Chapter Text
It’s been 102 days since I last saw Tighnari.
Ever since he graduated and left to be a Forest Watcher, we did not get to see each other very often. Sometimes I was lucky enough to have business in the vicinity of Gandharva Ville to have a reason to swing by and perhaps stay for a day or two. Sometimes I definitely did not have any business to be anywhere near Avidya Forest. But when you do not have a place to really call “home”, it is very easy to start associating this feeling with a kind of person. I mean- Researcher Tighnari’s stern repetitive lecturing and force-feeding of mushrooms is nothing like all the superficial connections I have with people in the Akademiya.
Merciless General Mahamatra, Unforgiving General Mahamatra, Terrifying General Mahamatra, “Don’t attract his attention or else-"
As if most of them are even worthy of my attention. It baffles me how scholars fascinated by the unknown are only terrified of me: just another unknown. During one of the first walks from the House of Daena with Tighnari, I was ignorant enough to say something about the flowers we’d passed by. And he went on a whole rant about how many plants in Sumeru have names that are contrary to their species. Sumeru rose is not a rose. Kalpalata Lotus is not a lotus. And well- Fearless General Mahamatra is not… fearless. Sometimes it’s just Cyno. Cyno as in the first line of every letter Tighnari has sent him ever since they had to put distance between them. Dear Cyno, I hope you’ve considered my recommendations about variety in your diet-
“General Mahamatra!”
“Here!” he screamed back hoarsely, putting away a stack of letters.
“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt you but I wanted to bring the papers you’d asked for before you depart.”
A woman with ginger hair in a high bun approached Cyno to put down a pile of manuscripts only to stop and pick up a dried purple flower off the ground.
“Oh, is this a Padisarah flower?” she asked while carefully twirling it in her hand.
Ugh. It must have fallen out with all the letters getting messed up.
“Indeed, it is. And thank you, Fariha. Appreciate it.” Cyno stretched out his hand waiting to be handed back his small treasure.
“Oh, here you are. Though wouldn’t you prefer to have a fresh bouquet? They are quite demanding but there are always a bunch all around Sumeru City.”
Cyno looked down onto the messy desk and dragged the new addition to the already towering pile of papers and books. He then placed the flower in one of the books still scattered in front of him.
“Remember how they say that it proved impossible to recreate the purple hue from the times of the Goddess of Flowers? I’ll answer your question with another: Isn’t it better to preserve it while you still can? Especially if you know you may never get the chance to recreate it?”
“These flowers are really in abundance and in no potential danger, as per our Amurta colleagues”, she chuckled. “But I guess analogies are ever-so-important with you, arent’ they?”
Without lifting his head, the corners of Cyno’s lips twitched, and he handed a pocket-size book to Fariha. “Here, take this. I’ve read it a million times. Maybe it will be of more use to you.” She put her hand on the book and paused:
“But I’m-”
“Take it. It is a shame you did not go through with your education. You must still be curious about these types of things, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Akademiya’s life does not have too many attractions.”
“General Mahamatra. I’m- just a secretary, I have no use for these things,” she said while bowing her head before him.
“Fariha, please. Take it. Consider it my gratitude for your help with my last-minute requests.” He pushed the book in her direction. “Besides, if you got interested in the topic of preserving – flora or else – or more precisely not being able to preserve something and feeling things slipping through your fingers like scorching sand… You’ll see.”
“But isn’t it written in the ancient vernacular of the Scarlet King era? I don’t-”
“I’ve seen what you read on your breaks. And no wonder you’ve ended up working beside me,” Cyno said jokingly.
Fariha, now completely paralyzed, accepted the book.
“Oops, but I’ll be taking this,” he fished the fragile flower out of the book. “Wouldn’t want to lose my favourite bookmark.”
Fariha took a few steps back when the door opened and another figure came in.
“General Mahamatra, the word is they are waiting for you in the Chasm.” Cyno turned around without a moment’s hesitation and nodded, barely noticeable. He moved to stuff his satchel with several stacks he could see on the desk and his bookshelf, while the two figures still stood at the doorway. The silence was deafening. The only thing breaking through the thickness of this silence was the quiet creaking of the wood underneath the man who started to uncomfortably shift his weight.
“Um- Great Sages also asked me to remind you that the General does not have to be too strict with the researchers whose topics have been already approved by the committee, seeing that their return will greatly benefit the present and the future of Sumeru and-”
“Right. It’s indeed my duty to help Sumeru by helping them.”
“Yes!”
“To remember their mistakes. Now get out.”
He wrapped his pitch-black robe around his slender body, with only a few strands of his pearl hair sticking out.
It’s 8 days till the final List has to be submitted to the Akademiya.
It is one of the many tiring duties of the Matra. This specific one has to do with travelling researchers, and this time it brings me to the Chasm. There have been rumours about budget issues for some but what caught my attention instead was the questionable methodology of their research. In search of their "genius" solutions, some do not think twice before causing harm to the local environment. Social sciences are not devoid of erronous ways too: unethical "social experiments" have been the bane of my existence. Perhaps visiting scholars would benefit from my visit to remind them of the basics of ethical and sustainable research.
It would be who-knows-how-many days until I could meet Tighnari again, if it weren’t for this assignment. To be honest, since I brought Collei back from Mondstadt, I visited the Forest quite often in order to check up on her and her condition. I tried getting all the info from Tighnari as I could see the ever-so-slight shaking of Collei’s hands during the first few times I was visiting. I would never want to make the kid feel scared ever again, so I tried staying with Tighnari as much as possible instead. Surprisingly, he was such a chatterbox when it came to listing every single reading assignment they did together, which survival skills she could work harder on, but also, how much emphasis he ended up putting on the things she’d accomplished. He was so absorbed in his narration that he did not notice how his tail was wiggling and his eyes were glistening in the setting sun. If I did not know better, I’d say he looked proud.
If I had known better, I’d have never gone back to the case already closed. An open book cannot remain a closed case. Tighnari, being an open book, blew the case wide open. It was during his first year in the Akademiya. It was impossible not to hear about the new botany genius in the halls of every Akademiya building, not just Amurta. My job has nothing to do with talent. I suppose, with quite the opposite: misappropriation, abuse and overuse of talent. Crossing a line cannot be accepted even in the name of Wisdom. Which is why the rumours and stories of a new prodigy did not concern me too much until there appeared talk of students fighting for his time. Many were desperate for his collaboration, not excluding several senior researchers. So I decided to keep an eye on the young Mr Tighnari to make sure nothing shady was going on. I ended up observing him for a week but in the end it seemed that he did not care much for anything but his own research. Even though you could hear him scold his fellow students, what always followed was another round of patient explanations.
Back then, I thought: this is an upright and reliable talent who has no questionable dealings. Threat resolved.
Threat was not resolved.
One time I was working in the House of Daena; well, “working” would not be the most appropriate word for it. I was looking through a collection of poems written by a certain artistic group of desert-dwellers. The poems there were not supposed to be recited, on the contrary, they were all about the visual presentation. The way characters, glyphs and stanzas arranged on the page conveyed additionals layers of imagery and symbolism is something you did not and do not find often. It’s not enough to read the text, you have to really look at it.
“Is it a leaf of a Labyrinth plant?”
I was so absorbed trying to decipher a few characters which I could not find references to in the known dictionaries that I did not notice how a figure with neon-green streaks in his hair stopped in front of me.
“The thing on your page. Wait a second-”
He jumped over the desk and ended up right next to me, brushing against my shoulder, his tail nearly pulling off my hood. His hand reached for the book I’d been towering over for what seemed was just an hour. But it couldn’t have been an hour because when I looked up the lighting was that typical of the overnight study time: why was anyone still here? My instincts told me either to forcefully pull the book closer to my chest or elbow the heck out of the unknown presence. You do not just creep up on me. Not if you are actually aware of who I am. But not like I did either of the things.
Only when his long fingers sprawled across the page tracing the lines and the way they bended and twisted, did I raise my hooded head to recognize none other than young Mr Tighnari.
“Huh? Well, if it isn’t a bit embarrassing,” he said. “For a second I thought it was an illustration of the Labyrinth plant variety I have not seen before. But I guess, ehm.. what’s this anyway?”
Tighnari took his hands off the book and pulled out a humble-looking but elegant looking glass. I was staring at him, taken completely off-guard by the sudden interruption and physical closeness.
“Oh, is it a puzzle I need to solve?” he asked.
Finally finding my language faculty, I let out, “No.”
“Anyway, it does look a bit like an outline of that leaf-”
“Only if you look at it from upside down and in the shadow of my head, I suppose?” I said being quite amused at this random encounter.
Rolling his eyes a little, Tighnari said, “Was that supposed to be a joke?”
“You tell me if it’s funny,” I replied, a small smile forming on my face.
“I’ll have you know that I am a leading student of Amurta,” he insisted with his arms crossed. “Oh, I know who you are Mr Tighnari,” I answered in hopes to rattle him.
“Hmph, no wonder I’ve recognized this annoying pattern of feet tapping,” his eyes shifting to my feet restlessly tapping against the marble floor of the Sumerian book heaven. “I kept seeing, or better put, hearing you all the time a while back. I thought you were also a first year. But considering that you never asked for any Biology notes or Ecology pointers, I guess you’re not from Amurta.”
“Ya think?” I whispered while performatively looking at myself.
“Ah. And the black robe, and the black nail polish… You’re not even wearing a uniform. You should probably read a chapter in the Akademiya handbook on dress code. I personally think it’s a bunch of pungent blewit but if they catch you, it’d be a shame. Or maybe it’d be a good lesson for you, who knows.”
“It blew what?” I laughed a bit too loud, which resulted in a distant sshhh!
“Blewit. Lepista nuda. An edible mushroom. You ignoramus,” said Tighnari, shaking his head, his earring making a pleasant clinking sound. He turned to leave when I blurted out, “But what do you call a mushroom that makes music?”
Tighnari took a second and rubbed one of his long ears, with his head to the side. “I’ve read extensively on the abilities of mycelian networks, and how mushrooms may talk to each other, and the trees. When it comes to music, though, I would not say that the make-up of any mushroom species would be capable of producing music as we understand it but indirectly-”
“A de-composer,” I said, deadpan.
“Huh?” he uttered, his eyes squinting.
Enunciating every word I repeated, “A mushroom that makes music is a de- (pause) composer.”
Tighnari stood there for a second not moving.
“Oh. My. Archon,” he finally said.
I tried really hard to stifle a laugh.
“Oh. My. Dear. Archon,” he repeated while stomping away and throwing one last glance at me.
When he rounded the corner, I looked back at the page with an outline of what I knew well enough was most likely the mythologised Labyrinth plant. I began tracing the lines myself, forgetting about the meaning behind the characters forming these lines.
I wondered: what did he see in it? And will I see him again?
I did. And I did. And I did.