Work Text:
A letter arrives at Cyrus's doorstep in the late afternoon. Seeing the emblem on the parchment would make him tremble if the debacle from last month wasn't still fresh in his mind.
Then, he views the contents.
He sends for Cyno almost immediately.
+++
Cyno arrives as a sandstorm does: with very little warning and certainly not enough time to make preparations.
“I didn't even get the chance to show you my newest experiment. Have you ever had homemade ketchup, Cyno?”
Cyno eyes him warily. “What does the letter say?”
“It's better for the immune system if you use natural ingredients made from your own garden, lots of–”
“ Professor .”
Cyrus sighs. How to tell him. How to tell him indeed.
“Your parents. They're… looking for you.”
+++
It was an eventuality he'd never prepared for.
Rather, he couldn't prepare for it, because Cyrus never knows how to tell him these things. For Archon's sake, he barely understood what Hermanubis even was when he was a boy. Cyrus explained it as a “nice ghost” who just wanted a new home. Cyno wasn't aware that friendly ghosts made your head explode and got you sick. Seems like quite the opposite of “nice,” but what does he know, words have never been his forte.
Cyrus seems to struggle with them as well. Has been struggling with them for the entire time Cyno's known him.
His battle with telling Cyno the truth is the reason Cyno is scribbling a messy note to Nahida and taking off into the sorbet sky to traverse the land again. He thought he'd be content to stay back at the Akademiya for a while, doing extra reading to put together more context about his homeland. He accepted that his role was to remain the same, and the rolling dunes were not a permanent home. He was far more content roaming all of Sumeru anyway, enacting justice whenever it was needed. His life's purpose.
His entire reason for being.
…Is now being questioned. Again.
He can't help but let the questions tumble around in his brain as the Temple grows closer.
Do his parents know that he is the arbiter of justice? Would they be proud knowing their decision benefited Sumeru as a whole?
Cyno stops dead in his tracks.
Did they ever regret the decision that made it possible for these events to transpire in the first place? How much mora is a person worth?
Dwelling on it is pointless. The only thing he can do is ask. The pit in his stomach that grows with each imprint in the sand will not stop him from discovering the truth.
+++
“Hey Cyno, it's been ages!”
Cyno appreciates the joke, he really does. If there's one thing Sethos knows how to do well, it's instilling confidence into the situation. Ironic how he struggled with taking some for himself.
“I know it's only been about a month, but how has rebuilding been going?”
“It's been going as smoothly as it can be considering, well, everything,” Sethos says with a small laugh.
Cyno nods. “That's good. I know the circumstances leading up to this change were less than ideal. It's wonderful to hear that you've taken charge despite the hardships.”
“Couldn't have done it without you, you know.”
The ambiance of the Temple almost lures him into a sense of tranquility. Like he really is just here to catch up with an old friend.
“But I think we both know you didn't come all this way just to check up on me, right?”
Guess he can't live in the comfortable atmosphere forever. “Are they… here now?”
+++
They are, he learns, as he's led deeper into the Temple. They are, and they're struggling as much as he is.
At least, that's what Sethos told him as the winding hallways started to become a blur. Cyno learned that news spread quickly of their battle, and in the aftermath, two figures had appeared at the entrance of the Temple. They were quiet, withdrawn, and it took some prodding to get the reason for their sudden appearance. Sethos couldn't tell for sure, but he highly suspected guilt was what brought them back after twenty years.
Twenty years.
Cyno hardly realized that much time had passed. In between his duties, Taj's death, and saving Sumeru, reflecting on his past didn't seem important. He'd made peace with it during his time at the Akademiya, and building a support group further strengthened his character.
So why is this encounter making him feel like he's back at the Akademiya, sitting in that tree, wondering whether he belonged in the lush jungles or the golden sands?
He'd spent so long gathering confidence in himself. Spent so long coming to terms with this power, reflecting on why he was the one blessed (cursed?) with delivering divine punishment. He can't say that he'd found any sort of concrete answers, but he was okay with this. Acceptance doesn't come from things working out exactly the way you planned, it comes from making the best of what you have. With help, Cyno was able to realize this.
He's trying to keep the lessons he's learned in mind. He really is. But how much of that is going to truly stick when he has to confront a reality he's never prepared himself for?
Only one way to find out, he supposes.
“They're right through this door.” He'd nearly forgotten Sethos was there until he spoke, his voice a shadow amongst the solar flares of his firing synapses.
“Thank you,” he whispers back, wringing his hands together. “I–”
“You don't have to see them, you know.”
For a moment, his heartbeat sounds far too loud in his ears.
“I know I don't.”
Sethos stands firm. “You don't owe them anything. They–you're your own person. They didn't help you become that.”
“And I will keep being my own person,” Cyno nods, crossing his arms. “They cannot change that, nor can anyone else.”
But more than anything, he wants to know who he was before he was blazing his own trail. Despite his acceptance of how things have worked out, he is human first and foremost, and many humans crave connections that they have missed.
He is no different. He wants to know what could've been, if only to understand himself even better.
“Please, let me see them.”
+++
He wishes he could say that they're exactly how he remembers them. The truth is, he can't. He couldn't even remember the emblem of the Temple, so it was only inevitable that he wouldn't remember anything else either.
It hurts less than he was anticipating. Cyno accepts it for what it is, and moves forward. There are more important things to worry about right now.
“Mother, father.” The words almost get stuck in his throat. They sound wrong. “I trust you've been well.”
His parents sit frozen in front of him. He suspects the shock has rendered them incapacitated. He doesn't blame them in the slightest. It was a monumental effort to even speak their names.
Another few seconds pass, then there's movement: his mother bursts into tears, and rushes forward into his embrace. She knocks into him, but he catches her easily. Funny to think that just twenty years ago, it was probably her catching him.
Or it would've been, had he not been given up.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. This feels wrong .
“Cyno,” his mother chokes out, “Cyno, you're really here. You came.”
She squeezes him tighter, and he tries not to compare it to a chokehold because she is not an Eremite or someone else who wants to harm him, she's his mother . She is safe. Mothers aren't supposed to hurt their children.
“Yes, I did. I'm here.”
Safe. He's safe now.
(He's never been a master with words, but this isn't what he imagined safe would feel like).
“Cyno.” The gravel in his dad's voice reaches his ears now as he stands and makes his way to the pair, “this is–I don't even know what to say. This is a monumental occasion. To meet you again.”
His father encloses him with a hug on the other side of his body. It doesn't feel nostalgic. It doesn't even feel warm, or anything else described in the books he's read that featured tearful reunions. He can only imagine this is what a stone statue feels like when it's been forgotten for so long that moss begins to grow all over it.
Forgotten, forgotten, forgotten.
That's what he feels like.
But how can he feel this way, when it's clear his parents are showing that they've done nothing but remember him? That they've realized the error of their ways and are showing him their regret?
There must be something deeply wrong with him.
“I'm sorry!” His mom hurries to pry herself away, “I must've been squeezing you too hard, your heart was racing.”
It is, he suddenly realizes. No wonder it feels stifling.
“It's okay,” he replies, but his dad also steps away as well. He tries not to feel guilt at the fact that he can breathe properly again.
“Don't worry about telling us off if we do something you don't like Cyno,” his father says, his mouth ticking upward. “We only want what's best for you.”
And there it is.
Cyno's goal was to not act rashly, no matter what was said. He prepared for every possible route the conversation could take, for every possible reaction to every possible scenario.
Yet all that preparation does not stop him from blurting, “Do you really?”
And the way their faces fall immediately makes him regret every word.
It's not fair, and he knows it. He knows people's morals become compromised in desperate times. It's quite literally his job to take care of the fallout from such heinous acts. He doesn't condone getting a job done through illegal means, but he understands. He understands why people do the things they do.
Applying his sympathy is where it gets difficult. Because yes, he is very much sorry that these people are put in these positions, but that doesn't always mean they are right, and he can't let them off the hook because he feels bad. Justice must be enacted, no matter what people think is correct, no matter how much he's hated and his name is tarnished.
So what is he supposed to do about confronting his own parents about their sins?
He was prepared with Taj. Despite their history, he was prepared to handle his case with the care it deserved. It wasn't a matter of punishing him, it was a matter of letting him make his own decisions because he respected him. He knew him. And he knew that handling it the way he did was the only way he could give Taj the respect he deserved.
He doesn't know his parents.
And that is the crux of the problem. He doesn't know them, and he doesn't know how to confront them. Most of all, he doesn't know how to confront himself.
“Let's sit down and talk about this, Cyno.”
+++
Sethos brings the tea they request without a word. Cyno is grateful he's read the atmosphere.
“We owe you a great explanation,” his father starts, taking a sip.
His mother does not look either of them in the eye.
Seconds tick by. Cyno takes to studying the runes behind his father's head. His eyes land on one that he knows well. It sparked an argument between him and Alhaitham once, with both of them insisting that the other's interpretation of the meaning was incorrect. In the end, they were both wrong, and Tighnari and Kaveh had rolled their eyes at their childish stubbornness.
That night was one of the first nights where he realized that there was an undeniable bond between the four of them. Through their bickering, Cyno didn't feel any hostility or any sense he was unwanted. On the contrary, he'd felt as though he was considered worthy to have these kinds of conversations with people who would take him seriously.
He looks at his dad again, who seems to be trying to find something to begin this conversation. He wonders if it's foolish to hope to develop the same kind of bond he has with his friends.
He hopes anyway.
“Cyno, we did not make the right choice. That day, we… we were thinking about your grandparents.” Cyno's dad takes a shuddering breath in. “They were both gravely ill, and neither of us were ready to see them go yet.”
Cyno blinks. “So selling me was your best option?”
“It wasn't the first thing we thought of,” his mother quickly interjects. “We tried negotiating for lower prices on medicine, worked longer hours–often left you by yourself more times than we should've.”
His father nods. “At one point, we came to realize that if this was how life was going to be every time something catastrophic happened, what good would it do to keep you in an environment where you wouldn't thrive?”
And Cyno… honestly can't find a lot of fault in that. Still, there's one thing that keeps nagging at him.
“In Sumeru, healthcare has been free for as long as I can remember,” he says.
His dad gives a bitter chuckle. “For the people in the city, perhaps that is the case. The desert has never been looked upon fondly by anyone, including our own Archon.”
Cyno thinks back to Simin. Back to the smuggling ring, how her father was desperate. His father is right, but not about everything.
“Lord Kusanali does care. I know, because I work with her every day. We're rebuilding what the Sages destroyed.”
He knows they're getting off track now, but he promised to defend Nahida with his life. These people may be his parents, but he won't exercise restraint. Not when she's done nothing to deserve anyone's ire.
“Be that as it may,” his father is being cautious now, “we were put in a precarious situation. We didn't have the resources to save your grandparents and get essentials.”
His mother looks at him now. “Cyno, dear, we don't want you to think we valued your grandparents above you. I hope that's not what you're thinking right now.”
Cyno doesn't know what to think. He wants to hear the whole story before he decides how painful this gnawing in his chest is.
“Tell me the rest. Please.”
She nods at him, then directs her attention back to his dad.
“The financial burden was so great that we were forced to ask local merchants for any help we could. One told us of the Temple. We figured it was our best shot.”
It's only now that Cyno really, truly takes a good look at his parents. His mom's shiny, garnet eyes a perfect mirror to the fire dancing on the wall. To his own, too. And his dad's snow white hair, cascading down his shoulders like a frozen waterfall.
He is them. They are him. For better or for worse, they are halves of a whole.
How painful it must've been, seeing their most precious other half be taken from them.
And yet still, something is not adding up.
“I understand that you were desperate. I'm not going to pretend I don't feel any sympathy. But can you–”
It's been a while since he felt the swell of emotion sting his eyes.
“Yes?” His mom reaches forward and grasps his hands. “Whatever you need.”
Cyno swallows. “Answer me this one thing. Did you know what I was going to be subjected to?”
It's a near imperceptible thing, the hitch in his mother’s breathing. His father's mouth thins into a straight line.
No one says anything. No one needs to say anything.
“I see,” he whispers.
“Cyno.” His mother’s breathing turns frenzied, she's crushing his hands in a death grip, “Please understand–”
“I do understand.”
He's heard all that he needs to hear. They'd been perfectly aware of what was to happen to him after the mora was in hand. Whether they carried that guilt with them to bed every night is not his concern anymore. The fact is, between sending him to an orphanage that could care for him and something that was lucrative for them, of course they chose the route that was least stressful. That's what desperate people do.
So yes, he does understand. And that doesn't mean he has to like it.
“As we told you earlier,” his father tries as his mother descends into sobs, “it was the wrong choice to make. It is something we live with every day. We didn't set foot in this area for twenty years knowing the shame would be too much.”
His father's eyes reflect regret as he lowers his voice to a whisper: “But we never once forgot about you.”
There is an ache that has been sitting dormant in his heart for two decades. When he was a child, the ache was debilitating, on top of the headaches and palpitations that accompanied his every waking moment. Soon enough, he learned to push it all away. Leave it to fester until he could confront it later, where no one had to see him curl into a ball and hear his silent prayer to be one with the sands. Even later, he learned to suppress it entirely.
That was when the General Mahamatra was truly forged. From the ends of his staff came his divine punishment, lightning an unwilling negotiator–he is a force to be reckoned with.
But the General doesn't know what to do when the ache suddenly bursts forth, making him take a deep breath in. And back out.
He's Cyno again, six years old, trembling like a puppy in a storm. The conflict raging in him renders him unable to do anything but swallow tersely.
“Father, mother, I can't forgive you. I'm sorry.”
To his horror, his mom begins to hyperventilate. His dad holds her close, soothes her with gentle touches and rocks her.
“We were hoping it wouldn't come to this,” he murmurs.
A choice emerges from Cyno's own broken heart. It is not made lightly. But it is necessary if he intends to mend his spirit.
“I can't forgive your actions, but,” his hands shake, “I can learn to see you in another light. If you're willing to put in the work, I would–I would like to try.”
And honestly, he's not sure if this is the right choice. It may all fall apart, and his future could be in ruins if they can't prove that they've purified themselves.
But if there's one thing he's learned from being alive, it's that the guilty should only be charged if it's beyond a reasonable doubt.
Cyno doesn't know them. They don't know him. They're two halves of a whole, and they need to relearn each other. The General Mahamatra has never once sent an innocent man to jail, and he's not about to start now.
His mother’s breathing begins to slow once more, and she looks at him with wide eyes. He recognizes those eyes. They belong to a child of green hair, who heard of a second chance to thrive and grasped it like she grasped his cloak across many miles of grass.
There is hope.
“Do you really mean it?” she tentatively asks.
Cyno nods. His father breathes like he's been under water this entire time, and he's only now just surfacing. His mother smiles. The ache he's held onto for two decades dissipates in an instant.
The Temple that shaped his foundation is witness to yet another new beginning, this time with an even stronger foundation to build upon.
+++
The journey home is the easiest it's ever been.
They'd formed a plan together: Cyno will visit the Temple every two weeks and reintroduce himself to his parents for a few hours at a time. Of course, they'll do the same for him. He's eager to see what they bring for him to learn. They're just as enthusiastic to see what kind of man he's become. Most importantly, they're anxious to know who else he's opened himself up to.
And who better to start with than the man who kickstarted his softly beating heart.
“Has anyone ever told you how good you'd be as a ghost that haunts Gandharva Ville? Because you'd excel at that job, should being the General Mahamatra ever fall through.”
Ah yes, the love of his life. He'd take a dozen arrows for that sassy mouth of his. But it would only piss him off, and then Cyno really wouldn't be able to do his job correctly.
“Hi Cyno,” he pitches his voice up and gives it some nasal, “I'm so glad you made it safe and sound to me. I miss you and your razor sharp wit every time you're away and I long for your return.”
It's too dark to see anything, but Cyno doesn't need light to know that Tighnari is rolling his eyes. “The content in that sentence was ninety-nine percent correct. I'm going to let you guess which part was wrong.”
“You'd rather see me come home with an arrow through my shin, right?”
Tighnari groans. “Just come here already, and leave your jokes at the door.”
“You mean, leaves your jokes at the door, because your door is lea–”
“You're about to be asked to leaves if you don't get over here.”
Cyno gapes at that. How could he possibly deny him now?
With gusto, Cyno removes his headdress and sets it onto the stool by the entrance. Silent and swift, the rest of his clothes are removed, until all that remains are his shorts.
Slipping into bed, he's greeted by Tighnari's tail tapping softly against the mattress.
“Someone's happy to see me.”
Cyno knows better than to slip his arms around Tighnari's waist just yet, even if it's the one thing that's been on his mind the moment the bushy canopy was in his sights. He's a good spouse, so he lets his partner turn toward him first. He's rewarded for waiting by a kiss on his nose, then one on his lips.
“You were later than usual,” Tighnari murmurs into his ear, nibbling on his ear lobe. He goes for his neck, leaving Cyno breathless.
“Mm, I–” Cyno gasps when Tighnari bites into his collarbone. He feels like a dog’s chew toy.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to let me finish or are you going to keep biting?”
He feels Tighnari smile on his skin. “I'll play nice. But if the excuse is bad, you're getting a visible one, right on your neck.”
As if that's even a punishment to Cyno, one of the biggest wifeguys in all of Sumeru.
“Kinky,” he retorts, if only to lighten the mood. Alas, Tighnari's ears aren't just for show, and Cyno knows by the way he freezes that he's sensed the faint palpitations in his chest.
“Cyno? Tighnari shifts to look him fully in the eyes. “Did something happen to you?”
Did something happen. Hell of a question. How about, ‘my estranged parents showed up after selling me off, and now they want to play a twenty year game of catch up’? No? Too much?
“Cyrus received another letter from the Temple,” Cyno begins, looking resolutely at Tighnari’s tail. “They informed me that… that my parents had heard I was there, and wanted to speak with me.”
The frogs chirping by the stream have never sounded louder than they do now.
“I see,” Tighnari settles on, though Cyno highly suspects he has a repertoire of other responses he would've rather used. A lot of them probably contain the word ‘fuck.’
“I went to go see what they had to say, and–I'll admit, I didn't like everything I heard.”
There's no point in keeping out the less than savory details to Tighnari. All he does is prove to Cyno over and over that they shoulder their burdens together, so Cyno has no choice but to accept his sympathy every time.
A butterfly kiss is pressed to his cheek. “I can only imagine how you must've felt. They–they sold you, didn't they?”
Tighnari asks like it physically pains him to even speak it into existence. Like any suffering Cyno's ever received is a crime against humanity. With the way he stepped in to defend him at every turn last month, there's no doubt in Cyno's mind that Tighnari is his personal angel. Or rather, his devil, if the dissemination of information and the giant robot crab are anything to go by.
“It brought a lot of deeply buried feelings to the surface.” Cyno lightly taps his forehead against Tighnari's. “But despite all that, I've decided to establish a connection with them again. Or, at least try to. Ultimately, it's up to them to show me that they truly regret their past actions. I'll be scrutinizing them.”
Part of him doesn't like that he's talking about his own parents like he talks about scholars doing illegal activities. Another part understands that his mind won't easily be changed. Trust isn't built overnight.
Tighnari makes a sound of displeasure. “I mean, I trust you. If anyone can judge character, it's you. But…”
He seems reluctant to finish the thought.
“But?”
“But if they do something that makes you upset, or–or if they betray you again, you tell me, okay? You don't have to go through this alone. I'll keep saying it until you're sick of it, then I'll say it some more.”
Cyno can only laugh. He loves Tighnari more than the stars love the night sky.
“Of course, Nari. I'll keep listening to you.”
This, Cyno thinks as he's fully pressed into Tighnari's chest, is what a family should be like. This is what safety is, how comfort should feel. Not everyone is lucky enough to find someone who makes them feel this way.
Like the other half of something whole.
And perhaps, it's not always as simple as being two halves that fit perfectly together. Sometimes, it's several different people who make up the mosaic of you.
And Cyno's ready to find those two missing pieces, because he knows the rest of them will keep him together, no matter what happens.