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Returning from his trip to the Chuluu Korikh, he didn't really know what he'd come back to. A war, of course—a war that the Cike had to fight. He had assumed that Altan would've wanted him to stay with the Cike while they moved to Khurdalain. Threats were around every corner, and his abilities as a Seer would certainly be quite helpful in more ways than one. But instead of taking the trip with the rest of the Cike, Altan had sent him on a seperate journey.
Deep down, he knew the real reason behind why Altan wanted him to go to the Stone mountain in Snake Province. To find the path to the Chuluu Korikh, to find the way to enter the shamanic prison, where shamans who lost their divine battles were sent to reside—forever encased in stone, for the protection and sanctity of the world and it's earthly order.
Deep down, Chaghan knew that his Commander was going to be an idiot. Then again, he had to consider the fact that this was common—his Commander was an idiot, most times of the day at least, and no matter how big and scary he puffed himself out to be, Chaghan failed to see him any differently. He commanded the Cike to many victories, yes, but destruction was nothing to him. Deaths meant nothing to him. Lives meant nothing to him. He was not afraid of sacrificing as many of them as he needed to to get his glorious, heavenly retribution.
Chaghan just wished that he could make him see that this path wouldn't lead to the vengeance he hungered for. This path that he was walking down would lead to nothing but more suffering.
Speerlies never did listen, though. And Chaghan gave up a long time ago. Whether it was because he knew that a Speerly who's set his mind upon something would never give up or because he hated arguing with the man who gave him more warmth than he had ever felt before, he couldn't say. He's not sure he really wanted to, either.
It wasn't that Altan didn't care. Perhaps he cared too much.
It was both his greatest strength and his most debilitating weakness.
"She is much like you."
It was deep into the night. Many hours past curfew, and many hours past what is considered an appropriate time to be with his Commander in his private chambers. But he hadn't seen Altan in so long, and even in the state he was in before him, he couldn't bring himself to leave unless Altan asked for it himself. And he was far too high to ask for even that.
Altan was draped over his chair like a flimsy piece of cloth—an amalgamation of limbs that hung uselessly over the sides. His dark hair was more messy than it usually was, poking in different directions. Chaghan restrained the urge to comb it—to tame his hair back into something becoming of his mighty Commander. He wondered what the Cike would think of him in this state. They all looked up to him in their own ways, all saw him as someone powerful. Unbreakable. Fiercely brave and ruthless and capable.
Not… this.
Chaghan took the bucket of cold water, placing it haphazardly beside the stool Altan was strewn across before kneeling in front of him. Whatever drug-induced stupor he was in previously he seemed to stir from. Glassy eyes coming in a focus as they set themselves onto Chaghan, and he had to fight the inappropriate thoughts of his Commander when Altan's face stretched into his usual lop-sided grin.
He is in no state for you to be thinking of him like that, he chastised himself as he grabbed a cloth from the counter and dipped it into the cold water, wringing it out. I just wish he wasn't looking at me like that half-naked.
"Like me?" Altan said finally, a curious tone to his voice. He hums, taking another long drawl from the opium pipe, blowing a puff of red smoke from his lips. He grew sloppier at the action, sinking into the cold familiarity that the opiates always provided.
"She is nothing like me."
"She is."
"She is small, hot-headed and incredibly…" he trails off, thinking for a moment. "Stupid? See, now I am not above calling a woman stupid, but I fear that might not be the correct word for her."
He'd heard Altan call others much worse things than stupid. "Brave."
Altan snorts, leaning his head back with a short, tight chuckle. "I 'spose."
Chaghan was terribly gentle as he brought the cold cloth to Altan's face, gently wiping away grime and filth. Altan smelled terribly, and Chaghan suspected that he hadn't been taking much care of himself while he was away, beside the bare minimum. He'd heard from the Cike that the Generals were making him out to be an idiot. Reveling in every failure—of which Altan made many. The stress of this life, this grueling work, made him impossible to deal with. Forgetting to eat, to clean himself, to bother with his mortal body at all. Because in those moments, the only thing on Altan's mind was the Phoenix.
Surprisingly, Altan didn't slap his hands away from him—allowing Chaghan to clean him like a mother would her child. Chaghan was careful to be gentle, never scrubbing too hard on any part of him, as if afraid that, if he scrubbed too hard, his skin would come off and he'd fall apart right there.
And perhaps that wasn't a very absurd fear to have.
"I thought I was the last one." Altan murmurs, his eyes staring up at nothing at all. "I thought that I…"
"I know."
"And yet she is painfully infuriating."
"And you aren't?"
Altan glared sidelong at him, and Chaghan couldn't help a small smile. He did enjoy to patronize him—and in moments like these, where Altan was so high on opiates, he couldn't come up with anything clever to say in retaliation. It was childish of him to enjoy watching Altan scramble for a response. But he couldn't help the little joys in life, could he?
"You said you saw her before, at Sinegard." Chaghan hums, changing the subject as he dunks the cloth in the water, wringing it out. Repeating the process a few times before it's clean enough for his liking for him to continue his cleanse.
"I did." Altan murmurs, taking another long drag. "I did. She was a first-year and hopelessly small. She walked in on me as I was training. Fumbled over her words like she stood before the Masters for an exam she hadn't prepared for."
"You had a reputation to be rivaled." Chaghan points out.
"Sure. Died pretty quickly, though. Would've been nice to have still."
After a beat of silence, he continues.
"I sensed something about her. Deep inside, I felt something stir when I was looking at her. Something like—like nostalgia. But that's impossible, because she is much younger than I, and couldn't have possibly been on Speer when it…" he coughs, wincing slightly as Chaghan brushes against a bruise blooming on his neck.
Suni must've lost his shit again. These look like his fingers.
"I didn't want to believe it meant something." he mutters with a long sigh accompanied with another drag. "I assumed that, if anything, it meant that it was because she had skin like mine. It was quite a sight, you know, being surrounded by porcelain."
"It's not… ridiculous to think you might've felt it before you even knew," Chaghan says quietly. "Energy has it's ways of saying things that words never could. Revealing truths once hidden."
Altan snorts, grinning again—his few moments of lucidity having left him now as he stared up at the ceiling, eyes following things that Chaghan couldn't see. With a sigh, Chaghan pulls away, dropping the cloth into the water in the bucket—the once clear, clean water replaced with a dull dirt-brown and red tint. Chaghan remains kneeling before Altan for a long moment, staring at him.
"…I do so wish this wasn't necessary." Chaghan whispers. Even as Altan looks at him, he knows that he cannot hear the words he is saying. Perhaps he can hear them, but he cannot interpret them. Cannot understand them. Will not remember them. "That you didn't have to dip into this… state to have a calm mind."
Chaghan stands up slowly, taking the bucket and putting it back into the corner of the room where he had retrieved it. He sets the office right—neatening stacks of papers, sorting Altan's things with a mechanical effiency. He knew Altan better than he knew himself at times, and knew how he wanted everything organised. Once he was pleased with the state of the room, Chaghan took a final look at Altan before approaching the doorway.
"… love you, Chaghan."
His breath hitched in his throat. He found himself unable to think, unable to move.
Love… me. He loves me.
In another world, he would've thrown himself at Altan and let them get lost in their material bodies like madmen—like how they'd done before. But never had Altan once said those words to him. Not even when the heat of their passion reached their peaks, leaving marks in unlikely places. Not once had Altan dared uttered such things to him. Because they both knew that, being a part of the Cike, follies like love didn't exist.
Altan's head was tilted against the arm of the chair, watching his every move like a snake coiled and waiting. Waiting for it's prey to step inside of it's domain, so that it could ravage it.
I want nothing more than to be ravaged.
But Altan wasn't in a good state. And Chaghan wouldn't ruin this for him, wouldn't take advantage of this debilitating state his Commander was in. Chaghan grabbed the doorhandle, and uttered a last few words as he stepped out of the room.
"I know."