Work Text:
It’s an early morning in the Akademiya. Most of the students haven’t arrived, as lectures haven’t begun yet. The only ones who are present at this time are the unfortunate souls pulling all-nighters and haven’t realized the sun has risen. The only people who should be here so early are the Akademiya administration.
Nayab yawns as he heads to the General Mahamatra’s office, a hot cup of coffee freshly brewed from Puspa Cafe in his hand. Their lord is still out on a mission, so the remaining matra take turns sorting his work and keeping his office clean until his return. He yawns again as he opens the door, and pauses when he notices a person standing before Cyno’s desk, her back to him.
“Shohre? What are you doing here? Aren’t you usually patrolling by the library?” Nayab asks. Now that he’s more awake, Nayab can see the slight tremor to Shohre’s frame. “Is everything alright?”
“N-Nayab…” Shohre begins, not moving. “I had come in to return a book I borrowed from Lord Cyno’s personal library, and I…I…”
Nayab blinks. What has shaken Shohre so? All matra are for the most part level-headed people. It comes with the profession. Nayab approaches her, and sees that her arms are up, as if cradling something. Leaning around her side to get a better look, what’s in her arms shocks Nayab so much, he drops his cup of coffee, mug shattering on the floor.
“Nayab!” Shohre yells in surprise, jumping away from the split coffee and ceramic shards. “What if you startled him!?”
Nayab is still frozen. He stares dumbly at the baby held protectively in Shohre’s arms that looks exactly like their General. The baby’s sunset red eyes stare back at him blankly. Nayab is scared to even move; he can barely remember to breathe. He doesn’t know what could potentially scare an infant. Anything, probably.
Then, like the sun breaking through the clouds, the baby gives Nayab a gummy smile, showing off four little teeth peeking through.
Nayab falls to his knees. He doesn’t care about the coffee seeping into his robes. His hands rise to clutch at his heart. “Archons…so cute…” he gasps.
“Nayab!” Shohre yells again, exasperated this time. “Get up, you idiot! This is no time to fawn over the General! We have to figure out why this happened!!”
“R-Right,” Nayab agrees, standing again. Both he and Shohre move to the side of Cyno’s desk, away from the mess. Shohre sits the baby safely on the desk, and the baby looks up at both of them, drooling a little. The baby is wearing an adorable anubis-themed onesie, reminiscent of Cyno’s cloak he uses for travel. “How did you find him like this, Shohre?”
“Like I told you, I had come in to return a book from Lord Cyno’s personal library. When I turned around, I found this baby version of him crawling on the floor!” Shohre whisper-shouts.
Nayab puts a hand to his chin. “Are we certain this is our General?”
Shohre gives him an incredulous scoff. She picks the baby up and holds him out, from under the arms. “Just look at him! If this isn’t our Lord Cyno, I don’t know who it is!”
The baby grunts almost like an agreement.
But Nayab scrambles forward, using both hands to support the baby’s bottom. “Are you crazy, Shohre!? You have to hold babies with support!”
They continue to squabble, until the door to Cyno’s office opens, revealing Nabil. “Nayab? Are you alright in here? I heard Shohre’s voice as well…” Nabil looks up and stops midstep as he processes the scene before him. His eyes dart from Nayab and Shohre’s twin horrified faces, and broken cup and coffee on the floor, and finally settle on the infant supported between them. Nabil adjusts his glasses. “...is that a baby Lord Cyno…?”
The baby lets out a helpful trill of delight.
Eventually, after Nayab and Shohre explain the current predicament again for Nabil, the three of them calm down enough to call Usem and Aarav in as well. When they come in, they find Nayab cleaning up the coffee he split earlier, and Nabil and Shohre speaking softly to each other in front of baby Cyno sitting on the desk again.
Usem blinks in surprise, while Aarav lets out a low whistle. “You know, when we received the missive to come here, I thought the three of you were trying to prank us,” Aarav admits. “But seeing is believing…”
Usem carefully approaches the desk, lowering his tall frame to the baby’s eye level. “Is that truly you, General?”
The baby blows a spit bubble.
Aarav smacks the top of Usem’s head. “The baby is a spitting image of him! And infants don’t casually show up in the Akademiya either. From what we know, I can only deduce that General Cyno arrived early from his mission, and somehow transformed into a baby here.”
Usem pouts at Aarav. “That does sound like the General…he was tracking some stolen artifacts sold on the black market, right? What if one of them was cursed, and caused him to regress in age!?”
“I mean there are so many artifacts with wacky effects that it doesn’t seem too far of a reach,” Nabil agrees. “This is also the General’s first mission since his extended leave ended…it wouldn’t be surprising if he slipped up a little.”
The rest of the matra nod.
“I guess the real question is: what now?” Nayab asks, having finished cleaning up the coffee.
The five matra look amongst themselves. Baby Cyno innocently looks up at them, holding his toes.
“Who is Lord Cyno’s next of kin?” Shohre asks. “We’ll need to inform them.”
A pin drop could be heard in Cyno’s office. “W-Wouldn’t that be the Acting Grand Sage…?” Usem asks. “They’ve been married for almost two years now, right?”
It’s an easy to forget detail, given that the two are workaholics and neither show a semblance of a romantic bone in their bodies. The only reason anyone knows is because the wedding was such a huge affair in Sumeru, and Lord Kusanali presided over the ceremony. The Traveler and his floating companion even returned to Sumeru to be witnesses! Though the grooms were so neutral-faced the entire time, everyone assumed it was some kind of marriage of convenience.
“Fuck,” Aarav sighs, ignoring Nayab and Shohre’s scandalized gasps as they both cover Baby Cyno’s ears. “He’ll tear us all a new one when we tell him.”
“He does have quite the temper…” Nabil says, eyes shifting away. “But it is his legal right to know.”
“If we all go together, he can’t kill us, right?” Usem suggests.
The five of them meet each other’s eyes, and after a moment of silent communication, nod in unison. They make quite a scene, five matra marching to the Acting Grand Sage’s office in an odd formation shielding Shohre (holding Baby Cyno) from view. They knock on the door, and hold their breaths until they hear the muffled ‘enter’ from Al-Haitham. They shuffle in, closing the door behind themselves, but not moving away in case of needing a hasty escape.
Al-Haitham is signing away at papers on his desk. Dark shadows sit under his eyes. Large stacks sit precariously at the edge of one side of his desk, and on the other side, Lord Kusanali is up on her tippy toes, pointing out phrases in whatever document is in Al-Haitham’s hand. Al-Haitham raises his head, and lifts an eyebrow at them. “To what honor do I owe five matra visiting my office?”
Lord Kusanali turns her head and gives them a friendly wave. All of them give nervous glances to each other until eventually Nabil is elbowed forward.
Nabil clears his throat with a couple of coughs. Al-Haitham’s eyes grow more bored. “Y-You see Acting Grand Sage–”
A loud giggle interrupts Nabil. The blood drains from his face while the rest of the matra jump away from Shohre in shock, as if she’s handling a bomb instead of a baby. Shohre herself looks terrified.
The way Al-Haitham’s eyes widen and he immediately stands makes their reactions seem almost normal. He rounds his desk, glancing backward for a brief second and whatever he sees makes his lips thin in suppressed anger. The Acting Grand Sage stalks towards them and the matra do their best not to cower before him. Al-Haitham glares down at the infant babbling in Shohre’s arms.
“How,” he asks flatly.
All the matra stutter together, piecing a disjointed story together that only serves to make Al-Haitham’s brows furrow further. Baby Cyno is wholly undisturbed by the open hostility, ignoring Al-Haitham.
Nahida comes up, and hums, “Perhaps we were so absorbed in work that we didn’t notice the little one slipping away?”
Al-Haitham’s jaw clenches and unclenches. He takes a deep breath. “Yes. That appears to be the case.”
With the tension mostly diffused, the matra can now see that behind Al-Haitham’s desk is an empty cradle conjured from dendro, much like the swing Nahida can be caught idling on.
“You were aware that General Cyno had become a baby, Acting Grand Sage?” Aarav asks.
Al-Haitham looks at him, a strange expression crossing his face before he quickly schools it into neutrality.
Nahida tilts her head. “Isn’t that–”
“Yes,” Al-Haitham cuts her off. “Yes I was aware. He returned to our home last night and changed overnight. With no other choice, I brought him to work with me.”
Nahida turns to stare at Al-Haitham, then sighs. “Fine. I’ll leave you to it.” With no other explanation, she shakes her head and leaves Al-Haitham’s office.
With Lord Kusanali gone, Al-Haitham turns to Shohre. “If you would?” he asks, opening his arms.
The matra glance nervously amongst themselves again. What if Al-Haitham drops Baby Cyno out of spite? But then again, the Acting Grand Sage wasn’t a man who ever asked for things he didn’t truly want…
With some trepidation, Shohre deposits Baby Cyno into Al-Haitham’s arms, tense for any sign of danger. Baby Cyno looks up at Al-Haitham’s face once nestled safely into his (surprisingly natural!) hold.
“Yes, it’s me,” Al-Haitham sighs.
Baby Cyno only stares at him for a moment more, and then finds his own hands far more interesting. He tries stuffing one whole into his mouth. Alhaitham sighs again, gently removing Baby Cyno’s fist from his mouth, which causes Baby Cyno to whine loudly. Al-Haitham wordlessly produces a lion’s head shaped teething ring from his cape, and offers it to Baby Cyno’s excited grabby hands. As soon as the teething ring is in Baby Cyno’s mouth, his eyes droop, and he settles more into Al-Haitham’s hold.
Finally, Al-Haitham looks back at the matra. “Thank you. If that’ll be all, you’re welcome to show yourselves out.”
The matra watch as Al-Haitham goes back to his desk, and drops heavily into his chair with another sigh. A free hand comes up and massages his brow, likely trying to stave off a headache. Baby Cyno has fallen asleep.
The matra quietly creep out of the office, and go their separate ways to return to their duties. All five of them take lunch together, so when the time arrives, they meet up at their usual table in the Akademiya cafeteria and quietly sit down, munching on their food.
“So,” Nayab starts. “How was everyone’s shifts?” Usually someone complains or describes their day as soon as they sit, so the silence is awkward.
Shohre, having finished her pita pockets, collapses onto the table. “Awful! I couldn’t stop worrying about Lord Baby Cyno! I know they’re married, but can we really trust the Acting Grand Sage to care for him?” The rest of the matra mutter their agreements with her. Shohre suddenly sits up with a gasp. “What if that’s the reason the General escaped in the first place!? What if that was his cry for help to us!?”
All of them freeze. Nabil’s glasses slip. Usem’s mouth gapes open and close like a fish. Aarav’s food falls from his forgotten fork.
Nayab slams his hands on the table, and stands up. “We have to go rescue him!!”
The other four scramble to join him, and then they all rush to Al-Haitham’s office. Without remembering to knock, they burst in.
“ACTING GRAND SAGE, WE–” they begin, but then stop. The scene before them shuts them all up.
Al-Haitham somehow looks even more haggard in the hours since they’ve seen him. His eye bags are more pronounced than ever, his hair is a mess as if someone at their wit’s end has run their hands repeatedly through it, and there are whitish spit-up stains all over his person.
“What,” Al-Haitham croaks, eyes glazed over like a dead fish. “...could you lot possibly want?”
Baby Cyno remains oblivious to Al-Haitham’s plight, hands waving up at floating crystalized leaves from a sling Al-Haitham is wearing across his front.
“We, uh, we…wanted to see if we could take General Baby Cyno off your hands!” Shohre says. “...To give you a break!” She adds.
Al-Haitham runs a hand down his face. Then he laughs. His laughter lasts so long the five matra shift nervously, wondering if they should call for the resident psychologists in the Akademiya who are employed to assist students having breakdowns. Then Al-haitham stands up, startling them to attention.
“Sure,” he says as he walks up to them. “I could use a break.” He slips Baby Cyno out of the sling, and deposits him in Nabil’s arms. “I’ll be back in 30 minutes.” Then Al-Haitham leaves.
The five matra blink at each other. “...it was that easy?” Nayab asks.
Usem frowns. “Perhaps the Acting Grand Sage doesn’t care for Lord Cyno after all…”
The five of them consider this in pensive silence. They can tell from Baby Cyno’s puffy eyes and the traces of tear tracks left on his cheeks, that he’s been crying with Al-Haitham.
Finally Shohre perks up. “What does it matter!? We care about our General Cyno! And after we turn him back, we can convince him to divorce the Acting Grand Sage!”
The rest of the matra cheer Shohre’s idea on. They’re just about to plot a plan for escape, when a presence makes itself known.
“Shirking your duties?” a voice that sounds scarily just like adult Cyno’s asks.
All the matra’s jaws drop as they stare wide-eyed at Baby Cyno sitting in Nabil’s arms, chewing on his fingers.
“L-Lord Cyno…Have you developed telepathic communication?” Aarav asks.
“I’m behind you,” Cyno’s voice clarifies.
Four of them woodenly turn around, and find the General Mahamatra standing before them. Their wide-eyed expressions transfer to him.
Cyno stares back at them, waiting for an explanation. When he realizes they’re too shocked to speak, he sighs. “What’s all this? You five are some of the best performing matra in the Akademiya. Now you’re skipping work and devising hare-brained schemes about my private life?”
They all flush with shame. That was essentially what they were doing, so none of them can refute Cyno.
“It’s because you were turned into a baby, and we saw the Acting Grand Sage taking advantage of you!” Nayab explains. The other three nod furiously.
“I was what now?” Cyno levels an unimpressed stare at them. “I’ve only just returned.”
“But, but, we found–” Shohre starts, but Nabil, who hasn’t turned around, elbows her silent.
The rest of matra look back at him frantically jerking his head towards his arms, where Baby Cyno is still very much in existence.
Cyno’s eyes follow theirs, and he walks around them to face Nabil. He stares at the baby in Nabil’s arms. “Hala?”
Baby Cyno–no, Hala turns towards the sound of the voice, and upon seeing Cyno, claps and squeals excitedly. Hala squirms from Nabil’s grasp, kicking violently.
Cyno scoops Hala into his arms, and shushes her softly. “How are you, ya hayati? Were you well?”
Hala claps more, smiling the widest any of the matra have seen all day. Cyno coos at Hala in response, brushing his lips against that small forehead in a gentle kiss. Hala reaches up and cups a tiny hand against Cyno’s cheek. Cyno turns his head and kisses Hala’s palm.
All five matra gawk at the two of them.
“General…who is Hala?” Usem hedges.
Cyno looks up as if he forgot any of them existed. “Hala is my daughter,” he answers.
“D-DAUGHTER!?” all of them gasp in unison.
“Yes,” Cyno confirms, bouncing Hala on his hip. “Were…you not aware that the leave I returned from was paternity leave?”
They all splutter in shock. Their General! A parent!?
Cyno patiently waits for their surprise to ebb away. When he sees acceptance on their faces, he asks, “Why is Hala with you?”
“Well…” Aavar explains their misunderstanding of the whole situation. “...So we thought she was you, and requested to take care of her so the Acting Grand Sage could take a break.”
“Hm.” Cyno considers this. “That makes sense. But how does that lead to you five wanting to kidnap her? And wanting me to divorce my husband?”
All five of them blush in mortification. Before they can come up with a response, the office doors open, and an exhausted Al-Haitham comes in, holding a steaming cup of tea.
He pauses at the scene before him, but his eyes meet and linger on Cyno’s. “Cyno. You’re back.”
Cyno nods. “I’ve just returned. Finding my office empty, I came here and found my matra with our daughter.” Cyno raises a brow at him. “Care to explain why you tricked them into thinking Hala was me?”
Al-Haitham doesn’t meet Cyno’s eyes, but he visibly sags. “Hala had escaped while I was working with Lord Kusanali. They brought her back and formed the misunderstanding on their own, so I simply didn’t correct them.”
Cyno narrows his eyes. “Haitham. I’m asking why.”
Al-Haitham deflates further. “It’s been difficult. Without you.” A flash of vulnerability shows in Al-Haitham’s eyes. He adds, softer, “…You know she doesn’t like me.”
Cyno steps forward, up to Al-Haitham. He raises his free hand, and for a second, the matra fear Cyno will slap the Acting Grand Sage. But he only cups Al-Haitham’s face, thumb stroking his cheek.
“Haitham. That isn’t an excuse to take your frustration out on my subordinates.” Al-Haitham closes his eyes and the matra are horrified to see his lashes clump with unshed tears. “And you know that isn’t true, either. I know you’re tired, ya amar. But Hala does love you. She’s only more used to me, because I carried her.”
Al-Haitham lets out a shaky breath, and cups his hand over the hand Cyno has on his face. “I know, I know. It’s just hard to remember when she screams for hours on end because I’m not you.”
The matra are frozen stiff behind the couple. None of them think they should be privy to such intimacy between their boss and the Acting Grand Sage, but the only door is beyond Al-Haimtham and Cyno.
While they lamented this, Cyno has been speaking: “...need to keep a better eye, next time. You know how quick she can be when she sees an opportunity.”
This actually gets a genuine laugh from Al-Haitham. “That’s true. She’s so much like you, I wonder if I was ever involved in the process of creating her.”
Cyno rolls his eyes. “You were.” He steps even closer and murmurs, “Shall I remind you tonight?”
Shohre claps her hands together loudly, partly to mask the visible gag she just had, but also to save her fellow matra who all look equally green. “L-LORD CYNO, WE’LL TAKE OUR LEAVE NOW.”
Cyno blinks back at them like he forgot they existed again. “Right. We’ll talk later.”
The five of them file out as quickly as possible, but before the doors swing close, Nayab looks back and catches Cyno being lifted in a one-armed embrace from Al-Haitham, and Cyno leaning all the way against Al-Haitham while they kiss more passionately than Nayab has ever seen in a stage play.
Scandalized, he averts gaze away, but not before seeing that Hala is peacefully asleep between her parents.