Chapter Text
Before making his move, Cyno poured more tea into his cup, then weighed his options. He scanned the cards in front of him and glanced at his elemental dice. His rolls this round were subpar, but a Genius Invokation TCG expert like him could squeeze the most value from what little he had.
Tighnari felt bad interrupting him, but he had been wanting to ask his question for weeks, and he didn’t know when he’d have the courage again—if he ever would. He thought of the legends his peers tell about the infamous General Mahamatra, that his decisions in the heat of a fray are as snappy and unyielding as the Electro he channels.
“How do you know when to act, or when to leave something alone?”
“Hm,” Cyno said. The silence simmered for a moment; he drew a talent card, then swapped his active character.
Tighnari’s fur stood up, as if a chill had run through Cyno’s apartment. Had he seen through him? Does he know why he had asked his question? A million thoughts scurried through Tighnari’s head—he had to confess, he had to run, had to hide. He would never talk to Cyno again. He was frozen. He had to act normal.
Tighnari tossed his dice, clattering on the table’s intricately-carved Athel wood. Its patterns reminded Cyno of the Great Red Sand—of the scarabs which Tighanri has seen Cyno cup so delicately, of Ajilenakh nuts, candied in butter, with sweet rose petals.
Cyno stretched his arms in the air, then folded them on the table. “To answer your question: Rumors would suggest an ancient spirit dwells within me, lingering in this world from the golden age of Akhtamun. Those rumors would be correct, of course, but both my enemies and comrades dare to hypothesize that the spirit is the root of my power. And of my judgment.”
As Tighnari stared at his cards, unsure of what to do, Cyno looked up at him. His gaze was intense and electrifying, enough to make anyone’s heart shudder. For most, this was from fear of the General Mahamatra’s wrath. For Tighnari, however, this shuddering was warmth.
“This is what I think,” Cyno said. “What makes me intimidating to the other Matra, the Sages, and to sinners who study my name in fear of their inevitable fate, is that all of my being, all of who I am, stems from discipline. I am more than my lineage. More than any extraneous power, like the spirit within or my Vision.”
Tighnari often glanced at the sparking gemstone at the back of his waist for many reasons, but, from time to time, he was jealous of his favor from the Gods. Cyno was special. He was powerful. Tighnari was lucky that someone like him would pay him any attention.
“I have trained with many weapons and martial arts since I was small. Because of this, I have never been afraid to take a stand for that which is righteous. And I know what is righteous because, well, it’s innate. My morals are mine. So are my impulses, and decisions, and so on.”
Cyno looked at Tighnari’s cards, then asked, “Are you going to make a move?”
“Oh, right.” Trusting himself, Tighnari swapped to his Dendro character. Yes, this was right, he thought. He would use his skill, trigger Catalyze on Cyno’s active character, his most dangerous threat, then he could—
In a flash, Cyno used his card’s burst. Seven points of Pyro damage. Tighnari’s character was decimated. His jaw dropped.
“Have you tried discipline?” Cyno smiled.
Tighnari picked his jaw up and bit his cheek, frustrated.
“You—you see, that was a joke,” he stammered, worried his humor had stung. “I previously said my well-honed impulse stems from discipline, which I echoed—”
“I get it, Cyno.” Tighnari couldn’t help but laugh, which made Cyno laugh.
“I’m glad to see you enjoyed my joke.”
“I always enjoy your jokes.” This much was true, but not like Cyno thought. They weren’t funny—not at all—but they were a part of who he was.
Throughout the rest of the game, Tighanri never let his smile down. Though Cyno didn’t know why he was smiling, he was glad to see him happy and smiled with him. It’s not like he had a choice—he was happy when Tighnari was happy. He was infectious like that, a social butterfly, drawing others out of their shell. He was thankful for it.
They finished not long after Cyno took out Tighnari’s Dendro card. While Cyno prepared tahchin, his favorite recipe, Tighnari wiped the table where their teacups had dripped condensation onto the wood. He stewed in his feelings, in his simultaneous joy and fear. He wanted to be around Cyno. Cyno made him happy. But what if Cyno was a better friend than partner?
Tighnari knew he was telling himself lies. He was simply too afraid to act.
They quietly ate dinner. This was comfortable for them—they both knew to appreciate silence, even with each other’s company, even after the excitement of the Genius Invokation game. Throughout, however, Tighnari wanted to jump out of his chair and confess his feelings to Cyno. He wanted to give him a bouquet of Padisarahs and wanted to live his life with him. It felt wrong to think these things without his reciprocity; he didn’t even know if Cyno could like someone like him.
Dinner came and went. By the time the plates and cookware were clean, and all the ingredients were put away, it was dark and unseasonably cold.
“Thanks for the meal, Cyno. You’re a great cook.” Tighnari stepped towards the door.
“Let me walk you back. It’s dark.”
Tighnari’s heart softened. For a second, he couldn’t speak. He was almost ready to walk back with him, but, after all of his thinking and overthinking, he figured being around Cyno any longer would worsen his nerves. “Oh, don’t—no need—Sumeru City’s not that dangerous—my apartment’s close—I can handle—”
“You’re short,” Cyno said, blankly.
Tighnari let out a scoff. “So are you.”
Cyno pressed his hands against his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to phrase it like that. You’re just… I don’t know. I’d feel awful if something bad happened to you.”
“You think I’m defenseless,” Tighnari said with a smile.
“I know how to fight.”
“Whaaaaaaaaat—ever! You can walk me back, Mr. General Mahamatra .”
Cyno was puzzled. “An honorific? I’m not that much older than you.”
“I know. Consider it a joke.”
“Oh.” Cyno smiled. “Funny.”
For a moment, Tighnari felt completely natural, like he wasn’t putting up a front or worrying about what Cyno thinks of him. The only thing on his mind was how lucky he was. He was a student, like many, many others, most of whom feared the General Mahamatra. But he got to know Cyno, how welcoming he was. How he wanted to walk him back to his apartment. It made him want to laugh, how, only a few months ago, he feared the General Mahamatra while knowing nothing of Cyno, like anyone else.
*
Tighnari had been alone in a botany lab for hours, lost in his studies. Light shone down through the room’s glass canopy, illuminating the many plants and herbs and flowers of every shade. In front of him, a branch plagued with The Withering sat in a test tube, blistering. Pustules grew, sputtered crimson bile, then dissipated, like bubbles in boiling water. Slowly, he tilted a beaker of Dendro-infused water toward the tube—slowly, slowly…
“Tighnari, scholar of Amurta,” boomed a deep, unrecognized voice. Tighnari whipped around on his heel, almost dropping the beaker, to look at the man who yelled his name. The man was short, about his height, with a stare that could cut through wood, sporting a satchel and intricately-woven regalia. He hovered in the doorway, crackling with purple sparks of Electro. Not many people came through the botany lab, and nobody came without reason. Tighnari was relatively early in his studies, so he wondered why someone he didn’t know would visit or know his name. Then it clicked.
“The General Mahamatra,” Tighnari said, unthinking. “For what do I owe the honor?” He stared towards him, blank. The light made his features sharp and golden. Had he done something wrong? Had an instructor or one of his peers done something wrong?
“If you have a moment, I’d like to talk to you,” he said. While the sight of the General Mahamatra was enough for most scholars to clam up, Tighnari had only felt a drop in his stomach when he realized who he was. It wasn’t unheard of for a scholar like him to be questioned when someone they know commits a crime, but the way the General Mahamatra had avoided his question, the way his ungiving stare lingered on him, was what struck him with fear. He had done something wrong. He just didn’t know what it was.
“O–of course.” Tighnari set his beaker on a desk. The General Mahamatra took a few great strides over until he was very close to Tighnari and leaned against one of the tables. Tighnari had already been anxious, but the table the General Mahamatra had chosen to lean against was stocked with vials and beakers and tubes of dangerous botanical specimens: brain-eating fungal spores, razor-sharp vines, and a hundred other obscure flora from across Teyvat.
“This won’t take long,” the General Mahamatra said. He took a scroll from his satchel. At a glance, Tighnari could see that they were the Mahamatra’s notes. “I am giving you the benefit of the doubt. In my own investigations, however, I have noted some telltale signs of academic corruption.”
Quickly, Tighnari exhausted a mental checklist of what he could’ve done but came up empty. All of his research specimens had been obtained legally, and all of his funding has been sourced through the Sages’ grace. He’d already gone through a hundred bureaucratic hoops to stand where he’s standing—so what did he do wrong? “I don’t understand,” he said.
Cyno had trouble reading others’ emotions. Still, he could tell something wasn’t quite right. He didn’t know what to say. Usually, when confronted, out-of-line scholars insist on innocence or go quiet. The look on Tighnari’s face was sheer shock and confusion.
“Hm,” the Mahamatra said, looking at his notes. “I’ve been noticing factions forming among your peers, with you as their leader.”
This only sunk Tighnari further into confusion. He was very protective and tightly-controlling about his work, especially with how cutthroat Akademiya scholars can get, so he rarely collaborated with others. “Factions?”
“Yes. You and your group often meet at coffee or teahouses. Members include those even outside your Darshan, like that renowned Kshahrewar architect…”
“Kaveh?”
“Yes.”
“My friend?”
“Your friend?”
“Yeah. Like, someone I spend time with? Socially?”
The Mahamatra murmured, “I know what a friend is.”
Tighnari blushed. “I–I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”
“No offense taken. Sorry.” Cyno took his hand off the table behind him and went to run his fingers through his hair, but knocked over a vial of green Dendro-infused spores.
“Watch out!” Tighnari yelled. Cyno snapped his head towards the vial and, with his quick reflexes, attempted to catch it. It bounced by its neck from Cyno’s fingers, jumping towards Tighnari. Not knowing what else to do, he slapped it away from him, flying towards Cyno’s feet and shattering on the wooden floor.
The spores swirled around Cyno’s feet and poofed up into his face.
“Oh no. No, no, no, no,” Tighnari said.
The musk of mold overtook Cyno’s sense of smell. He looked down at the spores before glancing up. He saw two cloned images of Tighnari, then three, then four, then eight. The world seemed a little more green and illusionary. He felt a dazed warmth come over his whole body.
“It feels like I’m dreaming…”
Then Cyno fell over.
When he awoke a few hours later, he was lying in an infirmary bed, a cold rag to his forehead. His Vision and a plate with two pita pockets were on his bedside table. Tighnari loomed over him, his face creased into a frown.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he said.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in a student infirmary led by other Amurta scholars studying health and medicine. It was right next door and some of my friends work here, so I rushed you here as fast as I could. I’m overjoyed you didn’t knock something more dangerous over.”
Cyno’s mind rushed. He had knocked the vial towards him—was it a purposeful attack? No, self-defense was more likely. Was it a poison? Will it have lasting effects? How long will he need to stay hospitalized? “What was in that bottle?”
“Nothing serious; you don’t need to worry. It was a mildly toxic collection of spores. It has properties that invoke dazing and, since you took in a larger dose, mild fever.”
Mild fever nothing to Cyno. He had been bruised or cut on every inch of his body at one time or another. He had almost died in some of his encounters; he’s been trapped in ancient ruins; he’s fallen from great heights. He took the rag off his forehead, set it aside, and got up.
“Don’t get up yet! You need some bedrest.”
“I have duties to attend to.”
“I’m sure the other Matras can cover your duties to the best of their abilities while they’re gone.”
Cyno frowned. He figured Tighnari wouldn’t let him get up. “What’s your motive here?”
“You need to get better. I’m not the best cook, but I made some pita pockets for you.”
Cyno took the plate and lifted a pocket to his nose. Not only was it unpoisoned, but it smelled delicious. The fragrance of well-spiced lamb and herbs made for an irresistible meal. He took a small bite. His eyes lit up and he took a larger bite. Within the minute, he’d devoured both pockets.
“If you’re a bad cook, then the cooks at Lambad’s Tavern must have the culinary skills of Sumpter Beasts.”
“Thank you,” Tighnari said, simply.
“I don’t think you understood the joke I was making,” Cyno said. Tighnari stared without a word. “By framing your culinary skills with that of the skilled chefs at Lambad’s Tavern—who I considered ‘lesser’ through humorously linking their ability with that of Sumpter Beasts—I made you out to be one of the best chefs I’ve met.”
Tighnari said nothing.
“I guess the joke could fall flat if you don’t like the dishes at Lambad’s Tavern; however, I thoroughly enjoy their shawarma.”
For a moment, there was quiet. Then Tighnari burst out laughing, so loud that the other patients and scholars glanced over.
“You’re funny,” he said.
“I’m not joking when I say you have talent. If you weren’t a scholar, you’d be a great chef.”
“You’re very kind. I suppose I didn’t catch the joke because I’ve never been to Lambad’s.”
“You live in Sumeru City. You’ve never been to Lambad’s Tavern?”
“Eating out on a scholar’s pay seems irresponsible.”
Cyno grimaced. “I was in your shoes not too long ago.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Lucky for me, I’ve moved on from any scholarly endeavors—with Mora to show.”
“Bragging to someone you just met? Seems out of character for the dreaded General Mahamatra”
“I don’t consider it bragging if I’m looking to share. Let’s go to the tavern. I’ll pay.”
Tighnari smirked and turned to leave the infirmary. “Sure.”
Cyno smiled too. “So much for bedrest.”
Tighnari glanced over his shoulder, back at Cyno. “So much for investigating me, Mr. General Mahamatra.”
Cyno smirked. “Call me Cyno. Anyways, I think you didn’t quite catch my joke, and I’m afraid you took it a little personally. I was making a quip—”
“—don’t bother with the explanation. I understood, and I was quipping back.”
“Quipping back? I’ll have to add that to my comedic repertoire.”
Tighnari laughed, while Cyno cracked a smile. Together, they walked towards the doorway before Cyno shot a look towards Tighnari.
“What?” Tighnari asked.
“I wanted to note that I can investigate you while grabbing dinner together. In fact, I would say the perfect setting for it.”
“I’m sure,” Tighnari said, grinning.
Cyno laughed, for the first time that Tighnari heard. “Consider this an interview. One that will determine your innocence.”
“Oh, I’m not worried.”
*
By the time the two had reached Tighnari’s apartment, it was almost midnight. They remarked on it, saying the tahchin was so filling it had slowed them down, though they both knew that wasn’t the case. They had made several stops, pointing out the stars and every little orchid or rose. They talked and talked and, at one point, went in a circle without realizing.
As Tighnari approached his door, Cyno froze. Tighnari looked back at him and wondered what was on his mind.
“Is there something wrong?” Tighnari asked, then cringed at himself. Why did he say that? Why does he think something’s wrong? What if Cyno gets sick of how he always thinks about the worst-case scenario, how he thinks something’s wrong.
“You tell me. I was worried about that question you asked earlier.”
“What question?” Tighnari asked, though he had an idea.
“‘How do you know when to act, or when to leave something alone?’”
Tighnari stiffened. It was exactly the question he thought Cyno was thinking of, the one he didn’t want to explain. His mind ran through tens of excuses, but he couldn’t settle on one.
“There’s… just been something on my mind.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it something I should worry about?”
Tighnari again ran through his options. “No.” He instantly regretted saying it and felt like he had to come up with something to assuage Cyno. Besides, he’s nothing if not persistent. “There’s just… so much folly in the Akademiya. Sometimes I don’t know when to stand up for truth, for what’s right.”
“You should be glad that you have me, then. That’s my expertise.”
“Oh, I’m very glad I have you,” Tighnari said. Why did he say that? It was too flirty. He had to dial it in. “You’re one of my best friends.”
Cyno stood there for a moment. Tighnari sometimes had trouble reading Cyno. Frustratingly, this was one of those moments. He was blank, then he nodded. “Yeah. You’re one of my best friends, too.”
Tighnari put on a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow. After class.”
“See you tomorrow.” Cyno shuffled off rather quickly, a blur in the night.
Once he was inside, Tighnari ran through the entire day’s events one more time. He didn’t know who he could’ve directed that question towards—after all, taking action is his expertise, and none of his closer peers would understand his feelings—but it was risky. The choice to frame the question in a vague way was clever enough. Though Cyno momentarily seemed suspicious, he had set it aside.
Tighnari just needed to ruminate on Cyno’s answer and, maybe—just maybe—muster the courage to ask him out. Asking him out! He shivered at the thought. Maybe it was too late for any ruminations. Maybe he had to wait for a better day.