Chapter Text
The soft gaze of a waking sun fell upon his head- inky black strands of hair that faded into dark green at the ends, with dyed light green streaks at the front, framing his face- as he carefully brushed through his hair. Tighnari spread a coat of hair gel on the soft fur of his ears, before forcefully pressing them down upon his head, as he tucked his head into a black hoodie. Despite having done this countless times before, he still winced at the rough treatment of his delicate ears.
But it had to be done.
By the time he had re-applied the gel several more times to ensure that it’s secure, it was already 7.30am and the sun had reclaimed its position up in the sky. Tighnari checked his reflection in the mirror, brushing away the one stray hair on his forehead. He slung his tote bag that read “I’m a friend of wildlife” over his shoulder, and tucked his locket- a rusted piece of metal with the gold paint half-peeled off- inside his shirt. Sweeping one last glance over his small apartment that was just a bedroom, his gaze lingered on the portrait on his dresser by the curtains and a pot of a succulent, that resembled a string of green beads. (String-of-pearls, Curio rowleyanus)
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, I cannot afford to think of them right now, he left. An abrupt click of the door lock, and only the slight rustling of the translucent curtains filled the silence that followed.
“You’re still wearing that locket? Does it have sentimental value or something?”
Tighnari glanced up to meet inquisitive red eyes, set in a face framed by messy blonde hair, with a little braid through it.
Tighnari continued fingering the rough rusted edges of the thin metal chain- Was he unconsciously fingering it?
“Yeah.” His response was curt.
“Oh cool,” Kaveh seemed to get the hint and didn’t prod further, “what do you have after this?”
“History, aka ‘The downfall of the Greater Lord Rukkhadevata and how King Deshret is so much better’. It’s my last lesson today.” Tighnari’s lips thinned slightly.
“Can’t say I disagree, but you should try being more subtle, especially in public. You know well how the desert people treat us forest citizens. There’s a reason why they make us have mandatory history on this.”
People have always commented on his sharp mouth and once there was one who teased him about it...but as he grew up, the teasing became concerned words of caution.
Kaveh picked up his tray, an empty plate and bowl on top. “Well then, I need to get going. See you.”
Tighnari made a slight wave to him and continued finishing the last few bites of food. As he walked to return his tray, he passed by a group of noisy students buzzing with excitement. He resisted the instinct to lift his ears up, rip them from the gel binding them to his hair, and find out what they were gossiping about. He still caught snippets of their conversation though. Something about “the prodigy of Spantamad” and “young Matra member” and “destined for greatness” or whatever.
I think I can guess what they’re talking about , he thought absentmindedly as he fingered the locket once more. In a more secluded place, under the shade of a palm tree, shielding him from the harsh glare of the sun, he slipped the locket out of his shirt and flipped it open.
It was all faded now, but in his mind, he could tear off that faded film to reveal a clear image.
Glossy black hair, fluffy ears- in pristine condition, well taken care of- on the heads of three figures, with their faces adorned with large smiles. One had their hair twisted into a braid, one was holding up the smallest one, and also the one with the brightest smile, cradling a flower, a Padisarah.
In his mind, he could also see the blood splatters from the incident. A heart-shaped face, and an oval-shaped face, squashed and mashed into something completely unrecognisable. Like smashing an egg to reveal the yolk within. A matra tried to block his view but he still caught a glimpse of the “accidental” tragedy that unfolded that Sunday evening, at 8.07pm.
“You know well how the desert people treat us forest citizens.”
He does.
He does. Far too well.
Especially as a Valuka Shuna descendent, the descendent of those who “betrayed the desert” and crossed over into the lush greenery of Greater Lord Rukkhadevata’s realm. The people of the desert harboured negative sentiments against the forest people, as enemies that once fiercely fought in the civil war that tore apart Sumeru, leaving behind two wounded civilizations, but one was the victor. But those negative sentiments amounted to nothing compared to the hatred they have against the race that “foolishly abandoned the glory of King Deshret, for the pathetic forests in the east”. After all, it is in their culture and belief that loyalty surpasses all other morals, and traitors must be taught their lesson.
Something he realised in that evening, the evening that wrecked his childish ideals, and naive fantasies, and left him an orphan, standing alone on the road as matra swarmed all around and red and blue coloured the world around him, as murmured condolences failed to reach him in shocked daze. As tears collected in his eyes and fell to the grown like the leaves of string-of-pearls. As he struggled to tear his feet away from where he stood like a shroomboar in headlights. Which he was, in a way.
The matra classified it as an accident. “Perhaps they were drunk and lost control of the car.” However, he didn’t think so. His parents would never get drunk so carelessly. He shouted that at them but they didn’t listen. And no one listened, for they probably didn’t care at all about his parents’ deaths. As law enforcers, they may put on a sympathetic mask, but the desert people are all the same. They would think it good riddance that another two Valuka Shuna are gone.
He clenched his teeth, a hand gripping the rough palm bark to compose himself. It’s almost time for the history lesson. There’s no time to drown in emotions.
“Mister Tighnari, you’re finally here!” A head of lustrous green hair and purplish-magenta eyes brimming with excitement greeted him as he opened the glass door to Desert Blooms, the florist he worked part-time at.
Those eyes shifted into ones of concern as they took in his appearance. “Mister Tighnari, are you okay?”
“As fine as I always am.” The eyes filled with doubt as their face almost seemed to sulk at his avoiding the question. “Besides, Collei, stop calling me ‘Mister’. It makes me seem so old.”
The teenage girl’s cheeks flushed as she protested. “But you’re so much older than me and also you’re my mentor! It doesn’t feel right to treat you like we’re equals.”
“I don’t think 4 years is ‘so much older’.” His eyes twinkled with mirth as he takes the seedlings from where they were cradled within Collei’s arms. “Thanks for getting the new shipment.”
Collei brightened at his words and they both moved to behind the counter, and into the little greenhouse where they cultivated their plants. The greenhouse wasn’t much as they didn’t have much space to spare, but it was still Tighnari’s favourite place. Huddled within the many plants- the big ones reaching up to the ceiling, and the small ones smaller than his palm, every space was taken up by the plants, leaving only a little pathway to walk on- with occasional bags of soil, planting pots, and all sorts of gardening equipment scattered around, it was the closest thing he had to the actual forest. He had only been to the forest several times, when he was young and his memory had all but faded, leaving only blurs of green. Despite being in the Amurta Darshan, the Akademiya rarely allowed Amurta university students to go freely into the forests of Sumeru. He could only imagine what it was like, from the many books he pored over for hours, with their images of the forest removed. Some sort of campaign to make the forests seem less important he supposes.
He ducked below the leaf of a particularly big Monstera to get to the pots already prepared for the seedlings, where Collei had already dragged a bag of soil there.
“Miste- Tighnari, shouldn’t you go to the counter though?”
Tighnari sighed. “It should be fine. I’ll be able to hear once the doorbell rings.”
“But still!” Collei’s cheeks puffed out slightly in a pout. “We’re almost done anyway, I can handle the rest of this.” She gave him a little shove, eyes narrowing slightly in a silent message.
He relented and walked towards the counter, feet dragging slightly. He’d much rather stay in the greenhouse forever. Though he supposes, Collei is right, he should do his job properly.
A customer entered not long after he got to the counter. His vision was blocked by a particular rack of plants right in front of the door, but from his first glance, the customer was not one of their usuals. Interesting.
It’s not often they get new customers after all. Even as the only florist for miles here, customers were not easy to come by. It’s not often that the desert people are passionate about plants, not when it’s pretty much a symbol of the forest they fought against.
He squinted through the canopy of leaves at the new customer as he walked closer. Through the leaves, his eyes seemed red. Red like the little ruby that once adorned his mother’s ring finger, red like the fresh blood that pooled under the twisted hunk of metal in the aftermath of the “accident”.They’re sharp, emotionless, and they sweep over him like a predator looking for a reason to assault.
White hair slipped out of his hood, cascading onto his shoulders in glorious mini waterfalls. They looked silky, glossy, almost like moonlight-woven strands of silk.
He was slim, his face was sharp and his skin was coloured a tawny brown, like the grand sand dunes of the Sumeru desert. Now that I think of it, the Sumeru desert is a great way to describe this person. It’s empty, golden sand stretching for miles and miles with no living-being in sight, almost like it’s devoid of emotions, expressionless and neutral. Yet it also strikes great fear in people because of how utterly desolate and lifeless it is. Barely any greenery, even less water, just sand...and sand...and those odd rock formations, stretched out for as far as the eye can see. However, he would be lying if he said the desert- the huge sand dunes, and gigantic rock formations, utter emptiness and quiet- was not majestic and beautiful. It commands great power, it strikes fear and respect into all those who wander into its myriad of sand dunes.
And this person is undoubtedly, the rising prodigy of the Spantamard and the Matra and also the hottest topic in the Akademiya, receiver of many adoring fans’ affections. Only one person could have such an aura like the desert, majestic and intimidating. And that was Cyno.
When he reached the counter, with no plant in his hands, Tighnari asked, mistrust and caution colouring his words. “Cyno of the Spantamard and the Matra...how may I help you?”
A beat passed, and then another. Tighnari felt his hands start to sweat under Cyno’s expressionless and yet intense stare.
“Nothing, I was merely here to have a look around during my free time.” If he could, Tighnari would heave a sigh of relief at his words. They say, “never become Cyno of the Matra’s prey” and he can see why. His very presence is intimidating.
“Is this place to your liking then?” He made an attempt to ensure the silence would be constantly filled, lest it become painfully awkward.
“It’s peaceful...how do trees get on the internet?”
“What?” The sudden change of subject left Tighnari puzzled.
“They log on.”
At Tighnari’s flabbergasted silence, he continued. “Do you not get it? Let me explain. You see, trees when cut down, become logs. And ‘log’ has a different meaning, which is used to say ‘log on’, basically connecting to wifi. So this is a play on words-”
“I get it, I get it. You may stop.” Tighnari was half speechless at the great matra’s...sense of humour and half afraid of it too.
“So if you get it, are you going to laugh now?”
“I…”
“Jokes are for making people laugh are they not?”
“...haha…” Tighnari offered a weak laugh, mostly because he didn’t know what else to do and he still didn’t want to anger the matra.
“Why did the celery go to the police station?” Is he going to make even more jokes...
“Because it was being stalked.”
Tighnari didn’t know whether to find it exasperating or amusing how he managed to say all these with a completely straight face, showing no expression of amusement whatsoever.
“Need me to explain again? You see-”
“There’s no need, I understand already and it’s very funny, thank you. However...can you please stop making jokes?”
He swore Cyno’s face fell slightly then, eyes dipping ever so slightly in disappointment. “Do you not like them? Do you think I need more work on my comedy?”
“I…I suppose so. Maybe you could ask your friends for tips.”
“Noted. I must get going now.”
“Have a good day.” Tighnari nodded in a silent, polite farewell.
“I may, however, ‘poppy’ n every now and then. This place might be grow ing on me.”
“...”
“Was that better now? Or did you not notice the puns and need an explanation?”
“No, no...it’s just...you’re unbelievable. I’ve never met someone who cracked so many jokes in the span of 5 minutes.”
“Thank you. And I be leaf you meant to say unbe leaf able.” Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but Cyno’s mouth seemed like it turned upwards a little in a smile.
Tighnari groaned inwardly but managed to keep it to a little sigh of exasperation.
He looked down for a moment to check his watch and when he turned his head up, he just managed to catch the slight narrowing of Cyno’s eyes as he turned and walked out of the shop. Chills ran down his spine, his hands tightening around some papers lying around the counter.
He had a nagging feeling that Cyno wasn’t just here out of a casual impulse...people of the “law” and “justice” were never to be trusted. His parents and his experiences drilled that into him. They speak empty words about upholding fairness, and yet close two eyes to the discrimination and unfair biases happening right in front of them.
He could only hope that whatever Cyno was here for wasn’t something too serious, or something that involved him specifically.