Hello there! If your writing stuff rn may I request headcanons for cyno becoming close with reader (perhaps she's a friend of a friend) who also tells jokes but they can range from just having amazing comedic timing with the things she says about something happening or just straight up dad jokes like-
someone: "how do I look"
Cyno and reader simultaneously: "with your eyes :D")
word count. 2.1k
note. this turned out more fic-like than planned, but hope it makes you smile :)
– You actually meet Cyno because you get lost.
– Not dramatically lost in any way that could provide you an excuse for being so. Just regular, embarrassing, I-was-definitely-paying-attention-except-apparently-I-wasn’t lost, somewhere between Gandharva Ville and a “shortcut” Tighnari had, with deeply misplaced confidence, assured you was simple.
– You’re going to have words with him later.
– For now, you’re standing at a fork that shouldn’t exist according to your mental map, squinting at both options with your hands on your hips, when a voice behind you says, “Negotiating with the road?”
– Under normal circumstances, a man materializing behind you in the middle of the forest would be deeply alarming. Under current circumstances, you’ve already spent your emotional budget on being annoyed at the terrain. So, you turn with remarkable calm and observe him leaning against a tree with his arms crossed.
– “I am,” you reply. “It’s not going well. The road is being unreasonable.”
– Somehow, that earns the faintest shift in his expression—a suggestion that a smile could happen under favorable conditions.
– He tilts his head toward one path. “Left.”
– “How do you know where I’m going?”
– “I don’t. But the right path leads to a Sumpter Beast breeding ground, and you don’t look prepared for that.”
– You glance down at yourself. He has a point.
– “Left it is. Thank you, mysterious forest man.”
– “General Mahamatra.”
– “…Left it is. Thank you, mysterious forest General Mahamatra man.”
– This time, the corner of his mouth twitches.
– He pushes off the tree. “I’ll escort you to the main road.”
– “Because I look that lost?”
– “Because there have been bandits in the area.”
– “Ah.” You nod solemnly. “So I look conveniently robbable.”
– “You said it, not me.”
– You laugh, and he falls into step beside you.
– Conversation continues smoothly after that. By the time the road opens up enough that Gandharva Ville is no longer in question, you’ve learned his name is Cyno, that he speaks with the gravity of someone giving sworn testimony, and that talking to him is oddly easy once you stop expecting him to be conventionally expressive.
– You part with a polite goodbye and the lingering sense that the encounter was stranger—and more pleasant—than it had any right to be. You only find out later, quite by accident, that your mysterious road-escort and Tighnari’s oldest friend are the same person.
– This comes up when you’re in Tighnari’s home a few days later, helping restock first-aid kits while also taking the opportunity to complain about his shortcut, which he maintains was perfectly valid.
– “In any case, you still made it back,” he finally sighs after failing to convince you that your navigational choices were your own responsibility.
– “Only thanks to some mysterious man in the forest named Cyno.”
– He pauses. “Cyno?”
– “You know him? He said he was the General Mahamatra, so I assumed that was either true or the most committed impersonation I’ve ever seen.”
– “Yup, that’s definitely Cyno.”
– “Small world.” You tuck bandages into a box. “He walked me all the way back to the main road.”
– “That’s odd—he was supposed to be leaving for the desert that afternoon,” Tighnari muses. “He must have turned around to accompany you.”
– “What? Why would he do that?”
– Tighnari squints at you. “I’ve learned not to speculate on his reasoning. It’s better for my health.”
– The second time you meet Cyno, it’s coincidentally at Tighnari’s. You’re halfway through the doorway with an unreasonable number of herb bundles in your arms when Tighnari says, with immediate disapproval, “I told you three.”
– “You said, and I quote, ‘Bring what you can carry,’” you rebut, balancing the teetering pile against your shoulder. “This is a failure of instruction clarity.”
– “This is a failure of restraint,” he corrects as you glance up and find Cyno leaning against the wall in almost the exact pose he’d had when you first met.
– You brighten immediately. “Mysterious forest General Mahamatra man!”
– He looks almost surprised to see you. “You know Tighnari.”
– “Apparently, you know Tighnari,” you counter.
– The herb bundles tilt ominously. Cyno is beside you before they can spill, lifting half the stack from your arms with practiced ease.
– You blink. “Oh. Thank you.”
– “Preventing avoidable disasters is part of my work.”
– “That sounds less impressive when the disasters are me getting lost or dropping medicinal plants.”
– “A disaster is measured by outcome, not dignity.”
– You stare at him for one beat, then laugh outright. And there it is again—that near-smile he seems to permit only under tightly regulated conditions.
– After that, the overlap in your lives becomes impossible to miss.
– You help Tighnari when his workload gets ridiculous, which is often. Cyno, of course, visits him regularly. So now there is a new and deeply unfortunate pattern in Tighnari’s life where he will look up from his work to find both of you in the same room, consequently suffering twice the usual number of puns.
– “Why did the scholar bring a ladder to the library?”
– You look up from your book. “Why?”
– “To reach a higher level of understanding.”
– You grin. “So the research had its ups and downs?”
– Cyno’s eyes sparkle. “But overall, it elevated the discussion.”
– Tighnari winces from the other side of the room. “I’m revoking your speaking privileges.”
– The thing about Cyno is that most people don’t really laugh with him. They brace for or tolerate his jokes with weary resignation. Tighnari, in particular, reacts to each pun like a fresh personal injury. You are the first person in a long time who hears his jokes and answers them in the same language.
– “That was well-constructed,” Cyno says to you approvingly, ignoring Tighnari.
– “Thank you. I believe in craftsmanship,” you quip.
– He looks absurdly pleased.
– This is, you realize, the key difference between you.
– Cyno treats comedy like architecture: deliberate, measured, built piece by piece. You treat it like weather: sometimes you summon it, but often you’re just in the right place when the air pressure shifts and something absurd blows through. Somehow, it works. He lays the foundation; you throw open the windows.
– By then, friendship has already happened without either of you formally acknowledging it. You start saving small stories for him: strange things you saw in the Bazaar, bizarre essay titles, Tighnari’s latest debate with some stubborn scholar. He shows up with things he thinks you might find interesting: an old text, an unusual trinket, an enormous beetle (which you politely ask him to remove from your immediate vicinity).
– It’s not long before you start landing on the same joke at the same time.
– Collei steps out of her room, smoothing her new tunic nervously. “How do I look?”
– You and Cyno answer simultaneously: “With your eyes.”
– Collei groans. Tighnari makes a sound like his soul just left his body.
– There’s a moment of recognition as you and Cyno turn toward each other. Oh. You, too.
– You break first, laughing helplessly. Cyno’s mouth curves upward after a moment, like he’s decided that if he’s already complicit, he might as well accept it.
– The escalation is, technically, Tighnari’s fault. He keeps inviting you both to the same things because, in his words, “I’m not reorganizing my life around your collective nonsense.”
– This proves to be a strategic error.
– Cyno delivers a structured joke. You riff on it. He refines the riff. You take the refinement somewhere unnecessary. What begins as a pun becomes a volley, then a construction so specific and self-referential that nobody else in the room can follow it anymore.
– Tighnari looks at Cyno, who is indeed more animated than usual, leaning forward slightly as you argue about whether camel caravans count as “sandwich delivery” in the desert because they transport goods between layers of sand.
– “That’s what concerns me,” Tighnari says.
– But the real proof of how close you’ve grown shows up in unspoken ways. You learn that he rereads the same book when he can’t sleep. That he sometimes rehearses jokes in his head before saying them aloud. That the burden of being General Mahamatra is not only the responsibility, but the isolation—the way people pull back when they understand what he represents.
– He learns that you are dependable in every serious matter and hopeless with personal clutter. That you love learning but hate the Akademiya’s tendency to treat knowledge like property. That you’re one of the few people he trusts to read the mood—yes, even he knows he doesn’t always get it right—and you help him without making him feel corrected.
– Most importantly, he learns that your humor is not, and has never been, a deflection; it’s a way of reaching sincerity without forcing anyone to sit exposed in it longer than they can bear. Maybe he understands this instinctively because beneath your different deliveries, the two of you are trying to do the same thing: make moments easier to hold.
– This, more than any joke, is why he trusts you.
– One evening, Cyno returns to Gandharva Ville long after sunset, with blood on his sleeves and a heaviness that has nothing to do with fatigue. You don’t comment on the stains or ask for details. Instead, you hand him water and say quietly, “Sit.”
– He does.
– “Want alone time or company?”
– “Company,” he admits.
– You sit beside him. Just that. After a while, you add quietly, “If you ever need to talk, I’ll listen. And if you don’t, I won’t force it into a lesson or a joke.”
– He looks at you for a long moment. “Thank you.”
– “Of course.” Then, because gentleness is easier if it doesn’t stare at itself too long: “Though if you eventually want a joke, I do provide emotional support in several formats.”
– A breath leaves him that is almost, almost a laugh. “Noted.”
– Cyno is not oblivious. He notices patterns. He notices how often he ends up matching his steps to yours, how he slows without thinking when you’re distracted. He often finds himself asking, “Are you heading back?” instead of “Farewell.” He grows used to the sound of your voice fitting neatly into the spare spaces of his day.
– Even the children in Aaru Village assume you come as a set. They run up to both of you with things like, “I made a joke today!” Another asks Cyno to “teach me how make people laugh with the serious voice.”
– He raises an eyebrow at you. You crouch down. “Step one: believe in the joke completely. If you don’t believe in it, no one will.”
– Cyno considers this, then adds, “Step two: leave room before the punchline. Anticipation improves delivery.”
– The children absorb this like sacred instruction. You and Cyno spend a morning helping them invent jokes. None of them are structurally sound, but he insists that “creative expression should not be stifled in early development.” The children glow under his praise.
– That evening, the two of you sit watching the horizon burn itself slowly into dusk—you because you like watching the sky change, him because you’re there—and a thought surfaces.
– “Cyno.”
– “Yes?”
– “Do you know why I kept talking to you? After that first time on the path?”
– He looks over at you. “Because I gave you correct directions.”
– “No.” You pull your knees up, resting your chin on them. “Because you walked me all the way back even though you were heading somewhere else. And you never even mentioned it. I only found out because Tighnari told me.”
– His gaze slides back to a cloud dissolving into flames. “I didn’t do it to be mentioned,” he says.
– “Exactly.”
– “...That is why you kept talking to me?”
– “That, and the jokes.”
– A small smile pulls at his mouth. “I see.”
– The sky behind him is doing something absurd with color—gold bleeding into violet, the kind of sunset that feels too deliberate to be ordinary.
– “And you,” he adds at last, “You understand the joke, but you do not mistake it for the whole of me.”
– Both of you are quiet for a moment, taking in the marvel of the sky. Then you bump your shoulder lightly against his. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
– “I meant it,” he says.
– “I know.”
– And somehow, that makes it better.
– After a moment, Cyno observes, with perfect seriousness, “For the record, your sense of direction is still poor.”
– You stare at him, then laugh. “There he is.”
– “I had to end this conversation in character.”
– “And people say comedy is dead.”
– This time, his chuckle is unmistakable. Above you, the sky finishes its display and settles into dark. Neither of you moves.
scenario : reader asks them "what are we?" when they had automatically assumed you were aware of their feelings towards you
trigger warning : none except everyone here being short, i hope
tighnari
before you even asked the question, tighnari had a bad suspicious feeling about you today
he lightly sighed while looking over some of his leftover paperwork
even during his "office hours", he couldn't help but notice the "sneaky" glances and pretty much everything he's ever known about nervous body language from you
"you ask the most intriguing questions whenever you're fidgeting like that. tell me, what is it?" he couldn't help the sarcastic tone even if he tried
but his half-joking tone helped you relax, tighnari seemed to have talent at naturally calming you down
okay, here goes nothing.
"what are we, tighnari?" you finally managed to ask him
he answered with absolutely no hesitation immediately
"you? a human if my memory serves. as for me, i happen to be a fennec fox hybrid."
"... tighnari..."
stops writing at your tone- that didn't sound like you were joking
you were being serious? no way...
tighnari looked straight into your eyes, expression conflicted
he furrowed his brows and kept eye contact to see if you were pranking him or something
"...you're joking right?" he asked, half hopeful that he wasn't the one jumping into conclusions here
"...no"
he looked speechless, but then he let out a sigh
"enlighten me on what exactly makes you confused on what our relationship is?" he was sure he made it crystal clear
"we... i don't know, i can't tell. that's why i'm asking you" disbelief was written all over his face at your answer
"i held your hand."
"you did."
"i hugged you before."
"yes?"
"...i gave you flowers i grew myself on numerous occasions."
"yes, i'm keeping them as a bookmark like you suggested."
tighnari's scowl deepened, trying his hardest not to look lowkey offended that you were still confused after all that
how could you even not know, everyone knew from the forest rangers crew so why didn't you?
never mind, you clearly needed confirmation
"... i believe i have romantic feelings for you and just until now i was under the impression that you were aware." your eyes widened at tighnari's blunt words
you noticed the pink flush in his cheeks when he finally had to admit
"geez, want me spell it out for you? need a contract or something?" despite his complaint, tighnari felt content with the way your expression showed clear signs of happiness
how could you not fall even deeper for him, when he looked that adorable with rosy cheeks and slightly downturned ears?
approaches you from his desk and sits next to you
places his hand on yours, lightly squeezing them
"well, how about you then? what am i to you?"
cyno ( general mahamatra )
cyno's face remains emotionless most of the times, everyone who ever met him would agree in a heartbeat
he also had this habit of keeping very, very unwavering eye contact on whoever he was talking to
you've heard many of his subordinates mention how scary and intimidating it was to face his stone-cold stare
and to your absolute horror, he looked the same as ever when you nervously asked something that's been on your mind for days and weeks now
"what are we, cyno?"
"..." almost as if frozen, cyno stayed silent and merely stared at you like he did every day
oh no, this was definitely not the reaction you were ready for
his gaze seemed a bit too heavy on you, especially with how his scarlet eyes were emphasized by the comforting darkness of midnight surrounding you
"i mean- what i meant was-" before you could finish your sentence, he blurted out, loud and clear
"are we not already dating?"
a painful silence followed
it was your turn to freeze now
already dating...? but...
"no?" you blurted out before you could control it
your heart dropped at cyno's normally stoic face clearly flashed signs of sadness
"wait no i mean- but you didn't... ask me out" you barely managed to ask
cyno blinked once, then twice
then finally for the first time, you saw the general mahamatra ever avoid your gaze and cough in a bashful manner
he awkwardly scratched his neck and looked away from you
were you imagining things, or does he look... super nervous right now?
your eyes nearly fell out of your socket, he looks so adorable...??
"i... thought you already knew, i apologize."
finally after a while, cyno fixated his gaze on you again and regained his posture
"i like you, (name). i'd like to date you... if you share my feelings."
god, he really is the prettiest boy, isn't he?
kaedehara kazuha
the moment you mentioned that you wanted to talk, kazuha gently holds your hand and stares lovingly with a soft smile on his face
"of course, love."
it wouldn't matter where he was or what he was doing, he'd always make time for you. always.
when he led you to a place where you could have privacy, your heart fluttered at how his hand never left yours
when you two were alone, kazuha turned at you
nods and looks at you with the most adorable look in his eyes
"yes, what is it, love?"
he didn't look... like this with others right?
"kazuha... what are... we?" you finally gained the courage to ask him
not surprised in the slightest at the question and finally connecting the dots as to why you looked so nervous
smiles and looks at you like you brought the moon to him
and to him, you did.
you brought the entire galaxy, staining, painting his world with the most beautiful of all colors he could've never imagined
which is why he feels slightly guilty that he's left you in the dark about his feelings
"what was my nickname for you, i wonder?" he smiled adorably
"...love?"
"yes, dear?"
you felt your cheeks flush at the unexpected answer, kazuha's soft giggle making your heart skip a beat
"i'm sorry for leaving it unclear." kazuha laces his fingers with yours
you stared into his eyes, unable to control the slight flush in your cheeks
kazuha couldn't stop smiling, just how beautiful and lovable were you? <3
with a soft giggle, kazuha placed a fleeting kiss on your hand
then another one on your forehead
"i'm yours as you are mine, love. if you'll have me."
scaramouche ( kunikuzushi )
"kuni... what exactly are we?"
"huh?"
he was sure he misheard that
he must have misheard that, right? tell him he's right and it was just a prank
outright glares at you when you stay quiet, looking at him all expectedly like you wanted an answer
god, stop looking at him like that... you look too cute it makes him feel all weird and warm inside, stop it-
of course you wanted an answer, everything with scara confused you the more you spent time with him
you were positive friends didn't act like... this
... but he also never confessed or anything of the sort
"you're telling me you're..."
realizes that you're serious, his face flushing in embarrassment and frustration
"god, how dense are you?" he sounded so disappointed, the tone of his voice irked you
"hey, you can't blame me for wanting disclosure, it's confusing!"
"how don't you know? you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"
"what am i supposed to know? you don't need to act all weird and just answer like a normal person would- ouch!! what was that for?"
flicks your forehead damn hard
then, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer to him
you lost balance at his unexpected actions and stumbled into his chest
one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in closer to his slender body
you could barely breathe, you confusedly directed your gaze at him
but before you could say anything, scaramouche laced his fingers to yours, holding your hand a little too intimately than you expected
all words died in your throat
smirks at your reaction, holding your hand tightly now
"do you hold other guys' hands like this?"
"what- no!"
"hmm, i wonder why." you could almost hear the smirk from his voice
again, you opened your mouth to say something but was silenced for the second time
"then do you do this with other guys?" his husky voice whispered
grabs the back of your head with his free hand, then leans in
before you knew it, his lips were on yours
it was as though time itself has stopped that moment
you finally eased into his kiss, squeezing his hand back
scaramouche stared at you after pulling away
then smirked way too arrogantly than you'd have liked to see
...like he was proud of himself
deeply satisfied with how baffled and shy you looked, it was even better for him when you turned your gaze away to avoid his violet ones
he grabbed your chin and made you look at him, letting out a low laugh full of satisfaction
"figure out "what we are" yourself now, would you, darling?"
Set just before the events of the Sumeru archon quest/coincides with some of the questline. Fluff, kind of e2l but the lovers is more subtext, I suppose.
A lot of identity politics and xenophobia from the Akademiya. Semi-brainwashing from the Akasha Terminal.
11.3k
『 The air crackled, sunlight glinting off the blade that sliced through limbs with no-uncertain ease. "You are wanted by the Akademiya; any resistance is futile. If you do not come willingly, I will bring you to justice by any means necessary."
For a moment, there was little to no expression on her face. Whatever shock had been in her system had boiled away, leaving a state of apathy behind he wasn't particularly familiar with. It was pleading, begging, anger and desperate fury that he reckoned with and grown to expect - not this unwavering stare of her eyes into his.
"Is this how you repay people who save your life? You threaten them with 'justice'?" The curl of her lip was sharp; he knew it was out of disgust. "Who are you to accuse me of committing a crime?"
"The General Mahamatra."
It was Six Cardinal Sins within which he operated, dared to hold his head high to. But, it was when those sins blurred into something man-made, something erring on the side of human arrogation, that his own steadfast rules began to judge him on the order of ma'at.』
The rainforest or the desert. Justice or impudence. A Potter or the General.
There was little on Earth that Cyno may consider being affected by, and even less of such that he might admit to being worthy of a reaction.
The desert cared little for these distinctions other than to challenge them. To it, he was as insignificant as the sand of which bled between his toes, scorched the calloused skin with an eagerness to toughen what was already wrought with thickness. Perhaps there was meaning to him, a collective that his lonesome gave meaning to - a grain in the system that bonded with the molecules of the others.
But he was insignificant, still. It didn't matter if the sun might scorch him to ash under its unflinching light.
A hiss escaped through gritted teeth. Ordinarily, he would traverse the desert at night when the temperature was more favourable, less deadly. This time, he had to make an exception. He only had two days before his duties beckoned him to return and the pouch he had dropped could be retrieved.
If he was less sentimental he might have let it sink into oblivion and become entombed with the rest of the Scarlet King's bounty.
Only… Collei had hand stitched it for him: an almost crude coin pouch that barely held more than a few thousand mora. Really, Cyno cared more for its thought than its beauty.
Hence, he used what little amount of free time he had to retrace his latest hunt - wherein he had tracked down a scholar who had made off with a sizeable amount of the treasury fund.
It was foolish and desperate. So desperate that he felt something akin to pity when the man sobbed, echoing words on how he had squandered himself into unimaginable debt to pay the Akademiya tuition fees. It was nothing he had not heard before, but the manner in which the man pleaded - forehead to his feet and snot dribbling over the curves of his trembling lips - made Cyno truly linger on how consuming debt can be.
The sun beat down harder, made the nape of his neck itch where it slithered through the cover of fabric. No matter his preparations, the burning heat would make itself known in every crevice possible.
So, he carried on walking with the Akasha Terminal in his ear, informing him that there were only 15 minutes left until he arrived. He breathed a little easier when the destination finally came into view.
The pouch remained untouched, buried only minimally in the sand. Its meager contents of 514 mora hadn't attracted any attention, he thought to himself in mild amusement.
His fingers brushed against the scalding metal clasp, poised to reach under and extract it from its bounds-
The ground gave way.
It was as mundane as any day would get within the God King Amun's empire. The sandstorms had become more frequent in intensity, but not enough to discourage the millings of the people, to dampen the sounds of sellers announcing their wares and hagglers wittling down their prices to a fraction of the cost.
Today, he had to purchase more scrolls. They could not be subpar, and certainly not anything less than reinforced papyrus that soaked up ink with a voracious appetite but didn't allow it to bleed uselessly into surrounding fibres. These scrolls were going to hold the words of his Lord, after all.
The staff in his hands was more decorative in this moment, a mere symbol of what it meant to strike down onto dry Earth and crumble what trembled beneath. He had no intention of using it, yet dozens of eyes followed with a subtle drag that betrayed their weariness.
He did not bother with reassurance.
The bows of heads followed like a wave through his passing footfall- soft in its lulling gesture but emboldened in the undercurrent of his power. It were as if they were compelled by an invisible hand, divine fingers tugging at the strings in a realm everyone was too unworthy to see yet blessed enough to experience.
He didn't think he was worthy of such respect. There was little he did other than his duty of remaining faithful; which was to say that he lingered in this space undefined between the celestial and the mortal. Not yet ascended whilst comfortably above commonality. A precarious middle.
Still, he had the humility to acknowledge the people with a sweeping gaze. As a priest, who was he without the people to share his gospel to? A retainer of the God King was only as good as its capabilities in engaging the people, after all.
He continued his walk with this single minded dedication. Papyrus scrolls. The store with the most quality product was sheltered in this area among the towering golden bricks and intricate bead curtains that adorned the entryways.
"Mister. Excuse me, Mister!"
This voice was in his head - so loud and piercing that he could not help but wince.
"Are you awake? I can't tell…"
He blinked-
No. Cyno blinked.
The world around him dissolved like sand bleeding from between cracked fingers. Whatever respite he had found in another's world was gone, leaving him in the borderlands of consciousness and awareness.
Ah. His head pounded like a rod was pushed between his tender ears.
Above him, a blurred mirage of a woman stared down with a furrow between her eyebrows - analysing him like one might a choking child after the incident. He supposed there was little distinction right now between him and that notion, especially with the sand that caked his throat and left him hacking up what had lodged itself deep.
"Please, have some water," she insisted, pressing a cool leather skin pouch into his fist. It was heavy with fresh water, and he barely managed a croaked word of gratitude before swallowing a good few mouthfuls of grains and liquid.
The sharp pain echoed throughout his cranium, lodged itself firmly between his ears until he could only grit his teeth in the hopes of diverting some tension. When his body had first become a vessel, these kinds of migraines had plagued him day after day, and night after night; Cyno wasn't appreciative of reliving it.
At least he had the clarity of mind to not drink the whole pouch - though he was greatly tempted. "Thank you," he managed, gaze falling to his dirt-dotted cream tunic. 'What happened,' he wanted to ask but, oddly, could not bring himself to say. It had felt so real, the faces of the masses warm and tangible if he'd extended his hand - let his fingers graze over their clothes…
"You activated something," she said. "It looks like it has Hermanubus' seal."
Oh. "I see." He swallowed again, thick and coagulated. "I didn't see anything."
The pouch was in his pocket; he didn't remember putting it there. Nonetheless, it was as heavy as it had been in the beginning.
"Can you stand? I brought you to a cave, but there is wenut activity close by and I'm worried they will try to attack."
Luckily, he could. The vertigo was mild, if a little disconcerting. "I am fine. Your concern is kind but unnecessary."
"I think it is quite necessary, especially when you were not responsive for a good five minutes."
Cyno had the sense to not argue. Rather, he pinched the corners of his eyes to collect whatever particles had inched their way into the ducts, and wiped them clean. The fuzziness at the corners had dissipated, leaving behind the clear set face of an elegant woman - one that the Akasha was readily scanning.
"Where are you from?" She continued to speak, eyes following his as they carved over her face, analysed each of her features as though he might erect a statue in her likeness. "You look like you're from the south of the desert."
How strange. She was right.
He didn't realise that was so easily discernible.
Then, the Akasha clicked - glowed such a stark red that it nearly blinded him. 'WANTED CRIMINAL!' it warned, flashing in his mind's eyes with an intensity meant to spur him to action. 'Wanted for theft and destruction of Akademiya property. MUST BE APPREHENDED!'.
"Hello?" She tried again, waving her hand to try and gather his attention. In her eyes, he must have looked like a helpless, dizzied animal - one with middling clarity right up until his staff pressed drew static in the mere millimetres left between her delicate skin and its sharp, metallic edge. "Wha- Why are your raising your weapon?!"
The air crackled, sunlight glinting off the blade that sliced through limbs with no-uncertain ease. "You are wanted by the Akademiya; any resistance is futile. If you do not come willingly, I will bring you to justice by any means necessary."
For a moment, there was little to no expression on her face. Whatever shock had been in her system had boiled away, leaving a state of apathy behind he wasn't particularly familiar with. It was pleading, begging, anger and desperate fury that he reckoned with and grown to expect - not this unwavering stare of her eyes into his.
"Is this how you repay people who save your life? You threaten them with 'justice'?" The curl of her lip was sharp; he knew it was out of disgust. "Who are you to accuse me of committing a crime?"
"The General Mahamatra."
A sudden laugh coloured the air, one that made his fingers tighten (and then loosen) around the laminated shaft before it lowered. "You? The General? You couldn't even save yourself from a simple domain. If you are the General, then the Akademiya is truly built on iniquity."
Cyno gave no reaction. "Your opinion matters little," he surmised, unbothered by the disdain with which she bore holes into his skin. "I advise you save your energy for the journey back."
If he was honest, he'd never heard such colourful curses and imaginative insults. Had he not had his heart hardened through years of criminal dealings, he might have snapped back at some of them - especially at the ones where she picked apart every little thing he did - down to the space between his toes.
(Cyno hated to admit that he consciously tried to hide his feet from her after that.)
The Matra had prepared a cell beforehand, a simple thing with a slightly softer pillow than normal. She had rescued him, after all, and no good deed could go unrewarded - or unpunished, as she had irritably put it.
"Your case will be judged by the Matra before you are put to trial," he told her, deftly undoing the bounds around her wrists. While she had made no move to run away, they were loosely placed as precaution. "If you wish to confess to anything, call for one of the Matra, and they will answer."
She scoffed. "Confess… You assume my guilt before the trial has even began. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?"
"The Akasha Terminal does not flag people without due regard."
"That sounds like you will beat a confession out of me."
Cyno merely pulled the bounds away, making sure that they had not marked her skin. "That is against our code of conduct. No one will lay a hand on you."
"How reassuring. I'm sure your code of conduct is as moral as you are."
Somehow, he didn't think she was complimenting him.
"If you require anything, let someone know and you will be tended to."
He turned to leave, only to catch the thick wad of spit she had spat at his feet. It landed with an alarming accuracy, mere centimetres away from brushing against his bare skin.
Cyno stepped aside and continued onwards. She did not look over her shoulder, nor did she care to regard him with anything more that same vitriol that he had incited with his actions. The weight in his chest mattered not - not when he knew his terminal did not falsely flag. The right of her aid did not overturn the wrong of property destruction and theft.
His conviction rate was 100% because of his diligence and discernment; Innocent was not a word in his proximity.
Hence, he squashed the guilt that ebbed within him. There was much worse in this world than a scorned woman.
The other Matra had offered to be the ones to investigate her case; it was menial and something that he would not normally concern himself with, yet he had declined on no other basis other than he had some personal interest in it. No, he did not tell them this; yes, he was piling up uncompleted paperwork in his office, but he found it of no dire consequence.
For someone that had incited such shocking reaction to his Akasha - the scarlet that was primarily reserved for some of the more dangerous outlaws in Sumeru - her home had little to no security. There were the few locks imbued with elemental energy, nothing more difficult to open than a box of chocolates with his electro vision, but it was scarce otherwise.
Regardless, Cyno made no habit of lingering in people's spaces, and certainly not in women's houses. He kept his gaze straight, tried not to stare at the congealing glass of milk on the kitchen counter before he caved and dumped it out (since it was too cruel to let it turn into a mound of festering mould).
He looked for where the elemental energy was the most concentrated, following the faint trails until he was inside of her bedroom.
While he told himself that it was merely business, and he had a duty to uphold, he could only sigh. Why the bedroom? he thought to himself almost petulantly, trying not to catch the eyes of the embroidered tapestries hung on her walls. Why not the cellar, or the attic?
It was a small house on the seam between the Ashavan Realm and the Wall of Samiel. Nestled perfectly against the backdrop of Caravan Ribat, it was the perfect place to buy and sell canned knowledge with ease - with a swiftness that wasn't easily afforded elsewhere in Sumeru.
To think, she might have gone unnoticed for much longer had she not been out in the desert that day.
(And he might not have made it out unscathed, though, he preferred not to dwell on that).
The elemental energy was the strongest in her bedside drawers. It hummed in his ears, low and obnoxious in its continuous drone. Cyno opened the drawer - only to be met with rows of neatly folded undergarments.
What an underhanded tactic.
He'd done worse. Seen worse. Tackled worse.
His hand hovered over the clothes, stayed there like it couldn't bear to move a single millimetre closer.
Shit. He should have let the Matra do it instead of insisting.
With a resigned sigh, he took a deep breath and plunged his hand in. His teeth were gritted, as though the cotton fabric might breathe its own air and break through skin with gnarled incisors. Cyno pressed his fingers to the base of the drawer, feeling for where the capsule might be, before realising it was a hollow bottom.
It was with much mortification that he removed all the garments. He did not look at them as much as he tried not to disturb them - which was to say he plucked at them like they were the most delicate thing on Earth.
The hollow bottom gave way with a strong tug, revealing three glowing green capsules. The hum grew louder, the concentrated dendro bringing about a faint autumn leaf scent. Cyno collected them as quickly as possible, haphazardly putting everything back where it was. While he doubted she would return for quite some time, he didn't want to give off any impression that he was a pervert.
Being called a traitor was easy to deal with. A sexual deviant? Not so much.
'History of the Wall of Samiel IV; Bartering in Aaru Village; Legends of the Three God Kings XI'.
All three of them were reported missing.
They were hardly anything worth hiding, and certainly not something worth getting prison time over. Time and time again, he was faced with crimes that had everything to lose and very little to gain. What benefit was there to stealing such impertinent canned knowledge? They wouldn't yield any profit, nor would people go out of their way to buy them discounted.
Evidently, he thought with a subtle shake of his head, some people couldn't keep themselves away from trouble until it snowballed.
Once he had left the four walls of her home, the scent of autumn leaves intensified - pulled him towards the back garden where an outdoor stove smouldered with the embers of a pyro flower's core underneath it. The cast iron pot was singed, black along the bottom with thickly caked soot.
Dendro shimmered within, powdered glass telling of something that had been crushed and crumbled into its simplest form. When he dragged a finger through it, he knew instantly that it had been a capsule shimmered within, powdered glass telling of something that had been crushed and crumbled into its simplest form. When he dragged a finger through it, he knew instantly that it had been a capsule.
"These were found in your home."
She cast him a sideways glance, as though he were barely worth the effort of turning her head. "I've never seen them before."
The claim was so outlandish that Cyno was momentarily stunned. Out of all the things she could have claimed, she claimed ignorance? There was no man, woman or scarab beetle that didn't know what canned knowledge was - not when the Akasha system was as ingrained in Sumeru's everyday life as it was.
"Is that so?" He asked sceptically. "They were hidden in your bedroom, where you are the only occupant of the house."
"Conducted some research, did you? Did you have fun being a pervert?"
He pursed his lips imperceptibly. "You cannot hide something with such concentrated dendro energy. Not even Allogenes can conceal it." When she didn't move, he spoke again. "Being tight-lipped will only lead to harsher punishment. If you co-operate, there is potential for your sentence to be less severe."
She turned her back to him completely. "I'm not convinced on the word 'potential'. What do you want me to admit to? Someone could have framed me; I live in an area where travellers pass through daily."
"Perhaps in an alternate world ," Cyno said, "Your elemental signature is on these capsules and there was a pot in your garden that suggests destruction of property."
"Suggests," she emphasised, " and I am not a vision bearer."
"Everything has innate elemental energy."
Her scoff rang loudly against the stone walls. "So why bother questioning me? You have the evidence. Are you here to provoke me to anger instead? I cannot stand the sight of you."
"I wish to know why you have them. Did you intend to use them? Sell them?" Cyno stood against the bars of her cell, faced with her back and the scent of damp that clung to every inch of this space. No matter how vigorously it was scrubbed, the everlasting spores of fungi were more persistent.
"I don't use that bullshit Akasha Terminal. People like you who rely on it are incapable of intelligent thought; everything must be spoonfed to you, and you believe whatever nonsense has been injected into your brain without question." Her anger was bright, so heated in its intensity that the room felt a little warmer afterwards.
Wow, he thought to himself, she has quite the opinion.
"Then why do you have them? They are worthless on the black market."
Stilted silence hung between them, the canisters glowing faintly green in the pouch that they were held in. She had yet to even acknowledge them. "I refuse to speak with you."
"That is fine. However, the other Matra have different tactics to make you talk."
"They can beat me all they like; I have nothing to say."
Every conversation with her was like pulling out his own teeth. "That isn't what I meant."
"Can you get out?"
Finally, Cyno relented. The Matra would not dare raise a hand or a weapon to her, but they needed an admission of guilt. There were rules in place to prevent any undue cruelness, but that did not mean that the others would be kind, or even patient.
He'd get to the bottom of this no matter what.
All her income came in clean - a regular civilian that sold her pottery and utensils to those who travelled along the worn path towards Caravan Ribat. Her taxes were done well in advance, every last mora accounted for with receipts, and there were no criminal convictions on her record aside from this pending case. For all intents and purposes, she was a law abiding citizen that had migrated from the desert to the forest a few years ago.
On paper, this was a case that should have been open and shut. She possessed stolen goods and had subsequently ground them into spot and ash, hence the destruction of Akademiya property.
Yet, there was no MO.
Very rarely did people do things with no motive. Even spur of the moment crimes had a reason why, something that ignited that spark towards action - whether it be anger, a lapse in judgement or simply because they wanted to.
As she had said, she seldom used her terminal. It had been used less than five times since its activation three years ago, and each time was for less than ten minutes. A few uploads of legally bought canned knowledge had been completed, all of them containing information on the habits of tribes in the desert. There was nothing else.
He had let her Akasha play through the information, trying to find what had prompted her to covet these specifically.
Nothing.
Cyno could only return to the office and write out another form with little updates. If only she would talk without being roundabout or down right hostile, but he knew that he'd left that possibility behind long ago.
The three capsules mocked him with their dull green. He'd played them through, wondering if there was something hidden within their faintly glowing exterior.
No such thing.
Bartering in Aaru village had consisted of transcribed conversations between patrons and merchants, with aside dialogue given on how the customs worked and on how to avoid being conned out of extra money. Legends of the Three God Kings had been run of the mill, too, with information mostly centring the Greater Lord and her feats of courage involving the desert and the other two Gods.
The only one that had seemed slightly strange was the condescending tone in the History of the Wall of Samiel. Cyno wasn't a fan of the way they had framed the interactions between the people of the desert and the Akademiya, the air of condescension not lost on him. Regardless, it was unaltered.
The quill rested against his finger, the ink bleeding further into the paper where the tip rested on the end of her name.
Another officer had asked him, albeit in a roundabout way, why he was so bothered with this case. It was small, inconsequential in the vast scheme of erroneous data that was being kept hidden and purposely rewritten, yet he made time everyday to look over it.
Perhaps it was gratitude that spurred him on, a desire to repay in some minute way by lessening her sentence. Cyno understood it was stupid; he was the entire reason she was even sitting in that cell with an inert frown. Even then, stupidity could not console the guilt that ebbed through him whenever he looked at her name on these pieces of paper.
A General isn't made through exemptions, he told himself (and willed himself to believe) - only through dedication.
There was little as humbling as sitting back against a cold, stone wall, and being ignored for an hour straight.
"You truly won't talk to me?"
Oh, how the mighty fell. He was acting like a lovesick fool that couldn't let go - only with the lovesickness supplemented by a humiliating drive to get a reply. The imported box of expensive nuts and chocolates he had brought as a semi peace offering were ignored, tossed aside with a grunt when he'd presented them as a belated token of thanks.
"I know that I am pestering you, and I apologise, but you have not eaten nor have you spoken to any of the other Matra." And they certainly did try. Whatever person was unfortunate enough to be the one tasked with interrogation, they almost always came out with a solemn expression. When pressed, they grumbled that her tongue was too sharp and jaw unwilling to loosen. "Going on hunger strike is ineffective. Your court date is in two weeks."
"I told you that I will not speak to you." Her clothes had changed into a simple cotton tunic, the beige of it dull and uninspired with frayed hemlines. They were made with no particular silhouette in mind, and sat according to that intention: frumpy and unflattering.
"Me and everyone else, is it?"
"I have the right to stay silent."
"You do," Cyno agreed, shifting slightly so the wall no longer carved its pattern into his bare back. "But that right isn't always the best decision to take."
A breath was drawn, one so soft that it could have been mistaken for the whisperings of the draft that somehow managed to worm its way this far down under the Akademiya. "Actually, I think I will talk."
Finally.
With his whole body now turned to face her, he waited with baited breath.
"Have you taken a look at the contents of the canned knowledge?" she asked, looking into eyes so richly brown they almost shone red under the faint light.
His nod was prompt, unguarded. "I did. They were standard recounts of desert history. There was nothing of interest."
"Did you go through it all?"
He made a noise of agreement.
"You saw nothing wrong?" Agree or disagree, he was damned either way judging from her tone.
He remained silent.
"Nothing? You thought that the description of the tribes as uncivilised people who tear each other apart was apt? You didn't care that it said the Wall of Samiel was built as a filter for only those 'educated enough to cross'?"
Indignation crossed her features, marred what was soft into something harsher than the down-turned curve of her lips. For the first time since she had been placed into this cell two weeks ago, she came closer - crawled towards him as though she were a beast intent on ripping out the shimmering plumes of his head-dress. The muscles in his jaw tightened, caught in this gaze that wished to maim him, that stared through him like she could will the snap of his neck through sheer determination.
Her hands curled around the bars. Her nails were filed into a neat almonds.
"Traitors like you make me sick," she snarled. "You think you are so established, so above the rest of us, that you don't care what happens to the rest of us who come from the desert - so long as your owners reward you with a cheque."
Try as he might, Cyno felt the tidings of impatience lapping at him. He had to endure.
"You can masquerade yourself as Justice Incarnate, but your soul will be weighed with your betrayals. In those capsules that the Akademiya spreads are lies. They paint us like we're scum that the Greater Lord didn't care to save, but they do it subtly enough that people that aren't bothered to notice, won't notice." When her eyes searched his, he wondered what she expected to see. "I would have thought you'd pick up on it, but the Sage's dog won't dare bark at its owner's faults."
He kept himself level, met her eyes with the same intensity. "Your anger at being caught does not mean that I am to blame for the injustices faced by other people."
"Other…?" Those carefully filed nails wrapped around his necklace, tugged him closer until he could smell the Sumeru rose shampoo that was given to all prisoners. "We're not 'other'. You will always be a desert dweller like us. You can study here, learn their language and open your mouth when they tell you to, but your skin is still brown. Your accent is still there." She let him go with a shove: pulled her hand back to her side after wiping it on her clothes. "I don't care that I was caught. I care that you think it's more of a crime to destroy propaganda than to make and distribute it. Your sense of justice is not based in morality."
Cyno stood up. So much for trying to reason with her. He had wasted hours sitting here despite knowing she was as unreasonable as unreasonable came. "Console yourself with whatever you want. The law will be upheld, and I am not a traitor for making sure that those who have broken it will face the consequences."
"You say the same shit every time you come down here no matter what I say. Resize your hat; it must be blocking your ears." Her scoff of laughter was hollow. Her back was to him once again. "Go run back on all fours to Azar."
"I do not answer to the Grand Sage."
"You're still here?"
He should have let it go, told himself it wasn't worth it to argue with someone that was hurting- "I worked my way up the same as anyone else," he stated, disregarding his sense. "My position was not earned through begging, or by standing on other people. Everyone is treated equally."
"Judged by where they come from, more like."
He shook his head. "You are incorrigible."
"I don't give a fuck."
His teeth were gritted the entire walk back to the surface.
(Her back ached from the hours of laying against the stone bed, the woollen blanket doing little to curb the bite of muscle pain and fatigue. The days had blurred together, blending into endless hours of staring at the ceiling, of fiddling with the jewellery in her ears and spinning them around so often that long-healed piercings swelled up in irritation.
Another sigh escaped her, one amongst a thousand others. Two weeks had passed inch by inch, crawling along on its hands and feet until she felt the phantom sores on her body - an itch that only worsened whenever footsteps sounded outside of her cell. Sometimes, it was accompanied by the sounds of protests - another catch of the Matra dragged in to fester behind iron walls - mostly, it was silent, save for the sounds of keys jingling.
On the rare occasion, the General Mahamatra would come by and her blood would boil in her veins. There was nothing more agitating than forcing down a mouthful of flavourless rice porridge with a pitiful drizzle of overly fried onions, and then being made to endure his chatter.
For a man with a reputation of being stoic and silent, he liked to talk frivolously; Unlucky, she was the only victim of this uncharacteristic quirk. Always single-minded, always grating.
However, another box of those chocolates sounded nice right around now when the flavour in her mouth was all but gone. So what if she'd thrown them in the moment? Food was food, especially when the 'chefs' of the prison could barely muster the courage to salt their meals.
That man…
She sighed once more, turning onto her left now that her back had started to ache.
If he came again, she would definitely give him another earful. There was little on Teyvat that set her off more than those who turned their back on their own people, and then had the gall to argue about whether or not it was righteous of them to do so. An idiot with a hat too big, she was convinced, an idiot with no sense of duty other than what the higher ups instructed.
Did he sleep soundly at night, she wondered. From his near flawless face, it seemed like he never missed a wink of beauty sleep. The notion made her snort; the General applying face-cream with the likeness of a blushing bride just before he slept - flat on his back and arms crossed as if laid in a sarcophagus.
Idiot.
Sudden footsteps drew her out of her wandering thoughts, the clinking of metal so close by that she couldn't help but crane her head over her shoulder. An officer pushed a bundle through the gaps, his expression dull and unimpressed.
"The General Mahamatra has sent these blankets," he said. She did not deign to give gratitude. "Hello? Did you hear me?"
"Yes," she replied dryly, "I did."
"So ungrateful," he muttered intentionally loud enough for her to hear. "He must only bother with you because of your pretty face."
Another stupid man to deal with.
"Jealous?" she couldn't stop herself from saying, feeling more than satisfied with herself at the reflection of his disgruntled look. "I'm sure he'll notice you if you do something exceptional."
An insult followed that she didn't care to repeat. It was always the same thing with these men, some useless misogynistic phrase that had been recycled and tired from the beginning of time.
"Heretics like you are why the desert dwellers are so easy to fool. You all believe things with no evidence, and then wonder why you're up to your teeth in debt. Your God isn't coming back." Suddenly, she wished she had a bowl of that porridge just so she could throw it at him. She hardly believed that the Scarlet King was coming back, but she didn't expect him to other her in a favourable way. "You won't be getting out soon, regardless."
Her body was upright in a matter of seconds. He was so painfully smug, the bands of grey in his hair glimmering under the kerosene lamplight. The sash across his body boasted multiple awards, all of which undermined by the triumphant smile across his lips at successfully getting a reaction. "What do you mean by that?"
"You're looking at a minimum of 20 years."
20…?
The tang of iron coated her teeth, gave her that burst of flavour she had been craving. She'd known better than to hope, yet it still struck her as obnoxiously harsh.
"You better pray that you stay pretty," he remarked, just to add salt to the barely scabbed wound, "or the General won't look at you twice again."
She made sure to remember every badge on that sash and the sneer on his face. The lack of name badge mattered little when faced with spite. "You should focus on being pretty, too." Her smile mimicked his like a canine's bared teeth. "Go and apply some mehndi to those white hairs, you old bastard."
At least only Cyno had the keys to her cell because she was sure that he would have brandished that baton attached to his belt with a renewed zest for life if he could get inside. Instead, he could only curse up a storm outside of her cell, all words of which fell on deaf, unbothered ears.)
"Do you know who this woman is?"
The painting he had done of her was rudimentary at best, and childishly crude at worst. Upon her almost violent refusal at taking a picture, and the Akademiya Kamera only capable of subar picturs with a moving subject, Cyno had to unleash his inner artist.
That was to say, he tried his best. His brush strokes could not hope to capture her looks, let alone those eyes that he could recognise from the intensity of her stare alone. Still, he hoped that she was somewhat recognisable to the people who lived around the area.
Most of the people had some idea, telling him that she often came to the markets to sell her wares and would leave by 5pm because her skin was sensitive to the sun. It was a strange thing to hear - that someone from the desert couldn't handle the heat of the golden sun, but he was hardly hung up on this.
"She hasn't come for a few weeks now," Ahmad the vegetable seller remarked, his thick eyebrows furrowing together. "Normally, she takes the stall next to Lubna Auntie and helps her throughout the day. The last time she was absent for this long was because she caught some illness from a Fontainian fish monger."
Cyno nodded solemnly. Foreign illness were nothing to laugh at. "Did she ever sell any canned knowledge?"
He shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. The girl hates anything to do with the Akasha, and won't sell to anyone who's wearing one." A shrug punctuated the ironic observation; Cyno's Akasha had been quietly processin everything the whole time as a second pair of eyes. "Beggars can't be choosers, if you ask me. What those bastards at the Akademiya say has no use to me."
"Has she always disliked the Akademiya?"
Ahmad raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down in a way that made his skin itch. Shit- did he recognise him?
Then, he smiled, coming in closer with this smile on his lips that meant trouble, his neatly trimmed moustache twitching. "You're asking so many questions about her. If you have an interest, you'll have to talk about something other than the Akademiya, or you'll never get anywhere."
Cyno's mouth hung open. The merchant's smile grew wide until he clapped Cyno on the back, making him stumble forwards despite himself.
"Between you and me," he whispered. "She's a scary lady. I've never seen someone scare off so many trouble making eremites with just a stick, but I'm sure a handsome young man like you can tame the beast. Just say a few sweet words and grovel when you need to."
"Right," Cyno uttered with faltering confidence, "I shall keep that mind." These types of nosy old geezers would never listen if he denied it, and it was a battle he would not win without a loss of pride. "Was she a former student?"
"Definitely not. She said something about being a contractor for the murals in House of Daena, but she'd rather milk a cactus than be a student there."
The rest of his conversations were similar: people recognised her here and there, stated that her dislike for the Akademiya was obvious, and that she wasn't the type to bring trouble to herself for no reason (but not the type to ignore it, he noted). Most did not wish to entertain conversations for too long, and Cyno didn't push his luck.
With the sun starting to set, he approached a few others along the outskirts of the small market area to varying levels of satisfactory response. As his final attempt for the night, he approached the stall of an elderly woman who sold flowers on the verge of wilting despite the syrupy water they were perched in.
The florist whom had turned away less than a second after glancing at the painting, merely grunted.
Of course you have no idea, he thought to himself, people here only care about money.
The paper crumpled between his fingers in sudden horror; the curve of her replica's face scrunched into a further, deeper frown.
What was he thinking? Why was he thinking that?!
He knew he had no right to this woman's time, yet something so uncharacteristically rude had crossed his mind?
The taste in his mouth soured, any semblance of focus disappearing as his Akasha continued to scan the faces of unsuspecting people. Despite having weak access to the main data areas in Sumeru's rain forest hubs, it whirred in his ears as if trying to drown out all rational thought.
Cyno turned it off, a queasiness settling within his stomach that felt like it was inviting bile. His hand fumbled in his pocket before producing a pile of mora, buying the last few bundles of flowers she had for the day and leaving hurriedly after.
Maybe he needed to take some time off.
His eyes burned from the hours of carefully trawling through hundreds of canned knowledge capsules, the dendro energy staining his fingers a luminescent green. They piled up around him, translated into his akasha with information that he knew to be false - yet couldn't help but believe - and half truths mixed in with the intentionally underhanded commentary of desert life.
Beside it, a scroll of all the authors was unfurled. Rather than hundreds of names to match the volume of canned knowledge being produced, the same dozen names repeatedly showed up. Concentrating such a vast topic down into the hands of less than 20 people would introduce nothing but bias presented as fact - and the Sages that commissioned them knew this better than anyone else.
The inconsistencies made his head swim. 'King Deshret's Mausoleum II' had stated that The Greater Lord Rukkhadevata assisted in building the structures in the desert during their shared reign with the Flower Goddess, while 'Eremite Tacit Knowledge' claimed that the structures in the desert were not crafted until after the death of the Flower Goddess and the remaining two God Kings had split their domain into two. It was abundantly obvious that quality control was non-existent - and had no chance of being vetted when they, and dozen others, had flooded the market within months.
She had been right from the very beginning; he'd didn't know how he might look her in the face.
His Akasha was pushed to the side, the earpiece dull once it had disconnected. Without it, the fog that had seeped into the crevices of his brain began to alleviate, the haze that he hadn't realised was there was gone.
So that was it. The Akasha create dependency after all.
His audit was lengthy, his wrist aching with overuse, but he continued until the entire scroll of parchment was filled with perfect references and a wax seal of the General. However, even as he delivered it directly, he knew this was simply lip service. No crook ever willingly showed their hand.
Ultimately, his hands were tied.
(Another box of sweet, candied nuts lay just within the confines of her cell, pushed past the narrow bars and haphazardly placed. It took no long, nor hard thought to realise who they had come from, and, unlike before, she opened them right away. Only a foolish man wasted his money on a woman who was unperturbed by his efforts, but she'd reap the benefits without complaint.
The carefully wrapped paper was torn into jagged ribbons - tossed into the mess that the Matra had the audacity to call 'pillow filling'. The nuts were triple glazed, shiny to the touch and even tastier on the tongue. Half of her wondered if he might have poisoned it; the other half didn't care.
Under the first tray lay a letter, carefully folded and written on a piece of paper torn from a notebook. A small jackal drawing in the corner confirmed it as his.
Her tongue clicked. She still opened the paper.
'I have verified what you said. Although I cannot clear you of your crimes because there is evidence of it, I am working towards having you acquitted. I understand that you do not trust me, and I do not dare overstep by asking for it, but I hope that you can have some faith that you will not spend much longer in prison.
The state of academic integrity in the Akademiya is in a state I have never seen before; I am ashamed at what the Sages have been approving under my nose. I cannot share too much with you right now, though I can say that many of your theories are right. I wonder if you've had some insider training; Did you take any Akademiya sponsored projects?
I will come by within the week to speak to you. Your verbal response would be much appreciated. Thank you.
Once you have read this letter, please dispose of it carefully. I will send someone to bring you wet towels and a change of clothes. If you have any meal requests, please let the Matra know; I have instructed them to not refuse.
Yours Sincerely, Cyno.'
For a moment, she let herself stare at the perfect, cursive script. It was the kind only a scholar could have, elegant and refined through years of gruelling lectures and essays of above average quality. Then, she tore the letter up, erasing the small smile on her face as fast as it came.)
When Nayab came to him looking rushed off his feet, panting as though he had held his breathe until his lungs could bear not a second longer, Cyno paused his brisk walk to listen.
"General Cyno," he huffed, clutching onto the staff that had began to change colour where the salt of his skin had seeped into the atoms. "The Sages are pushing for execution for the young lady. I've tried to speak to her, but she refuses to say a word."
Where Nayab's fingers pressed against his spear, they only gripped tighter after delivering this news.
"Execution?" Cyno echoed, expecting to hear a crude laugh after this. The death penalty over something so lowly? "Are you mistaken?"
Nayab swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. "No, General. Even I thought this was too severe but they are pushing for it on the grounds that the knowledge she destroyed can't be recuperated. They said 20 years originally but…" He trailed off, any contradiction pointless in the face of absurdity.
"None of what she has stolen is worth execution. They were low level capsules that are easily replaceable." Yes, he was well aware of knowledge being one of highest forms of capital - second only to mora - but it was not worth a human life. Never. "I will speak to them."
So he did, assigning his routine patrol to a nearby officer as he headed straight for the Grand Sage's office. Azar was not a man who welcomed unprompted visits: Cyno was not a man who cared for propriety.
Nonetheless, when Cyno knocked, he waited until he had heard an 'enter' before coming in to a stony face and a body sat too upright in his seat to be natural. "Cyno, what brings you to my office? Has something happened?"
Yes, he itched under his skin to say, something has happened. You are hiding things from me and expecting me to play the lolling-tongued dog.
Rather, he settled for something more amicable. "I have a few concerns I wish to bring forth."
The man folded his hands together, the illusion of full attention doing little to convince Cyno of his authenticity. "What are they? They must be troubling you if you've come to me firstly without arranging a meeting." The thinly veiled jab was almost laughable. Arrange a meeting so you can destroy evidence beforehand, he scorned.
If Azar thought Cyno cared about that, then the man didn't know who the hell he had hired. "Someone is attempting to override the Matra's ruling and sentence a woman to death over canned knowledge. We both know this is a gross overreaction, but I can't help but wonder why this sudden push."
Grey eyebrows furrowed together, Azar's frown lines only becoming more pronounced. "Is this the woman that stole and destroyed official Akademiya canned knowledge?" Upon Cyno's lack of reply, he leant back in his gaudy seat. "Cyno, Cyno, Cyno. You and I both know it is bordering a sin to destroy knowledge and conceal it, especially when we have taken the time to distribute it to the people of Sumeru. If we're lenient on this, then we have to be lenient on everything."
It took all the strength in his body to not react to the disgustingly condescending tone. "It is bordering, but it's not crossed the boundary. Killing a woman over some low-level capsules is asinine."
"If we don't have some sort of quality control, then why even have the Akademiya? We should let any lowbrow individual do whatever they please, is it?" Azar shook his head, as if reprimanding a child. "It's setting an example, Cyno."
"You don't set examples through murder."
The Grand Sage tsked. "The council can judge her fate. That's what the court system is for. I don't personally make these judgements."
"I am aware," Cyno gritted out. It was always like this. The man talked in circles like he had written his dissertation specifically on worming his way out of difficult conversations. "I am asking that the Sages do not interfere and escalate a sentence unnecessarily."
On the table, the sun shone through the stained glass panels, in smatterings of rainbow. They decorated the bare skin of his thighs, danced over his femoral artery. Cyno noticed Azar shuffling some documents out of his view. "Yes, yes. I'll tell them to keep your words in mind."
"Secondly, I submitted an audit into the academic integrity of what was written in those capsules; I found them to be bloated with half truths and unreferenced claims about Al-ahmar and the people of the desert." Azar avoided his gaze, choosing to shuffle and reshuffle a stack of documents that were similarly full of idle musings. "I haven't heard anything back for a week now, and I personally delivered it to your mailbox."
The man rose to his feet, hands behind his back with inflated importance. "I'm a busy man, Cyno, I can't answer everything within minutes." A week was hardly a minute, especially when he was reprimanded for taking more than three days to fill out and file paperwork. "The Sages personally vet all the canned knowledge before they are distributed. They wouldn't let anything subpar be published."
"Is that so?" Cyno muttered, unimpressed.
"In all honesty, it's better if you turn your attention on more pressing matters. The Sages are the highest level of authority, Cyno, we understand what should and should not be published." His laugh was grating, the kind that had never known any real mirth. "It's not the Matra's job to focus on what we're doing."
At this, Cyno stood up. "Are you suggesting you're above the law?"
Wrinkled hands raised in mock surrender. "I am saying that you are focusing on the wrong things. We are disciples of the Greater Lord and we share her vision for knowledge. We do not need supervision."
Knowledge his ass. He'd heard enough of this nonsense to know where he stood in the eyes of this man. In the end, the sanctity of Ma'at meant little to the Grand Sage that could order as he pleased, and it only sunk further beneath him when the one delivering it was a desert dweller.
"Alright. I will take my leave." Before I lose my patience and draw my weapon instead, he decided against saying.
His back was turned, only the echo of his name keeping him still. "Yes?"
"General Mahamatra, I have noticed that you aren't logging all your actions in the Akasha. I recommend you do not fall short of your duties in the future."
He held himself still - grateful that the tightness of his jaw was invisible to the Grand Sage. "Duly noted. Please excuse me."
The door slammed shut under its own weight.
As if he'd do anything of the sort.
Night had become thick in the Sumerun sky, the crescent moon high in the sky as Cyno headed into the prison. It was not a foreign sight, far from it, really, but it was not common for him to come so late.
The attending night duty staff welcomed him in, left when he dismissed them and said he would be stationed there for the night. They had little reason to doubt the word of the General Mahamatra, especially not with the loftiness of that title.
He only hoped they would face too much trouble when morning light broke.
Her name was soft on his tongue, whispered so softly that it might not have been uttered at all. It repeated, rolled over and stuck to the roof of his mouth, before she finally stirred and turned to him from underneath his gifted blanket.
Despite the finger against his lips, he knew she was dying to say something - anything - especially when the lock clicked loudly in the absence of prison murmurings. 'Don't speak,' he mouthed, his touch deft as he pulled the cloak around her body, the hood shrouding her visage. It was created as a backup, the kind thought of the tailor who had made the original jackal eared clock.
Nothing was taken with her aside from a thinner blanket, the other used to form a vaguely human like shape under the covers. No one would notice until it was too late, and they'd certainly not think to cast the blame on to him.
It wasn't until they were far away from the Akademiya's shroud that she finally let herself speak. The chill of the rainforest night settled against their skin, travelling up the hemp sleeves of their cloaks with every hurried footfall. "Are you letting me go?" she asked, almost afraid to say it too loud in case he changed his mind - dragged her back to that cell in a show of psychological warfare.
"Yes," he confirmed, fingers tightening on the sleeve as he rushed them along the outskirts of the city towards his home. "I have resigned from my position. The Akademiya are trying to cover something up, and I cannot investigate from within anymore. I know the Grand Sage and the Akasha is involved somehow."
"Resigned?" she repeated as if the word itself was completely foreign. Honestly, it was when used in relation to him. Even a month ago, he would have thought it some ill-advised fantasy. "Why?"
Her fingers brushed against his in a light pulse of warmth despite the frigid temperature. "They were using the Akasha to track me." A deep breath. "You were right," he confessed, too sheepish to look her in the eyes just yet. "The Akasha creates dependency. They wanted me to use it and log my actions so I would follow their orders without hesitation." Then, he paused. "I was acting like a traitor - not entirely of my own free will - but it was my actions, nonetheless. Please forgive me."
This once, he allowed himself to be a little avoidant and act as if he couldn't feel the pressing force of her infinite gaze against his profile. He didn't want to tackle what would stare him in the face, and he didn't want to know what beast would bare its teeth: whether it was triumphant or pitying.
"Won't they try to arrest you?" she questioned, derailing what he assumed would be the next line of conversation.
"Perhaps," he said before pausing to reconsider. "Most likely."
"I'm surprised you bothered with freeing me, then," she commented, bemused. "You made yourself a wanted criminal."
It was the complete opposite of everything he had embodied for so long, and he'd certainly only cemented himself as a hypocrite, yet he found that he didn't care at all. "I'm aware," he acknowledged with slight purse of his lips. "However, the law should prevent unnecessary punishment, not be used as a tool against people who are challenging the unjust. If I have to take the fall, I will take it."
A part of him expected something sarcastic, a snarky comment about how he was playing the martyr after being the cause of her troubles.
It didn't come.
"You'll be fine," she reassured, fingers gripping onto the hem of his sleeve. "The truth has a way of coming out no matter what. Grand Prick Azar will get his dues."
"Grand Prick Azar," Cyno uttered, admiring the unabashed disrespect. "You're right. I will bring him to justice."
She shook her head in disbelief. "You have such a one track mind."
His home was warm, a contained wood burner keeping the inside heated in his absence. He had packed just before he left, leaving a bag full of belongings he would take with him into the east of the desert. Beside it lay a smaller, leather pouch filled with mora. "This is for you." He pressed it into her palm, refusing to take it back when she all but threw it at him. "Use it to find somewhere safe to stay, but do not come near Sumeru City, Port Omos or Aaru village. There will be Matra dispatched everywhere. If you need to go home, take your things and leave within the day."
"Where are you going?"
"I cannot tell you."
Her hands were held open in surrender, the pouch dangling from the strings laced between her fingers. "Then you should stay away from anymore ruins, or I won't be there to save you."
"I'll do as you say."
"Hmph."
When silence fell between them, it wasn't as awkward as it was strangely charged. All these weeks he had only seen her clearly during their very first meeting, with the rest of the rest conducted under indirect lighting that cast unnatural shadows over her. Even now, the overhead light was harsher than the sun, drowned out the softer edges of her features save for her piercing gaze. He couldn't meet it for longer than a few seconds, his open palms swiping against the fabric of his shendyt.
"I will say"-she started, breaking the silence-"your sense of justice is very rigid. It can be admirable, but impersonal. The best of us are those who are the best to the less fortunate."
It stung, but it was true. "Justice is best when impartial."
"To a certain extent, yes, but impartiality can remove humanity." She shrugged lightly. The hood fell from her head. "For example, you can criticise the people of the desert for believing in Al-Ahmar's resurrection even when we all know that it is near impossible, however this ignores how the Akademiya are the ones sowing seeds of discord in the first place to create a rift between everyone. Fanaticism doesn't come out of nowhere, right?"
"I agree with you. The Akademiya has always had their prejudices, and I know it first hand, but that doesn't mean everyone in the system is corrupt. I was adopted by a former Sage, and I know with full confidence that the only thing he has been unjust to are his cucumber plants; they've been in a pickle." They both stared at one another without a word until Cyno cleared his throat. "You see, it's a double entendre because 'being in a pickle' means to be in trouble-"
"I got the joke," she interrupted him. "I didn't realise it was on purpose."
"Oh."
She gave a short, incredulous laugh. "Maybe I misjudged you. Only someone crazy could be the General."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's an observation."
Cyno nodded, his tongue poking his cheek. He'd never felt like more of an aimless buffoon than now-
Then, she reached into her pocket and took his hand. Thin, golden ribbon that had been carefully deconstructed and rewoven into a frail cat was placed into his palm. "I made this with the gift box ribbon. You can have it."
His fingers closed around it, already imagining it within Collei's pouch. "Thank you." A pause. "We should leave soon to get ahead."
"We should," she confirmed. "Will you return to the city?"
"If the circumstances are right, I will."
The door locked behind them. She moved to the left, Cyno to the right. "Then I will come back, too, and I expect a nice meal on your mora."
He certainly wasn't going to oppose that. "Do you have any dietary restrictions?"
"No. It only has to be tasty." Then she added, "and expensive."
Cyno's lips curled into the slightest smile. "Whatever you want."
One year later
His stomach was fit to burst, almost comically round as he tried to hide it under the shawl he had brought along. While it was doubtful anyone would notice, or even care since their own bellies were in a similar, pitiful state, he had an image to maintain - and a glutton wasn't included in frame.
However, Cyno couldn't help but be astonished at how much Paimon could eat. The little fairy ate more than three grown men combined, and still managed to fly without any wings.
"Ahhh," Paimon exclaimed, patting her tummy after a libertine burp, her smile accomplished. It was certainly an achievement to eat two sharing thali's by herself, he thought. "Paimon hadn't eaten this well in a while. It's so nice to relax after everything that's happened."
Murmurs of agreement followed from around the table, faces from the desert and rain-forest alike congregated upon Nilou's invitation. Cyno had initially thought of declining as he'd been inundated with work following the Lesser Lord becoming archon and his rejoining of the Matra; Tighnari's unimpressed sideways glare had him swiftly changing his mind.
For now, he wouldn't think of what mess lay in wait. A good celebration was deserved after the hell that everyone had endured for the last few months - with the goodness coming in the form of endless food.
He stood up once he heard drunken hiccuping and the announcement of another round of toasts. His stomach couldn't take anymore, and the sight of him groaning in overfed agony was not pretty.
Outside of the Grand Bazaar, the night was young. Stars twinkled above, the stickiness of a crowded space melting away with the breeze. The faint tang of sand and ouid was carried along it.
"Oh! Cyno!" The door opened and Paimon floated through towards him. "Traveller asked me to give you this." From almost thin air, Paimon brandished a sizeable box, her little face scrunching from having to hold it. "Take it quickly, it's heavy!"
He took it quickly. There was no sender. "Who gave it?"
"I don't know. She just said that it was from a shady woman in a jackal cloak, you know, like your hat." Paimon tapped her chin in thought. "Open it. It might be a trap."
He knew exactly who had given it, and he honestly couldn't rule out that it might be something unsavoury - even if the chance was slim. "Thank you," he said, giving her a grateful nod of his head before undoing the tape keeping the box together. Inside lay a limited edition Raiden Shogun TCG card, one he'd been chasing down for the better part of 6 months, and thick, decadent fudges from Fontaine. At the very bottom was a box of candied nuts.
"Do you know where the woman who gave this went?" Cyno asked, stomach churning with something sickening, something between hope and relief.
"Um, Traveller said she was near Katheryne. Maybe she's still there?"
"I see. Tell Traveller I said thank you." Paimon had barely lifted her little hand to wave before he was gone, leaving her baffled and muttering to herself about how he seemed eager.
It had to have been a few hours since she'd given the gift to the Traveller and the chances of her staying around were slim. Even so, he hurried over with the speed of a man possessed, the box clutched to his chest like he could push it into his heart and cradle it within him.
"Are you still here?" he called out into the still air. Even Katheryne had left for the night, the area devoid of anyone aside from the call of cicadas. "Where could you have gone?" Cyno murmured under his breath, only to hear giggling.
"Who are you calling for?" A shockingly familiar voice came from above him, his eyes catching sight of her leaning against the window sill of the nearby inn. Golden light lavished her from behind, shrouding her face in darkness. Cyno knew there was a smile on her face. "It's rude to be so noisy at night."
"Forgive me," he said, not meaning it at all. "It's good to see you again."
"I can't hear you from up here, say it again."
"It is good to see you again."
"One more time!"
Cyno suppressed an eye-roll. "Then meet me down here if you cannot hear."
Unsurprisingly, she heard that loud and clear since she appeared a few moments later. "You know, news travels fast. I knew the Akademiya was untrustworthy, but trying to instate a false god is beyond my imagination."
"Yours and mine," he agreed. "Azar and his minions were banished to Avidya Forest, so they are of no concern."
Her eyebrow raised. "Who decided that punishment? I'm sentenced to three weeks in a deplorable cell and they get a forest retreat?"
He shook his head. "I'd hardly call it a retreat, but it was the Dendro Archon's decision." A moment passed. "She is more benevolent than I am."
"What is the archon like?" she asked, eyes roving over his face so slowly that he felt self-conscious.
"She is kind and understanding," Cyno summerised, thinking that an abridged version would suffice for now. "She is certainly more open to change than the Sages. I cannot comment on a God's understanding, but I think she will adapt quickly to the needs of Sumeruns."
She listened dutifully, and he wondered what she might be thinking. If he might guess, it would be on how the relationship between the Akademiya and the desert would change. There was still a mountain to climb, and the summit was edging on the planes of Heaven, but Cyno had faith that Nahida might be the one to lead that expedition. "High praise," she said, finally.
He shuffled, fingers brushing against the tacky tape. "How did you know I wanted this card?"
"A birdy told me you're a TCG lover."
"Who tweeted?"
She chuckled at the - admittedly - terrible joke. "I asked the Chief Officer of the Forest Rangers. I heard he is close to you."
Huh. And Tighnari hadn't said a word to him. He would ask about that.
"Where did you find it?"
"I took a trip to Inazuma. Nice country, but I think the person I went with was a little… too much." She shook her head and sighed heavily. "It was a young man from Fontaine, and he was strangely obsessed with Inazuman women and light novels: called them exotic and innocent. I'd recommend going alone."
It was his turn to look disconcerted. "Sounds harrowing," Cyno sympathised, "if you wish, I can accompany you next time."
The moment he said that, he wanted to turn into a beetle and hide in the cracks of the stone beneath their feet. That stare of hers was no light punishment.
"As long as you don't moan when you eat a stick of dango, feel free."
"Rest assured, I wont." Cyno felt stilted, like the things he wanted to say were inconvenient yet consuming. Would she be annoyed with all his questioning? He had wondered how she was doing, if she was well. His worry had been for nought, not that he expected otherwise. "Will you be staying in the city now that you've been pardoned?"
"Why? You want to arrest me again?"
Heat blossomed along his neck. Cyno was suddenly grateful that his skin didn't blush. "No. In fact, I think you would make a great Matra. You have the tenacity and drive."
"I think I'll pass on your generous offer," she said, "I prefer my pottery and mural work, but let me know if there's any commissions you need doing."
"I'll keep you in mind." Some areas were in need of rework. "You didn't answer if you're staying in the city."
"For this month, yes."
Perfect. He could make some time in his schedule. "Then let's have dinner sometime soon - as expensive as you want."
Her smile was bright, eager. "Are you free tomorrow?"
Okay, a disclaimer and heads-up: I don't own Hoyo, Genshin Impact, or any related properties. Also, please be aware that this story will explore serious and sensitive themes. Please be aware that this is a work of fiction and may not represent my personal views or opinions.
This work is inspired by SAGAU (Self-Aware Genshin Impact Alternative Universe), isekai tropes, various isekai settings, creation myths, and fanfiction in general. Consider this my standard warning.
This story takes place after the Reader has been exiled rather kicked out from Teyvat for being the "fake creator." The Reader is not the actual creator, but just a Genshin player who has been wrongly labeled as the imposter. It's a Cyno x Reader story.
Chapter 3-After the end:
Cyno vividly recalled that fateful day when he first laid eyes on her in the sumeru city. Beneath the shroud of night, her face obscured by a cloak, she seemed to harbor secrets of her own, keeping to the shadows.
He had been on high alert, his mind haunted by the warnings of a false god—an imposter weaving deceit to ensnare the hearts of the unsuspecting. With a surge of resolve, he summoned his staff, an instinctive urge to pass judgment tingling in his fingertips.
Just then, the imposter turned to face him. "Cyno?" Her voice trembled as a flicker of recognition ignited in her eyes when she saw his staff. She understood the weight of that moment.
"I'm not the imposter... please!!" Her plea fell into the void, unheard, as his weapon swept towards her. She barely evaded the strike.
"Cyno, please... just listen..." she begged, desperation clawing at her tone. Her voice bore a semblance of familiarity, but he pushed that thought aside. She danced narrowly around his assault.
"You won't hear me, will you? No matter what..." Her voice fractured, tears spilling as madness tinged her gaze. In a moment of utter despair, she lunged toward his weapon. The Staff of the Scarlet Sands pierced her flesh, and he felt a jolt of horror as it dug deep. Her expression haunted him; blood oozed from her lips—not the shimmering golden blood of the divine, but the dark crimson of mortals. A sense of dread settled in his chest, compelling him to carry her to Tighnari for healing.
Four long years had passed since that encounter, but today, Cyno returned with a weighty burden. As he emerged into Tighnari's forest, the Forest watcher eyes widened in disbelief; Cyno cradled the imposter in one arm, while his other arm held a sleeping child, both swathed in blood.
Cyno stood before him, the imposter securely in tow, alive and breathing. But that wasn’t all—Cyno cradled her child in his arms.
“What in the world, Cyno?” Tighnari exclaimed, his eyes narrowing at the sight of blood smeared across them. As a healer by instinct, he rushed to assess their condition, searching for wounds. To his relief, there were none. The blood was merely a remnant of chaos, not a sign of injury. The forest watcher had been on patrol, only to see this.
He motioned for Cyno to follow him to the medic's quarters at the forest watcher's base, feeling a sense of urgency. Inside, Tighnari began to examine the imposter. As they worked, Cyno waited outside, a soft stirring caught his attention—the child stirred awake, her eyes wide with confusion as she clung to Cyno’s arm.
“Hero?” she murmured, her tiny voice filled with hope. Cyno’s heart sank. He recognized the truth: this girl was his child, his responsibility, yet he didn’t even know her name. The fortune teller’s words echoed in his mind: “You will hold your heart in your hand.”
In that moment, he realized he was quite literally holding his own heart—his daughter, who was searching for her mother.
“Mama?” the child asked, her voice tinged with worry.
“Your Mama will be fine, albi,” Cyno reassured her, coining a tender nickname that meant “my heart.” His voice was unusually soft, a stark contrast to the chaos of the moment. Tighnari listen carefully, sensing that there was more to this story than met the eye.
With Collei's assistance, Cyno managed to get Hala cleaned up and dressed. She looked adorable in her new dress, though Cyno felt completely out of his depth when it came to fixing her appearance. He had attempted a clumsy braid that left much to be desired.
"Let me take care of that," Collei chuckled softly. Gently, she brushed Hala's hair and expertly fashioned it into a lovely single braid. As she worked, she couldn’t resist pulling Hala into a warm embrace.
"Who is this little one, General Mahamatha Cyno?" Collei asked, her voice filled with curiosity. Cyno's mind drifted, contemplating the countless birthdays, holidays, and dinners he had missed with her.
“Hero?” Hala reached out, her tiny hand touching his face, prompting him to wrap her in a tight hug.
“She’s my daughter…” Cyno replied, a mixture of pride and longing in his voice.
Collei stood frozen, her eyes wide with disbelief as Tighnari appeared at the threshold of the room.
"I knew it..." he murmured, shaking his head in bewilderment. Tighnari's gaze flickered to Hala, who was innocently clutching onto Cyno, blissfully unaware of the heavy implications that hung in the air. In a twist of fate, it seemed that Cyno had fathered an illegitimate child with the most unexpected of individuals, the imposter.
"Collei, could you please give us a moment?" Tighnari asked, his voice steady yet urgent, needing to speak with Cyno privately.
Cyno cradled the child close to him, like a shield against the world. Meanwhile, Tighnari let out a weary sigh, feeling a creeping headache take hold.
“How do you know?” Cyno’s gaze softened as Tighnari replied.
“She has my eyes… and she carries the gift of the Pactsworn Pathclearer.” He gently brushed his fingers against Hala's cheek, and she beamed up at him, blissfully unaware of the peril that surrounded her very existence.
“You and the Imposter…” Tighnari hesitated, struggling to find the right words.
“You’re… intimate with the imposter? That’s so out of character for you.” He shook his head, reminding himself that he needed to conduct a blood test—just to be sure.
Cyno was acutely aware of how it all unfolded. The memories were etched in his mind with striking clarity. It had been shortly after their departure from Tighnari's place, following an exhausting battle. He had practically pulled her through the endless stretches of desert, desperate to ensure her safety.
"How much longer?" she complained, frustration evident in her tone as she kicked at the sand beneath her feet. "Seriously, why doesn’t this world have buses? Or cars? Just sand, sand, and more sand... Not even airplanes!" The expressions of her frustration were foreign to him; he hardly understood half of those things she mentioned.
"Have you finished yet, Imposter?" Cyno retorted, irritation creeping into his voice. "I’m telling you, I’m not the imposter. My name is—" She shot him a fierce glare, her eyes smoldering with annoyance.
"Listen, Habibti," he said, the term rolling off his tongue with a hint of sarcasm, it's a word akin to saying 'darling' or 'my love.'
"Enough with the complaints..."
She responded with a sharp glare, her arms crossed defiantly against her chest.
"Are you going to whine like a spoiled child all day?" he asked, observing how she pressed her lips together in a silent protest.
"I’m not spoiled..." she muttered under her breath, but it was clear she was trying to hold back her retorts. "My name is not Habibti..." She mutter "I don't even know, what that means..."
Cyno couldn't help but think that she had a tendency to complain more than anyone else. The imposter—ever eager to lend a hand—didn’t quite grasp the distinction between playing in their world and truly living in it. He set up camp and bonfire.
He shut his eyes for a moment, seeking a brief respite. Determined to feel useful, she decided to make stew, the only dish she felt confident preparing in this familiar world.
However, in a mix-up that seemed almost inevitable, she grabbed the wrong mushrooms from his bag. In hindsight, they were quite similar: both had striking red caps adorned with white spots.
When he awoke, the rich aroma of the bubbling stew filled the air. She proudly presented him with a steaming bowl, her sense of accomplishment evident. He took a cautious taste, and the earthy flavor washed over him.
"There’s still so mush-room to grow…" he joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
"Har, har, very funny…" she retorted, taking a spoonful herself. As the warmth enveloped them, she fanned herself, tugging at her shirt slightly.
“It’s so hot!” she said, almost panting. “Is it always this warm?”
Cyno felt warm too; a flush crept across his face and he suddenly craved water. His gaze drifted to his open bag, where Tighnari had stashed medicinal supplies, including those red-capped mushrooms meant for grinding into healing potions. But if they were mishandled, they might very well turn into an aphrodisiac.
“Where did you get these mushrooms?” he inquired, concern creeping into his voice.
“From your bag. Why?” she leaned back, a shiver running through her.
“I think you food poisoned us…” he breathed, realizing she had no clue what she had done. The mushrooms hadn’t been in this game; she knew nothing of herbs, flora, or fauna.
“You… idiot…” he muttered, the effects pulsing through him, his glare fixated on her. How had someone so thoughtless survived this long?
“I’m not an idiot!” she shot back, indignation flaring in her eyes.
“Yes, you are. You just made an aphrodisiac stew…” he said incredulously. She reddened, a wave of embarrassment washing over her.
“I’ll toss it out…” she declared, unsteadily rising to her feet, as if discarding the stew would magically erase their predicament.
Cyno shook his head and tried to get up as well, only to stumble and fall against her. Their gazes locked, and the moment carried an unmistakable intimacy that led to a night neither of them could have predicted. When the wild escapade finally settled, she lay against him, skin on skin, both of them coming down from their unexpected high.
“You’re really a scholar…” she mused softly.
“I did study at the Akademiya…” he replied, a faint smile breaking through the tension.
In the past, things were different. But now, Cyno found himself grappling with a poignant truth—he had a daughter born from that fateful night. The innocent little girl had no inkling of her origins, and a part of him struggled with the thought of letting her go ever.
He confided in Tighnari, recounting the memories that weighed heavily on his heart. As Cyno spoke, Tighnari’s expression shifted, realization dawning upon him.
“So that’s why her loss hit you so hard,” he murmured, thoughtful. It was a sentiment that neither of their friends had truly understood, though perhaps Alhaitham and Kaveh were an exception—though they seemed to be caught up in a relationship of sorts, even if they were too oblivious to recognize it.
What will you do now?" Tighnari asked, concern etching his features.
"The Matra won't take kindly to their leader having a child with Teyvat enemy. And let’s not forget—an illegitimate child, born out of wedlock.." He rubbed his temple, feeling the weight of the situation. This could jeopardize Cyno's career and shake the trust of those under his command.
"I’ll take responsibility..." Cyno replied, determination in his voice. He cradled his daughter, Hala, who let out a giggle as he playfully bounced her into the air.
Reader
I awoke to the aroma of mint flowers wafting through the air, jolting me into a state of alertness. My heart raced as memories flooded my mind—my daughter’s voice echoing, the figure of Childe looming in the park, and the haunting image of blood. Panic surged through me as I forced my eyes open.
“No, no, no, no,” I muttered breathlessly, recognizing my surroundings. I was in the Forest Watchers' base, deep within Avidya Forest, in Gandharva Ville.
Reality struck me like a lightning bolt: I was back in Teyvat. My daughter was not by my side, and the realization sent waves of panic crashing over me. My bare arms were adorned with fresh clothes and bandages, remnants of a battle I couldn’t fully remember.
This place was a nightmare I desperately wanted to escape. With a wild burst of adrenaline, I sprang to my feet, feeling like a madwoman. My only thought was to flee, to find my child and break free from this treacherous world once more.
The door stood firmly shut, a barrier between me and the terror that clawed at my insides. I pounded on it, desperation spilling from my lips as I cried out.
“My daughter! Where are you, my baby?” My heart raced, threatening to break free from my chest as panic threatened to engulf me. Just then, the door creaked open, revealing a figure I recognized—a forest watcher, familiar from the game Rana.
"Are you okay?" she asked, concern etching her features. Without a second thought, I surged past her. My daughter was all that mattered in that moment. How I had ended up here was a mystery, but one thing was clear: I had to find my way back to Earth. Together, we would escape this nightmare. I wouldn’t let her endure the horrors I faced.
“Are you okay?”
“Just breathe...”
“You don’t seem well…” I felt the voice wrap around me like a thick fog, hands reaching out in my direction. Dark memories swirled in my mind, dragging me back to that day—shouts of.
“Imposter!”
“False creator!”
“Kill her!” echoed like a haunting chorus.
“No, no, no! Stay away from me!” I cried out, taking off in a panic. The faces of the crowd morphed into a hazy blur as I ran, every heartbeat driving me to find my daughter. I needed to know she was safe. Desperately, I searched for a glimpse of her sweet, familiar face among the children of the village. Nothing.
“Mama” The sound of my daughter’s voice pierced through my thoughts, jolting me into action. I looked around in a frenzy, and there she was, beaming with joy, clapping her tiny hands.
My heart raced as my gaze fell upon Cyno—ever the fierce and stoic figure—holding her delicately, as if she were a princess. His crimson eyes met mine, and a wave of dread washed over me.
Did he know? I hated to think so, though part of me selfishly hoped he remained oblivious. My thoughts spun in a whirlwind of concern for my little Hala, as I felt a surge of desperation.
With all my might, I reached out to snatch her away, but Cyno effortlessly held her just out of my grasp, his stance protective. He was aware, and deep down, he knew she belonged to him.
A storm of emotions roiled within me—relief, fear, and guilt clashed as I faced the truth.
“Still weak as ever, I see…” he remarked, the exasperation lacing his tone. I shot him a fierce glare, my heart pounding.
“Please, just give her to me…” I pleaded, my voice barely above a whisper. But I could tell he was firm; he wasn’t going to yield.
Cyno
Cyno stood there, emotions swirling within him like a tempest. He had just discovered the existence of his daughter—his precious little girl—only today. The revelation struck him like lightning; the feeling was overwhelming yet bittersweet. As he held the child close, the bond he felt was undeniable, yet tainted by the urgency echoing in her mother’s desperation.
"I'm her mother!" she pleaded, her eyes brimming with tears, a raw mix of longing and sorrow evident in her voice.
"Please, give her to me…" Cyno felt an ache in his chest at her words. He didn't want to lose his daughter, not when he had just found her. Yet, he could sense that the woman before him—her mother—was consumed by her own pain.
In that moment, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that she had cast him aside, her focus solely on the child that share both of their blood. Perhaps it was the aftermath of the torment they had endured during that time, that had left her so distant.
"Did you know?" Cyno’s voice dropped to a whisper, the weight of his question heavy in the air.
"Know what?" she responded, desperation threading through her tone, her gaze locked on the little girl in his arms.
"Did you know you were pregnant when you left to Dragonspine?" Cyno's voice trembled slightly at the thought. The notion that she might have been aware of their impending parenthood while facing such peril terrified him. It replayed in his mind—the image of her, engulfed in blinding light, obliterated in a moment by three archons, left him haunted.
"You disappeared in the dead of night, and the last sight I had of you was that deadly blast aimed straight at you…" His voice faltered, the emotion rising as he tried not to alarm their daughter. He held her closer, the connection between them a small solace amidst the turmoil. This was a moment that could tear their world apart, and he wouldn’t let it fracture any further.
I remember..." she began, her voice tinged with regret. It was not a highlight in her life, that much was clear.
"Did you know?" he pressed gently, seeking understanding.
"No, I didn't know" she confessed, a hint of sorrow in her tone.
"I was pregnant then..." Her revelation hung in the air, deepening the weight of his guilt. He had allowed her to plunge into that chaos, and it felt like a heavy burden to bear.
The child's voice sliced through the stillness of the air.
" Mama..."
Cyno hesitated, then handed their daughter to her mother. She cradled the little girl with an expression of deep relief, as if she had just found a lifeline.
“Take us back to Earth…” she pleaded, her tone laced with desperation. It was clear she wanted to leave, as staying felt too perilous for her. Cyno had only held their child for a fleeting few hours, and her request took him by surprise, leaving him momentarily speechless.
“No.” His gaze hardened. “She’s my daughter. I’ve only had her for less than a day...” The mother tightened her grip around the girl, a fierce protector.
“She doesn’t know anything about Teyvat. It’s dangerous for her…” She countered his resolve.
“Dangerous? You’d prefer to return her to a weak world that can’t protect itself? I found you covered in blood…” Cyno’s thoughts swirled, but he kept the unique abilities of their child to himself.
“Do you want to raise her as a warrior? Is that what you envision? A life filled with violence and bloodshed?” she hissed, her eyes flashing with anger.
“You’re denying her the chance to know her father, her heritage. I am her father… Don’t you think I deserve a say in our child's future?” Cyno's voice rose, the weight of his emotions spilling out.
“Do you think I’m the kind of man who wouldn’t care about our child’s life?”
Tighnari observed the unfolding drama before him, feeling the tension in the air. The child, visibly uncomfortable, squirmed at the center of their conflict. Sensing the need for intervention, he stepped forward to break the charged atmosphere.
“Listen,” he began, his voice steady and measured, “I understand you both have some important matters to discuss, and it’s crucial to get it all out in the open. However, perhaps this isn’t the right setting for such a conversation—especially not in front of your child.”
He assumed the role of a mediator, aware that he needed to navigate the delicate situation carefully.
“Talking about this here will only stir up unnecessary thoughts and emotions,” Tighnari continued, maintaining a calm demeanor. His intention was clear: to protect the child and help the parents find a more suitable way to resolve their issues.
In a secluded room, Tighnari ushered the child away, leaving Cyno and the Imposter alone to confront their tangled emotions.
“Do you truly believe I wouldn’t care for my own child?” Cyno's voice trembled with anguish.
“I spent less than a day with her—her birthdays, her playdates, the moment she uttered her first words, took her first steps... I missed it all. I should have been there.” The weight of his regret surged forth, unabated.
“You vanished into the night without a word. I vowed to protect you. I always knew your innocence… And now, I discover we have a child together. If I had only known, I never would have allowed you to leave…” Cyno’s voice broke, revealing the raw pain that he carried.
“And what would that have accomplished? Both of us dead? Your friends and family suffering the same fate? I was a hunted fugitive—a labeled imposter, a false creator…” She recounted the bitter past, her heart heavy with memories. “Nations dancing on the edge of war. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else being harmed or lost because of my mere existence. I was never meant to be in this world…”
Reader
I paused, observing him as he wrestled with his thoughts. Deep down, we both understood that my presence here was a mistake. This world wasn’t where I belonged; yet the realization that I carried our child weighed heavily on him.
“Perhaps, you’re here now, with our daughter who is part of me, part of Sumeru, and part of Teyvat. I intend to be her father…” I could hear the pain and determination lacing Cyno's voice. It was a right he had been unknowingly denied, and it certainly wasn’t my choice to keep him from his daughter.
One truth lingered in my mind: Earth was no longer an option for me. My daughter and I would be rooted in Teyvat for quite some time. I had thought my adventurous days in this world were over, yet it seemed fate had other plans for me. This wasn’t how my story was meant to unfold. I reminisced about the days when I was merely a fan of Genshin Impact, reading fiction tales of ocs, readers who were transported into the game. They often found a way home or chose to remain in Teyvat surrounded by friends. I had no such companions here. All I had was Cyno and our child—this was my reality now, after the end of my original story.
"I meant to take responsibility for you and our daughter..." Cyno declared, his words igniting the tension between us.
"Excuse me?" I exclaimed, fully aware of the implications of what he was saying. He wanted to marry me. Despite the fact that we weren't even dating—or even together by choice at the time we conceived our child—here we were, now faced with the reality of parenthood and still devoid of any romantic connection.
"You’re the mother of my child. I intended to care for you both properly..." His tone was grave, underscoring the seriousness with which he approached everything. It was a quality I both admired and loathed in him.
"Are you out of your mind? Right now, the Fatui are after us—after me and our child. And I’m still branded an imposter. You want to talk about marriage…?" I threw my hands up in exasperation. I recalled reading somewhere that jackals are monogamous creatures. Perhaps, given his origins linked to Hermanubis, he saw things in such a straightforward, rigid way.
"Listen, Habibti," he said, using the affectionate nickname he had bestowed upon me—though I still had no idea what it actually meant.
"I mean no offense. I truly care for our daughter. I just want to do right by her, and I don’t even know her name..." Understanding dawned on me; Cyno always gave his all to whatever he pursued.
"Hala... her name is Hala..." I said softly, turning my gaze away. I had named her after the moonlight, a name inspired by that night of intimacy when we spoke and held each other close. He had shared knowledge about the moon, and in that moment of vulnerability, I chose a name that reflected our connection. His surprised reaction revealed two things: first, how taken aback he was by my revelation, and second, that our night together had indeed meant something to me.
An hour and a half passed as we deliberated, and eventually, we reached some important conclusions.
The first was that I would remain in Teyvat with our daughter. This decision was a struggle for me; he was decidedly reluctant to abandon the idea of fleeing and staying on Earth. I, on the other hand, was deeply tied to my life there—my family, my friends, my career, my very existence. Yet, I yielded, swayed by his peculiar resilience and the undeniable fact that he lacked any form of identification. No matter which government or country, they would inevitably inquire and investigate, a hassle I wanted to avoid at all costs.
The second matter was his desire for our daughter to be legally recognized in Sumeru as his child and heir in Teyvat. This request might come with a heavy price, as it possibly mean he would have to relinquish his position as General Mahamarta.
Lastly, we agreed to seek a pardon for me concerning the label of "imposter." A title I had never chosen for myself, it hung over me like a dark cloud, and we needed to uncover the reasons behind it.
I was grateful that he didn’t insist on marriage—I simply wasn’t ready for that commitment. Truth be told, it wasn't entirely off the table; chivalry hadn’t entirely faded in Teyvat, but it often felt exaggerated to the point of absurdity. Despite its modern concepts, remnants of old-fashioned ideals lingered, presenting both blessings and burdens.
Once our conversation came to a close, he reached into his bag and pulled out the jackal cape, draping it over my shoulders. With a deft motion, he adjusted the strap around my neck and pulled the hood snugly over my head.
"For now, we need to keep your true identity a secret," he said, his tone both playful and serious. We stepped out together, and I saw Tighnari busy in his office, immersed in his work. Hala was nearby, lost in her own world of sketching. The moment she spotted me, her eyes lit up as she pointed to her rough drawings of Tighnari. Cyno, ever the playful one, swooped in and lifted her off the ground, bouncing her gently in the air. Hala’s laughter filled the room, her bond with Cyno already growing stronger as she squealed in delight.
As the hours crept deeper into the night, soft sounds drifted through the room. I could hear him and our daughter playing with Genius Invokation TCG cards. Though she didn't grasp the intricacies of the game, her delighted cheers and infectious giggles filled the air every time he tossed a card into play. Yet, as I listened to their laughter, an unsettling feeling gnawed at me—an instinct deep within, whispering that something dark loomed just beyond our happy scene.
Snezhnaya
The Tsaritsa listened intently as Tartaglia delivered his report, and her emerald eyes sparkled with intrigue at the mention of Sumeru's involvement.
"I can retrieve the child and her mother..." Tartaglia offered, his voice steady yet eager.
“It’s quite alright...” she replied, a smile gracing her lips as she affectionately ruffled his hair. He felt his cheeks flush; she relished her authority over him and her other subjects.
However, unbeknownst to all but one, she was not the true Tsaritsa. No, she was merely a player, much like the false imposter from the so-called “real world” of Earth. Once just a devoted Genshin Impact player, fate had intervened, thrusting her into the form of the Cryo Archon in Teyvat, long after the cataclysmic assault on Khaenri’ah, five hundred years before this moment. She harbored ambitions far removed from those of the original Tsaritsa.
A many years later, another player had emerged—a potential threat. She knew she had to intervene. If this newcomer managed to carve out a name for themselves, especially if they ventured to Snezhnaya, they might unravel the truth about her identity. To veer their course, she had cast a curse—or perhaps a form of magic—so that all in Teyvat would perceive the player as an imposter, a remnant of a forgotten creator. But while the three Archons, blissfully ignorant, unknowingly furthered her designs, she stumbled upon a revelation: this player had been pregnant. Spying between worlds proved to be a simple task. The child was born, a little girl, bore no constellation yet possessed a latent ability inherited from her father, along with a few powers she had unwittingly gleaned from the Archons themselves. The Tsaritsa coveted the girl, eager to add her as a pawn in her intricate game.
“My Archon?” Childe inquired, his brow furrowing with concern. She recalled the days when this had all been a mere game, when he had been her favorite character.
“Let us hold off for now,” she said with a sly smile. “Let’s allow them to bask in their false sense of hope...”
To be continued maybe
Last chapter Next chapter
Master list
Author Comment:
Our Reader-Imposter isn't actually the imposter. Unfortunately, she is merely a Genshin player framed by the Tsaritsa, who is the true imposter. I wanted to explore this concept because it's interesting to consider what happens when you get exactly what you want—so much so that you lose sight of your morals and identity in the process. I don't believe the fake Tsaritsa started as a bad person; however, power can corrupt people. She is living her dream, with her main character by her side, ruling over a powerful kingdom. Having spent 500 years in Teyvat, she has experienced the life of an archon, relishing the benefits that come with it. Be on the look out for more chapters.
The reader is uncertain about her feelings in this situation. Her mindset revolves around whether she truly loves Cyno in a romantic way.
A few chapters ago, it was highlighted that she's confused about her true emotions for him. While she was once a devoted fan of Cyno, viewing him as her favorite character, there was a moment when both characters lowered their defenses. They now share a child, and she is filled with dread at the thought of returning to Teyvat, having witnessed firsthand the darkness it can harbor.
She has a strong support system at home, on earth; her parents are wonderful and provide her with help. The idea of leaving that behind is daunting.
The reader is reluctant to marry someone she doesn’t genuinely love. On Cyno’s side, it’s clear he is a man of honor and duty. He isn’t trying to hide his past mistakes but is taking responsibility. He got her pregnant, and they have a child together. While it’s evident that he has deep feelings for her, her feelings are complicated—perhaps a mix of guilt and a newfound connection to their child.
Despite the challenges, Teyvat is not a perfect place. We’ve seen similar themes in the Caribert quest, which revolves around a father and his *cough* illegitimate son *cough*. Such occurrences are a reality in this world.
expl: they pay your house a visit and see you in your pajamas, flustered by the exposed skin when they're so used to seeing you in your regular outfit
a/n: back
second person writing no pronouns used
Diluc didn't often pay your home a visit because he never had a reason to do so. You were always on time to the tavern, so today, when you had shown up late he decided he'd pay a visit just to make sure you were alright!
It wasn't often that he took this trip to the other side of the city of Mondstat. He only really saw these parts when he was doing his justice as the "Darknight Hero," but he knew you lived here when he had to drop you off after a couple too many drinks. Which was a shame because you also never remembered when you practically clung to him the whole way while flirting.
He took a couple steps towards your door and knocked 3 times. Standing in silence for a bit before hearing the sounds of some clattering objects in the house. Along with the sound of your voice cursing when something fell with it.
The door swung open and you appeared before it, disheveled, and looking like you just woke up. Your expression immediately turning flustered when you realized your boss was at your front door, and you were dressed in your pajamas.
Diluc's eyes flew to your appearance, especially the fact that the clothes you were wearing were very uneven, along with a lot of skin being shown. You seemed to notice his glance going down further and further, before raking back up to your eyes. Lifting the bottoms that were slowly falling down your hips, you sheepishly smiled before speaking,
"Diluc! Can I ask why you-" This was when your face dropped in immediate realization. Unfortunately, your brain chose at that moment to catch up with everything surrounding you. It was the afternoon, you just woke up, and it was Sunday. Wait? It's Sunday.
You jumped nearly 50 feet, scattering to explain with your hands in the air. "Oh my god! I am so sorry! I was out really late last night and I- God I'm so sorry! I will be down there in 5 minutes trust me I promise!"
Rushing back into your house, slamming the door and the sound of more clattering objects and your cursing reached Diluc's ears. He finally allowed his face to dust a shade of pink, pulling his hand over to his mouth and rubbing it in an embarrassing matter.
Xiao was the "Conquerer of Demons" he was vicious, strong, and scary. Xiao was the "Conquerer of Demons" but here he was, doing an errand. Ridiculous, an errand? All he was trying to do was make his way up to the top of the Wangshu Inn when Verr Goldet practically cornered him and asked him for a favor.
And how can Xiao say no? She gave him a place of safety and he would do anything to repay her for the kindness she's shown. Verr had asked him if he could deliver a package to a room closer to the top floor. He knew it was your room just by the number, often walking by and waiting a few seconds to hear any noises in there.
Xiao knocked on your door, silently hoping you wouldn't take your time getting to the door and this could end quickly. He waited a couple more seconds before hearing the sounds of you walking towards the door. The door opened slower than he thought it would and you came out looking like you had just woken up the minute he knocked.
Your pajamas were hanging loosely off you and Xiao's eyes wasted no time looking down at all the exposed skin that was showing. Your eyes squinted so much that you couldn't see the way his face lit up like a firework at the sight of you.
"Xiao? What're you doing here?" The voice you spoke with sounded groggy. Still unaware of The Conquerer of Demons losing it at your appearance. He said no word and quickly handed over the package, nearly making you lose your balance before disappearing away.
Scaramouche was not an observer, he didn't care what people were doing or what they looked like. All he was focused on was doing his own thing. Which was why it confused him to no end why Kusanali was managing to keep his attention right now.
At least, to Scaramouche. it was confusing, but the Dendro Archon knew what she needed to say in order to keep the wanderer's attention. Your name alone kept him focused on her words and she continued to manage to add you to the problem in order for him to find the solution.
"And that's why I think if we manage to get-"
The sound of a door slamming alerted both Kusanali and Scaramouche, along with the Traveler and Paimon across the room. Your flustered appearance entered the room, clearly out of breath from running all the way up here. Why did they put so many stairs leading up to the Sanctuary?
"Nahida. I am. So sorry. That I missed-" The sounds of your out-of-breath panting were in between every word you spoke, which eventually just led you to put your hands on your knees to catch it. You ran all the way up here as soon as you woke up, seeing the sunshine high in the sky and knowing you forgot to meet up with Nahida about the plan she had. Which led you to rush out in your pajamas, earning a few strange looks from passers-by on your way up.
"I had totally overslept and forgot about the plan..." Your words trailed off when you finally looked up and saw Scaramouche gleaming a bright red at your outfit. His eyes were anywhere but your own, examining your body like he was trying to engrave the image in front of him.
"Scaramouche? Are you okay?" Your voice finally reached his ears as he recollected himself from the shock, shooting his eyes back up to your own. The emotions that ran through were clear, confusion, embarrassment, and then finally anger. He shot up from his seat startling both Paimon and the Traveler, Nahida remaining unfazed.
"This is stupid! I'm out of here!" His voice trailed off as he stomped away from the scene. Knowing that when he was out of shot, another glance at your back would send him red-faced again.
Cyno found himself once again back in the desert visiting the Traveler and their flying white-haired companion in order to help with another quest. Back in the village of Aaru Village, the 3 traveled around asking about something the quest giver was looking for.
"And I told her there was no way I was falling for- Hey look, it's Candace!" Paimon exclaimed, pointing in the direction where the indigo-haired woman was walking. They managed to catch up with her after Paimon's screeching caught her attention.
She told them that she was going back to the main building where they had first gathered when the Traveler visited, saying she was finished running her errands and was returning back. Cyno nodded in silence while he let Paimon do most of the talking, letting his mind wander what you were up to right now.
The 3 entered the building and quickly helped Candace settle her bags onto the table. Paimon was just to go back to squeaking before Cadance quickly threw a finger over her mouth and pointed towards the couch in the corner.
There you slept, half off the couch with your pajamas nearly falling off your shoulder and hips. Cyno knew you were in the room since he entered, and didn't let his eyes leave your figure in the corner once. His face was blank, but anyone who knew him closer than others would know he was flustered by all means. Which meant Cadance's smile didn't leave her face either when she watched him move his eyes across your whole body.
"Cyno! Cyno!" Paimons voice returned to his consciousness and he quickly looked over at her, not before shooting an extra glance toward you again.
"We're leaving now? Are you gonna come with us?" She said, floating around in an impatient manner. He shook his head and spoke, "No, I have other matters I need to catch up with here as well. You can go on ahead."
The Traveler nodded before Paimon could complain and walked off back to where the original quester was waiting. Cyno turned back to you before realizing Cadance had left the room too.
You later woke up with the General Mahamatra's sleeping form in the chair near you, and a blanket covering your whole body.
alhaitham visited and cyno nearly broke his skull in when he saw his eyes shoot to your body
?
snow day w/ tighnari, kaeya, gorou, ayato
you bump into them w/ childe, dainsleif, kazuha, heizou
may i have some cockwarming headcanons with cyno, itto, childe, and ayato? THANK YOU SEXY LADY 🫶🏻🫶🏻
i love when sleepysnk sends me requests !!! i hope you enjoy <3
warnings: cock warming, use of pet names
Cyno
he's on the quiet side and not as expressive but his touch speaks for itself. he grabs at you, bites you, and leaves marks with his touch.
instead of him teasing you, you tease him. teasing him leaves him in a vulnerable state until it flips onto you
"look at you," you coo into his ear, muscles contracting and squeezing around his cock that's buried deep inside. A sigh slips from your lips whereas a quiet moan emits into the air.
the general lay beneath you, his white locks sprawled underneath him giving him the look of what seemed like an angel. his chest heaves, his orbs wandering over your body on top of him.
cyno grunts, reaching up to grab at you but is forced back down by your hand. cyno is much stronger than you but in a state like this, it's safe to say you have the power over him.
"You can't touch me," you hum, rolling your hips forward. your head hangs back, a sound of pleasure rippling through the air. he squeezes his eyes shut, his teeth biting down on his lower lip.
"who would have thought the general would be so submissive and obedient?"
cyno's face heats up from embarrassment. he himself didn't even know how he got into this situation but yet, here he was.
a clench from your cunt sent him over the edge. a surprised squeal squeaks out from you as he uses his might to flip you onto the bed, his hand grasping and squeezing your neck with just enough force to get you to shut up.
"you really think that's funny huh?" he whispers, leaning forward. his nose presses up against yours and he can feel your hot breath on his face. "we'll see who is laughing once I'm finished with you."
Arataki Itto
he absolutely teases the crap out of you!! he loves hearing your little whines and enjoys feeling your hips desperately move against him to feel any sort of pleasure
he's an ass man and would definitely spank you if you were to move while he told you not too. he just wants you to be his good girl :(
"What a good girl," Itto chuckles, his fingernails digging into your bare ass cheeks. "Look at you, taking me like a champ."
You whine in response, your fingers tangled into his white locks, giving it a gentle tug to which he lets out a small grunt.
Your hips snap forward, a moan emitting for your throat. Suddenly his hand raises into the air and comes down onto your skin— leaving a tingling sensation.
“What did I say about not moving?” He whispers into your ear, taking the shell in between his teeth and nibbling gently. “You’re not being a good girl, aren’t you?”
“N-No..”
“And what do bad girls get?”
“Punishment,” you whisper, eyes glossy and lips formed into a pout.
He chuckles, leaning back to take you in. The back of his finger strokes your cheek, leading down to your lips. His finger pulls down your bottom before releasing it.
“And you’re gonna take it.”
Childe
it was his idea to actually try this. once you did it, he started having immediate regrets.
he whines and grabs at you, trying to keep you as close to him as possible and try not to move but it's impossible with how good you feel
"mm, fuck," Tartaglia whispers breathlessly, anchoring his head to stare where you connected. he practically groans when he sees your juices dribbling down his inner thighs.
he can hardly control himself. you feel so damn good that it causes his brain to fog and all he can think about is you. your scent, your small noises when he adjusts you or himself, the way his name slips off your tongue. you drove him crazy.
his hands drag up and down your sides, moving up to your breasts and giving them a gentle squeeze. he watches how your chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath. it's a beautiful sight to him and he can't believe he's the only one who gets to see you like this.
"You're so beautiful," he mutters, locking eyes with you. his ocean hues bore into yours, his cheeks flushed and his hair sticking to his forehead despite his lack of movement. at any moment, he's bound to break and fuck you into the bed.
he groans when you clench around him. As an instinct, he snaps upward into you, your moans coming out in sync. it felt so good. his cock twitched and he couldn't take it anymore.
"fuck baby," he seethes out, wrapping his arms around your waist. "I can't take it anymore.. be a good girl and make me feel good, yeah?"
Kamisato Ayato
he's a busy guy and doesn't have the time (usually) to engage in physical intimacy but he does try his best.
most of the time he enjoys having you sit in his lap, his cock buried deep within your cunt while he works. he listens to your whines, begging him to push you onto the table and take you right there but he has work, you understand don't you?
"ayato," you whisper, clawing at the wooden table that sits in front of you. your toes curl at their own command, thighs twitching at the soft hum he gives out in return.
one of his hands goes up and down your inner thigh, the pad of his finger ever so grazing the area you needed him most. a small gasp escapes your lips when he comes into contact with your clit but immediately let out a whine when he pulls back.
"What's wrong, darling?"
"I can't take it anymore..."
"mm," he nods, leaning forward and resting his chin on your shoulder. his large hands take hold of the plush of your thighs, giving them a rough squeeze. you're so desperate for his touch that only that movement was enough for a moan to slip. "I can't do that."
"Please!"
"sorry my love but, no. I'm busy, can't you see?" he gestures to the scattered papers in front of him. he shifts on his legs, purposely snapping his hips up with his motions, a grin spreading onto his face when he hears you cry out.
his cock is so buried deep that even sitting on it was enough to have you shaking on his lap. your cunt flutters and tightens around him. you can feel him pulsing within you and the thought of him just sitting here and not having his way with you was another level of torture.
sfw. fem!reader. contains angst to comfort themes. established relationship (secret relationship). royal guard x princess au. may contain spoilers but with a twist! subtle implications on the end (no smut!)
note: i am alive and well, going through some things but all in all, it's turning alright! for the better, and that's good. uni and life have been making me busy and though, I am focused on acads, it still feels great i enjoyed writing this piece. it's somehow different from past works, but i am hoping you'd enjoy it as much as I do <3
this was on my drafts for 2 years :'), time flies!
disclaimer: this is purely based on what i know since sumeru release, the imagine is an au with my own twist hihi
The General Mahamatra had always been a prominent figure in the name of justice and judgment.
The ways of judgment of the Mahamatra had never been disclosed to the public. And there were but a few tales, varying from word of mouth. Therefore, being granted mercy would be a blessing in disguise.
The Mahamatra is infamously known as an unknown force never to be reckoned with.
Such a strong impression is held by those who have claimed they've encountered or witnessed the Mahamatra in action.
For centuries, the Mahamatra had been regarded as a ghost story. When they've shown an ounce of misbehavior, simply warning about the Mahamatra's name under one's breath will leave them shivering in fear. While others, the genuine fear could be felt underneath their feet. It was as if, death could be knocking on their doorstep.
The General Mahamatra worked alone and served no one. It had always been this way since the beginning of time. However, that's only the tip of the surface.
Perhaps, it's fated for a position meant for sacrifices.
Yet, such instances of devoting to someone else could potentially test the Mahamatra’s loyalty. It could be anyone, a close person dearly to their heart's content. But should never be swayed away from upholding their principles. Their mortal judgment must never be clouded.
Cyno knows of this vow to the deity who granted him freedom. A powerful being sealed within a mask buried in one of the long-forgotten temples of the desert. And it was this very being who had been inscribed within the doors of knowledge.
“Have I not forewarned you of such a consequence, child?” The voice echoed in the depths of his mind.
“I am not being led astray, my Lord.”
Cyno lifted his head in vindication, his hands kept on his side but were balled into fists. Ruby eyes glinted within the shadows of his locks as he took a step forward, bringing a hand over his heart. “With all due respect, my duty is to the crown. That is something I cannot betray—”
He may be careful with his words, yet the being felt a slight tremble in Cyno’s heart.
The being morphed into their human form. They were dressed in white and gold but with the jackal-like helmet casting a shadow over their face. Golden eyes striking down on his own. Cyno knew better than to not gaze upon their glinting rage.
“Foolish, boy!” The being snapped with bared teeth, towering over his figure. “If you allow this connection to happen, you will gradually meet your demise!”
Mortals may be selfish in their own right, yet whatever is brewing within the depths of the boy’s beating heart could very well be a mirror of the being’s past self.
“Never turn a blind eye,” They warn with disappointment washed over them. “That is beyond my teachings.”
The being faced away, craning their neck slightly to the side. “Have I made myself clear, General Mahamatra?”
Cyno, against his judgment, knelt with one knee while gripping the staff with his head hung low. Glaring down on the ground, concealing the growing tears. “Yes, my Lord.”
"...Cyno?" A soft voice called out his name.
He blinked. Nearly flinching upon feeling the touch of a gentle thumb flicking away a stray tear on his cheek. Strange, had he been crying?
A growing headache.
Cyno could barely recall how long he had been in a trance. And how you were this close in his proximity instead of being by the vanity as he remembered. Tongue-tied, is what he is feeling right now.
“How am I worthy of the touch of your highness?”
“My reason is simple,” Your voice grew firm with concern spewing out of your lips, and perhaps your heart felt the pain of witnessing his tears for the first time. “I have been calling your name, yet you do not answer.”
It was better to keep what you had seen from him. Regardless of whether he would choose to open up about it. Knowing Cyno, he may not for your sake. It is better this way.
He kept his usual composure and gripped the spear, "How may I be of your assistance, your highness?"
The sound of your chuckle is similar to tiny bells in a breeze. He tried not to be swayed. Keeping an upfront. Though Cyno knew behind closed doors, you had permitted him to be… less formal with you.
He may let his guard down towards you, and not act as the General Mahamatra. However, he must remain alert and attentive to the surroundings. Especially, the prying eyes and keen ears around the palace walls. He can never be too careless.
"Would you like to join me for an afternoon stroll in the city?" You offered, standing up from the seat to retrieve the robe on the rack.
Being cooped up in the palace often led you to long for a breath of fresh air. Feeling the warm heat of the sun, surrounded by passing people, a whole contrast to where you had resided. Such rendezvous trips to the city or venturing further into the forest is what you would’ve loved to do.
Cyno, the General Mahamatra. A man who upholds dignity and honor, and seeks out the injustices. The position grants him the authority and responsibility of ensuring the balance of judgment. Thus, fear and respect can be one or two ways.
The majority of people fear the Mahamatra himself. After hearing countless tall tales and rumors of how he judges rightfully fairly in the eyes of the beholder. The merciless General Mahamatra was appointed by the royal family.
Some might regard the Mahamatra as the royal guard dog of a certain royal.
Cyno contemplated as he bit the inside of his cheek, "But you are to wait for His Majesty and Her Majesty to return from their trip."
“They will be arriving soon.” He stated.
Tucking in the necklace and fixing the robe, then face the General with a knowing smile. "We won't get caught."
He was quick to notice the mischievous glint around your eyes. He knew you all too well with your antics.
"And you may address me as Y/N." You reminded him in reassurance. "There's no need to be formal if it's only the two of us."
Cyno sighs, still not admitting defeat. He made his way to where you stood in the bedroom, loosely gripping the spear. He leans a little closer, crimson eyes soften. Only for you.
"My love," The visible worry now clouded his gaze, "I am tasked to protect you and your family. I must ensure harm won't come in any way. I made an oath to keep my word."
"And I intend to keep it that way."
Cyno wanted to hold your hands in reassurance. But knowing there are eyes and ears everywhere in the palace, it's too risky. No matter the amount of restraint, he yearns to hold and touch you without thinking of the possible consequences.
He quickly noticed how your expression changed within a blink.
"...It wasn't my intention to hurt your feelings." Cyno clarified, holding himself back. "Perhaps, I wish to be more cautious with my actions now."
It took a while for you to respond.
"...If this is about the rumors—"
The General turned away.
"With all due respect, your highness." He says, not sparing a glance. "I do plan to meet again under the silver moon where the lilies bloom."
Her heart clings to his promise. “Until then, General.”
"I should take my leave now," Cyno announces.
Before he could take another step towards the door, a hand gripped his arm.
"Will sending my regards suffice?" You asked.
Cyno kept himself grounded. "Farewell, Princess."
You were able to pull the spear in your direction, causing Cyno to face you to the side. At first, upon reaching for the jackal-like helmet, he flinched for a moment. Until he felt your touch on his skin. Cupping his cheeks, and melting into the kiss. He lost all composure.
His eyes slowly blinked, and all the tension washed over him as tears trickled down his cheeks. His arms tightly wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. Swiftly, he turned his back to shield you away from the windows.
A strong breeze flew by as the curtains draped down while swaying side by side. In the dark, lit room, two destined souls are one. Only they could hear their sweet whispers, and no one else’s. Perhaps, fate might have been crueler than their intertwined past. The strong familiarity could never sever such a connection.
tags — suggestive content, needy boyfriends who wants your attention, established relationship; scenarios
word count — 1108
a/n — this was supposed to be wholesome but what the fuck happened
TIGHNARI
normally, in these situations wherein you're focused on doing something, he would just let you be in which he first did not until such a long time—specifically an hour— had already passed and for the past hour, all that he could ever hear and see when watching you was the sound of your laughter and rolling around the bed with a grin on your face.
it just annoyed him— the fact that you haven't spoken to him once in the entire time and you had your nose all up in that book. he wanted you to pay attention on him but he doesn't want to admit it.
tighnari walks until he arrives in front of you then proceeds to snatch the book away from your hands—in which your attention was then also grabbed as you yelled out of protest of his actions but he just ignored you— before placing it somewhere else out of your reach.
"hey—!"
"now that solves the problem." standing in front of you, he spoke in a somewhat proud tone of voice as he crossed his arms across his chest, his stare down at you as he gazed into your eyes while you looked up at him.
"i'm still not done reading yet." you say, sulking, and he only chuckled seeing your expression. sure, he could have just let you be with your book but something in
"and i need your attention." and before you could even respond to what he had said, he had already leaned down to kiss you. just like how quick he was to capture your lips, preventing any protest from coming out of your mouth, he was quick to part but he remained close to you. he placed his hand on each side of your head, trapping you in between his arms.
you wanted to say something, to respond so you swallowed hard, opening your mouth to speak but no voice came out. in the end, you could only remain silent.
"i want you right now, (name)," he says against your lips, low like a whisper and feeling his breath fan your skin before closing in the distance between you two.
well, let's just say that you really had your attention on him the whole night just like what he had wanted.
CYNO
"can you pay attention to me now?" his voice, though emotionless when heard at first, is actually laced with hints of annoyance as he has been watching you read the book on your hand the whole time while laughing and giggling like a little girl. it irks him off especially when he's been with you the whole time, waiting until you drop that book and turn to him instead.
"cyno, hold on, wait, w-what are you doing—" panic sets in, a flustered expression on your face, as you noticed what he's doing while still holding the book tightly on your hand to which annoyed him more because how come you still won't put that thing down?
cyno is a man known for his stoic expression and strict personality along with such an amazing patience and tenacity as he is even willing to find or specifically, hunt down individuals who even tries to escape from his judgment no matter where they are, even if they are across the desert or the other side of the world.
however, none of that patience that he is known to have seems to exist as of right this moment when he's kneeling down directly in front of you, positioned in between your legs as he kisses his way up to your thighs, maintaining eye contact the whole time. now you're entirely focused on him, breath being held in as you felt a fluttering feeling of a butterfly's wing in your stomach, eyes completely on him and gazing at his each and every move.
you were unconsciously anticipating, waiting, and watching his next choice of action not knowing that you have already put the book down and you didn't fail to notice the glimmer that appeared in his eyes when he saw you do so. a smile tugged on his lips and he murmured against your skin:
"good. because i don't have all the patience that you want me to have."
cyno is a man of great patience not until when it comes to the matters of you and your attention in which he always wants without admitting it.
ALHAITHAM
alhaitham has you close to him, near him. you were settled in between his legs while you have your back pressed against his chest. you were there with him, awake and conscious, but it feels like you weren't because you have your focus entirely on somewhere else that is not him,
"(name)." he calls out and you only respond with a hum, still attentively reading the book in your hand, not wanting to miss out on one of the most important events in the story.
"(name)." he calls out once again, this time his voice was lower and annoyance staining his tone to which you failed to notice since you were so focused on what you were reading. hearing no response only irked him off more and he could only think of one way to steal your attention away from that book.
he wrapped his arms around your waist, positioning you much closer to him. warm and ticklish, you feel his tracing your jaw and trailing down your neck, sucking and nibbling on your skin, which will surely leave marks and bruises on it.
distracting but you couldn't find it in yourself to push him away nor shrug him off. you couldn't even understand what you were reading anymore, words were simply just letters on paper no matter how hard you try to focus. you just feel so dizzy.
"still not willing to pay attention to me?" he whispers, tickling, and you could feel the smirk that starts to form on his lips witnessing you struggle in coming up with a response.
"w-wait, let me just finish this, i promise."
he only hums, clearly not accepting your answer as he continues the onslaught of kisses on your neck. dizzy, your mind was in a haze, your thoughts seeming like blurred photographs but he didn't stop and only added more to the feeling when his hands started to roam around your body. one of his hands has made its way to the insides of your shirt and in contrast to his warm kisses, his hand was cold and it sent a shiver down your spine.
"i'm not going to stop until you get rid of that and focus on me instead."
