Don't ask what is going on

Here for a good time not for a long time

[a-tired-badger]

Character Study: Cyran (3)

A/N: this is based on ToM archives + my own thoughts.

Little Cyran would be so adorable! Unfortunately, we don’t see it.

Let’s talk about little Cyran, starting with his family. We know that Cyran has a brother, a knight that died in the fight against Hypofiends. He also has a nephew who is a lord, so Cyran has an uncle. Cyran’s affinity says he hails from a distinguished noble family, but apparently not distinguished enough for his last name to be remembered. We have Silven Grenvalden, Gervan Hastings, Augusta Palace, House Rayne. But Cyran is just, Cyran. You know, I’d think Cyran’s last name isn’t all that important. And if his last name isn’t important enough to be in the story, is his noble family really that high up in society? I don’t think so. 

From what we can see in the Savannah nobility, titles mean a great deal to them. If a family isn’t important enough, wouldn’t they spend considerable effort into climbing nobility ranks? Wouldn’t they expect that of their children as well? 

Is it strange that Cyran would be ambitious?

In ToM, Merlin’s Memory 4, Cyran and Merlin meet for the first time. They didn’t meet in preparatory class, as per the memory. They met in a new semester. They didn’t meet as children; they met as teenagers. Merlin notes that “an awkward guy just moved in next door.” 

I personally think Merlin is a decent narrator, so their observation carries quite a bit of reliable information. Firstly, you don’t say moving in next door unless it’s a dorm. Next door neighbours, how exciting! Secondly, the first impression of Cyran is described as awkward. Not rich or snobby or friendly. So, little Cyran is not confident or smooth talking. Just awkward and geeky according to Merlin. You’d think a child from a noble family would be more like Gervan. 

Okay, not every child turns out the same. Maybe Cyran loved his magical books since a young age and had few friends. Maybe Cyran is the younger son and gets less attention compared to his brother. Fill in this blank canvas with your speculations. 

Merlin also mentioned a gravity spell. Cyran already created his ultimate skill while in school. Talented and almost as good as Merlin. He had potential. 

Anyway, back to little Cyran. He has no poker face at this age; he spent a few months glaring at Merlin. Cyran is certainly not hiding his emotions, but all he does is…glare. Yeah, he talks to Merlin about schoolwork now and then, but that doesn’t seem like someone trying to make friends. It doesn’t come off as someone malicious too. 

In fact, Merlin notes that Cyran walked past their desk four times. So at this point they’re not friends enough to be sitting together yet, but are you sure walking past someone four times isn’t intentional? When Merlin initiates conversation, Cyran blushed fast. Was he embarrassed at being caught? Embarrassment signals intent. Or was he just shy? 

Maybe he’s curious about Merlin but trying to appear not curious. After all, it took Merlin the extrovert quite some effort to make Cyran blurt out that he sees them as a rival and plans to beat them next exam. Wow, much competitive. Is it a byproduct of family? If that’s the case, we can say that his family raised him with discipline. Cyran appeared to be aghast at Merlin skipping class. 

But in the end, Merlin the extrovert managed to befriend Cyran. “By now he should have snapped out of it” - getting familiar with Cyran already. Also, this points out that Cyran was not that obsessed with winning initially. Something changed. 

Cyran also does consider his rival a friend - “scowl and demand I teach him everything.” He’s certainly not happy to be bested, but comfortable enough to demand Merlin teach him everything. Mind you, I certainly don’t make demands of acquaintances. 

In ToM: Review Plan, we see Cyran studying with Merlin together. +1 friendship! His friendship took precedence over his need to win, or maybe he thinks studying together will help him win. Unfortunately, Merlin gets sidetracked and asks Cyran for his notes. It’s not the first time, because Merlin notes that as expected, Cyran’s face grows dark. Little Cyran even has a well used speech accusing Merlin of slacking. Now, why would a rival care if their opponent slacks?

Cyran studies hard. It’s canon. He probably views his efforts with pride and see Merlin’s behavior as atrocious, maybe even arrogange. Alternatively, maybe he does care a little about his rival? 

Still, he gave up his notes at the end. Maybe he does care. 

By the time Note On Class happens, Cyran and Merlin are sitting together in class for a while now. Long enough for Merlin to question why Cyran moved after the results came out. Passing notes in class, so cute! 

Cyran sure doesn’t hide how he feels about being second again; anyone could see his grumpy face. He denies it’s because of the exam results though. Maybe he does not want to be perceived as running away just because he lost. Merlin keeps pressing, and Cyran tells them to drop it. But, when Merlin becomes quiet, he bursts. Ashamed as he feels, he needs to know how Merlin scored on the Starshower spell in the exam. 

Later, Cyran agrees to let Merlin show him the spell, which is recorded in Stargazing Journal. We see that he doesn’t mind working together with his rival. We also see that he’s not good at stargazing, which makes him upset again. Stargazing certainly brings no power, so why is little Cyran mad? Isn’t it all about power? Or is that not present yet at this point? 

Maybe he just wants to do whatever Merlin can. He was excited to see stars, until he realises it’s just a Starshower spell. Then he calls it a useless spell because it does nothing. Is the ambition rising up, or is he just ashamed at being tricked?

Later, in Divination Log, we see Merlin partnering up with Cyran for divination. +2 friendship. Divination certainly doesn’t give much power, if Gwendolyn was any indication. Cyran still takes it seriously to the point of wanting to change partners. I thought little Cyran would be secretly pleased to best Merlin at something. Oh wait, maybe he’s equally bad at it, that’s why he wants to change partners. 

I mean, Merlin isn’t the best partner. Imagine not being able to complete an assignment just because your partner fumbled in bringing ingredients. You know what, Cyran does have a fair amount of shit from Merlin to put up with too. 

Merlin’s whimsy attitude, innate talent meeting with the student council presidency might have been too much. In Journal Pages, Cyran certainly is pissed at being passed over for the position that is given freely to Merlin. Litte Cyran was noted at not cracking a smile. Oh, does that mean he normally smiles at Merlin? So cute. 

In between the Starshower Memory Star and Merlin’s Portrait, Cyran and Merlin’s relationship has slowly deteriorated, but we don’t know why. Pressure from his family to climb to the top? The whispers of peers that label him as forever second? We can only speculate. 

Grumpy Cyran otherwise, it’s a pretty good portrait. Since it’s given to outstanding graduates, this might be their last photo together before graduation. Cyran already has a little staff with a little crystal. Who gave him that staff anyway? Does he swap for a longer staff later? Why does he carry a staff around and not go barehanded like Merlin? 

I wish we could ask that mage that knew Cyran well. Enough to know Cyran loved sweets as a young one. It’s a shame that Cyran eventually abandoned sweets, just like how he abandoned Merlin. 

But Cyran couldn’t tear himself away from studying Merlin’s magic, even after growing into a court mage. Breaking into their tower, trying to access their memory stars…

An enemy that knows you better than your partner. 

[a-tired-badger]

Character Study: Cyran (2)

Welcome back to another episode of Cyran brainrot, remember that we can curate our own internet experience but do stay. Today we're going to talk about Cyran's character design visually and what it might mean.

TLDR: Evidence points that Cyran has a whole skincare routine and wears expensive clothes that scream I am evil.

First up, his luscious locks.

Cyran's hair isn't entirely black. There's some grey/gold streaks in it (I need an artist to correct me here). It might be a choice to show his age, or maybe he just feels fancy. Also, he tucks his wavy hair behind his ears. Tell me more about hair tucking in a fan fic.

Now, I don't know much about caring for wavy hair, but a wave like Cyran needs definite tending. His hair is wavy from top to bottom, not flat at the roots, so we can assume he doesn't just wash and dry. There must be hair mousse or hair oil involved to keep those curls, especially the beautiful one at his fringe. So, he must have a favourite hair oil or even a range of hair products. And a silver wide toothed comb maybe? How much time does he spend in the morning brushing his hair out and curling it? Either way, you're guaranteed to feel soft, smooth hair with all that TLC...

Next up, his facial hair.

Having a beard or a moustache makes one look older. It's also associated with masculinity. Our man here is having none of that. He probably prefers to look younger. Why? Since he takes such care with his hair, I'd assume appearance matters to him, or that he wants to hide his age. Our man also don't need facial hair to establish dominance as a man.

The lack of facial hair also suggests that he spends time and effort making himself hairless. How? Does he shave by hand? Use epilator creams? Magic the hair away? Does he also care for his eyebrows the same way? His eyebrows are nicely shaped, and nicely shaped takes conscious effort.

Now, I want to mention his pale skin briefly.

Cyran is very pale with nearly no wrinkles. Pale skin can be artificially created to a lesser extent; he either has very good sunscreen, or he barely gets into the sun, since sun damage ages you faster. Speaking of sunscreen, man probably also has a good anti-aging moisturiser. Diet and hygiene also plays a part for skincare, so I'd imagine Cyran has a whole set of TLC from hair to diet...

In CoE, Merlin also mentions that his hands are soft and smooth. Definitely the result of hands that never touched manual labor, and also hands that have seen a lot of hand cream. Does Cyran just sit on his bed, elegantly rubbing cream into his hands before sleeping? Hm. His nails are also nicely trimmed and shaped. None of that long nail gunk.

Moving on to his clothes.

Peggy, the Queen and Orion have been wearing light colors. Most of the nobility are wearing light colors. Cyran wears his colors like he's going to a funeral or that he's Graveborn. I know, I know. He's supposed to be on the dark side. The pattern on his robes certainly confirms that: it looks like snakes hidden in leaves. It fits him well; appearing harmless, but in fact is a snake in waiting.

But it doesn't make him any less expensive. His robes look like jacquard fabric, a nod to his high born status. He's using angel sleeves, which are associated with wealth and nobility in the past. He also has a fancy gold tassel at the end of each sleeve; maybe to weigh the sleeve down for that dramatic swoosh.

This is only the outer layer though. The part of his robes that include the sleeves look like an outer robe that's held closed by the shorter golden chain. The inner robe has a higher collar, with five round buttons and appears to be gathered at the waist. Is the inner robe sleeveless? Also, unless the inner robe has a zip at the back, otherwise Cyran has to step into the inner robe feet up, and then pull it up, and button it. If you have experience wearing a dress, you'd know what I mean.

That's not all though. Cyran seems to be wearing a third innermost layer. It can be seen peeking out of his sleeve when he bows. It's a black skintight something. Hand sleeve? Leotard? Shirt? How does this man go to the toilet with so many layers? Lift his entire lower half of the robes? Gather it all up like a dress?

Oh, and of course, the shoes. His walking animation in ToM shows just a glimpse of black pointed shoes. Anyway, imagine undressing this man. Use this knowledge however you will.

We're almost to the end. I can't not talk about his jewellery, can I?

Cyran doesn't appear to have earrings. A missed opportunity for him to stuff more jewellery onto his self, but most of the other men in AFK also don't wear earrings IIRC. There doesn't appear to be a necklace either, or maybe it's hidden under his robes. Maybe Merlin gave him a necklace once, you'd never know...

Anyway. His tiara on his forehead looks like it's used to hold back his hair so that he can display his meticulously curled fringe. Does anyone else think the tiara is very pointy? The short golden chain holding his outer robes together and the long golden chain with multiple four point stars is also very pointy. Four point stars generally mean good things, however. You may also notice more tassels hanging off the long golden chain. Does Cyran have a penchant for dangling things, like keychains?

Has anyone also noticed that the jewel in the tiara and both golden chains are red/magenta? Does Cyran like to colour coordinate, or does he prefer that colour over the others?

Speaking of jewels, this man wears rings on all fingers. But, not all rings have a jewel. So, some of the rings are for decoration. In addition, the rings on both hands match exactly. Feels like Merlin could wear one set of the rings...

Finally! I just want to talk about his staff.

Cyran's staff is really thin. It must be extra durable, because I know I would accidentally snap something that thin made of wood. There's also a rounded jewel at the bottom end, which is embedded unlike the pointy crystal at the top which we now know is removable and can store spells.

Now, since his staff is so much taller compared to him, he has to either hold it above ground when walking, hold it slanted, or use it like a cane. In that emergency meeting cutscene in ToM, we see him using it like a cane. That means the bottom jewel hits the ground as he walks. That's one durable jewel, I hope Cyran polishes it frequently.

Lastly, let's look at how Cyran holds his staff. He keeps a good grip on it while walking, but otherwise it's resting loosely in his hand. If we go by his gallery, he seems to have a habit of using his forefinger to brace his staff while in the resting position. So that he can keep it upright? Or it's more convenient to quickly shift grip positions? Let me find a long stick to experiment.

Anyway! This is the end, if you're still here, thank you for reading my brain rot. Have a nice day.

[a-tired-badger]

Character Study: Cyran (1)

Hi, I have Cyran brainrot and I am here to contaminate this space.

I was going to do one single post but I also wanted to talk about character design and it would be too long. Continue reading at your own risk.

In this post we are looking at Cyran's skills and how it ties in to his character.

His ultimate skill is called Gravitic Requiem. A requiem is a piece used to honour the dead. Before anything else, the name is already giving murderous vibes. The black hole confirms it; there is no escape from a black hole. It's interesting how the black hole is cast a distance away from him as well. Cyran creates distance between him and his opponents even while killing them. He's not opposed to killing, but he certainly doesn't want it near him. Afraid of getting his expensive robes dirty? Or perhaps his own black hole will kill him as well? Can't he control his own black hole?

In the second part of the ultimate, it states that non-boss enemies are immediately defeated below a fixed threshold, where the threshold is determined by Cyran's stats. To me, that sounds like the threshold represents the ruler Cyran uses to determine who is weak. Weakness is not tolerated; the weak shall be eliminated, leaving only those strong enough to survive.

Moving on to Arcane Barrage, which launches three orbs. Based off this, I'm assuming that in a fight he doesn't pick off people one by one. He targets them indiscriminately. Since this is a skill he developed, he probably has a lot of experience against multiple opponents. So...who, or what, has Cyran been battling all these years? Hypofiends?

Next up we have Cursed Grasp, where an enemy is picked up, controlled, and launched into other enemies. This skill fits his character; he uses other people to hurt others rather than risk himself being in danger. It's a bit like how he guides Gervan to attack Merlin, or Orion with others. Also, have we noticed that he has two skills with controlling effects? Cyran certainly likes to control, or have control of things.

His Hero Focus is worth a mention as well. He gets stronger in battle, and that effect is increased after he uses his ultimate. Not over time, mind you. The more dark magic he uses, the stronger he gets? Hm.

The most interesting skill has to be his Mystic Recollection. He mimics three of Merlin's impressive spells to use in battle. Starshard, one of the three spells, felt like an inversion of Starshower. Instead of having a spell that brings joy, it's a spell that causes harm. Also, why is he being a copy cat? He's gifted enough to have his own signature skills so he certainly should have more up his sleeve. Does he want to hide his own skills, or does he still think Merlin's ones are better?

The last bit is the Exclusive Weapon upgrades. At level 10, he silences Merlin for 8s at the cost of his own HP. Looks very much like the CoA ending, isn't it? He's willing to sacrifice unfathomable things to bring Merlin down, and yet it never lasts. However, if Merlin is absent in battle, his attack increases. Huh. Does Cyran get more aggressive when Merlin is not around, or is it that the absence of Merlin makes him more confident that he can win?

Of course, all of the skills are meant for gameplay and not to be forcefully tied to his character like this, but my brainrot just had to. If you're still reading, thanks for reading!

[a-tired-badger]

Listen, I was a big fan of Undertale but I opted out of Deltarune after Chapter 2 (by the time Chapter 3 came out I lost interest already. No, it's not Toby's fault.). Got informed by the internet that Chapter 5 is out! Sweet. Let's see what Deltarune is doing now. Oh the snowgrave route is still a thing? What's this scene everyone is talking about?

....man, Toby really knows how to tell a story using games.

[a-tired-badger]

When a post says Grace I have to double check if they're talking about a blonde woman with a big gun or a blond man wearing glasses the wrong way. When a post says Simon I have to check if it's a man with one arm or a man wearing a mask.

[a-tired-badger]

Owls

“Dismissed. And practising on animals is forbidden. Understood?”

Hepler eyes the departing group of students busy grumbling under their breath. They think he can’t hear. If he had a choice, he would like to stay out of the whispering, thank you. The last time he accidentally eavesdropped on some students, he had learnt things he would rather not know. 

The soft squeaking from his pockets draws a sigh from him. 

“I know. I know. Dura above, you eat a lot for such tiny things.”

The squeaking grows in volume on the way back to his rustic abode, each peeping at their own frequency. By the time Hepler reaches the rack of dried meat, the squeaking had become full on screeching. He barely has the meat in hand before three baby owls launch themselves out of his pockets trying to reach it. It’s a miracle that he manages to catch all of them with only one free hand. 

There’s more than enough to go around, but it certainly doesn’t stop them from squabbling over one piece. With a grunt of disapproval, Hepler breaks up the pointless fighting. 

“You lot will have enough to fight for once you’re out there.”

While the feeding continues, Hepler slaps a nice cut of meat on a pan. A drizzle of oil and salt, and his mouth is already watering at the smell. It could do with a little something else. He snags a sprig of rosemary and crushes it into the pan. There. Teaching is a strenuous job, especially when one has to keep an eye out for mishaps the entire time. He deserves a break.

One inquisitive owl comes near the pan in a pitter-patter. Hepler snatches the rosemary away before it gets kidnapped by owls. Evidently, the break he wanted was nowhere near with three babies around. 

“You can’t eat that. No.”

Six owl eyes beg to differ. How does one explain to an owl that it is an obligate carnivore, and anything else than meat hurts them? They learn from their parent, of course. But he is not their parent, and he certainly can digest fibre, unlike them. 

Hepler secures the still fresh rosemary with magic for security. Then he points at the raw meat strips. “You eat this. I eat this.” 

He points again for emphasis. Three owls stare back. The curious one edges towards the pan, head bobbing. 

Raw meat tastes unpleasant. It won’t kill him, but why eat raw meat when one has the ability to cook and season? Ever since he discovered fire and salt, Hepler has never went back to raw meat. Now, cooking is great and all, except it’s not an ability that a creature with wings and two feet can pick up.

With a groan, he puts out the cooking fire. The cut of meat is very much reddish still. 

“Like this.” Hepler digs into the meat and pulls off strips. He’s been cutting it up for them since the first feeding, but nothing like the present to teach them how to eat. He watches critically as the owlets dig their claws into the meat, trying to mimic his movements. Perhaps they’re a little too young still. Plenty of time for them to get the hang of it. 

The reddish meat brings a taste that makes his brow wrinkle, but he pushes it aside in favor of getting the little ones to learn. It’s not their fault that they were orphaned. 

Finally. With three full bellies, a temporary peace descends upon Mauler and owl. Hepler stretches, grunting at the cracks in his joints. It does not go unnoticed by the owlets, who try and stretch like him by holding their wings up as far as they can go. 

“You lot are going to be trouble.”

They blink back at him, snuggling close together for a post meal nap. There is something adorable about baby fluff balls getting ready to sleep and Hepler is not immune to it. He tucks them into one of his many scarves that acts as a makeshift nest. 

“Go to sleep.” 

Happy Fathers' Day.

[a-tired-badger]

Hunger

“You can’t keep me here forever, you know.”

Their voice bounced back at themselves in the darkness. No answer. This prison was not made with stone and metal, but a ravenous void that pushes at the edges of sanity and consumes all light that dares to shine. Merlin wriggles their restraints experimentally for the third time since waking. Even the abyss is not absolute; living cracks snake through like ribbons. Escape is not impossible. 

The last they remember is the fight with Cyran, right in front of the dying King. Cyran had lost; of course he had. Not because he was lacking in skill, but because the magic he used was so similar to their own. 

Perhaps he realised that too. Why else would he call upon the abyss after being defeated?

The abyss had answered. Accepted his life as the price for power. Abyssal Cyran was bigger, darker, hungrier. Defeat was not enough. When Merlin grabbed his hand, he yanked them together down into…this place. 

Someone is watching. 

“I’ll get bored here. You might want to think about that.”

The darkness parts. 

Cyran looms from the void, eyes glowing. His form fills up the darkness, replacing the prison with himself. One large hand grips Merlin by the chin and jerks their head up. From the decaying breath blowing onto their face, a hint of sandalwood breaks through. 

“Merlin…”

Merlin looks impossibly small at this angle. Cyran jerks their head this way and that, feeling the squish of flesh in his hand. His claws easily pierce skin, drawing out beads of blood that fill the air with living richness. Their blood glistens red in the light of his pulsing scars. Cyran leans down.

It tastes like life. It tastes like them.

Merlin is watching him with an expression between wariness and confusion. Not fear. Not anger. Who are they to retain such composure in the face of abyssal power? They should kneel! Tremble at his feet! Beg for mercy!

“Arrogant. You think yourself better than the rest of us.”

Merlin looks like they are about to argue back, deliver a lecture on doing the right thing. Cyran silences them with a swipe of his hand. The blow snaps their head to the side, making them wince. They turn back slowly, the look in their eyes undiminished. Filled with a self-righteousness that makes his claws twitch. 

“Look at you. You’re nothing. Nothing.”

“You keep saying that. Are you trying to convince yourself?”

His roar stirs up the darkness into a frenzied shaking. Cyran is on them, his form swallowing theirs entirely. Even pinned to the ground, Merlin shows none of the fear and deference they should. He tightens his grip, watching discomfort bloom on their face. Bruises on their skin crawls outwards from his fingers. At this distance, their scent fills his lungs. The warmth from their body burns him. It stirs the darkness. 

“You are beaten.” Cyran raspes.

They stare back. “Dark magic cannot replace skill or morality.”

“Skill?! We do not speak of skill when we have power-”

Merlin’s light slams into his pouncing form. It tears holes in his wings, stabbing into him. Their light is bright, like a burst of Starshower. It forces the darkness back and fills him with a warmth not found in the abyss. 

The abyss has been so cold.

“More…”

He’s ripping off chunks of the light and swallowing it, almost choking on the warmth of it. He pays no heed to the grip in his hair, or the urgent voice repeating nonsensical words. Cyran buries his face deeper, licking and biting and nuzzling. The warmth in his mouth begins to infuse with a metallic flavor that taints the taste of the light.

Cyran. That’s what the urgent voice was repeating.

Merlin is looking up at him, their hair still glowing faintly in a sprawling mess. Their shoulder lies bare in a hole of jagged fabric, the skin there speckled with blood. The blood continues to leak from puncture wounds matching the shape of his mouth. The taste on his tongue has never been the sweeter.

The abyss is hungry for more.

Cyran rears back at the look in their eyes. Not fear, not anger. Just pain tempered by curiosity. As if he was a specimen for examination. As if what he did was just another note in their observations. As if no matter what he did, they remained high above him, untouchable and unshakable.

He’s going to pull them down. 

“Do you need more?” Merlin asked. Voice soft with concern. “Does that help you?”

That horrible word again, help, like he was some charity case instead of an equal. Cyran shoves himself off them with a snarl. “You’re in no place to offer help-”

Merlin’s light blinds him once more. He can’t help himself; the abyss is hungry, he is hungry, and they taste so good. 

By the time he devours the light, there is no more of it. Merlin is gone. Cyran tears the prison apart to no avail. His light is gone. 

No matter how much he shrieks and snarls at the abyss, it won’t let him leave to find them. Alone again in the darkness, Cyran retreats into himself to bide his time. 

He’ll find them again. 

[a-tired-badger]

Gwyneth

Sometimes it feels like Hendrik’s love ends at the front door. 

When she was ten, a school of colorful fishes in the stream of the upper district caught her attention. So Gwyneth did what any other child would do: jump into the water to catch a fish. She landed straight on the rocks, the fishes darted away, and blood ribboned in the water. A passing guard spotted her and hauled her out, before getting someone to inform Hendrik. It took Hendrik only three minutes to appear, still wearing his armor and breathing heavily. 

The whole royal guard base witnessed the way Hendrik handled his daughter that day. The Commander spent fifteen minutes raising his voice about how stupid her actions had been. Gwyneth stood there, water dripping down her dress, the sun burning the back of her neck. Fortunately, the healer came to intervene. The sting of the iodine was a distant memory, but the way her cheeks burned was not. 

Later that night, Hendrik bought home a colorful fish swimming in a glass vessel.

Memories tend to stick where they’re unwelcome though. By the next day, everyone knew her as Hendrik’s daughter. Whenever she stayed back after lessons to watch the guards train, people passing by would try to herd her back into the shade. When she begged the instructors to teach her, they took the weapons out of her hand with a weary chuckle. 

“The Commander’d have our heads if he knew, Gwyn.”

It certainly didn’t stop her from trying. By the time Hendrik discovered, Gwyneth could outshoot all the nobles in her class and quite a few of the archer guards. Hendrik was on the verge of banning her from the training grounds, until he was persuaded that archery could at least keep his daughter out of other trouble. 

A week after that, Hendrik bought home a finely made bow with matching arrows.

Gwyneth examined her bow. She had long outgrown the first bow Hendrik bought for her. It was now safely stored at home, proudly hanging on her bedroom wall. The bow she wore now could not be drawn by anyone else. Not even the most skilled archers in the royal guard. It was the very same bow that earned her the title of Dragonslayer and Captain. 

But not Hendrik’s trust, apparently.

The training grounds were empty at this hour. On a Saturday morning, most of the guards were too eager to sleep in or meet up with their loved ones. Hendrik was already gone when Gwyneth woke up. With no reason to linger at home, she found herself a place at the royal guard base training grounds. 

It was a place she thought she earned with her bow and arrow. Not everyone thought the same. 

“If I were the Commander’s son, I’d be a captain too.”

“Look at her…strutting around in a fancy dress and bow. She’s too good for us.”

If her arrows flew fast enough, could it outfly these voices?

Arrow after arrow hit the bullseye, shattering each arrow before it. Gwyneth emptied one quiver, and another, and then another. The fire wreathing her arrows set the bullseye on fire. Smoke curled into the air like a signal.

The voices are loud. Hendrik, the loudest.

“I forbid you from taking the frontline! That’s an order, Captain Gwyneth!”

Through the smoke, she could still see the sneer in the guards’ eyes. They shied away from challenging her physically, but they were slow to take her orders and took every opportunity to question her decisions. It didn’t matter if she trained longer than them or fought harder. It didn’t matter.

Because she was Hendrik’s daughter. 

But she is-

“Gwyneth!”

Princess Peggy, her curls bouncing bright in the sun as she walked. Peggy eyed the targets that were still smoking slightly. “I knew you’d be here! No one else makes smoke like this.”

“Princess Peggy.” Gwyneth slung her bow back into place. “Aren’t you supposed to be learning ahout taxes at this time?”

“Taxes? On a Saturday? I have a better plan. You look terrible, Gwyneth. You’re coming with me today.”

A better plan bought them to the morning market of the upper district, still bustling with servants and nobles. Peggy led the way to one particular stall decorated with soft plushies of all kinds. The stall owner bowed and bowed.

“Your Highness, Master Rowan instructed us to-”

Peggy waved him away dismissively. “I want that one, Gwyneth.”

Did Peggy bring her all the way here just to shoot down a toy? Was that all she was good for? A decorative captain with a pretty bow? Gwyneth stared at the soft fluffy cat hanging below the smallest target. This distance was an insult even to the newest archer guard. 

“Gwyneth?”

The toy bow nearly broke under her grip. She could have hit the target even if it was half the size. Gwyneth handed the soft plushie over, fighting to keep her face neutral. “Your Highness.”

Peggy was pleased by the obvious outcome. Two cups of apple juice later, they sat side by side by the fountain, watching the pigeons flutter around crumbs. 

“You’re wearing that face again, Gwyneth. Is it because of Hendrik?”

“...no.”

“Right. I was talking to Cassadee the other day. The other court mages were mean to her. I said I was going to tell Mother, but Cassadee said I wouldn’t understand. The nerve of that! I made Cassadee tell me what’s wrong. She said the others were mean because they think she only made it because of Merlin.”

Cassadee. Oh, the new court mage. “Because of Merlin?”

“You didn’t know? Merlin personally vouched for Cassadee to be court mage. Maybe that’s why Cyran doesn’t like her either. Of course I understand what that feels like.”

Gwyneth glanced over. Peggy had her arms folded. Would a princess really understand?

“Not you too! Of course I understand. Some of the nobles had the nerve to say that I got better marks than their children because I am the princess. Well, if their children studied as much as I had to, maybe they would score as well too!”

Despite Peggy’s famous escape attempts, Gwyneth had witnessed Peggy spending a large amount of time taking lessons. The nobles only saw the princess. Not the little girl surrounded by tutors and tomes, or the teaching discussions the queen puts out at the dinner table. 

Just like how the guards never acknowledged her hours spent shooting arrows.

“I told Cassadee to ignore them. It’s not true anyway, Mother says Cassadee is very talented. Even Cyran said so, even if he doesn’t like her. Besides, if Merlin says they believe in me, I would believe Merlin!”

Peggy pulled out a plushie Gwyneth never saw before. 

“Rowan says this is an older model, but I think it’s perfect. Anyway! I just wanted to give you this. So that you’ll know what Merlin looks like before they arrive next week.”

Gwyneth receives the plushie reverently with both hands. The small Merlin smiles up at her. 

Would Merlin believe in her?

Peggy continued to talk about Cassadee all the way back to the palace. Gwyneth nodded at appropriate times, filing the information away for future use. Tiny Merlin sat in the crook of her elbow. Tucked away safely like her clamoring thoughts. 

I am more than the Commander’s daughter.

I...will prove it. 

[a-tired-badger]

A Daughter Grown

“Hendrik! Nothing like children to age you quicker, I see.”

Hogan pulls out a chair. Wood scrapes across the stone floor, the sound drowned in the bawdy tune being howled by the man with a lyre up front. The moon is high, and many have taken to joining in the unholy choir. The smell of ale and meat clings to the air. Hendrik settles into his seat, looking even more tired without his armor. 

A passing barmaid sets down two mugs of ale before hurrying off. Hogan pushes his plate of untouched dinner towards Hendrik, gesturing for him to eat. 

“I figured that you didn’t pick this place for the food. You should try their stew though. It’s quite something. Valen introduced it to me.”

Hendrik waves it off. “Good to see you, old friend.”

“And I you. Now, what is it that made you send three pigeons to me?”

It’s the quietest corner in the tavern, but that doesn’t stop Hendrik from glancing around with the air of a man on guard. Several drunk patrons return his look. Hendrik certainly doesn’t return the waves in his direction.

“It’s about Gwyneth.”

“Of course. How’s your little girl? Not so little now though. Fifteen? Twenty?”

“Sixteen. Hogan, I don’t know what to do.”

“Some young man with a sweet mouth? Surely not worth this much trouble.”

“The king appointed her as a royal guard.”

Hogan blinks. Gwyneth as a royal guard? Of course, he had seen her spirit burn brightly since she was old enough to hold a dagger. But a royal guard? At this age? Appointed by the king himself? 

“Gwyneth slew a drake.”

“A drake?! By Dura, that is…well, we always knew she had it in her, but a drake? You have to bring Gwyneth along next time so that we can celebrate properly.”

Hendrik slams a fist on the table. Amidst all the curious looks, Hogan calls out in a good imitation of a drunk man wanting more ale. The air relaxes.

“Calm down, old friend. Surely you must hold some pride for her as well.”

Gwyneth was not the product of love between Hendrik and a lucky woman, but she was no less loved by the grizzly commander. After all, who else would be allowed to use his shields as a play fort? 

How much of it was born of guilt?

Hendrik stares into the distance, his face set in deep lines. Hogan takes a swig from his mug. “Gwyneth’s always been stubborn. And if she has what it takes to be a royal guard, why not?”

“I didn’t spend half my life raising her just to see her throw herself in danger.”

“I’m sure her opponents think otherwise.”

The reassurance didn’t move Hendrik an inch. Hogan sighs. “Gwyneth can certainly handle herself. Besides, there aren’t that many guards with her skill. If she wasn’t your daughter, you wouldn’t think twice about taking her in.”

Still, Hendrik wore that moody expression. 

Hogan claps him hard on the shoulder. “You have no trust in the warrior that you raised. Gwyneth is grown, old friend. When you and I met, we were even younger than her then.”

The night ended far too quickly for two old friends. No matter what Hogan said, it didn’t help Hendrik sleep that night. 

This was just the first of many sleepless nights for Hendrik. 

[a-tired-badger]

CW: mentions of negative thoughts, implications of acting on them.

Dark Spaces

You’ve never really thought about the dark spaces. 

The last time you cleaned under the bed was after a certain yellow eyed entity emerged from there looking like a giant dust bunny. That was also the day you found out that it didn’t care about the dust, as long as it could stay in the dark. Something about the sight of a moving dust bunny made you decide then that it was time to clean. After all, your roommate really likes dark spaces and you feel a smidge of responsibility for it.

So when you crawled into the space under the bathroom cupboards before lunch, there was no one else to blame for the skittering spiders and dead bugs. And half a cockroach wing.

There was no demon. Just you. And the sadness.

Time flows differently in the dark. It could only be measured by how much body warmth you lost to the cold tiles. How the spiders scuttle from the north to the south. How your stomach rumbled for food and slowly went quiet. The sadness kept growing, until it leaked out of your eyes and nose.

You barely had time to wet one square tile before you hear rapid shuffling.

Physics doesn’t apply to a creature made out of demonic flesh and yellow eyes. It squeezes into the space with you, flowing around you in a way that only it can. It is not alone; along with it comes the faint tang of something burnt. For a moment, you wonder if it had been sneaking into your leftovers again.

“You’re crying.” 

There is no space for you to raise an arm and wipe your face, but the thing rubbing your face like a broken wiper has seen to that. You can’t really avoid the question. Not when it sticks glowing yellow eyes right in front of you.

“I’m fine.” Your voice is stuffy. It could do with more crying. 

“No.” It sounds perplexed. “Sometimes you cry in your sleep too. When you’re having nightmares.”

“It’s daytime.”

“Yes. And you…you’re in my space.”

On another day, you will talk to it about what is yours and what is its. If you paid rent for the whole apartment, that includes the dark spaces, even if you don’t clean them. But today is not the day so you focus on trying not to cry. 

Your sleep paralyis demon wraps more tightly around you. “How can I help? What can I do?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I’m just sad. Just sad. Yeah?”

Just one of those days. Where the body feels far too heavy and living is a burden. When the only thing to do is to lie down so that the world can pass by without you. It is one of those days where the body moves but the spirit doesn’t. 

Silence. Maybe the demon has had enough of you too. Maybe it would be better if-

“If you want a dark space, I…can be your dark space.”

What does that even mean? Then the bathroom door closes. You are slid out from under the cupboard like luggage on a conveyer belt into the darkness of the bathroom. Long spindly fingers pick something off your arm. Yellow eyes blink slowly at you once. 

You feel around for cold tile, but all you can feel is squishy warmth.

“Dark space. For you.”

So it wasn’t going to leave? It was making space for you? You feel the spindly fingers again on your face, still acting like broken wipers. 

“Is it not good?” It sounds alarmed. “You’re still crying.”

Words are not enough, so you grip onto the squishy warmth as hard as you can, pressing yourself into it. Your tears are absorbed into the mysterious flesh. That’s when you smell the faint tang of something burnt again.

“Why do you smell like burnt meat?” You blubbered out.

The pause is long enough to break your crying spiel. The yellow eyes looking down at you glow with discomfort.

“There was light…in the way. While I came to find you.”

Understanding sinks in. You try to find the source of the smell, but it doesn’t let you. You burst out into ugly crying. 

“Don’t cry.” The alarm is back in its voice. “Or…cry, if that makes you feel better.”

“You’re an idiot.” You sobbed. “You stupid idiot.”

You forget that it feels what you feel, so you are surprised by it patting your back in an imitation of what you once showed it. It rests its chin on the top of your head. You can feel a steady heartbeat behind you.

“You should come to me next time. I make a better dark space than my spaces.”

Of course. What better place than an entity that can wrap around you entirely? You rest your head on some part of it. It responds in gentle ripples. 

No more hiding in dusty dark places.

Not when you have it. 

[a-tired-badger]

I offer a humble drawing for that fantastic short story "Prisoner"

"Inside the prison, Cyran lifts his head. Rigel twinkled brightly as usual."

Hi! Hi!!!!

First of all, thank you for reading and liking my words! Secondly, OMG YOU DREW ART OF MY WORK. OMG. OMG.

(You can't see it, but I am spinning around like a dog after its tail in excitement.)

Thank you for your art! Do drop by often, so we can all gather together to mope over Cyran.

(Cyran: ??)

[a-tired-badger]

Prisoner

“Here to play the hero again, Merlin?”

High above their heads, a square shaped hole was cut into the stone ceiling. No one knows the purpose of it; a means to torment the prisoner with the weather, or a mercy to allow fresh air in. There were no records of this place in the royal archives. Knowledge of this place was passed down from monarch to monarch in hushed whispers and secret tours. Built with magic older than the Lightbearer Empire, this prison held the most dangerous of criminals. 

Merlin lifted their head to the hole. Tonight, stars winked down back at the viewer. In the last week, it had alternated between scorching sun and torrential rain. Something about the weather being off balance with the amount of Hypofiends unleashed in Savannah. 

Chains dragged across stone. Cyran was getting impatient.

Ever since Merlin pulled them out of the abyss, Cyran had been a changed man. Gone was the refined charisma that wooed so many to accept his words. In its place stood a man twice Merlin’s height, with the taint of dark magic on his clawed hands and purple scars that glowed like the yellow of his eyes. 

“Careful, Merlin. One would think you couldn’t bear to see me punished.”

Merlin ignored the jab, running a daily check on the golden chains gleaming beneath iron ones. The iron chains did a chilling job in keeping one prisoner, but it never hurt to take extra care. Especially with a mage like Cyran. 

While Merlin knelt down to check on the bottom chains, Cyran lunged.

His clawed hand came short of Merlin’s chest. Both iron and golden chains tightened, jerking him back to a safe distance. The Queen had been certain when she claimed that mortal being ever managed to escape this place. Rumor that Berial himself spent an inordinate amount of time here before figuring out how to leave, at a steep cost. 

Merlin lifted their head. Cyran was suspended by the chains, eyes glowing with fierce emotion. 

“One day, I’ll tear this place apart, and everyone in the Empire along with it.”

“I suppose that includes me.”

“You? Oh no…when I get my hands on you, Merlin…”

Even at this distance, Cyran looms. Merlin returns his hungry stare. A sneer forms on Cyran’s face, still handsome even after the abyss took him.

“Whatever you intend to do with me, you shall not have it. Never!”

Was that uncertainty in Cyran’s eyes? Merlin cancelled the spell they were about to cast, leaving a faint glow on their hands. Ever since Cyran’s imprisonment last week, Merlin had spent every waking moment poring through obscure texts, flitting back and forth, writing letters filled with instructions to Cranky, and even using the Queen’s help to scry Zorya. No one had answers for what Merlin intended to do. 

This level of magic…only you could accomplish it, Merlin. 

I would not go against your wishes, Merlin, but perhaps it might be best to let it go. 

Cyran was still glaring, his fingers curling and uncurling. Bound in this prison, his link to the abyss was almost nonexistent, constraining much of his power. Despite so, Merlin had yet to find a way to reverse what the abyss did to him. 

He’s a traitor, Merlin. I understand the loss of such a capable mage, but…he’s far too dangerous to leave alive. 

Cyran had certainly not been eager to spill all his secrets on dark magic. In fact, he revelled in having such knowledge that remained out of even the Queen’s reach. Merlin had tried spell after spell to reverse and cleanse, but it had yielded nothing. It seemed that once the corruption reached a threshold, there could be nothing done about it. But Merlin was not known for giving up. 

A soft golden glow wrapped around Merlin’s hands. Cyran looked demonic in the light. 

“How does it feel to lose to me?!”

The golden light struck Cyran in the chest. He jerked once, and then the light sank into him. It battled the dark magic in him, rushing his body and setting him alight. Cyran howled, the chains rattling as he writhed and thrashed in place. After the light faded, the dark magic darkened with a vengeance, pulsing. 

Matted hair could not obscure Cyran’s almost gleeful gaze.

“That’s right. Even the great Merlin is hopeless when facing the abyss!”

Maybe the Queen and Zorya were right. Maybe the lack of sleep was doing Merlin in. Merlin leaned against the wall, feeling the slow simmering of ancient magic inside the stone. Maybe, what they needed, was sixteen hours of sleep and a nice cold ice cream. Or maybe Contess might have ideas. No, that’s wrong. Contess despised anyone and anything to do with the Syndicate. 

Cyran had settled somewhat, no doubt pleased with himself. 

“What have I ever done to make you hate me so much?” Merlin addressed the air. “You took my hand. You took my hand.”

Those words seemed to hit Cyran harder than the attempted cleansing spell. “Your hand?? Offered like the nobles tossing coin to beggers?? I could see the pity in your eyes!”

“I wanted to help-”

“I don’t need your help!”

Cyran’s roar bounced off the stone and echoed into the night. It was far too late to be wasting time and energy here when there was a nice warm bed waiting for them in the palace. Marge would have seen to it that one of the servants remained awake to wait for Merlin’s return, in case Merlin returned hungry and tired. 

Merlin clenched their jaw. They shouldn’t be troubling others over a traitor. 

“Are you simply afraid of losing to me? Or are you worried that you might actually want my help?”

Cyran flinched like he had just been slapped. Then smoke began to rise off his arms. It always happened when Cyran was straining all he could to attack with magic. 

Enough. Merlin shut it down with a spell akin to dumping water over him.

“I need to sleep. Goodnight, Cyran. The stars are clear tonight. Part of Orion is visible if you are keen to watch the sky.”

Merlin slipped out of the cell, not waiting for an answer. Up and down the stairs they went, until stone faded into marble and lanterns glowed gently to keep the darkness at bay. They’re going to head down to the kitchen to nick some food, and then maybe use a sleep potion to get some much needed sleep. 

Inside the prison, Cyran lifts his head. Rigel twinkled brightly as usual. 

The sight did not ease the fear in him. 

[a-tired-badger]

Forgotten

It’s quite a sight to see Cyran surrounded by rotting food.

None of them ever stain his robes, proof that his magic is still intact. But it certainly doesn’t stop the people from trying. Rotten eggs, mouldy fruit, all of them are sent flying his way by passing strangers. Even the children have started a competition to see who manages to land a hit on Cyran. 

“Magister Merlin, look! My apple touched his shoe!”

“No way! My egg landed closer, look at his robe!”

Merlin has to gently push their way through the crowd of children. The children boo with disappointment when Merlin announces that today’s competition is over. No matter. The children will return, and so will the rotting food. There is no protection for one who stands guilty of treason. 

Cyran sits through it all. A lone figure worshipped by decay. 

The theatre is empty at this hour. The performing troupe rests in the finest inn of Savannah, wearied from repeating the story of King Rolan and how he saved Excalibur from Prince Orion and Magister Cyran. Every evening they act out the scene once more, drawing cheers from the people and a rain of coins that keep the troupe going. It’s getting annoying, the host confessed to Merlin. Especially when they have to clean up the theatre because of Cyran.

A traitor like this should be in jail, Merlin. Why do they keep letting him out here?

There is a cell in the dungeons. Hewn from the hardest stone, the walls are carved with runes meant to render magic useless. Iron shackles hang from the wall, one for each limb and one for a neck. Prisoners in the cell have to relieve themselves right where they are, and sleep in their own mess. Food is given once a day, water if the prisoner looks half dead. Wounds are left to fester. Guards stand outside the cell at all hours. 

It’s where he belongs, Merlin. But if you insist…

The Queen was not happy to have Cyran out in the open. If Cyran somehow escapes, Savannah would have to sleep with one eye open for quite a while. No one wants Cyran out in the open. Hendrik, Gwyneth, Rowan. Even the nobles that once praised the ground Cyran walked on were now passionately describing the charges against Cyran. A strong binding spell in the form of a golden chain cast by Merlin’s hand barely convinced them. The chain is still there, gleaming under Cyran’s robes at his ankle. 

An eggshell crunches beneath Merlin’s boot. 

Cyran is gazing out at nothing, as he does nowadays. His staff hangs loosely in his hand, the head empty where a crystal once resided. The skin there is pale and smooth, devoid of the magic blackening his digits just a week ago. Merlin can still remember how the purple clawed across Cyran’s face and turned his eyes yellow. But the man sitting on the theatre bench is all human now. 

“Twenty three children.” Cyran is still gazing at nothing. “Two more since yesterday.”

“Nothing like mischief that captures their attention.”

“They certainly would not have laid a hand on me before.” Cyran turns his gaze to the ground. A mixture of spoiled eggs and rotten fruit greet him. “I must have done something terrible this time.”

A gust of wind brings the smell up to one’s face. Merlin sets the rotting pile on fire, watching it burn to ashes. 

“They’re telling me to evict you. The performing troupe.”

“Of course. They believe Merlin can solve all their problems.”

Merlin lets the mockery slip by. “You’ve been watching the play for a week now. It doesn’t seem like it’s helping.”

“Oh? Is my old classmate finally willing to come clean with me?”

Cyran sits perfectly straight, a trait he displayed since his younger years. Merlin doesn’t remember all that is missing, but the memory stars show enough to tell a story. If not for the memory stars, there would have been nothing to jog Cyran’s memory after he was pulled out from the abyss. 

No one else saw it happen. Gawain witnessed the defeat, but even she could not describe what happened after that; it was recorded officially as a blinding golden light, and then Cyran was back on the ground, disoriented and missing bits of himself. 

“If I tell you, how would we know if your memories have returned?”

“Then I see no reason to stop watching the play. Especially when it features myself as the villain.”

Merlin nudges the ashes on the ground with a boot into abstract shapes. Cyran watches with some distaste. “Even with your memory loss, you’ve never changed, Merlin.”

“I could say the same of you.”

A group of beautifully dressed people walk by. The ladies hide their faces behind glittery fans, whispering and looking at the odd pair sitting on the theatre bench. Cyran returns their look. The nobles sweep away in huffs. 

“To think-” Cyran makes the ashes disappear with a flick of his wrist. “-that I can claim to be your equal now. Even if it’s something as laughable as memory loss.” 

“Yeah? You wanna see who’s memory loss is worse?”

“Undoubtedly you will still best me somehow.”

“Competing over memory loss is so childish.”

“You started it.”

Merlin sighs. The clouds crawl across the sky. Stall owners begin to pack up their wares for the day. Cyran didn’t lose his impeccable timing with his memory. Soon, the performing troupe will be preparing behind the stage for another evening of King Rolan. Cyran has arrived precisely in time to secure the best spot, even if it meant getting harrassed by children while waiting.

“You should consider what else to do while we try to fix your memories.”

“First of all, you can’t even fix your memory, Merlin. Secondly, where am I meant to go, when my appointment as Chief Court Mage has clearly been revoked?”

“...Prison.”

“Oh? The solitary pen, as they like to call it?” Cyran’s lip quirks at Merlin’s raised brow. “I may be missing my memories, but I am not deaf. I certainly wonder what have I been accused of to deserve such a treatment.”

“Another cell. Cassadee will keep watch.”

“Ah yes. The young mage that watches me like a hawk. Where even blinking can be miscontrued as a crime. Your protégé certainly picked up some strange lessons from you.”

“She’s not my protégé.”

“Yet you went as far as to reveal yourself just to vouch for her.”

Merlin dusted ash off themselves. They had no intention of sitting through another King Rolan play, not when the audience would be clamouring to talk about it with them afterwards. Cyran certainly had enough magic to shield himself from hostiles while watching the play. 

Besides, the Queen was waiting for them in the palace. Letting Cyran roam around unfettered was not a permanent solution, but neither was keeping them in prison. How could Cyran stand trial if he didn’t even remember the crime he committed? There had to be a solution. But time was running out; if the palace didn’t act soon, surely the Syndicate would swoop in to retrieve one of their assets. 

Merlin could call a Council meeting. Except they didn’t remember how to do it, and now only Gawain and Bedivere were available. 

“I’ll see you later.” Merlin gave a tug on the golden chain spell on Cyran’s ankle. It was in place, as it will be. 

Cyran barely acknowledged the tug. “Of course you will.”

Twenty steps later, Merlin turns back to face the theatre. Cyran is still sitting there, his black hair curling in the wind. It’s such a shame. If only Cyran had not turned to dark magic, things could have been different. 

As if sensing their gaze, Cyran looks up. He smiles. 

If only things had been different. 

[a-tired-badger]

I know I said no more Cyran but my brain tells me that Take Me Back to Eden from Sleep Token is perfect for the final scene with Cyran.

I need you to see me for what I have become My, my, those eyes like fire I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre Come now, bite through these wires I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire

[a-tired-badger]

Crown of Ashes (4.3)

Yes, spoiler, shoo.

What do you mean there's no cutscene of us beating Cyran in the first phase of the duel? Lilith, I will gladly rewatch that multiple times.

The chat before the hot boss fight-I mean, evil boss fight says it all. "As long as I still lose to you, it will never be over. I cannot lose." You could offer Cyran the crown at this point and he will just throw it over his shoulder. It really makes one wonder: how much of Cyran's ambitions, all this new world order and chasing power, stems from his need to beat Merlin?

Who is Cyran without this need?

We don't know, because the moment Cyran lost to Merlin, he completely loses it. He can't lose to us again; he can't live in our shadow again. Cyran has been living in the shadow of being second to Merlin and this is what has been driving him all along. I'm starting to think all those ambitions are Cyran's coping mechanisms.

But, I have more questions: Why is Cyran so traumatised by being second? Insecurities and fears do not exist singularly, or without comparison.

Anyway, Cyran stabs himself for this power boost. Right in the heart too, may I add. With the new crystal in his staff, since he gave the last one to Gervan. Speaking of Gervan, after he was beaten, he did come back in mostly human form. It doesn't look to be that way for Cyran. Unless the abyss has top notch healing skills to close that hole in his heart. Sink our ship, will you, Lilith.

My inner demon demands to be out now and say that the boss form of Cyran is really hot. Wings? Bigger form? The way he focuses on Merlin even though the abyss has taken much of his humanity? No matter what happens, Merlin remains the centre of his world. How romantic, if only Cyran wasn't trying to end us.

Do you think Cyran only wants to beat us, or would he kill us to beat us for good?

Back to the scene.

Not sure what Lilith was trying to achieve here, but the way Merlin wraps the chains around Cyran? The way Cyran grabs at Merlin? Very nice. To no one's surprise, Merlin still beats Cyran. Call it plot armour or a being not from the Tree of Life.

I have questions. Why when Gervan is beaten, he gets to stay in this realm? But when Cyran gets beaten, he sinks back into the abyss? A price to pay for using power from the abyss? Did Gervan got treated to a cheap version?

Anyhoo. Cyran sinks, and then Merlin runs for him. Maybe Merlin's idea of defeat is chains of eternity (hehe) and a cushy jail like Contess. Maybe Merlin doesn't want to see Cyran lost. Maybe, it is just in Merlin's nature to rescue what they can.

Then comes the look in his eyes. Cyran thought it was all over, and got shocked that we came for him. By the way, the size difference in their hands here? Peak.

Cyran sees us as a hero, but never thought that we would include him in the people that need saving too. Does he not see himself being saved, or does he think Merlin wouldn't bother? Why does he keep misunderstanding Merlin? Why does he keep projecting his insecurities onto Merlin to make them a monster?

And then of course Lilith just has to break our heart with the brief moment Cyran returns our grip.

Whether it stems from a survival instinct or an acceptance of Merlin, we don't know. We won't ever know. Because in the next moment, Cyran's demons have taken over once more, and Merlin is once again the monster to him. The offer of help is pity in disguise, according to him. It is Starshower all over again. Cyran has never moved on since that day.

Oh well. At least if Merlin ever sinks into the abyss, Cyran will be the first to welcome them.

Now that I have gotten all this off my chest, I can sleep soundly. If there is a (5), it won't be about Cyran anymore, I promise.

[a-tired-badger]

Crown of Ashes (4.2)

Spoiler. Spoilers ahead.

The next time we see Cyran, he is storming the palace. Focus on that scene.

Is that the move of a person that has everything in control? No, it's what happens when Cyran decides that he has nothing else to lose and is ready to shake everything up, starting with murdering the king. Luckily Merlin comes by with "that sickening hero act".

Note that this is the second time Cyran said Merlin has some hero act going on. Self-righteous, arrogant, hero, light. These are the adjectives Cyran uses on Merlin. It's how Cyran sees Merlin. If we go by Tower of Memories, we know that Merlin is far from arrogant. But Cyran cannot be objective when it comes to Merlin. I think this is great angst fic potential.

Continuing with the scene.

Throughout the years since the Serene Lyceum, Cyran has slowly came to embrace the idea that only power should reign supreme. And since he is one of those with power, the others should make way for him. But, wait. Cyran is from a noble family. His uncle is a lord and his brother is a knight. Compared to the other students, Cyran is already born into power. Would someone who already has power be driven to build a new world order, or simply reside comfortably at the top?

Or maybe, Cyran was never at the top?

Throw a stone into the Upper District, and you would probably hit a noble in the head. Yet, among the nobles, there is still a pecking order. House Rayne holds the frontlines. House Hastings has great influence. Cyran doesn't have a memorable last name.

We don't know how Cyran's family treats their children, but if Silven was anything to go by, climbing the noble ladder meant a lot to the nobles. Would Cyran and his brother be pressured to perform well? By the time we see Merlin talking to Cyran in the Serene Lyceum, Cyran's first words were roughly along the lines of beating Merlin.

Cyran cannot afford to lose, and he has been losing to Merlin for years.

Onwards.

Cyran admits that Merlin outshines them all, even himself. Merlin has the very thing he covets - power enough to steer the world, quote unquote. All these years, Cyran has been chasing after darker and darker things in the name of power, though I wonder what he wants to do with it. Rule Esperia? Beat Merlin?

Does he hope that Merlin will understand him? If Merlin offered to team up with Cyran...

But it won't happen, because Merlin has their principles and it is at odds with Cyran. And that makes Cyran hate Merlin even more, because Merlin has the very thing he wants and Merlin uses it for other people.

How terrible it must be, to hate and want the physical embodiment of the thing you cannot have.

[a-tired-badger]

Crown of Ashes (4.1)

Again, do not come here if you haven't finished the main quest!

I will burst if I do not talk about Cyran in this season, so this post is about Cyran alone. If you hate Cyran, you might want to keep scrolling.

We're going to start from the barrier scene.

"You turn to Cyran, your voice is calm, edged with quiet mockery. You gesture lightly at the shattered barrier, as though critiquing flawed artwork. It's an imitation of your magic. It's just a pity. The mana nodes were slightly off, and the resonance sloppy."

The few times that we are not in control of Merlin's narrative really shows their true self.

Merlin, for all their amnesia and the amount of times they got into trouble, is still Merlin. They are level headed in times of crisis, unafraid of conflict, and strives to live up to their title. If anything, the amnesia made Merlin bolder, because you cannot be afraid of what you don't know. And the amnesia has not affected their magic at all. They recognised Cyran's attempt at an imitation that probably fooled everyone else, and pointed out the flaws.

Oh, Cyran.

Decades of growth, and he still relies on something that is an imitation of Merlin? Granted, it could be out of convenience or need. But why point out to us that it is an imitation of Merlin's magic?

Not only Cyran is imitating Merlin's magic, he hasn't perfected it as well. What do you mean after decades of studying Merlin's magic, and you still get the mana nodes off and resonance sloppy? Isn't Cyran supposed to be the most powerful mage after Merlin? Getting a critique of "slightly off" can be forgiven, but "sloppy"?

And how does Merlin react to it? With the calm that seems to come naturally to them, and a quiet mockery displayed in a light manner.

At first it appears that Cyran was angry that his plans were foiled again, so soon after Tower of Memories. But when does he start losing it?

"Disappointed?! Crude?! You haven't changed since the academy! Arrogant! Self-righteous! What could you possibly understand?!"

The anger started because his plans were foiled. But the quiet mockery, the criticism of his magic, straight up unhinged him. Everything he's done has been to surpass Merlin's light, quote unquote. He's losing it because decades later he's still overshadowed by Merlin. Cyran is very much like Gwyneth in this cutscene; he's fighting his own demons.

We didn't fix him. We made him worse unintentionally.