb. The memory of the other Narset haunts him, the way her throat split open upon Zurgo’s ax.
But the Narset he is holding is alive. At this point Narset the Jeskai Khan is a distant memory, the smell of tea and the sound of folding paper, while this Narset is one of his dearest friends.
Or maybe more. Sarkhan does not give that thought more credence. His mind is barely healed enough to contemplate such matters. But still, his hand lingers.
To touch someone’s bare neck was an incredibly intimate act among the Mardu. To be so close to one’s vital force, given the power to destroy with a single swipe of dagger or claw.
He could never hurt Narset. Even if he tries, she would break his hand.
Narset’s pulse flutters under his thumb. She shifts to meet his gaze. Not looking at the creases on his forehead or some invisible imp on his shoulder, but truly looking at him, into the depths of his soul. Narset makes poor eye contact on her best days, always gazing off into the distance at some more interesting phenomena, even when she is thoroughly engaged with conversation. To hold her eyes still, looking at him, he knows to be a Herculean effort.
He honors her by returning her gaze. I’m listening , he says implicitly.
“Back in Ixalan,” she says slowly, “I wanted to ask. The way Saheeli and Huatli looked at each other…they are in love, correct?”
“It’s what I assumed.” There is no other way of conceptualizing the two of them in any other way. The way they look at each other when they think no one else is looking. The way their bodies seem magnetically drawn to each other, perhaps without them even knowing.
“Are we like them, Sarkhan? Are we in love?”
Sarkhan blinks, then blinks again. Under the scrutiny of Narset’s gaze, he is incapable of doing anything other than blink and breathe, the rest of his body stuck computing what Narset just said. And then he remains frozen still, remembering the words she said and then quickly obscured with self deprecation.
I’ll still need you .
He understands now why her heart is racing. At the same time he realizes that he still has his hand on her neck, and quickly withdraws, taking a step back.
Narset looks defeated as he does, her eyes drifting from his face down onto the ground. “Did I assume wrong?”
It is disheartening to see someone whose spirit is usually so expansive that it reaches far beyond her body shrink so small.
There is no hesitation this time as he takes her hand. “My life was swallowed up in the nexus when I turned back time. That I was able to meet you again is a miracle. You helped me close a hated chapter of my life. If ever there was an anchor keeping me from returning to the madness I once knew, you are it.”
Narset squeezes back. “Throughout the multiverse, you are my favorite familiar face.”