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Snow was falling gracefully from the darkened skies, a shadow falling over the chilled landscape of the Shambali monastery, covering the temple’s floating statues with a white blanket. As if they were hibernating in their eternal meditations. Ramattra stepped thoughtfully through the snow, down the steps and out onto the plaza.
He watched his feet, leaving angular prints in the snow beneath, trailing behind him and he walked. A deep sigh heaved his shoulders, and he looked to the sky, crossing his arms over his chest. His metal was chilled, but flakes hit his white faceplate and withered away from the heat emanating from him. The water rolled off his face like tears, staining small spots into his tunic. He paid no mind as it slowly soaked the fabric that adorned his figure.
His gaze shifted, focusing on a figure a little further along, merely a spot in his vision— but he knew that shape, resting upon the snow covered stone, meditating in silence. His only company; the wind.
He continued his path, trudging through the snow as it got deeper, piling up just below his ankles. The figure became clear to him. Another omnic, like himself, different make. Different purpose, whatever that had been. He made a point to never divulge that information to anybody. Perhaps he was ashamed of it, he pondered. He was definitely ashamed of his old purpose himself.
“Ramattra,” He spoke without looking, his voice smooth and gentle, a warmth in his tone. It still shocked him every time he could simply sense him. “Have you finally come to meditate with me?”
“No.” Ramattra replied, standing a few yards away from the omnic before him. Feet planted firmly in the ground. “I was curious where you had gone.”
“Did somebody ask for me?”
“I just came to seek you out myself. Nobody required your presence.”
“I see.”
Silence filled the space between them for many moments. Ramattra did not speak, feeling rude as he was interrupting Zenyatta’s meditation. Ramattra meditated himself, of course, as all the omnics here did. There was a part of Ramattra that did not find it fulfilling, but he understood the peace and thoughtfulness it brought. Seeing oneself from the outside, in a strange way.
“Are you not coming back inside? It is quite cold.” Ramattra remarked, a certain sharpness in his question.
“Not yet. I am enjoying the cold. It calms me.”
He grunted in response, lowering his gaze.
Zenyatta released himself from his pose, turning to look over his shoulder at the other omnic. His expression permanently placid— no emotion to be read from his gaze. “You seem tense, brother.”
He stared back, slowly uncrossing his arms. “… Perhaps.”
“Won’t you sit with me?”
“In the dirty snow? Soil my robe?”
Zenyatta simply cocked his head to the side, not offering further guidance to his question.
Ramattra glanced around, wanting to avoid the somehow intense gaze of his companion, but finding nothing else in his hesitation to deflect onto. He stiffly walked up beside the other omnic, sitting himself down into the snow— crossing his legs and straightening his back. “Happy?” He asked, still avoiding making direct eye contact with him.
“Quite.” He chuckled softly, lifting a hand to rest it on Ramattra’s shoulder. “What brought you to me?”
“I already told you.” He said gently, keeping his eyes on the emptiness ahead. The flakes falling, copious amounts to the ground, across the mountainside was all that filled his vision. A blinding white.
“Perhaps. But it seems there is a reason more than curiosity, is there not?”
Ramattra turned his head aside, his chest rising and falling with a deep breath. “Well, if there is then I don’t know it.”
“You do not know yet .” Zenyatta’s hand slipped away, and he rested them clasped in the space of his crossed legs. “What troubles you?”
The question let Ramattra focus his gaze on the emptiness once more. So much, he thought, a million responses clouding his mind. He felt small, in the company of the other monk. Zenyatta seemed to know so much more, and yet Ramattra knew there was something in him he did not believe— the equality they strive for. It felt impossible. They had been trying for years, struggling for their recognition of life. But humans did not believe they were living. Rather, mindless individuals who were wrecking the binary they were programmed to obey.
Ramattra did not understand how his brother believed the “truth” so blindly. Their cause was futile. They were bound to the lowest chain of command since creation.
They were nothing more to the humans than scrap .
“You do not have to tell me,” Zenyatta said, interrupting his racing thoughts. He looked to the silver and gold monk, whose gaze rested where his had; into the distance. The snowy abyss. “I understand.”
Ramattra shook his head, filled with regret for doubting what he had been taught in his time here. “Brother, I don’t think you do.”
“Maybe I don’t. I cannot see what dwells in your mind. But, even so, perhaps I can bring you comfort.”
He scoffed, had he expressions it would have changed in that moment, softened at the idea. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
Zenyatta hummed, picking himself up from the cold ground and walking away from Ramattra. The other omnic turned, puzzled by his actions. He did not interrupt as Zenyatta bent down, scooping up powdery snow in his hand and examining it. He placed his other hand on top of it, shaping it and crushing it until it was more solid and spherical.
As Ramattra watched on, Zenyatta turned and threw it directly in his face. It was not painful, but it withdrew a sharp gasp as he hurried to wipe it from his eyes to glare at the other omnic.
Zenyatta laughed heartily, his arms across his stomach to hold himself.
“Oh, I see how it is.” Ramattra grumbled playfully, jumping quickly to his feet and picking up his own lump of snow with his large hand. “You’re asking for it!” He taunted, chucking it hard.
The slender omnic swiftly avoided his attack, making Ramattra curse under his breath, scooping up large clumps hastily as Zenyatta knelt to do the same. He took care to make it precise, while Ramattra was more focused on speed. Another snowball hit Ramattra square in the chest, making him falter on his feet. He grunted, feeling fueled by Zenyatta’s chuckles as he tried to avoid the onslaught of his messy snowballs.
This went on for some time. Running about the court, creating footsteps in the once pristine carpet of snow. Their laughter echoed through the walls; across the mountains that had not known such childish glee in a long time.
Finally he caught him, the large chunk shattering against his chassis. Ramattra pumped his fists in celebration, Zenyatta wobbling for a moment at the sheer force of his throw. “You’re doing well!” Zenyatta chirped in praise, before throwing another snowball in Ramattra’s face, cutting his little victory short.
“Flattery will not stop me from knowing I am losing.” He paused, wiping the snow from his vision. “If I can’t hit you like this, I have another idea.”
Ramattra sprinted towards his brother, who squealed in fear as the larger man grasped him firmly, tossing him into a nearby snow bank that piled up near a stone wall. Zenyatta weighed almost nothing to the ex-war machine. But all this running around was making him lurch slowly, like he was out of breath. “Got you.” He remarked, pointing triumphantly as he bent over to prop himself on his knee. Zenyatta was mostly covered in the soft snow, his back to Ramattra as he shifted feebly.
“… Zenyatta? ” For a moment Ramattra was worried his playful attack had actually harmed his brother. Sometimes he wasn’t aware of his own strength. He slowly approached, to find Zenyatta shaking—
With laughter.
Ramattra growled softly, putting his hands on his hips. “You worried me! Why didn’t you get up?”
Zenyatta struggled for a moment, turning onto his back to look at the other. He was still chuckling to himself. “I’m sorry. I was just pondering whether or not this was actually helping you.” He sighed deeply. “But, it seems to be working, does it not?”
He paused, remembering why they were even messing around to begin with. He was right. His mind was less clouded with doubt, less thoughts of regret or looming desire for something more he couldn’t have. It had brought him momentary ease, in the presence of Zenyatta. “Hm.”
“If you could help me up though, I would appreciate it.” He offered his open hand.
Ramattra took it firmly, pulling Zenyatta up onto his feet. His robes were still covered in snow. “... Sorry. I may have overreacted.”
“Don’t apologize, Ramattra. You did not hurt me.”
He hesitated. “But I could have.” He looked him up and down. “And I’ve messed up your clothes.”
“It’s fixable.” Zenyatta reassured, squeezing his hand tightly as it still held his. “Come. I can take these off to dry inside. It is getting late, and even more dark.”
“Oh… you’re right.” Ramattra looked to the sky. It had stopped snowing, but it was growing darker by the minute. The clouds were covering the sky still, which depressed him. He let Zenyatta pull him away, footsteps tracking back into the monastery, side by side.
Zenyatta retreated to his quarters, and Ramattra followed. They had different rooms, but often found themselves visiting each other's for long periods of time during the day.
“Let me take your wet clothes. I will hang them where they can dry.” Ramattra offered, withdrawing a fresh and dry set of clothes from a shelf for his brother.
“Alright.” He nodded, slowly peeling the damp clothes from his body, the robes dripping faintly onto the floor. He tried his best to fold them, offering them to Ramattra, who traded them for the dry ones. “Much appreciated.”
“Of course.” Ramattra exited the room, holding the dripping clothes over his forearm, leaving Zenyatta to change.
He did just that, slipping the new outfit on, tying a neat knot in the fabric at his waist, tenderly adjusting each fold and crease with his hands. He clasped them together, looking to the window of his room. Night had fallen over the monastery, and the snow had halted. He approached the window, looking out up into the sky. The clouds had parted, making way for the moon and the stars, twinkling brightly in the dark of the night.
Ramattra reentered quietly, watching Zenyatta’s gaze. He joined his side, resting a hand on the window sill.
“It is a beautiful night.” Zenyatta said softly, his voice filled with wonder. The world still amazed him, even after all this time, seeing it again and again. There was something about it that made him feel as if he was waking up all over again, discovering the joy of living for the first time. The beauty of it all.
Ramattra nodded. “It is. Truly. I’m glad the sky has cleared.”
“Me too.”
Silence once more between them. The wind blew pleasantly by, some hanging chimes ringing softly, filling the night with music. Ramattra pondered to himself the meaning of it all. If this was even real. It all felt like some cruel simulation to him, in a way. He couldn’t explain it. That at some point all the frivolous joy he was allowed to feel would end. Maybe this was true. But he was enjoying it so much, it scared him to ever face a fate where that was true. Where this happiness, this life, ended . Be it he is killed, or reprogrammed, what have you.
That he would be without peace. Without Zenyatta— without family. The things he had fashioned for himself out of fear of death.
It wasn’t fair.
“Ramattra, can I ask you something?”
Ramattra looked at him. “Anything.”
“Do you think the others see what we do?”
“What, the future?”
Zenyatta chuckled. “No— the beautiful sky.”
“Well, I’m sure they do. If we are looking at the stars, then I’m sure they are as well.”
“I hope they are.” He paused. “I heard someplace that humans wished on shooting stars for things they hoped to come true.”
“Wishing on a star? Seems a bit preposterous.”
“Perhaps. But… maybe it’s comforting to them.”
“… Maybe so.” He muttered bitterly.
“What would you wish for?” Zenyatta asked.
He hesitated. Power crossed his mind almost immediately. The power to end their suffering felt like a grand thing to behold. He did wish for that. Peace in his mind, another. A willingness to ignore all the doubts and troubles that hindered him.
“… I don’t know. What would you wish for, brother?”
“Oh, if I had to choose… I’d wish for us to succeed in our aid to us and others in need of tranquility.”
“That’s a good one.” He reached out and pat Zenyatta’s shoulder, looking upon his brother fondly.
They both went back to the stars. Staying up long past their time to admire one of the world's simple beauties they had the pleasure of knowing. Despite the hardships, the pain, the sorrow.
That night Ramattra eventually settled on a wish. One he could never tell Zenyatta. As he retired to his own space, it crossed his mind. As he prayed, it settled.
I’d wish upon a star that you don’t forget me as I was when I leave.