Chapter Text
Tighnari knew he was fortunate for nights like these.
Peaceful, soothing rainfall pattering on oversized leaves as the sound of the water drowned out every other noise in the world. The smell of the recently extinguished candle, the soft light of the moon gently filtering through the windows. He felt most at peace when it rained, like someone had literally taken a weight off of his shoulders. His mind cleared, his posture relaxed, and he always had improved sleep quality.
Tighnari knew where he would be, if he had made different choices. Perhaps he’d be locked up in a teacher’s apartment, grading papers into the tender hours of the night, handwriting smudged and messy from fatigue. Tighnari was lucky. He knew that.
So he tried to enjoy these nights not only for himself, but for the others who could not. Whether that be his friends in the Academiya, his friends who traveled from place to place, and his friends who were carrying out their duties away from home. He hoped they would find solace in his peace. It was selfish, and perhaps a bit childish too, but nobody would ever hear these thoughts. Well, except Lesser Lord Kusanali. Maybe.
Pushing the thought aside, Tighnari let the sweet serenades of gentle raindrops guide his consciousness to a much needed rest.
•
•
•
When Tighnari awoke again, the rain had not stopped. Not uncommon, he did live in a rainforest after all. However, something was off, his biological clock told him that the sun had not yet risen. And the shadow that his hut was shrouded in only confirmed this fact— the clouds had gotten thicker and the moon had yet to set.
The Valuka Shuna sighed heavily and dramatically turned over in his bed, face toward the wall and covers pulled up to his chin. There’s no way he was going to let a little insomnia ruin his perfect rainy-night, he was milking this little storm for all it’s worth.
Unfortunately for Tighnari, some unknown being decided that now was the perfect time to make strange noises, despite the fact that this was supposed to be a peaceful rest for the head ranger. Archons, couldn’t he have one night? One night where he just slept through the moonlight unbothered?
Wet, slapping sounds descended on the sleek wood, making Tighnari’s ears shoot straight up. So much for going back to sleep. This *thing* had him on high alert now, and whatever it is doesn’t know what’s about to happen to it. To disturb Tighnari’s sleep on a rainy night? That just did not fly around here.
The sound got closer, and closer, slow, steady inflections of the same tone. Tighnari tensely propped himself into a sitting position on his bed, hand already clasped around his Vision. Just in case. Though the ranger’s hearing was immaculate, he couldn’t discern a mysterious creature’s intent just by the sounds it was making. That’s practically impossible.
As the world seemed to hold its breath, the mystery being became silhouetted against the giant leaf that served has Tighnari’s “door”, pointed ears and slender polearm. He found his shoulders relaxing before the figure even stepped inside his hut.
“Cyno,” he whisper-shouted, ears flattening against his head, “You were this close to being Bloomed to death.” Tighnari held up two fingers and pinched them together, careful to leave a minuscule space between the tips. “Are you insane? Why are you slinking around Gandharva during a rainstorm?”
“Hey, ‘Nari,” was all he got in response, the Electro allogene swaying on his feet a little.
Tighnari quickly sprang out of his bed and moved to light a candle, eye trained on Cyno’s drenched form. “Don’t you ‘hey ‘Nari’ me,” he scoffed.
Soft, orange light rippled around the room, shadows growing and shrinking in tune with the flame. Tighnari placed his Vision back on his nightstand, brought both hands to his hips, and swished his tail for good measure. Then he finally got a good look the general, soaked to the bone and honestly very disheveled.
Besides the fact that Cyno had very obviously trudged to Tighnari’s hut through the rain, and was therefore drenched, the General Mahamatra looked like he’d been through hell and back. He was not wearing his all-black traveling cloak as he normally did on his visits to Gandharva, but instead wore his glittering desert regalia. Gold adornments, purple accents, and of course, his headpiece in the shape of Anubis. Coupled with the massive staff he loosely clutched in his right hand, Cyno looked like he’d just lost to a spinocrocodile.
Cyno still hadn’t responded to Tighnari’s earlier chastising, seeming to stare right through his counterpart with a glassy expression. Tighnari cautiously moved closer. He flicked his ear once, twice, then took another step. Cyno showed no signs of attentiveness. It was now, only at this distance, that Tighnari could finally see what the issue was.
Behind the water droplets that littered Cyno’s skin lay angry red rashes, coupled with hundreds of small cuts and the beginnings of bruises. Tighnari inhaled sharply as he brushed his hand over the general’s arm, swiping away the water and feeling muscle tense beneath his touch. Cyno had burns everywhere. Though thankfully only minor, first degree burns, they still covered nearly every patch of exposed skin.
Tighnari tore his gaze away from the burns and connected his sight with Cyno’s, who was practically running on pure adrenaline now. He could see it slipping. The way his posture slumped now that he had Tighnari’s full attention, the polearm that was soon to clatter to the floor, the expression of relief that he wore. Tighnari laid a gentle hand on his chest, feeling his counterpart lean into the contact. The ranger adjusted the piece of gold that crossed over Cyno’s chest, and to his surprise, the general winced. Hot, labored breaths descended on Tighnari’s neck as Cyno fought to remain standing, and Tighnari wasn’t having any of it.
“Cyno,” he sighed, “Sit down. Let me look at it.”
The general did as he was told, knowing better than to fight with Tighnari on matters like this, slumping onto the ranger’s bed without a sound. Tighnari pulled his chair over from his desk and placed it in front of Cyno, hands already engaged in removing the clothing that obstructed his work. The gold piece clattered to the ground as Tighnari tossed it aside, and in the light of the candle, he was genuinely horrified at what lay before him.
A massive, bloody gash sat festering beneath Cyno’s apparel, scabbed over in multiple places and still bleeding in others. The cut itself was dangerously close to vital areas, much to Tighnari’s further dismay. It looked horrendous. Cyno had come to Tighnari in the middle of the night bleeding and exhausted before, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to see the general in such a wounded state. But a wound that was one step away from being fatal? That sent Tighnari’s endless worries into action.
“Archons, Cyno! Why would you put your armor on over a cut like that?”
“Stopped the bleeding.”
“No, it didn’t!” Tighnari continued to whisper-shout, “You might’ve made it worse. That wound could get infected, and it’s so close to one of your major arteries.” He gently, but firmly tapped a finger on Cyno’s shoulder, right in between the bone and his neck.
Cyno didn’t say anything to that. He just looked at Tighnari with that same expression he always wore when working, loopy from the pain underneath it all.
Unfortunately for Cyno, Tighnari wasn’t done. He sighed deeply, the dropped his hands dramatically to his knees. “Not to mention all these burns. What in the name of Irminsul were you fighting?”
The ranger got up from his seat and angrily pulled down a mortar and pestle from his shelves, running his fingers along the collections of medicinal plants he kept. Cyno’s response came quiet and monotone, barely audible above the relentless drumming of the rain.
“Pyro Abyss Lector.”
Ah. Well, that explained the burns.
Tighnari shoved a kettle onto his small stove and lit the fire, then turned back to Cyno with the recently finished poultice. “That cut is going to need stitches,” he sighed, opening the drawer that held the needle and thread. “Think you can handle it?”
Cyno nodded, as Tighnari knew he would, setting his jaw in preparation. The poultice needed time to mingle, and the water time to boil, so all that’s left was cleaning this massive gash and putting it back together. Tighnari disliked giving stitches. Especially to Cyno, who just sat through the entire process in silence, not a single sign of discomfort showing in his features. When Tighnari gave stitches to anyone else, he would talk them through it, as a way of calming his patient and his own nerves. Botany experiments were different, he usually had multiple specimens to fall back on if something went wrong. Not like people. People were so delicate, so precious. Just the thought of a mishap sent shivers down Tighnari’s spine.
Cyno never knew this, obviously, since he was only ever half awake when receiving said stitches. Tighnari bit back his apprehensions and delicately cleaned the wound, then his own hands. They sat in tense silence as the needle punctured skin, thread stretched over the gash, and dug back under. Over and over again it went, nothing to disrupt the ranger’s focus besides the rain and the bubbling of the kettle.
It didn’t seem to take very long, which was perfectly fine by Tighnari, and soon he was snipping the thread and getting up to retrieve bandages. The process had caused some more minor bleeding, so he couldn’t do anything other than carefully cover the wound until the morning. White bandages soon wrapped around the general’s chest, amber eyes still locked on Tighnari’s form. He applied more bandages to the angrier burns, poultice along with it, and by the end of it all, Cyno looked like a glorified mummy. Tighnari removed his headdress and laid the back of his hand on Cyno’s forehead, faces inches from each other.
Just as he expected, Cyno had developed a fever thanks to all those wounds. Tighnari sighed for the millionth time that night and dropped a few tea leaves into the kettle as he removed it from the heat, careful to extinguish the fire. What in Teyvat was he ever going to do with him? Getting severely wounded often enough that Tighnari barely asked why he showed up bloody and exhausted, time after time. Not only was it very detrimental to Cyno’s body, it was extremely detrimental to Tighnari’s mind. Each day that passed without seeing Cyno felt like a ticking time bomb, not knowing whether or not he would ever get to see the stupid, selfless general again.
He handed Cyno the steaming cup of tea, then watched as he dutifully took a few sips. Through all of his worries, Tighnari still found peace in these moments. Knowing Cyno trusted him enough to choose his residence instead of Sumeru City, the solidarity in knowing that he himself administered treatment. Tighnari found that even though he trusted the doctors at the Bimarstan with most things, he didn’t trust them with Cyno. How odd.
“Have a few more sips, then lay down. All that blood loss gave you a fever, but the Nilotpala lotus in the tea should help keep you at a reasonable temperature.”
Cyno nodded, then took another drink. He still just…sat there. Disassociating, most likely, but it was still strange to look at. Seeing Cyno be anything other than alert or asleep just felt wrong.
Cyno placed the cup on Tighnari’s nightstand and delicately positioned himself under the covers, laying on his back with his head tilted to one side. Tighnari had observed that Cyno was generally a side-sleeper, but his wound prevented him from doing so. Honestly, the fact that Tighnari’s knew Cyno’s sleeping patterns was a little sad. How many times had he stumbled into Gandharva Ville looking like this? Enough times for Tighnari to start picking up on his behavioral patterns, it seemed.
Tighnari picked up one of his spare blankets from the foot of his bed and draped it on the chair, then double checked his security measures. The fire on the stove was out. The candle—Tighnari pinched his fingers over the wick—was out. The dendro-infused trap he had by the door was set. His windows were covered. The roof held sound against the rain. Everything checked off like a list in his brain, the only thing left now was to finally go back to sleep.
With the empty cup still on the nightstand, Tighnari grabbed his vision from where it sat and curled himself into the chair. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders, brought his tail up to his chest, and exhaled deeply. Maybe he’d get a few more hours of sleep before it was time for morning patrol. A guy could dream.
Ha. Dream. He wondered if he would have any tonight, now that they had been returned to the people of Sumeru. Even now, Tighnari didn’t dream often, but maybe that would soon change. Who can say?
•
•
•
It was still raining when he woke up again. Looks like this storm was going to stick around for a while.
Cyno was still sleeping. His chest rose and fell deeply, putting the ranger’s mind at ease. He wished he could stay. But things had to get done, and Gandharva was peaceful because of that work. Cyno was safe here.
As quietly as he could, Tighnari prepared himself for the day and hurriedly scrawled a note for Cyno to find when he woke up.
If you feel sluggish, drink more of the tea. It’ll be cold by now, but the effects are still the same. Stay in bed and rest. I’ll be back by noon.
Tighnari deposited the note on the nightstand and filled the cup with cold tea, hoping the general wouldn’t mind his lack of hospitality. But Cyno still slept unbothered, white hair spilling out in every direction possible. Tighnari smiled to himself. After seeing how the general sleeps, it was hard to find Cyno intimidating.
He checked the traps one more time before he braved the might of the storm, already barking orders to his rangers.