Chapter Text
Cyno was standing by the edge of Wolvendom. He hadn’t been back to Mondstadt in quite some time. He had only a day this time, then he would need to head back. It was rare for him to get the time off he requested, but each year he demanded this day and the few around it.
The last traces of dusk were still painting the sky, orange and deep purple streaked through the nearly black expanse. He sighed, starting along the barely visible trail again. His tread was steady, though the weight on his chest hadn’t lifted in days. He had always been quiet, stoic, yet today he knew he must seem even less friendly. As the General Mahamatra, he could withstand storms, judgement, and ruthlessness. He protected the innocent and delivered justice, and yet here, in these unfamiliar lands, in these forsaken hills, he was just Cyno.
Just Cyno, which seemed far worse right now.
He rested his hand on his side, feeling the small chunk of wood there. It was meant to be in the shape of a jackal, crafted by clumsy eight year old hands. He still had a scar on his thumb from when the knife slipped.
He knew he should be glad that he still had it. Something to remember Ruhi by. But it didn’t feel that way. He wished he had gotten to give it to the little one before their father had dragged him away that day.
He shook his head, snapping back to reality and forcing his feet to carry him again.
The evening was quiet. Only a few birds were still out, quietly flying back to their nests. He glanced up at the sky, the leaves around him barely stirring in a faint wind, as if everything here also understood that today was different. Today was off.
He came back every year, on this day, if he could. Ruhi’s birthday. To pay tribute to a soul that had barely lived, a life that should have been. His brother’s would-be seventeenth birthday was it? He’d kept count, though he found he had trouble remembering when he wasn’t looking at where it was written. It was hard to process, that such a little life should have been nearly an adult by now. He didn’t like thinking about it.
He stopped for a moment, then turned off the path, heading towards where he knew there was a peaceful clearing deep in the trees.
He used to call out when he was here, quietly, sometimes loud and raw, hoping that some miracle might come and he’d hear an answer. But it had never happened, and he had given up years ago. That name felt heavy in his throat now anyway, he’d rather not try and speak it. It was all he had now. His name, his memory, and the little wooden jackal tucked in the small pouch on his hip.
-
These woods were vast, though much easier than traveling through the jungles of Sumeru. He knew exactly where he wanted to go. He pushed aside some brush, entering the clearing finally. Far away from roads or any chance at being disturbed. Exactly what he needed. He sat slowly down on the cold grass, sighing softly as he glanced down. He sat perfectly still, the only movement being the slight tremble in his hands. He ignored the tears he could feel in his eyes. He hadn’t cried in quite some time, he nearly never did. But every time he was here, a few tears slipped out.
He reached into the pouch, pulling out the crude attempt at a jackal carving. He stared at it, tracing his fingers over the barely scratched shapes of legs.
The evening light was nearly gone now, deep shadows falling across the clearing. He preferred that, it felt less like he was exposed. This was his ritual, sitting here in the darkness, paying tribute to the one he had lost.
The air was still somewhat warm, but the cool breeze was still blowing, steady. That was always how it was always here, a steady wind, blowing away the worst of his pain. The warm scent of sand on his skin was fainter now, faded but still there. Constant after so many ears in the desert sun and sand. He sighed, tracing his hand along the clumsy attempt at a muzzle. It was too warm here, too peaceful to be the place of so much hurt. The absence of his little brother felt even more profound in the peaceful silence.
“Hey,” He whispered, his voice hoarse and barely there. “It’s me again. Sorry I’m a bit late.”
He set the little jackal down, pulling out the small Whindwheel Aster bundle he had picked up in the city. One dandelion was in the bunch, they were supposed to be significant here. Meant to carry thoughts and good wishes to people through the wind. It was silly, but he hoped there might be a chance there was some truth to it.
He clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms, leaving small crescent moon shapes indented. He should have been better at this by now. Archons he wished he was better.
He forced out another breath, staring at his hands. “I’m sorry.” He murmured, his tone emptier than it should have been. “I’m sorry. I should have stopped him. I should have…” he trailed off. He knew this was ridiculous. He’d been told countless times it wasn’t his fault. He knew it wasn’t, he had been ten. It hadn’t been possible, he couldn’t stand up to a grown man like that. Not back then. Tighnari would yell at him for this self blame, yet again, but he couldn’t help it. “I promised to protect you, Ruhi, and I failed. I’m so, so sorry little one.”
-
Their parents had been cruel. Not on purpose, he didn’t think, but so damn ignorant, cruel and uncaring for what their treatment might result in. Children were for teaching, teaching how to fight, how to serve their god better. Not for raising, or loving. A cult, a very deeply ingrained cult. It was a small cult, but powerful in the minds of those in it. Cyno had been the first, he was made for protection. To hold a piece of a god’s power, taught to spend hours upon hours awake, sitting in front of tombs or offices in the underground, awake and not allowed food until his shift was over. Taught how to take as much pain as they could excuse.
Ruhi had gotten worse, in Cyno’s opinion. Ignored most of the time, before his job had been chosen by the elders. When it had been chosen, their parents had seemed gleeful. He had thought that maybe Ruhi was getting to live in the city, getting a better life, but no.
Ruhi was going to be a warrior, that's what they said. Where Cyno was a guardian, Ruhi was going to fight for the cult, and he needed to complete some kind of test to make sure he would be good enough.
They had gone on a trip. Cyno had begged to come, refusing to let Ruhi go for so long without him. He’d grabbed baby blankets and things to entertain the four year old on the trip. He knew his parents wouldn't pack anything for a four year old, Cyno had learned long ago that he was the only one who could remind Ruhi he was a child and let him act like one.
It had been nice. Better than usual. Their parents had fought less, excited about what was to come. They’d played with Ruhi more. Not Cyno, of course, he was supposed to remain composed. Keep professional. But he had been happy to see Ruhi get to play with someone other than him for once.
Then they’d gotten to Mondstadt. His parents had told him not to go near anyone. Back to the usual rules. Don’t talk to strangers, don’t let them know what we’re doing. Easy, he knew the rules.
It had been late, far past midnight. Cyno had woken to the sound of Ruhi crying again, and had gotten up to shush him before their father got mad. He had wrapped him up in the baby blanket he had stolen in the village back in Sumeru, tucking the orange cloth around little shoulders. “Shh, we can’t wake papa.” he’d murmured, running his fingers through Ruhi's silvery hair. He’d quieted so easily, happy to be allowed to cuddle up against Cyno.
And then it had all gone wrong.
Their father had gotten up, having never actually fallen asleep Cyno realized later.
Cyno had been shooed away, forced to leave Ruhi alone again, sitting a few feet away and trying not to glare too obviously at father as Ruhi cried for him.
Father had grabbed Ruhi, making him stand. He’d told Cyno they were going for a short walk, and would be back soon.
Ruhi had a special trial to complete.
Cyno knew what trials were like. He had tried to argue, tried to distract and yell. But it didn’t work, his mother had grabbed him and threatened to take away his carving tools if he didn’t be quiet. He’d obeyed, mostly because he wasn’t finished with his newest attempt at a toy for Ruhi.
And because his mother hit hard.
He wished he’d taken more hits.
Ruhi had never come back. His father had come running back into camp, his mother having already begun packing up.
He’d been rushed into the small cart with his mother, the Sumpter beast woken and forced to start marching back down the hill, away from Ruhi.
Cyno had fought harder then, asking about his baby brother. Pulling and hitting and questioning until his father had shut him up with a hit and a few words.
The wolves had taken him. He was gone. Eaten by the beasts that lived in these mountains.
He’d failed his trial.
Cyno had sobbed for days, refusing food, refusing water, refusing everything, throwing up when the tears wouldn’t come fast enough.
It was weeks after that before Cyno had finally started obeying again. He didn’t speak for months even then. That had been a problem for his parents and the elders. No matter how many yells or hits were directed at him, nothing had gotten him to talk until they started threatening to take away the carvings he had made for Ruhi. He only managed to hide one. The rest were burned.
-
Cyno blinked, snapping back to reality. He scoffed at himself, wiping at the tears on his face. This wasn’t about him.
“I only have a couple stories this year. But they’re very interesting. You remember when I told you about how no one knows what the Dendro Archon looks like? I’ve met her now.” he spoke quietly, ignoring the waver in his voice as he stared at the little carving.
Hours later, he finally moved, picking up the carving shakily. He pulled a scrap of cloth from his pocket, wiping at the tear stains on his cheeks. It must have been near midnight by now, the sounds of wolves howling drawing slowly nearer. He despised that sound.
He stood, brushing himself off and tucking the carving away. “I need to go now.” he murmured to the wind. “I promise, I’ll be back. Next year is your eighteenth birthday.” he smiled. “I wouldn’t miss that, promise.”