In another lifetime
Fandom: Genshin Impact Ship: Cyno x Tighnari
A gift to @dramagotchii during a cynonari gift exchange and I'm just reposting it on tumblr. It's available in ao3 too.
Synopsis: They say that wishes could be fulfilled in another lifetime. But it has a catch... with every reincarnation, the further apart you are born from your wishes. Until those odds could never be rekindled. Your wishes will remain as it is.
Prologue
This is it. The enigma behind the blinding light as he laid supine surrounded by crashing boulders staring at the clear blue sky. He can no longer feel the pain in his body; his muscles that ached, his lungs that burned. Chapped lips parted for air yet he can feel his breaths shallow.
Does he regret it? No. These were his efforts. To enforce justice is his duty and he swore until his life's end. He had escaped death by hair's breadth countless of times before that it felt like he was cheating life, thinking that he only stole his remaining moments, or that he exchanged them for something greater like his years of lifespan. Ironic, isn't it? Yet out of all the times it could happen, it only had to be now. It was as if the world was mocking—punishing—him for being too unfair in their tug-of-war.
Now it will take him; swallow him whole. He has no doubt about it. Yet in this short moment as everything crashes, he wished to see him. How he yearned for his touch, how he could only keep his hands to himself for years, how would want to see his face one last time. He wants to confess.
He felt remorse. Remorse of the fact that someone will have to know the news of his passing, that he failed in his mission right at where he told him to wait for him— that he'd come back.
He never did.
~~
The lingering smell of an all-too-familiar scent...
The seemingly mildness of floral mixed with fresh-cut grass. Like the nature that beckons him calling and he would respond with a smile nurtured only to it. He doesn't know; it only comes natural to him. As if it was something to him... something important. Yet all thoughts seemed to dissolve to an opaque sense of forgetfulness, like following an old unwinding path he knew too well only to come across a dense fog he couldn't pass through. He knew there was something beyond there, but he could only frown upon this frustration as there were no seemingly important memories to remember.
He always had that feeling whenever he lies in nature's arms: the oblique sky, the sway of the verdure, and the warm sun under his skin. It's not the sense of belonging from a city boy having to live in it his entire life longing for that quiet life in the woods. No, he doesn't think he fits in the forest nor its emerald pastures. It's more the feeling of accompaniment like a presence that gives him comfort; something to call home. He can't see himself tending to plants in a little cottage that hits them nicely when the morning sun comes, yet he could see it in his dreams. How those plants would be lively green and freshly watered, absolutely taken care of. It's not his, he was sure of it. He tried taking care of one only to fail miserably, fern dried and yellow under the sun. He thinks plants do not suit him.
Yet it always lingers, longing to find what missing puzzle fits the questioning feeling. A feeling that he never meant to have in the first place. No friends, no family; how can he hope to fill something missing when it was never there to begin with? Maybe it was envy that drove him down this bottomless pit, a hole forever marked on his person never to be filled.
But sometimes, he finds himself searching for answers, for something that isn't there; hoping for that slight chance, for something that will never happen; praying... praying for what doesn't even seem to exist.
And perhaps, it was nothing after all.
The painful ringing in the ear.
The smell of metal and powder hazed the air.
Dirt spray that blinds one's eye after a round of fire shots, and the harsh yell of orders from men to reposition as soldiers scamper for cover. The earth quakes so often it makes one feel numb to their breaking point of where they can't differentiate reality whether they even have their eyes closed. Their ears bled of a faint whistle that each second it took longer, dread slowly reaches for their ankles and anchors their boots to their impending demise. Then the explosion was instant.
The sky and dirt are painted with two different shades of red like spilled wine on a feast table's cloth between clinking stemware of merry government officials while fire rains from above on sacrificial pawns.
Cyno snaps his eyes open while the ringing fades. It was too felt—too real. The fire burning his lungs, the sharp whistle drowning the screams, and the throbbing pain on his right eye just where his bangs fell. He touched it, sensing the vague strangeness of having it there, the ability to see; to have it blink; to feel something that was hopelessly forever lost back within his capabilities washed him with relief.
Cyno is a top graduate of his class. Paired with his strong sense of justice, he never has the issue of lacking clients contracting him to defend them. However, only those who have done no wrong to the laws will ever be able to get his full cooperation, otherwise, they'd only get their asses handed to the court. Some clients knew so they would deliberately try to present an altered truth to paint them as an innocent victim being framed, but Cyno had a discerning eye for lies and deception. Being in the field of laws and politics, he is no stranger to these.
Cyno took a sip of coffee as he looked over the documents and continued to type. It's not long before he clocks out the office. He has no work for him since he had finished all of it as soon as it comes. He's still halfway through the documents and nothing to do after that. His assistant, Aarov, already headed out earlier because he finished the work he gave him. He said something like "I can't wait to catch the look on my children's faces when they see me home early!" The guy was smiling from ear to ear while whistling a merry tune as he packed his suitcase.
Cyno cannot blame him. Because of how much he gets contracted, Aarov had to carry out some of those burden so he ends up going home late. He complains a lot about how much work is being dumped on them, resulting to him returning home with his children already tucked in and sleeping.
Ah, yes, frustrations of being an overworked father. Cyno can sympathize but much less relate. He had nothing in particular that eagerly awaits him at home so he doesn't mind staying overtime to finish this miscellaneous work. The only thing he looks forward to doing is playing TCG Invokation online at home in his pajamas. He also loves collecting physical cards whenever he chances upon them.
"Beep."
His ruminations were cut short when the last of his colleagues pressed his card to check out.
"I'm heading out. How about you?"
Cyno raised his head and checked the time then glanced at the remaining papers on his desk. Just three more... he'll be going out soon.
"Not long. I'll just finish this." He dipped his head. "Good work today." The man returned it and closed the door then his work continued. The clock ticks blended with his taps on the keyboard until footsteps echoed down the corridor. The door once again opened to reveal a security guard doing his rounds. Seeing Cyno still on his seat, he wasn't surprised.
"Closing time," he grunted, then closed the door.
Just on time, Cyno finished the last paper and piled it neatly on top of the rest on his left. He didn't realize how stiff his neck was until he threw his head back and let out a sigh. His gaze was blank as the white-painted ceiling. There wasn't much contemplation before he started cleaning up after his mess and closing his suitcase. Soon, he was out of the office.
The way home was very much uneventful just as it had always been. There was moderate traffic and the ride was quiet with the muted sound of engines and purposely-chosen static noise of the radio. Life wasn't much to be contemplated for, really. He stopped by the convenience store to buy himself something instant to satiate for dinner. He could try to make something good but the best he could do from scratch was fried.
The moment he gets home, he changes into yesterday's pj and threw himself on his gaming chair with the instant food in hand, mouse cursor already hovering over TCG.
"Thank you for your services." The man gave him a salute which he returned, heart empty and mind disarranged. "...Lieutenant."
Should he be happy? Should he be in grief? For the award...or his lost comrades? He felt nothing; his entire being devoid of anything, just as numbing and hollow as the reassuring hand fell weight on his shoulder. The man dipped his cap below his brows to give his last respects then walked away.
Shouldn't he be rejoicing for war's end?
Again, he felt nothing. Like another meaningless existence of no purpose. He was going back to his once-again dull life wandering around its intricacies like a lost forlorn soul.
He held the box of his belongings with his basics. Two pairs of clothing, his uniform, and a badge of his honor...his sacrifice—the reason why he was discharged from his only life's purpose.
He is no longer fit to serve.
It's a pity. But he doesn't want to see it from someone else. He saw the way the man looked at him as he dipped his cap. Admiration, respect, but also pity. ‘What a pity you are.’ Those eyes said it.
The more he thinks about it, the more he is made aware of the absence of the bulge in his right eye. The way the bandages and soft cotton wrapped around his head... He could only exhale his frustrations.
Well, there's nothing he could do.
As he stepped out of dull white corridors, light assaulted his poor eye. It was like watching a film with a faded filter of white. He was once painfully made aware again that not only did he lose his other eye, his functional one is no longer as good as it should be.
Horse carriages rode around the bustling town square. It was livelier than he expected it would be, completely different from the deserted towns he had seen caught between the crossfire. It made him feel strange. The activities, the smiles from the folks, the laughter and squeals of children playing in the park—not screams and whistles of missiles.
There was a child wearing a newsboy cap over his dirty blonde locks, pointing at an ice cream shop as he tugged at his mother's skirt while she was chatting away with the vegetable stall's vendor. He had a huge smile across his face when he got one. Then Cyno realized that this boy could be any of his comrades' son. Some of them were fathers whisked away from their family to protect their country, others were boys who grew up to be men to take their fathers' place in the war. Then there's Cyno who was just there.
Life is full of irony...or it simply loves to toy with the intricacies of mortals.
If some other were to take Cyno's place, there would have been one family who would be able to feel the joy of having their dearest return. They would have been complete, not grieving, or left to be a widow to raise their child on their own. Cyno doesn't have those. Yet in life's mocking fate, he was spared.
What now? He doesn't have somewhere to go home to, doesn't have anyone to look forward to returning. Not a family, a relative, nor a friend. What a sick joke.
Horses neighed, interrupting his thoughts, followed by shouts from an angry coachman. "Move out of the way! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!"
Cyno realized he was standing in the middle of the road and hurried to the side before he could cause any major accidents. The coachman flicked the reigns to continue on, but not before sending Cyno a dirty look and muttering a few curses under his breath.
Well, that was embarrassing.
But Cyno thought about it long and hard. He had no destination. The city is a little too much for him to bear. Clip-clops from horseshoes striking the pavement, the churn of cartwheels and wooden groan of carriages, the bustling of people that were like bees to his ears—overwhelming. He doesn't like it here.
“After this, I want to live a quiet life by some rural town. Surrounded by nature and trees. Build a family… I mean if we ever get out of here alive.” The man cackled that drowns all their sorrows away as they joined in the hearty laughter. “How about you?”
Cyno was asked. And he answered, “I’m not sure.”
The hut was fine. Enough space for himself and his belongings. He’s a simple man who has nothing and desires nothing. A kitchen, a bathroom, a bed space, and a small living area with a short round table that doesn’t go past one’s knees. The walls were made out of concrete and draped over by a minimal space of aesthetic bamboo wood. The roof was made from straws, strong and meticulously made enough to be a strong household but breezy enough to ward off the scorching heat when the sun is at peak. Golden, green, and bright. The trees are like nets that catch sunlight as it streams down the forest floor. The soft wake-up call of twittering birds in the morning pleases his ears.
The serenity, it reels him was like no other. It was almost like his dreams—
Dreams...?
The faint gurgles of the river and distant crash of cascading water. The cool damp air on his skin as he strolls along under the emerald leaves. The familiar feeling swelling as he comes across a humble sight of hanging huts under the great branches of a giant tree.
What was that place? He swore he had never seen anything like it. His entire life he has lived through smokes and hazards, never once was something so peaceful, so quiet...so comfortable. Enviously so that it's surreal.
He breathed in the fresh morning dew of grass. Then sighed. Perhaps his mind is merely playing tricks on him. Nothing but an exhausted man from the battlefield.
After days of getting used to his new life in his humble abode, he finally sets off to go see the town square. It wasn't anything grand or noisy, no crowded places, no rattling carriages, no speeding horses, no yelling. It was absolutely peaceful, just how he enjoys it. He wasn't entirely going to settle here in the first place, but it is dovish and reeled him into its welcoming embrace like the cold silk sheets of his bed after a long tiring day of work. It was the sheepish bustle of a quiet town—peace the others longed for and in which only he was able to attain.
He first dropped by the local bakery for some bread. The aroma of fresh pastries greeted him like a lover hugging a long-gone soldier from war—warm and relieved, making him remember of the days food tasted before he started munching on dry, stale rations that felt like rock sandpaper to his throat.
"How may I help— oh..." The young lady who looks no older than fifteen—bright-eyed and with wide smiles—accidentally dropped the tray full of freshly-baked cookies. The metal made a sharp noise that made his muscle instinctively twitch. The girl was at lost for words as she stared at the mess she made and in panic, she tried recovering them from the floor. She muttered the same words over and over again while her voice wavered and the cookies kept slipping out of her trembling hands. "I- I'm...clumsy. Very clumsy— oh no! I'm-! I am such a mess..." Then she melted as if wanting the floor to swallow her whole.
There was another voice behind the curtains who called, "Collei? Are you okay over there?"
Cyno and the girl's eye met. She let out a yelp as if she saw something grotesque. And perhaps she did.
Cyno averted his gaze in shame.
A woman, a little older than the girl, with tousled brown bangs swept back by a red headband, came out of the back area to check up on Collei. Seeing the mess on the floor, she helped the girl up. "Oh no, Collei..."
"I'm really really sorry! I'll bake the cookies again-! I promise!" She blurted.
The young woman shook her head. "I wasn't talking about that... are you hurt?"
"Oh, uhm... Uh- I'm fine..." Then she groaned. "But the cookies for Sir Tighnari..."
"-can be done again later. Go patch yourself up first." She ushered her to the back room and sent her a big smile.
"But—"
"No buts! I'll handle this one," she reassured. Then she turned to Cyno with a chirpy tune, unperturbed by his appearance. Or at least, try not to be. "What can I get 'cha?" Cyno pointed to a loaf. "And?" He shook his head.
As she was about to hand it over, she paused, "Now wait a minute! I haven't seen you before! Are you new in town?" She leaned on the counter with interest.
Cyno hesitated for a moment, then slowly nodded.
"Don't you speak?" The question wasn't meant to hold any ill will, just pure curiosity. Cyno could tell.
"I'd rather not." He shook his head.
"Woah, you do speak!" Then she caught herself and cleared her throat. "Oh uh, ahem, I mean we welcome you to Ghandarsville! I hope you have a lovely stay in this lovely ville! If there's anything you need help with, don't hesitate to visit the town's hall! If you're sick, don't be shy to seek medical aid from our local herbalist. And if you wish to know more about this town's past, go down ahead to the center where you'll find our library. That's all! We welcome you once again to our humble ville!"
Cyno blinked, but seeing that she's waiting for his reply, he mumbled out an unsure affirmation.
"Thank you for buying our goods! Come again," she chirped, handing him the bag of loaf.
Cyno stepped out with not knowing what to feel. He felt the shame for himself, for making others feel bothered by the way he looks. He knows how unsightly it is, so before he enters another store, he makes sure to have his bangs cover his other eye. He doesn't want to scare anymore of the town's people.
The second shop smelled like stocked herbs. It was a bit cold and brooding. There was no one behind the counter until a little voice spoke up. "Welcome to Bubu pharmacy. How may I help you?"
It was that of a child's, head barely over the desk. Cyno was taken aback.
"How may I help you?" she asked once again in that toneless manner. Honestly, Cyno just wanted to look around.
"Qiqi, do we have a customer?" Someone called from behind. Then emerged a bit tanned slender man with long green locks spilling out of his bun. This is no doubt the woman is referring to as the local herbalist.
"Sorry, didn't mean to bother. I was just looking around," Cyno said politely.
Baizhu welcomed him with a smile, bobbing whatever that thing was around his neck. It looked like a white scarf with a definite shape; its one end doesn't seem to go down.
"Don't mind her. She's harmless." Baizhu followed up a chuckle as he petted 'her' head. Cyno blinked. She? It's alive? As if it read his mind, a tongue slithered out of it as it raised its head higher, displeased.
"He's new, Chanseng. Go easy on him please." The herbalist said as if the snake was ready to pounce on Cyno.
After a few more chats with the herbalist, Cyno decided it's time to get a move on and check the other shops. The third shop was owned by a mechanic; clockworks and motion movements. Parts of it were just laid out messily on the shelves while built ones were put on the front desk for display. Fourth shop was a small restaurant run by a sweet elderly couple. Fifth was a smithing shop which had Cyno genuinely surprised. He didn't think there would be one here. The townspeople didn't strike him as people who'd be interested in such things, especially with its blood lackluster atmosphere. The owner said he was a descendant of renowned blade smiths who also had a history with previous wars. He travels from one town to another to distribute his works but he mostly stays here despite the heavier demand outside because he became attached to this place. That, Cyno could understand. Then there's the library the woman spoke of, also the town's hall. But as he was on his way home, he passed by a plant shop that compelled him to take a turn.
There were flowers displayed at the front and inside were filled with even more plants Cyno couldn't recognize. It almost felt like he was inside a human-sized terrarium. Vines crawled up the walls and gripped around the planks of the wooden ceiling like a spreading disease. Some cascades down the tree branch decors, or was it a real tree? It was too overgrown for Cyno to tell. He trod on the narrow snake space left to step on and the wood creaked under the weight of his boots. Elongated blades of bromeliads draped over the pathway where he could crush it under his footsteps if he wasn't careful. It was like a jungle. The smell of damp air tinted with the scent of fresh spray on proliferating leaves and the sunlight that filters through the translucent glass. There was that chime again when the door closed behind him, alerting whoever was inside.
"Hello, is someone there?" A voice called from behind that made Cyno stop in his tracks. "Wait a moment. I'll be right over soon." There were clangs of metal against metal before the door leading to the staff room opened. There stood a young man with a dirt stain on his cheek, wiping the sweat off from his hands after using the gloves for extensive hours.
“How may I help you?” He asked. Cyno stood there speechless, voice waning. He felt a pull, an explainable feeling. Familiarity and repose. Yet he had never seen this man his entire life. He had no person to compare him to, no family, no friends. But, for some odd reason, he did. He felt him close. The brightness of his smile, the warm welcome of earth in his eyes, and the tide of his greeting. It all feels the same just like how he had lost it.
“Sir?” he tilted his head to the side. “May I get you anything?”
Cyno swallowed, a ball stuck in his throat, ebbing to spill unsaid words he thinks would not even be possible for him. He has found him.
…but who is he?
~~
There was this dream he once had. White knuckles, blurry vision, and blood drips on the floor. The fire in his lungs and the singe of blood in his veins. He was numb yet in pain. But before all things faded to black, he saw one person. A person who screamed his name before he fell to the floor, "Emperor Cyno!"
Then he woke up.
What was that dream? Who was that? What does it supposed to mean? Anger, terror... and then helplessness...
Wait— what was the dream again...?
Cyno woke up sluggishly in bed. His eyes felt like he had cried for more than hours at how dry it felt when light blinded him; they were puffy and red. His muscles cried for help and his throat burned sore. He was attacked by a million of needles in his head when he turned over to his side. But despite this, he knows he should get ready for work. This wasn’t the first it happened. He still needed to pass those papers he finished nights prior unless his assistant already covered that for him.
Things like this happens after waking up from certain dreams. Though he had no clue what it meant, it shouldn’t matter. They were just hopeless dreams after all, were they not? Maybe it actually meant nothing after all.
Some he remembers, others he doesn’t. But then they’d just come back to him again like a haunting visage, trying to warn him of something he couldn’t seem to figure out. Just like this one dream. His role was to enforce justice as the order of the Knights Templar. It was all he ever wanted to do since he was a child. He was given a rare opportunity, a young boy such as he who had no name and money to his title, no shelter—nothing at all, just like as he was for the most part. But these people are magnanimous. The regime was rigorous and severely strict, almost felt like he was no different from a spartan but that did not discourage him from pursuing righteousness, conduct, and moral; his life’s purpose, his dreams.
But all of it seems like a fading phantasm. Nothing but a delusion after reality sets in the error of their ways. They were enforcing law—a perfect world—a strict adherence all citizens must abide to, no matter who. Yet the rich benefits while the poor suffers. Everything can be bribed, dismissed, or closed by either money or power.
“Is this right?” He once asked, holding the bag of gold coins with eyes wide fixated on his colleague’s face. He was young and naïve. Inexcusably foolish. Yet he stood there in the dark alley watching dumbfounded as the aristocrat rubbed his hands together with an unscrupulous glint in his eyes, seemingly ecstatic with his negotiations with his colleague while the poor man this morning was dragged like he was convicted of ten murders, beaten and bruised, when all he ever did a minor fault that he couldn’t pay fine for.
What a perfect world they wish to live in. He realized his faults so he plans to make it right starting by enacting his own justice. But that proved to be much harder than he initially thought.
“Brother Lord Cyno, you are hereby sentenced to trial for your misconducts and disloyalty towards the Templar Order and the Pope for colluding with the Assassin’s Guild.” And thus, he was whisked away to the lowest of the underground dungeon where the most immoral criminals are held with contempt. He had trod this far and no doubt he was finally cornered by the people who saw him as thorn by their side. Where they served law as money, he served justice himself with the highest virtue. The order did not like that.
The hammer was down. “You shall be executed.”
And now he had no more than a few hours before dawn arrives, to relive his last moments in this waking world. Now that he had thought of it, it was all useless—a futile attempt to make the world a better place. It never was and it never would be.
In his last moments, as he offered his head on guillotine, he felt no remorse. He had served as he felt it is just. Amongst the crowd, the front row sits were those nobles, who he had on wit’s end tailing them, and consequently who had framed him, hiding their pleasure behind solemn faces. The common people were in tears. They were no doubt, the one who he had done service, and he was glad he had. Because in these moments, he knew that he done something to make the world somewhat a better place for those who needed it.
As the bell dongs, the wind picks up. It played with the trees and his hair. And for the first time, the distant clouds in the horizon never looked even more breathtaking at this moment. He had never felt more closer to the earth to smell the musk, the hushed lullabies of the dancing leaves, and the cool breeze against his nape. Then…
—shlick!
He saw him.
In darkness, he saw him. The way his smile graced sunlight blindingly, his dark hair that danced with petals of his garden, his careful touch when he tends to him… He never found him in this lifetime, but in the next, he will not forget.
Cyno opened his eyes, his hand slowly reaching for that tingle in his neck.
~~
“NO, prince… s-stay behind me!”
“Thank you for you service, General. But this is how far my lineage will go. All of my elder brothers are dead. So will I.” He then smiled as if it was natural for him to do so. “You can no longer walk, General. It is better for us if I surrender now. No more suffering for the people of this kingdom.”
The smell of incense roused him awake. Fine silks flourish the ceiling with deep purple and intricacies of gold that only befits royalty. What a strange dream he had. And it’s him again. That palace doctor.
Even his dreams he managed to slither into.
It wasn’t that long since he first just met him. He was notable but… that was just it. He wasn’t anything to be worth of special attention yet the people of his palace speak high praises of him. A young genius, they said. But Cyno was, in fact, more annoyed at how his mere presence bothered him ever since that day they met. Like he said, he wasn’t of anything worth-noting yet his gaze would drift whenever he sees him pass by like a sunflower to the sun. His eyes would seek him in the crowd like a bee hovering over a meadow fussing for fresh pollen and every time—every time—he would know where he was. Cyno doesn’t know what to make of it. It was as if he was bewitched, hexed, captivated by no rhyme or reason.
He hates it.
He fought those thoughts, those dreams of him, the way he would know him by scent if he were blind, the way he would just stand out to him even if there were thousands of people in one room, he’d know him by breath alone—his mere presence. He’d know him. It was a losing battle Cyno was too late to realize. And soon, he found himself deeper into the hole where he could no longer get himself out of. Those dreams were the bane of his existence, for knowing someone who he hadn’t interacted with at all. Cyno no longer knows himself.
“Silence!” He growled. His advisers stopped. “Not one word,” he warned, “we shall discuss this later in the throne room.”
“Your majesty—” One of them hesitated when he turned over to look. He swallowed and proceeded, “May I advise dropping by the infirmary for your headache?”
Cyno was having none of it. This headache is getting worse day by day, and all of it was because of those dreams he wished could simply disappear acting like an intruding thought slowly driving him down to madness in each of his waking moments. “I’ll drop there by myself.” And they were dismissed.
He held his forehead with a sigh. If anyone were to see him taking support from the wall, it’d be a pathetic sight and a great insult to this great empire for their ruler to be seen in the hallway grasping the bars like it was his life’s end. But he can’t seem to get himself off. The pain was eating him up.
“Your majesty?” Cyno raised his head in distress, startled with the sudden presence; a voice from the person he’d least want to see right at this moment. That cursed pretty face looking down on him in confusion, tilting his head worriedly when he registered his position. “Are you alright, your majesty? Do you need—” He pushed him away. He felt their brief contact, the slight graze of their skin.
The serendipity of his touch, how his heart leaped from his ribcage and how it burned him. It made his hair stand on its end like an electric spark seizing his body frozen, motionless and helpless. Every fiber of his being responds to him.
This man is dangerous.
"Your temperature is high. We should take you to the clinic for good measure." He took note of his flushed cheeks and heaving chest, unbeknownst of the thoughts running inside Cyno's head. He flicked his hands away when he grabbed his wrist.
"No. I don't need your help."
Tighnari made an irksome face. "Don't be stubborn, your majesty. We're getting you treated."
And maybe that was the first mistake he let him do. He let him drag him, take hold of him, engulf him slowly but surely, he had fallen deeper to where he could no longer help himself. He became his closest confidant, his friend, the only one he could trust. He poured wine into their cups, raised it for a toast, but...
"Cyno?" Today, should he tell him today? "Cyno—!"
Huh? His eyes widened as red wine stained the furnished wood of his table. Not wine—blood.
He chokes. Like water in his lungs, his chest feels tight, burning— aching as it strips away every bit of his consciousness. Ah… there’s poison in the wine. But Tighnari could never be a part of this. He would never betray him.
First…second… third. Remember, the world gave you a chance. With every life you spent unable to fulfill your previous wish, the slimmer the chances you get to make amends. It was his own voice that speaks to him.
Second… He was the empire’s general. Such a high-ranking position for someone of low-birth. No name, no family. In the eyes of blue blood, he was nothing. A dirt; a lowlife meant to be trampled under the soles of their scrubbed shoes. It was until one nobleman realized his worth and took him under his name. He proved to be strong. But that nobleman’s good name was tarnished and sentenced, soon enough, so did the family fall. That kind nobleman, who was like a father to him, never saw how he had risen to the top and took the title he had so longed for him. He could only offer flowers on his tombstone and only the empty presence heard a proud son’s announcement. But having no noble blood running through his veins, he wasn’t duly welcomed by his peers. He tarnished the pure nobleness of the imperial knights—a mad dog he was called.
Well, those words hold no ground to him.
But they were right. He was a mad dog of the empire; a stepping stone of royalty. He was nothing but their dog. Blind and a pawn to their tyrannical schemes. He was sent to countless of wars, lead expeditions, and invaded countries. He was only a bloody functioning sword to the emperor’s eyes; as long as he remains sharp, he will not be discarded away. He was responsible for the empire’s peace and absolute power. But that power was put on a leash held by the emperor himself.
And there, he kneels before his throne not of reverence but in feign courtesy as that wicked smile would surely bring another order of expanding the empire in the northern borders. He will surely be sent away once again to bring glory to the emperor’s name. Such sickening deed. It rises a bile in his throat that bothers him so much he wishes to set this castle aflame.
“Go forth, my knight. Bring glory to this empire.” So as the king commands, he leaves due in three days.
Cyno could only grit his teeth. He threw down his stash in fury on the grass the moment he was left alone. “Curse the royal family, curse loyalty—”
“Are you General Cyno?” A voice startled him. It was mellow like the fields of grass, or the butterfly that flutters around roses. Like the soft breeze that sweeps his hair the moment their eyes met. And they smiled. It graced him like the light touch of the morning sun.
“Only certain individuals are allowed in this area. Who are you?” Cyno spoke warily the moment he regained his wits.
They chuckled like the soft churn of bells. “We haven’t officially introduced but I am the seventh prince. You can address me as Tighnari.”
Seventh prince? The forgotten one. This was him, the so-called disgrace.
Cyno collected his composure and cleared his throat, giving a proper bow. “My apologies, your highness, for the intrusion. I shall leave immediately.” Then he got up curtly and turned to leave. “Whatever his highness heard was not from my mouth.”
The expedition was quick. He returned with victory as always, reporting straight to the emperor. But he was egotistical as ever, bearing a cup of wine in his hand, his face written with slight intoxication. He laughed boisterously and raised his cup, dismissing him as he and the nobles celebrate with another feast. Cyno clicked his tongue in distaste as he left the hall. Yet he came across once again the forgotten prince who smiled graciously to him as ever, without any malice or judgment—no hidden agendas.
“Congratulations, General. I heard of your accomplishment, but why do you look displeased?”
Did he not threaten him last time’s incident? He spoke as if they were friends, his voice as sounding as ever. Does this prince bear no grudge? Does he have no pride? “It is none of your concern, your highness. Aren’t you going to celebrate with them? Your brothers are inside.”
The prince shook his head. His eyes expressed sorrow. “General, I am not welcomed. No one will notice if I am gone.”
But that is none of Cyno’s concern. So he left him there in the garden once again, wondering.
He saw him again when he was called to the palace, still in the garden under the tree, holding a book. He read leisurely. He doesn’t seem to be bothered that no one is looking for him. He looks very at peace. Cyno was caught intrigued.
He was oddly drawn to him. The way he carries himself, the way he speaks. The people still recognize him yet they do not bother with him. Yet at times, he caught him speaking to maids—reprimanding them, while they nodded and listened intently, taking the criticism genuinely. If there was one thing he noticed, while the people hover around the other princes like a moth to a flame, drawn but with one touch, they know it would set them aflame. They bow their heads in fear and respect. But with the seventh prince, it was more of a mingle. He was light, not fire. They revere him as a teacher, a friend—a prince of his own right—as someone who has earned their respect and undying loyalty. He scolds harder than the feared royal chef but, in that way, he also parts his knowledge of proper procedures.
Cyno only watches until he realizes that his eyes would immediately search for him. He would sense his presence. He knows his hobbies. He would usually sit under the tree reading a book and occasionally, he’d find him asleep during the afternoons. He loves the forest and researching about odd plants. Sometimes even eating mushrooms that would not be recommendable.
It was that one time he accidentally made himself known. His body moved on its own when the prince was about to put a mushroom he randomly found in his mouth. He held his wrist before he could even.
But before he could even explain himself, the prince chuckled and said, “It was about time you showed yourself, General. Would you care to explain on why you have been following me for a very long time now?”
Cyno was caught red-handed, flabbergasted and tongue-tied.
They were such great friends. But then that happened. Perhaps it was the deeds Cyno has done that lead up to this fall. They were invaded—an alliance between the surrounding kingdoms they’ve did wrong. And he died trying to protect Tighnari.
He was the only one he truly cared for.
He remembers the feeling. The feeling of helplessness before one’s mortality. The regret of things he hasn’t said, of the things he had done, of the things he kept… He wanted to tell him something. Something… what is it? That vague feeling that’s been wanting to be known, trying to rip free from the cage of his heart. And as everything flashes white, there was another universe he saw. He saw Tighnari, not princely, but donned in comfortable layers of clothing. But he still had that same smile as they hugged before he left. Two tall ears on top of his head that he oh-so badly wanted to pinch was expressing longing and disappointment as he went on his way.
Then rocks came tumbling down on him as he gazed up into the sky, his limbs numbed and unable. He can taste the metal in his mouth. The clear blue sky—it had never been bluer before more than now. Then everything went pitch black.
Cyno gasped. His heart pounded loudly against his chest, drowning everything, even the blaring morning alarm. He was covered in a layer of sweat. He took in a deep breath then let it go, repeated the process a couple of times until his head cleared of the headache.
He had a dream… what was it? He could barely recall this time. But he remembered the sunlight on his face, the soft smile, and the— that face… who was it?
“Man, after all this time, we finally had something.” Aarov pats him on the back. “That’s the person you’ve been trying to find? They look pretty.”
“A biologist. Currently is staying in some part of southeast asia. Makes sense since it’s tropical there and most of the forests were untouched. It’d be field day for someone with that line of work.” Cyno contemplated. “Prepare me a ticket. I’m leaving.”
“Wait what? Now?! You have work!” His assistant called from behind, stunned. Cyno said nothing else as he put on his coat and walked out the door. “Alhaitham will have my head,” the man said bitterly as he shook his head with a sigh.
Cyno stared out the window from his airplane seat. Blue skies with streaks of white. It wasn’t the same shade as he had last seen it. No matter how calm and collected he may appear, he was an absolute train-wreck inside. What should he even say when they meet? How can he just introduce himself? Like oh, I’ve seen you in my dreams. You were very close to me. Right, he’d be called crazy and a stalker. He’d voluntarily place himself in a mental asylum after this if it ends badly. But there was this tickling feeling those weren’t just dreams. All of them ending tragic before he could even fulfill his wish. Just as he was a retired soldier who found solace in a peaceful town, he had found him again by the odds of faith. But it wasn’t long until he was called once again to the battlefield where he died protecting his country. He couldn’t forsake his duties. He told him as he was leaving he would come back. He promised him he’d come back safe and sound, and he told him to wait for him, he told him he had something important tell him. He couldn’t say it then as he left. He had no courage. If he did, he would have robbed the person of everything, his life, his dreams, his hopes. And that would rip Cyno’s entire being. He could never.
But he never again came back. Only the wind blows of the sorrow that carries the news of his passing, an honorable death, for someone as him to have life taken away from him in the battlefield. He had fulfilled his duties—his life’s purpose—in exchange for one’s lament.
He regretted it deeply. So if lifetimes do exist, he wished he would choose another career where he could have avoided the inevitable tragedy. And maybe it was now that he gets to fulfill that wish, to be reunited with him once more.
But— “Everyone prepare for an emergency landing.”
Then an explosion in the engine occurred. Cyno gasped awake. It was just a dream… The plane is now landing. He’s fine. All is fine.
As soon as he sets foot on land, he made haste. In a rural province somewhere on the outskirts, lies a forest. People said there’s no scientist there, only tour guides. And he happened to come into the most inconvenient time of the year. People from afar would be swarming the place. That made it harder for him to find him. But then again, how should he even approach him?
“Hello, you’re here for the tourist spot, aren’t you?” A brunette came up to him with a wide smile. “I recommend visiting first the shed in that area over there. They’re going to give you a map of the area that’s accessible. If you manage to get to an area not on the map, I suggest to get back on track cause you never know what’s gonna bite you from the ground!”
“I—”
“And if you have any questions, don’t fret! There’s a reason why we’re here!” She proudly pointed to herself and gave an assuring wink. “But if you see a blond boy that’s just right about this height with a bandage on his nose, I’d suggest to get another tour guide,” she whispered, checking sideways if there’s anyone near them.
Cyno gave her a weirded side-glance but nodded. She was familiar, but he couldn’t place his finger on it.
“Anyway! I’m Amber, a tour guide, but I’m also responsible for the zip lines and air gliding. Don’t you just love it when you feel the wind on your face? It felt like freedom!” Cyno could only nod to whatever was being said. For now, he doesn’t know where to start, she is he’s only bet.
After her lengthy guide of process and procedures, Cyno suddenly had the thought. “Oh, by any chance, do you happen to know this person—”
There’s a really loud yell of someone’s name that even shook the trees and had Amber scampering. “Oh no! I let myself get carried away! Oh no, oh no, oh no! I should get going. Bye!”
“But—!” but she already bolted off.
“If you have any questions, just ask them at the front desk!” she called after him before jumping off a low steep hill.
Cyno was at lost. It seems he’ll have to do just that. There was a chime when he opened the door. A girl who looked no older than fifteen greeted him with a cheerful smile. “Hello! How may I help you?”
“One of your pamphlets and,” he said then whipping out his phone to show an image, “do you happen to know this person?”
The girl’s magenta eyes locked on the picture. She seems to know something but then she shook her head. “No. I’m sorry.”
“I see…”
“Is there anything else?” she asked nervously although she tried not to let it show. There was disappointment in Cyno but this town is his only lead. After all those years that led up to here, he wouldn’t just leave without any new info.
The first day, he went around town. It was lively. It just happens that he came at during their time of the festival. Streamers and banners hanging in every street. Stalls and vendors lined beside the road fanning their grills as a statue carved in wood stood in the center of the town. Music trots around every corner. He visited every store except one, he saved it for last.
He stood outside of a flower shop, hands shaking in anticipation. His collar suddenly felt too tight, as if choking him. As he rests his hand against the door, it felt different. He dreaded but he continued anyway. The door chimed. A girl with bright apple red hair was behind the counter.
“Welcome, sir, how may I help you?” she spoke softly.
Cyno looked around. It was clean and airy. Everything has flowers. “Are you by chance… the owner here?”
She smiled heavenly. “Yes, sir, I grew all of them by myself.”
“Ah… I see.” Disappointment.
“Ah! But if I have to admit, I did get help from the tour guides. One of them is really good with any type of plants,” she said, scratching her head bashfully. “I don’t get to meet him that much. He’s very busy. But he’s very helpful, although he scolds a lot.”
The girl told him that he visited her shop one time and criticized the flowers. At that time, Nilou doesn’t know how to properly take care of them despite knowing how to arrange bouquets. She was ashamed. But while he scolded her, he offered to teach her. At some days, she would try to find him but she couldn’t. Collei would say he’s probably asleep somewhere under the shades of the trees while trying to do his own research. Before it could go lengthy, Cyno cuts in, bidding the girl a farewell. It was afternoon, he needed to find a place to stay. There wasn’t any hotel but he was lucky enough to find a small canteen that rents a room of their second floor. But he wasn’t able to sleep that night. His head was filled with only the thoughts of this familiar stranger in his dreams.
So when the next morning came, then the next, the fourth, the fifth. He had no luck. He had already checked everything in this town. By tomorrow, he has to fly back home. He went back to the edge of the forest once again. He held the pamphlet in his hand. If there’s one place he’d find him, it’d be nothing else other than the forest.
The forest was like how imagined it would be, but more. The gaping holes of sunlight, the quiet air, and the fresh scent of dew. Birds hopped from one branch to another as they curiously watch him pass by. He felt strangely at ease—at home. Like he had done this more than a couple of times. He had never been out of the city before. It was like a reminiscing dream. He’d walk through an overused dirt road, the large tree in sight was his destination. He felt giddy, over anxious from anticipation. He hiked up a hill, nothing but more trees in sight, the long-overgrown path stretches to a curve.
Should he follow the path? What if he just ends up as fruitless as he had been all the time? Then should he risk straying? If that person was the same as he knew him in his dreams, then it would be better to divert from here on out against Cyno’s better judgment. He’s running out of time. He promised himself he will not leave empty-handed.
He refuses.
He crumpled the pamphlet and dumped it in his pocket, never looking back again. Least to say, it was the stupidest thing he had done throughout his whole lifetime. He’s lost, the sun is setting, and it’s starting to get cold. The pamphlet is useless, he doesn’t know the area and he entered an uncharted territory. He tried going retracing his steps only to wound up circling back to the area.
But perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he thought, because soon enough, a person arrived. And it was one Cyno knew very well albeit his face was contorted with a scowl. “How many times do people have to get scolded until they finally learn their lesson of ever going out of bounds, huh? Are your brains simply build upon stone bricks because it seems to me, none of this is getting to your THICK SKULLS!” His faced was flashed with a flashlight and a blanket was thrown at his face. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Cyno’s chest swelled. “Finally found you.”
