Chapter Text
“Stop right there!”
Cyno wasn’t sure why he bothered; criminals never listened. The culprit ran through the crowded streets of Sumeru City, elbowing and shoving people. The man looked over his shoulder. Cursing, he upended a fruit cart, oranges spilling everywhere.
Cyno poured on the speed then vaulted over it. Breathing hard, he glanced ahead. The offender had slalomed through the throng of people, food stands, and sumpter beasts to the far end of the street.
Just minutes prior, Amurta scholars had been giving an outdoor presentation on how to preserve produce for longer. Three artists from the Grand Bazaar overturned the scholar’s displays, smashed their equipment, and called them lackeys of the exiled sages. Two of the three artisans had been captured by the matra, but this man had slipped through their grasp and evaded arrest.
Cyno balled his fists. The man had ruined research that could have helped end food shortages in the desert. There was no escape for him.
Borrowing his Vision’s strength, Cyno jumped onto an outdoor café’s roof. Southern Sumeru City was a hive of high-end businesses due to its proximity to the docks. All stores had green angular roofs akin to leaves. Despite the uneven footing, Cyno raced across the rooftops with the graceful speed of a lioness. Gasping, people pointed. Merchants swore at him to get down.
Cyno stopped at the last building of the street. The road opened to a large plaza bursting with activity. Stocky sailors unloaded crates to waiting merchants. Women, armed with fans to stave off the heat, sampled jewelry. Scholars handed out flyers, looking for research subjects. At just past four, there wasn’t a busier time of day as workers pursued the stalls before heading home.
Eyes narrowing, Cyno searched the crowd for a young man of slight build and dark hair wearing a vest over some robes. No one matched the description; he had disappeared. And with nearly as many exits to the plaza as spokes on a ship’s wheel, he could be anywhere.
I need a higher vantage point. Hand shielding his eyes from the sun, Cyno looked up. Above him rose the circular platforms and stone pathways that wrapped around the Divine Tree. Cyno smirked.
Muttering a prayer, Cyno called upon the spirit dwelling within him, Hermanubis. The great weighter of hearts, Hermanubis constantly judged Cyno’s deeds and intentions to ensure they were just; if not, he would consume Cyno’s soul. In exchange for enduring this trial, Hermanubis lent him strength beyond Vision bearers to rain judgment on evil-doers.
Eyes closed, Cyno felt the familiar power coursing through him. Electricity crackled around him, sizzling the air. With the spirit’s power, every body sense became powered to the max. In the blink of an eye, Cyno jumped up to the nearest stone walkway, then to the next, and the next. A startled scholar dropped a stack of papers.
At the top, Cyno scanned the streets with Hermanubis’ Endseer eye. A thin man dressed in a vest and robes ran towards one of the tunnels that lead to the Grand Bazaar. Given the sages’ abuse of power, many Grand Bazaarians would likely sympathize with his cause and hide him, making it that much more difficult to bring him to justice. Cyno only had seconds.
He jumped off the Divine Tree’s trunk onto a branch. He ran down the branch, bent his knees, and jumped from a height that would have killed any normal human twice over.
For a moment, Cyno felt weightless. The wind sent his hair and headpiece’s lappets flying. The tingle of his limbs from the electricity ignited his senses. Though his heart pounded, his head cleared with the clarity of a revelation: upholding justice was what he was born to do.
Cyno flipped midair before plunging downward, electricity encasing him. He slammed into the ground, the stone flagstones concaving at the weight. Shrieking, the man toppled backwards into the ground. Eyes flashing, Cyno held his polearm to the man’s neck. “End of the road.”
When faced with arrest, most felons pleaded, cried, or moaned in despair. But this young man gazed vapidly into the distance, the light leaving his eyes. He looked like a husk of a person.
“Lord Cyno!” Aarav, Cyno’s second in command, and a few junior matras rushed onto the scene. In a gross display of impropriety, one matra only gaped at the sight.
“Ah, good, you’re here.” Cyno handed the young man over to one of the junior matras. “Bring the Amurta scholars here to identify him as one of the vandalizers, then take their statements. Are there more matra coming to act as escort?”
Eyes wide, the rookie matra glanced between the offender and Cyno before accepting him. Head bowed, the offender didn’t complain or even utter a sound. “U-um, yes, Lord Cyno. Reinforcements should be arriving shortly.” Shaken up, the junior kept his polearm by his side and didn’t handcuff him like protocol dictated. “That was insane…!” he whispered to the other matra. “He just… he just fell from the sky!”
The other one shivered. “Even gravity can’t stop him. It’s like the rules of Teyvat don’t apply to him.”
Passersby from the marketplace gawked at the scene. Those coming from the Bazaar excited the tunnel to nearly trip over the concave hole Cyno had made in the ground from his plunge. People formed a ring around them, pointing and exchanging hushed whispers.
“Lord Cyno, how…? Why?” Eyes wide, Aarav stared at Cyno and slightly shook his head. Cyno knew that awed but exasperated look well, having seen it many times over the years. His no-nonsense manner showed in his perfect posture and immaculately kept uniform. The gold trim of the blue robes gleamed in the sunlight. “What happened? What kind of situation would necessitate you hurtling about like an electric meteorite?”
Eying the crowd, Cyno dematerialized his polearm and stepped closer to whisper. “I was heading to the Corps of Thirty when Grand Bazaar merchants overturned some Amurta scholars’ display then ran. Unfortunately for them, I witnessed the entire event firsthand.”
“The Corps of Thirty? What business do you have with them?” asked Aarav.
“They haven’t provided enough guards—”
“General Mahamatra!” a new voice called. A group of matras in the distance approached with the Amurta scholars in tow.
Cyno glanced up. At that moment, the offender pulled out a knife hidden in the back of his vest. He thrust it under Cyno’s ribcage.
The moment he felt the blade, Cyno twisted to the side. Hermanubis’ electricity encasing his arm, Cyno slammed the criminal into the ground. The man convulsed as the electricity shocked him.
People gasped and shrieked. The matra froze, unsure of what just occurred.
Aarav’s mouth hung open. “What—How could you use such force unprompted?”
When blood seeped down Cyno’s side, the matra flocked to him. They ordered the researchers to stay back, knocked the criminal’s knife away, and tried to pull Cyno away from him. Cyno shook off their grasp, then drew back of his own accord.
Face pale, Aarav examined the wound. “My word! Are you all right?”
Cyno held a hand to it. “I twisted in time, so it’s just a graze.” The pain barely registered; compared to dislocated shoulders, rocks falling on him, and electrical burns from primal constructs, this was nothing.
“One look is proof enough that this is more than a graze! Do you see all the blood?”
Cyno glanced down; blood had flowed onto the shendyt, a traditional hunter skirt, that he wore over his shorts. “Tsk, bloodstains are so hard to get out.” He ripped off the shendyt and began tying around his chest to stop the blood flow.
Aarav gripped Cyno’s upper arm, his chestnut brown eyes boring into him. “He struck you just below your ribcage. If given just a half a second more, he would have twisted his wrist upwards, stabbing your heart, and you would have died.”
Cyno shook his head. Processing that during an unfolding situation would only compromise him. He could digest it when off duty. Not that he hadn’t had multiple brushes with death before. “I’m fine. As I said, I twisted away.”
“Please, see reason! Have a healer attend to you at the very least. What if it’s poisoned?”
That made Cyno pause. He seemed fine, but slow-acting poisons wouldn’t be felt for hours later or even longer.
Cyno waved aside the matras surrounding the prisoner. He was now sitting on the ground, arms handcuffed behind his back with three polearms pointed at him. He’d been searched for other weapons and came up clean.
Cyno crouched down, making them eye level. He kept his hair defiantly long with strands brushing his jaw. His coal black eyes were as bereft as an empty hearth. Other than that, he was of average looks and build; he’d never stand out in a crowd. Perhaps that was a lifelong frustration and by doing this he finally took a stand to be noticed.
In interrogations, Cyno rarely lost his temper. Maintaining eye contact; speaking calmly in an ice-cold voice; and face giving away nothing, letting them to imagine what he’d do if they didn’t talk was more effective. “Did you poison the blade?”
For a fraction of a second, the man’s eyes widened; the thought had never occurred to him. Sneering, he turned his head away to gaze at the ground. When one of the matra lifted a foot to kick him, he shook his head.
Cyno nodded, satisfied. It would be highly unlikely for a poor artist from the Grand Bazaar to obtain deadly toxins. Matter resolved, Cyno opened the man’s robe slightly to examine his chest. Some bruising bloomed across the skin from being shoving to the ground. Standing up, Cyno said, “Take him to someone with a healing Vision in case there’s any internal bleeding.” An edge crept into his voice. “Have him say goodbye to his friends. With attempted murder of the General Mahamatra on his list of charges, it’s going to be a long time before he sees the sun again.”
The matra hauled him up by his arms and paraded him down the street. Once people had seen the knife and Cyno bleeding, the murmuring of people in the crowd had grown much louder. They gave the prisoner a wide berth, but it was Cyno who they shot pale, wide-eyed looks to.
A couple of the matra hung back, whispering to themselves.
“Those reflexes… he’s superhuman.”
“He defied death twice jumping around like that and getting stabbed.”
“See how he crushed the ground when he landed? How forcefully he shoved that guy to the ground? It’s terrifying.”
“He really is a subjugator…”
Cyno brushed the dirt off his knees, then turned to Aarav. “Come with me to the Corps of Thirty.”
Aarav held his head. “What about you seeing a healer?”
“Fine. Then we’ll go.”
Though Cyno tried to appear unaffected by the ordeal, a question circled around in his mind. Why? Did he stab Cyno to make a getaway? Or did he hate the Akademiya so much he risked his life to kill Cyno just because Cyno was associated with them?
When the healer saw how close the wound was to being fatal, she nearly fainted. She bit her tongue, but, judging from how roughly she placed her hand over the wound to heal it, she had a hard time holding the tirade back. Afterwards, Cyno discarded the stained shendyt and washed the blood off his chest as best as he could with a rag.
“See?” Cyno said to Aarav. “Good as new. The doctor said my humor was hemorrhaging—guess I’m just too funny.”
The healer paused and looked up to see if he was for real. Aarav wouldn’t look Cyno in the eye; he only shook his head.
Cyno sighed. After thanking the healer, he and Aarav headed towards the Corps of Thirty headquarters. Just like any other day, Treasure Street was packed with the upper crust of Sumeru City. Women of finery studied the accessories on display. Men with golden threaded vests debated the stock market outside the bank. Ash from the blacksmith and residue from the alchemy table filled the air.
They walked in silence, listening to the women ogle the displays and merchants talking up their wares. When Cyno glanced at Aarav, he was shaking his head again. “The Mahamatra Council isn’t going to like hearing about this.”
The Mahamatra Council acted as the matra’s governing body, with each member the head of various roles such as Akademiya liaison or city security. Cyno served as the council’s head as General Mahamatra. Although Cyno had uprooted the corrupt Mahamatra connected with the former sages, those who remained were largely influenced by the Akademiya and wouldn’t care for theatrical takedowns in broad daylight; it might embolden other artists from the Grand Bazaar to emulate that notoriety.
Cyno shrugged. “Let them be unhappy. It’s our duty to arrest wrongdoers.”
“When are you going to cease putting yourself in danger?” asked Aarav.
“Admittedly, not searching for a weapon was an oversight—”
“You’ve always been far too reckless, even in boot camp training. You’re never going to change, are you?”
Stunned, Cyno beheld Aarav. Given his ponytail and long bangs swept to the side, any onlooker might assume him to be womanizer. But his perpetually furrowed brow and squinty eyes disfigured his otherwise good looks. Now Aarav gazed into the distance, jaw working. Was he really that upset and concerned about Cyno’s health? They came this far together.
Cyno lightly shoved his shoulder with a hand. “I wasn’t the only reckless one in boot camp. Remember when you challenged Bahram, the largest matra-in-training of our squad, to a fist fight? I was the one who bandaged up your ankle so our superiors wouldn’t know.”
Aarav glanced sideways at him and nodded at Cyno’s tanned skin. “Bahram claimed those from desert were unworthy of being matra; you may have brushed it off, but I could not. But I wasn’t risking my life. Unlike the time you fell into a scorpion pit and nearly died.”
Cyno rolled his eyes. Delirious with fever at the time, he barely recalled much of anything on that mission. Aarav dove in, rescued Cyno, and carried him back to camp, saving his life. The other matra relentlessly mimicked the moans Cyno made while feverish for years afterwards. “That was just bad luck.”
“You rushed ahead, overconfident in your abilities.” Aarav stopped walking to turn on Cyno and cross his arms.
Cyno set his hands on his hips. “Well then, the next time I recklessly rush ahead, put me on probation again.”
Years ago, when they were newly minted matra of only three months, a large wave of primal constructs approached Aaru village. As new recruits, their squad had been stationed in reserve, close to the village’s Statue of the Seven. Aarav noticed flying serpent snakes and red vultures atop nearby cliffs. Worried they’d attack the village from behind, Aarav and Cyno broke rank to engage the beasts. They saved Aaru village from a deadly pincer attack, but they hadn’t waited for backup and left a gap in the village’s defenses. The two were placed on probation for an entire year.
It was the one and only disciplinary action they’d had in their careers. With Cyno as a man of action, and Aarav’s quick, strategic thinking, they’d made for a great pair. Both rose up quickly in ranks. At 27 years old, Cyno was one of the youngest General Mahamatra in known history, and Aarav remained as his faithful second-in-command.
“Place you on probation? I…” Sighing, Aarav shook his head. “You’re incorrigible. You’re…” Aarav studied the faint white mark by Cyno’s side where he’d been stabbed earlier. “I don’t know if you survived because the attacker hesitated or if there’s something about you. Call it unscientific, but even before you received your Vision, before you became a matra, there was always something different about you. Your inhuman reflexes and strength, your ability to defy death at every turn…”
Cyno bit back a sigh. A memory enveloped him. He lay in bed, sick with fever, as was common during his childhood as his tiny body tried to process holding two spirits within it. Professor Cyrus, hair starting to gray even in his forties, placed a cold compress on Cyno’s head.
Cyno closed his eyes. “Is the spirit inside me why I feel so bad about taking her ball? I gave it back already, so why don’t I feel better?”
Professor Cyrus exhaled. Then he smiled as he brushed back the premature white bangs from Cyno’s face—another symptom of housing Hermanubis. “That may be why, but while you have endured so many trials and illnesses because of him, Hermanubis is a gift. He grants you strength so you can protect yourself and others.”
“If he’s such a good thing, why can’t I tell anybody?”
“You know you can’t, Cyno. You can’t tell anyone about Hermanubis, the Temple of Silence, or that I rescued you from there—none of it. They wouldn’t understand. They might fear Hermanubis is a monster or want to steal his power for their own. They’d learn you came to have this power from experimentation which breaks one of the six Sumeru cardinal sins. They might jail or experiment on you—Never mind.” Professor Cyrus stroked a thumb across Cyno’s cheek then blew out the candle. “Just get some rest. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
The only time Cyno felt tempted to break this rule was when speaking with Tighnari. They were as close as brothers; what harm would there be in sharing with him? But a wave of dizziness and nausea came on so strong, Cyno had to sit down and take a breath. Hermanubis’ intentions were loud and clear: carrying his spirit was a great responsibility not meant to be taken causally.
Apart from Lumine, Cyno never told a soul about Hermanubis or the experiments he underwent as a child. He didn’t want Aarav’s pity. And if Cyno’s inexplicable “otherworldly” powers intimidated others into not committing crimes then all the better for it.
Rather than answer Aarav, Cyno broke eye contact to stare straight ahead, chin raised. When the silence stretched on between them, Aarav sighed. “Never mind me, I suppose. Just the ramblings of a moaning, feverish fool.”
“The next time you get into a dumb duel, you can bandage yourself.”
Aarav chuckled, the hard lines of his face smoothing out. In those rare moments, he actually looked his age of low thirties, instead of burdened far beyond it.
As they walked, Cyno studied his second-in-command in the corner of his eye. Though he didn’t speak, Cyno spied Aarav’s furrowed brow and his jaw working; he was still chewing on Cyno’s inhuman reflexes. Out of the blue, Cyno asked, “How’s your twin girls?”
At once, Aarav’s tight face dropped as he groaned into his hands. “They’re fine, just—Oh, Cyno. They’re only nine, but they barely want to have anything to do with me. Yesterday, I saw them across the street playing with their friends and waved hello. But they didn’t speak a word, didn’t wave back, or even acknowledge my existence. Is being associated with me embarrassing? Am I not… cool enough?” Eyes pleading, Aarav gripped Cyno’s shoulder. “I’ve heard that as young girls become young ladies, they have even less interest in their fathers. Oh, Cyno, what am I going to do?”
Cyno had heard similar stories for years. Ever the over-analyzer, Aarav worried when they were born that because his girls didn’t look like him, they’d never form a connection with him. Then, when they were toddlers, Aarav feared he worked so much his children wouldn’t recognize him when he returned home. And now, lack of interest. Cyno often wondered how much of his fears were a self-fulfilling prophecy versus grounded in reality. Having offered every other bit of advice before, Cyno said, “Tell them a joke. I can give you some of my best ones.”
“You mean like today when you thought it was wise to fall from the sky?”
Tsking, Cyno shook his head. He picked up the pace, leaving Aarav slightly behind. Aarav wouldn’t let it go, would he? The criminal was captured and there were no civilian injuries. He didn’t need a thank-you, but acknowledgement would have been nice.
At the end of Treasure Street lay the Corps of Thirty headquarters. The Corps of Thirty were a group of mercenaries from the desert who acted as a military peacekeeping force. Before the citadel stood a circular square enclosed by stone walls. Banners fluttered in the breeze. Ermedities sparred together behind barricades or stood before a bulletin board reviewing citizenry’s requests. The soldiers looked fierce with their muscular bodies and scars, but their grins were genuine and friendly taunts abounded.
Cyno had heard Rukh Shah, the Parchamdar or leader of the Corps of Thirty, had been evading the matra’s attempts to contact him. However, he walked out the citadel’s doors with a subordinate just as Cyno was arriving. “Ah, there he is; how serendipitous.” Cyno grinned. Aarav suppressed a shudder. “Rukh Shah, how good it is to see how well you’re doing.”
Rukh Shah stopped in his tracks. Jaw set, he nodded at the subordinate who quickly made himself scarce. He set a hand on a hip. He wore an open vest without a shirt, showing off muscles won from hard-fought battles in the desert. “Lord Cyno. Mahamatra Aarav.”
Cyno waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s been a long day, so I’ll get straight to the point. I received a report that you haven’t dedicated enough guards for Farnaka’s caravans. And when they reached out to you to rectify it, you were so elusive, they turned to us.” The caravans carried resources for furthering the Akademiya's understanding and dismantling of the sages’ ability to abuse dreams. Arms crossed, Cyno narrowed his eyes. “You know full well how critical it is for the materials to not fall into the wrong hands. Imagine my shock to hear your reluctance. Shed some light on this matter.”
Rukh Shah grunted, pointedly not looking at Cyno. “The Corps of Thirty are spread thinner than paper these days.” He gestured with his head to the bulletin board covered in notices. “We’re flooded with requests like extra security for taverns, finding stolen items, and protecting wives from husband-beaters on a daily basis and you know why?” Arms crossed, Rukh Shah’s lip curled. “It’s because after the sages’ travesty people lost trust in the matra. It’s the matra’s job to be the ethics board for all research and yet they failed to stop the sages much earlier than this.”
Beside Cyno, Aarav clenched his jaw.
When working as General Mahamatra or playing TCG, Cyno didn’t show weakness, but that stung. No one knew, but Cyno had spent countless full nighters on stakeouts, gathering admissible evidence of their crimes, and planting trustworthy spies. When matras under the sages’ thumb pressured him to stop digging, Cyno renounced being General Mahamatra—a position he didn’t think he’d ever get back—to pursue justice on his own terms. After being reinstated as general, Cyno removed all corrupt matras from the organization. But to this day he’d still lie awake at night wondering if he could have done more.
Even if true, what a bold statement. As General Mahamatra, Cyno was known throughout the land for his ruthless efficiency at upholding the law. Even the sages feared speaking with him. Only desperate convicted criminals were so brazen—anyone else quickly learned their lesson. Inhaling, Cyno drew back his shoulders and raised his chin. “Help me remember a few things. Which group of Eremites assisted in rescuing Lesser Lord Kusanali? The Corps of Thirty or those from the desert?”
Eremites from the desert had the reputation of belonging to brutally violent gangs, but that didn’t hold true for all of them. Though also from the desert, anyone from the corps would rather swallow boiling water than admit to any similarities to them.
Rukh Shah blustered. “We—we would have helped if anyone told us! We weren’t included in the plan—”
Cyno set his hands on his hips; his glare could have melted steel. Beside him, Aarav shifted his weight away from him.
Rukh Shah clenched his jaw so tightly he bit out the words, “Those from the desert.”
“And the five individuals who led the operation to free her?”
“Alhaitham, Dehya, the Traveler, Nilou, and you, Lord Cyno.”
Eyes blazing, Cyno unconsciously summoned slight bolts of electricity around him. “If you have any doubt about my intentions, remember everything I sacrificed for the Dendro Archon’s and Sumeru’s sake. I will not—”
Closing his eyes, Cyno took a deep breath. Calm down; this is not how you negotiate. You must deescalate.
Cyno relaxed his stance and made eye contact. “Rukh Shah, I share in your contempt for the sages’ crimes. Guarding the caravans can help rectify the unrest they caused. If the public is to have any trust in their leaders, then the matra and the Corps of Thirty must present a unified front. This benefits both the Akademiya scholars and Grand Bazaar merchants. If you are lacking in manpower for this operation or others, you only need ask.”
The lines in Rukh Shah’s face lost their edge. “No, I can redistribute more men to it. If a critical request arises and I do need more coverage, I’ll contact you. Hey, you! Go get Asfand for me!” He called to a young man sitting against the city wall, polishing a javelin. The lad jumped to attention, then bowed and ran off to fulfill Rukh Shah’s orders.
Cyno nodded a goodbye—which was belatedly, begrudgingly returned—before turning away. He and Aarav walked through the circular square, heading towards the exit. Grunts and the clang of swords sang through the air as Eremanities trained.
Frowning, Aarav hung back. “Why… why weren’t you harsher with him? After all the disrespect he showed? He doesn’t know who he’s contending with.”
“You can’t win trust by fearmongering.”
“Fearmongering? But you already do…” He shook his head.
Offended, Cyno frowned and turned around. He wasn’t some tyrant. “I generally wouldn’t have tolerated his attitude, but everything is in upheaval now. People are losing faith in us. Even I abandoned my position as Mahamatra, betraying the oath I took. Respect must be earned, not demanded.” Cyno glanced to the side. A scholar approached the bulletin board with a request. Nearby Eremandities sneered and gave him a wide berth like he had the plague. “Besides, it wasn’t me who he took issue with.”
Raucous laughter broke out. A group of men walked past the entrance, laughing and clapping each other on the back.
“Is that… Nayab?” Cyno asked, recognizing the off-duty matra. He hadn’t seen Nayab in a while, not since before Cyno left being General Mahamatra. They knew each other since they were students at the Akademiya together. Grinning, Cyno approached them. “What has you in such an uplifted mood? Won a TCG duel?”
A couple of the other matras in the group suppressed snorts and disbelieving scoffs. They looked a bit tipsy—otherwise they would have never have been so open with their exchange.
Nayab, ran a hand through his tousled hair, messing it further. His face was flushed from drinking and being outed as a TCG player. “Oh, uh, no, Lord Cyno. It’s just that… I’m getting married next month, so we’re celebrating…”
“Is that true? I didn’t hear of this until now. Congratulations.”
Aarav furrowed his brows. “You didn’t get an invit—”
Cyno stilled. All the men froze, smiles still plastered on their faces. Clearing his throat, Cyno crossed his arms. “You know what they say about weddings. They’re emotional days. Even the cakes are in tiers.”
Everyone fell silent. The grunts of the sparring soldiers filled the air. Other pedestrians passed them by.
“Did you not get it? It was a classic wordplay on—”
One of the matra shoved Nayab aside then half-bowed to Cyno. “We don’t mean to keep you, Lord Cyno—I’m sure you’re terribly busy—so we’ll be heading out now.”
“Yeah, off to the next tavern!”
“And a third by tonight!”
“Archons, my wife is going to kill me for drinking so early…”
“It’s only five. We can live a little.”
Laughing and chatting, the men walked away, not looking back. Cyno set his hands on his hips before sighing and closing his eyes.
Besides him, Aarav pressed a hand to his chest and bowed slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I was just so caught off-guard.”
Voice low, Cyno said, “Securing the caravan escorts was the last business matter of the day. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“But there’s still processing the arrests—”
Cyno looked back over his shoulder, gaze softening. “Go home to Parmida and your girls. I’m sure they’ll be delighted you’re home in time for a family dinner for once.”
Aarav opened his mouth, unsure whether or not to argue. In the end, he nodded. “Thank you. I’m sure they’d appreciate it given how busy we’ve been quelling the unrest. But what will you…?”
Not answering, Cyno walked forward, his arm raised in a good-bye. He didn’t need family or friends to fulfill his role as General Mahamatra. And so he strode off into the night alone before melting into the crowd.
Lost in thought, Cyno picked at his dinner. A bustle of activity swirled around him. Servers greeted patrons at the door with, “Welcome to Lambard’s Tavern!” Silverware clinked and people laughed and raised a toast. The smell of meat wafted from the kitchen. The crown molding on the pillars, display vases, and stained glass windows gave a chic atmosphere.
Cyno sat away from everyone in his usual spot in the back corner; the seat with the best view of all the exits. Calling himself a chef would be a joke of very bad taste, so he often ate out. He chose Lambard Tavern because the group of matras had been heading in the other direction. And given that Lambard’s was the best in the city, Nayab and the others likely came here first before moving onto taverns with inferior alcohol. He didn’t want to make things any more awkward for them than he already did.
Shaking away the thoughts, Cyno took a bite of his fish roll. He summoned his traveler bag and pulled out a letter from Tighnari. He’d been looking forward to reading it all day.
Much of Tighnari’s letter described the state of Gandhara Village following Nahida being recused. The ending read,
“My hands are full trying to keep the former Akademiya sages in line. I don’t know what Lesser Lord Kusanali was thinking when she sent them to help the Forest Rangers as repentance. It’s all I can do to keep fights from breaking out on a daily basis. So unfortunately it’ll probably be a while before I can come visit. I’m sure you’re just as busy, but that’s no excuse for not writing back, you hear me? Collei misses you. The next time you do manage to visit, the three of us should—”
“Where do you get off, Subjugator?” a voice asked.
It had been a long time since someone last called him that to his face. Cyno looked up from reading to see a man in disheveled clothes, the smell of booze reeking off of him. His eyes flashed under a mop of slicked spiky hair. From the tense shoulders to the arms dangling loose at his side, he was ready to throw hands. The broken nose showed it wouldn’t have been the first time.
Cyno bit back a sigh. He wasn’t wearing the General Mahamatra headpiece but still was recognized due to his white hair.
Everyone in the tavern quieted and stared. This wasn’t a seedy tavern where bar fights were common; Lambard’s had more class than that. It was a place for a good time with buddies after an honest day’s work before returning home.
“Hey! You listening?” The man ripped Tighnari’s letter from Cyno’s hands.
It took everything in Cyno to not slam the table and stand up. The gall. But Hermanubis would not tolerate using physical force without sufficient cause.
Taking a breath, Cyno kept his face neutral. Over the years Cyno tried many strategies in this situation from ignoring to playing the tough guy. Learning why they’re upset—whether it was a bad encounter with a corrupt matra or loved one ending up on the wrong side of prison bars—led to mixed results. Ultimately, they were just angry and wanted an outlet to voice their anger. So no tactic worked quite as well as this one.
Cyno made eye contact and asked in a steady, but quiet voice. “Yes, I’m listening. What’s your name?”
The man paused. He glanced around, trying to gauge if other people were just as surprised at the question as he was. “It’s… It doesn't matter!”
“Have you eaten yet? If not, you can sit there, across from me.”
“I don’t want…! Tch! Whatever.” Muttering curses, the man dropped the letter and left.
Cyno eyed him as he left. Wise choice. The other customers let go of the collective breath they held before returning to their previous conversations. Cyno stared off into the distance, trying to internally dissolve his anger. Eyes closed, he breathed in and out.
Cyno forced down the rest of his fish roll before flagging down a server. He paid for his meal, giving a generous tip for the trouble, and left. Cyno may be the head of Sumeru’s premier peacekeeping force, but for him there would never be peace.
Cyno wandered through the market streets. To prevent more confrontations, he should avoid venturing out into the public sphere as much, including restaurants. And if he wasn’t going to eat out as much, then he needed groceries; the shelves at home sat mostly bare.
Vendors stood behind crates of fruits or hanging meats and cried out to passersby. In this upper end of Sumeru, ladies in extravagantly embroidered dresses gossiped behind fans while businessmen with slicked back hair and discussed deals outside cafés. When a beggar reached out, one woman upturned her nose and said “gross” before striding past. Cyno kept his head down, trying to remain invisible. People brushed shoulders into him as they passed and kept on walking, talking with their cohorts.
Cyno skimmed the stalls for quality fruit, but it didn’t matter. He should just take the first store’s food and go. Then he could return home, study more law books, and drift off to sleep before doing it all over again the next day.
Cyno’s feet came to a stop. Thinking aloud, he said, “Hey, what did the pineapple say to the watermelon? Or, no, maybe the banana…” Cyno summoned Tighnari’s letter and held it. He’d tried smoothing out the wrinkles as best as he could. He exhaled a laugh. “Well, you’d tell me to stop before I could finish, so if I don’t have a punchline it doesn’t really matter.”
The arm holding the letter dropped to his side. A gust of wind blew through the marketplace, sending the letter flapping so wildly it almost slipped from his grasp. People in the crowd continued to pass him without sparing a glance.
I’ve given my life to protect everyone else’s livelihoods, so why does mine feel so empty?
A child’s cheer shook Cyno from his thoughts. Beside the street on a grassy spot with a palm tree, Nilou danced before a couple of kids. Not that long had passed since the last time he’d seen Nilou; it was at the party she hosted to celebrate his reinstatement as General Mahamatra after Nahida’s rescue. She looked well. The kids clapped as Nilou curtsied. Even performing a simple curtsy, her movements were as fluid and smooth as a swan. A soft, angelic smile graced her face.
Cyno approached them and clapped. “As elegant as ever.”
Gasping, Nilou flinched. “Oh! General Mahamatra Cyno! Sohrin, Abhi, what do you say?”
The kids turned around, wide-eyed. They straightened up and kept their eyes on the ground as they chorused, “Thank you for protecting the city.”
For a moment he found it hard to speak. Clearing his throat, Cyno crossed his arms and raised his chin. “It is my privilege and honor. And now let me honor you with my wit. What is a taco’s favorite dance? The salsa!”
Sohrin scratched his head. “I don’t get it.”
Frowning, Abhi held her chin as if in deep contemplation. After a long moment, she thrust a baton she held at Cyno. “Weirdo!”
Nilou laughed, her peals as bright as a bell. The last rays of sun set her ivory skin aglow. “Oh, that’s clever, Cyno! How funny.”
Seeing her, Cyno’s masked expression melted into a smile of his own. Pride thrummed through his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time someone genuinely laughed at his jokes.
Nilou placed a hand on each of the children’s shoulders. “I don’t believe you’ve ever had the chance to meet these two. This is Sohrin,” she said, patting the older boy’s shoulder, “and this is Abhi, his younger sister. They’re children of one of the prop engineers of Zubayr Theater.”
Abhi swung around the baton she held, the long pink ribbon attached to it flapping around. “I’m Abhi. I’m gonna be a big dancer like Nilou and dance onstage with her one day!”
Hands on his knees, Cyno bent down. “Is that what the baton is for?”
“Uh huh! I don’t got water powers, but Nilou gave this to me for my sixth birthday. So I use this. Have you ever seen one of our shows?”
“Once, actually. With Tighnari, back when we were in the Akademiya.”
Nilou blinked. “Oh, really? As a student?”
Cyno shrugged. “Not all Akademiya students are obsessed with the pursuit of knowledge. We were curious about your skill, so we purchased tickets. I recall enjoying myself.”
A slow smile grew across her face.
“Sohrin! Abhi! It’s time to head home.” A new voice called. Across the street stood a plump woman in an embroidered gown that had seen better days. She waved them over.
Sohrin heeded his mother’s call, but Abhi clung to Nilou’s leg like an octopus. “NO! Nilou is teaching me how to dance!”
Exhaling, Sohrin turned back and peeled her off of Nilou. “Why do you have to be such a pain? We can learn later.” He slung his baby sister over a shoulder and carried her back to their mother.
“Ughhh…” groaned Abhi. Like dead weight, she hung limply over his shoulder, arms dangling as if this was a common occurrence. Cyno found himself cracking a smile.
Nilou shook her head. “That’s Rekhar, their mother and the prop engineer I was talking about. One of these days, I’d love to introduce you to everyone in the troupe.” After waving to her, Nilou tucked an errant red strand of hair and nodded at Cyno. “Thank you, by the way, for applauding my dancing earlier. I don’t think I’ve seen you since my party to celebrate your return as General Mahamatra. How have you been? Have you been smiling more?”
Even though the two only knew each other by reputation before joining forces to save Nahida, Nilou hosted a party for his reinstatement as matra. When Cyno said he had already resumed his previous duties, Nilou asked apropos of nothing, “Will you be happy with that life?”
“…It’s not about being happy. There are merely a lot of things that I must do.”
“Even so, keep your spirits up and try to be happy, okay? And try to smile more every day, just like I'm doing now.”
Smiling… Nilou gazed at him with an open expression, smiling and her green eyes wide and, as she waited for a reply. “I’ve been taking care of myself. Just out grocery shopping. What brings you here?”
Nilou picked up a heavy picnic basket off a nearby crate. Cyno could smell meat emanating from inside the basket. “Oh… I was going to have dinner with my father soon. I stopped by the market for food and embroidery supplies.”
Cyno frowned. He had never heard about Nilou’s embroidery or her father. No, wait. “That debate I heard about… A woman from Zubayr Theater argued against her father to stop the theater from closing. During it they mentioned how her father never acknowledged her passion for the arts or her embroidery skills. Was that you?”
Nilou’s gaze fell to the ground. “Yes, that was me.”
When she couldn’t be the scholar her father wanted her to be, Nilou ran away from home at a young age and joined the theater. Then, many years later when her father got a promotion, a jealous sage revealed Nilou, the biggest celebrity of the Grand Bazaar, was his daughter. To save face, her father tried to close the theater. They debated the troupe’s fate on stage, and in the last argument, Nilou challenged him, “Disown me, and you will win the debate.” He couldn’t bring himself to and left.
Frowning, Nilou rubbed the back of her head. “I still can’t believe I had the courage to do that. I guess the thought of losing him forever like mom…”
Cyno leaned back and raised a hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked so carelessly.”
“Don’t worry about it. Anyway! I need more embroidery supplies because I’m making gifts for everyone who rescued Lesser Lord Kusanali. I’d… give you your present, but you’re the last person on my list, so I haven’t made it yet. Do you have any requests? What do you do in your free time when you’re not working or playing TCG?”
Cyno looked away at the people passing through the market. It had started to thin out as suppertime approached. “Read, train, and… catch up on sleep, honestly.”
“Hahaha, I can understand that!” Nilou clapped her hands. “Can we meet here this time next week? I’ll have your gift done by then. If that’s okay with you, I mean. I know you must be incredibly busy.”
Cyno tossed a hand in the air in dismissal. “A very kind gesture and an appreciated one. But you don’t have to work so hard on my account—”
“Oh, but, please, I already feel awful for putting it off so much.”
“Then… would two weeks from now be better?”
“Actually, yes, I could really use the extra week. They take quite some time to make. Thank you, Cyno. I’ll see you then!” She gave a little wave goodbye then headed deeper into the marketplace, the picnic basket swinging in the crook of her arm. Humming, she sidestepped and twirled before continuing on her way, a lightness in her step.
Watching her, Cyno set his hands on his hips. Smirked. She was something else. For the first time in a long time, he had something to look forward to.