I recently got into Octopath Traveller and am pkaying thru the furst one (I do have the second one but man I have not finished it yet HGDHS) and i am v curious now so I ask you all
Who's your favourite traveller?
Ophilia
H'aanit
Therion
Alfyn
Cyrus
Olberic
Tressa
Primrose
Voting ended onFeb 12, 2025
I'm personally v fond of H'aanit I think she's cute
I like the idea of demisexual Cyrus for several reasons, not the least of which being that after so many years of genuinely having no idea what everybody is talking about about with this whole "flirting" and "giving people the wrong idea" thing, I think age 30 would a really funny time for him to get hit in the face repeatedly with actual sexual attraction
pairing: cyrus albright & reader
word count: 2.1k+
point of view: second (you/your pronouns)
‘Ah, perhaps my eyesight has finally begun to fail, for I cannot believe what I am seeing right in front of me!’
The voice proclaims it loud and clear, a charming smile blooming across the speaker’s handsome face. Nobody in the crowded tavern notices you, nor do they hear the scholar’s loud voice. You take a deep breath, as silent as you can, for your heart beats, beats, beats beats beats—
‘Please, sit down, my friend,’ Cyrus gestures to the chair in front of him, his smile firm and graceful. ‘It must have been quite the journey to get here. Ah, I don’t intend to undermine your abilities, of course. You have always been quite the extraordinary scholar. This mere journey from Atlasdam must have been all but an easy feat for you.’
The praise that lingers in his words would have made any woman swoon over him. You, too, at any other day, would have blushed but shut down his praise (What for? I am merely speaking the truth, my dear, he would have retorted). But, not today.
You obey his request, however. You pull the wooden chair back, heart in your throat, and you sit down quietly.
‘How fair are things at the Royal Academy? I cannot help but wonder what has been of the place since I have been fired from my position,’ Cyrus closes the book he had been reading.
‘Quiet,’ you answer. ‘Everything remains the same.’ You chuckle, attempting a smile. ‘Well, not really the same. It’s never the same without you, Professor Albright.’
You have always addressed him by his title, and him, yours. Sometimes, though.
‘You reckon so?’ Cyrus laughs. ‘I am pleased to hear someone thinks that. Thank you for your kind words, my dear.’
He tilts his head to the side. He is looking at you. Closely. No, he is looking through you. You glance down at your hands, your breath caught. You are being paranoid.
‘What brings you to Stillsnow?’ He inquires, leaning forward in his seat. ‘Perhaps, you are continuing your research on the correlation between natural forces and ice magic? You have mentioned before, in one of our previous arrangements in the Library, that you were researching how far the natural forces and environment influence creatures that control the magic, as well as scholars who have an innate sense of it, correct? It would make sense as to why you are researching it, of course! I applaud you for it, my dear! You have always been an excellent ice magic caster, and I can only wonder how far your research might take you, how much it might augment your powers. Please, do catch me up on your latest findings and data, dear. I would love to explore them for myself or, mayhaps, teach them to my students. Ah, of course, only if I am ever allowed back at the Royal Academy.’
You listen to the sound of his voice attentively. You try to use it to bury the storm inside you. You try to replace it with the flutter of butterfly wings, the feeling that you have known for the majority of the time you have known — and been around — Cyrus.
‘You’re correct,’ you reply as you meet his eyes. There is a slight smile on your lips; it does not quite meet your eyes. ‘I am here to continue my research.’
‘That is great news,’ Cyrus nods as his eyes roam your face and your smile. ‘Have you just arrived?’
‘...Around three hours or so.’
‘After sunset? Well, I do not doubt your abilities, as I have mentioned, but it is quite dangerous to travel by oneself in the dark, especially around these parts.’
‘The sooner I can get on with my research, the better,’ you shake your head. You look at the book in his hands, and you smile. ‘Still reading that old one, I see.’
‘I cannot simply drop a tome such as this,’ Cyrus muses as he glances at the hardcover book upon the table. ‘Especially when it has been gifted to me by one of my closest and beloved companions, my dear.’ His eye glints as he turns to you.
Your gift to him. How many years ago? You only know you were already a fool for him, and that is as much as you need to remember.
‘It has been, what, six months since we last saw each other, Professor,’ you start. ‘Please, tell me about your travels.’ You signal for the waiter to come at your table. ‘Are you here on your own?’
‘No,’ the scholar shakes his head. ‘Perhaps, a twist of the universe. I have crossed paths with other travelers, all different from one another. We have been traveling together for this long half a year, sharing stories, fights, victories and losses. I dare say, it is a wonderful experience.’
You request an ale. You have not drunk alcohol in a while, but perhaps it would soothe your nerves, for the time being. You turn back to Cyrus, when the waiter leaves. ‘How many of you are there, then?’
‘Eight,’ Cyrus counts. ‘We may sometimes split into groups depending on each one’s journey and convenience.’ Then, he sighs loudly, ‘My dear, you would not believe the stories I have collected from my journey to find the missing tome.’
You smile and you place your chin on your hand, ‘Then, why don’t you? It has been a long time, and it would be heavenly to hear what fun adventures you have gotten yourself into, Professor.’
And thus, Cyrus begins. He speaks of the beautiful, exotic towns he has seen in the Sunlands, where he sneaks into the Black Market. You raise an eyebrow at the story, questioning why he was there in the first place, and he shrugs it off with curiosity and companionship. Then, he tells you about a wandering warrior from the destroyed land of Hornburg, grinning widely when your mouth opens in disbelief. He tells you how he has been attempting to learn wind magic from a young merchant in his party.
By the time he is done with a small portion of stories and experiences, it is a little bit over midnight. The tavern has grown a bit quieter since you entered, but you still feel tense. As if too many eyes are on you.
‘It would have been a fascinating and joyful experience if I were to have such a journey with you, my dear,’ Cyrus sighs. ‘Alas, perhaps another time. You might allow me to come with you to do your research, right?’
‘Of course,’ you nod, your finger circling the top of your empty mug. ‘I’d be grateful to have you by my side.’
Cyrus bows. Then, he stands slowly, prompting you to mimic his movements. ‘As much as I would love to stay here for a little longer, I need to retire for the night. Tomorrow is a grand day, I imagine. Every day has proven itself to be such.’
You place a couple of leaves on top of the table, which include a small tip for the waiter. ‘Allow me to escort you? As you said, there are far too many dangers after sunset around these lands.’
Cyrus laughs, ‘Well said.’ He walks around the table, and he lends you his arm, his eyelids lowering slightly. Any other day, this would have sent you over the edge. Not today. ‘I would be more than thankful to have such a powerful scholar by my side.’
You grab his arm, shaking your head with a smile. ‘You’re too kind, Professor.’
When you leave the tavern, you pull your cloak closer to your body with your free hand. Cyrus appears unbothered by the snow and the cold. You allow yourself to focus on this. The warmth that radiates off his body, the feeling of having him this close to you. It would make sense why he feels this way, of course. For you are an ice magic caster, and he, a caster of hot, raging fire. That has always been his speciality.
Opposites attract, you wonder?
When you stand in front of the inn, the streets dead silent and empty, you bite your lip and reluctantly let go of his arm. You cross your hands behind your back, smiling up at the scholar. ‘Thank you for indulging me with your company, Professor Albright. It has been a pleasure.’
‘Of course,’ he bows. ‘I aim to please, my dear.’ Once again, as he straightens his back and opens his eyes, they roam across your face. He tilts his head to the side, the smile still present. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you? Anything I can help you with?’
The question startles you, but your body remains still, and your breath calm. However, just as when you are about to open your mouth to speak, your breath gets caught in your throat and you let your gaze fall to the ground.
The scholar is silent, watching you. You believe he is allowing you to collect your thoughts, for, no doubt, you look like a fool. You have never been like this. As you are about to speak, raising your head to look at him dead in the eye, Cyrus interrupts you. ‘Are you here to kill me?’
You flinch. You cannot stop it, and you have given him all the answers he needs to know.
Cyrus takes a slow, deep breath. The smile is still there; you might have taken it as an arrogant smirk, as Cyrus has always been quite the genius and this precise moment would have allowed a flawed sense of victory flow through him, but you do not see that. You see, instead, disappointment. And, dare you say—
Hurt?
The dagger in your hand feels cold. Too cold, even for someone who has had freezing blood running through your veins since you were but a child. ‘When I first caught a glimpse of you, in Quarrycrest,’ he begins slowly, ‘I had thought it to be a trick of my mind. My companion warned me about you, having seen you longer before I did.’
You remember.
You remember the piercing gray glare that scanned the crowd before it fell on you.
‘I had thought, “Well, they say the mind plays tricks on you when you are exhausted, when you are homesick.” And, perhaps, that would have been the case, wouldn’t you agree?’ Cyrus looks down at you silently, for a moment. ‘Why else would you be there? Why wouldn’t you be in Atlasdam?’
You cannot look away. The dagger shakes in your hand.
‘Alas, I see you again. In the Highlands, this time. This time, I recognize you. There had been no doubt in my mind that the beautiful woman that I was seeing, gazing thoughtfully over the stone railing, inhaling the scent of pine, in that single moment of distraction, was you.’
You would fail sooner or later. You are no thief, no dancer. You cannot evade or blend with the crowd.
‘It had shaken me to the core, of course.’ Cyrus takes a step closer towards you. The cloud that leaves his mouth as he speaks washes over your face; he is close enough that you could grab him by the front of his cloak and kiss him right there and then. Or, impale the dagger you have been given straight into his flaming heart.
You could do both, truth be told.
You do neither.
You try to fight back the tears that rise to the surface when Cyrus’ composure finally cracks and his face morphs into a face of confusion and sorrow. ‘Why?’
A hand travels down your throat, nails scratching lightly against your skin as a wicked giggle fills the room. She is telling you that she can give you the truth about the disappearance of your parents, about the erase of your family name. She is telling you that she can bring them back, if you so desire. You only need to do what she asks you to. A small price to pay for your undying happiness.
You shake your head, dropping your gaze to the ground in shame. ‘I-I’m sorry,’ you whisper. There is no excuse. You are aware — have been aware — ever since you complied with that mysterious voice. You do not know what happened that so easily clouded your judgment, your rational mind.
Cyrus does not answer you.
You let your arms drop to the sides, your dagger firm in your dominant hand, as you stare right into his eyes. ‘Cyrus—’
A sharp, strong hit against the back of your head. Your vision morphs quickly, a weak gasp of pain and shock leaving your lips, and your body is falling forward. Cyrus shouts your name in surprise, his voice sounding as distant as a long lost memory.
