Work Text:
Nightmares interrupted Cyno's sleep on a regular basis. It was inevitable. For years, he had prosecuted against all manner of corruption – simple fraud or plagiarism, all the way up to murder. Extortion. Harassment. The ghosts of Cyno’s own past.
Tonight was not unusual.
Some scholars lost sleep over the thought of the General Mahamatra knocking on their door. Most of them were not even worth Cyno’s time, at least, not anymore. It felt like years had passed since the last time Cyno had been assigned to perform a simple audit.
Cyno had seen and heard things inhumane and disturbing enough to belong in a horror novel and cruel enough to happen in real life instead. His trust had been misplaced in more people than he could count on both hands, more times than any person deserved to be hurt. So he’d shut himself off, emotionally, as best he could.
The role of General Mahamatra wasn’t one that Cyno loved, except to say that there were many corrupt people in this world and he loved to know they were receiving the judgment they were due. To those who lived good lives, Cyno tried to be kind.
To those who were vile, who would attempt to blackmail, bribe, torture, coerce, murder, humiliate, or otherwise “arrange” their paths to success and freedom, Cyno would –
Well, the important thing was that they got what they deserved.
So the nature of his work ceased to bother Cyno, except at night. During the day, he could shut off those parts of his personality, distract himself from the memories. Control which path his thoughts wandered towards.
At night, he didn’t have that advantage. Cyno’s mouth contorted into a scowl while he slept. By his own interpretation, the dream he was having wasn’t a particularly bad one, even if it got his adrenaline flowing.
It was just… so difficult to separate work from rest.
And Cyno from Hermanubis, from being a Matra.
The Akademiya’s growing corruption from his peace of mind.
X
Cyno had sighted the target. No face ID yet, but they were wearing a full-bodied black cloak in the desert – which meant they were either as used to the arid environment as Cyno was, or as insane as Cyno was.
This criminal was a crafty one, no doubt made even more cautious by the recent thinning of his comrades. Conducting human experimentation in the name of science. Kidnapping, human trafficking, and grave robbing. Black market affairs. With some of his targets viewing torture was a fair way to conduct their business, Cyno saw it as only fair to repay them in kind when they chose to be stubborn.
After a week of careful tracking and observation, there was no doubt that this was who Cyno was looking for.
Cyno scanned his surroundings one last time, on the look for any hidden caves, any hard to see openings in the rock wall formations, any chances that his target could use to escape. None . Good, because messing up here meant he might not get another chance. More lives lost even if he did.
The target was wanted dead. His orders were to kill.
Some people would kill simply for knowledge, money, or power. Cyno didn’t always understand why, nor did he want to. He viewed himself as someone who… would kill only if he had to.
It didn’t make him any better.
He tried to ignore those thoughts. ‘Concentrate on the mission first. Then think about all the Genius Invokation TCG you’ll be able to buy afterwards.’
Cyno waited for a few more minutes, until he was sure the target would remain at rest. Every day, for around half an hour or so, they ceased their travels for lunch and a drink of water.
From his vantage point, he threw his spear, aiming at the target's open back. Heart, lungs, spine. These all made for excellent kill points, knowing that even if he missed by a hair, the wound that resulted would slow the target down beyond any chance of escaping. Even if they could still run afterwards, and few could without the aid of a Vision, they would leave behind a blood trail. Or their frenzied footprints, carved deep into the sand as they ran, would give away their location.
Furthermore, Cyno was aiming at the torso, one of the widest parts of any human's body. That alone increased his odds of a hit.
Cyno, however, didn't take anything for granted. Not as the General Mahamatra, not while dealing with some of the most hazardous living conditions and worst criminals in Sumeru on a near daily basis. He watched as his Spear of Scarlet Sands flew, cut through the atmosphere, at the cloaked figures back. Watched as the hooded face began to turn, as the figure realized with a start what would happen.
Most people, if they had time to react to the assassination attempt at all, wouldn't have been able to dodge in time. With a green, powdery burst of smoke, the cloaked figure proved they were not like most people.
Before his weapon hit the ground, adding a layer of dust and sand to the smokey veil, Cyno dove after it.
His fingers curled around the metal shaft of his spear, still warm and sweaty from earlier. The heat from his hands hadn't had time to dissipate yet; the sun had already baked it permanently into the spear even if it hadn't. The paint was slightly worn in places from the consistency of Cyno's fingers. In thirty years from now, he imagined that even the metal itself would have warped, reformed around the contours of his hands.
Using the thrusting power of his legs, Cyno ripped the spear out of the earth in the same motion he used to launch himself forward. His feet pounded against the sand, as his heart pounded against his ribs. The distance between himself and the target was closing already. Having done his research beforehand, Cyno already knew there were a limited number of escape routes. He didn't need his eyes to hear the way his target panted, or how their feet heat the ground, either.
‘We're about the same height,’ he noticed as the smoke began to clear. An odd detail to notice.
There was no time to waste on further unnecessary observations.
He called a burst of elemental energy to his hands. Electricity sparked and then began to crackle around his spear as he called out a warning, “There's nowhere to run!”
Cyno was faster, especially while channeling the power of Hermanubis, but the cloaked figure had quick reflexes. And a Vision of their own . He caught a glimpse of the glowing, green glow – green again? Was the smoke bomb from earlier one of the gifts of their Vision? – and then a bow and arrow appeared in the target's hands. Instead of attacking, they turned their weapon sideways, using it to brace themselves against Cyno's attack.
They parried the attack expertly, sliding the curve of their bow just beneath the head of Cyno's spear and shoving it to the side.
Cyno, whose feet had already left the ground, was unable to recover until they returned. By that time, the target was readying an arrow.
“Not a chance!” Cyno yelled.
He had something to fight for, people he wanted to return home to. Losing here was not an option, yet the fear and desperation that crept into his own voice led him to believe it was.
But he'd fought plenty of strong opponents in his time. Why did this one suddenly feel different?
Wasting no movement, taking no extra steps, using no unnecessary momentum, Cyno ducked to the side just enough to narrowly dodge their counterattack. The arrow hissed in the wind as it passed him. It moved with a speed that left Cyno feeling as though the wind had cut him, even though the arrowhead had missed.
‘An experienced archer. ’
He should have known, but even after days of observation…
‘No time to think about that. ’
Cyno stabbed the broad head of his spear at the cloaked figure's chest. The stab was not meant to connect, only disrupt the target's next attack. It created an opening that allowed Cyno to arch his spear upwards, slashing at their face.
Hermanubis's power needed a few more seconds to recharge. Long seconds. But Cyno had the advantage now, the cloaked figure struggling to keep up with his attacks.
They seemed to have abandoned any notion of retreat, but were equally unable to fight back.
The only trick they had left were their smoke bombs, and Cyno–
More prepared than he was last time, Cyno moved into position to knock away the bomb as soon as he saw the cloaked figure reaching into their pocket. It flew off to the side, hitting one of the canyon walls and exploding harmlessly.
The cloaked figure froze, no doubt attempting to plot their next move. A single second was all Cyno needed.
More of Hermanubis's power surged within Cyno. “Futile.”
This time, as he raised his spear, he knew with confidence that he would not miss. The lightning surrounding his spear crackled with horrendous, deafening noise. Like a scream, or the grating of metal against metal, or a sky filled with birds calling out in painful unison. For Cyno, it was often the sound he most associated with death.
Thousands and thousands of electrons raced forward, slamming into Cyno's target.
Most people without a Vision would be unlikely to survive such an attack. The stench drifting from their burned flesh, hair, and clothes would find its way into Cyno's nostrils, foul the insides of his mouth, for hours afterwards. It used to last for days.
But his duty was to pass unbiased judgment, and with it came a burden that few people other than Cyno could carry. He had to continue, because there was nobody else who could. This was the trade he'd agreed upon in exchange for allowing Hermanubis's power into his body.
The cloaked figure was blown back. Their clothes were singed, but their Vision, as far as Cyno could tell, had allowed them to endure the worst of the attack.
Cyno would end it thus.
“Your sins…”
He felt the crux of Hermanubis's power swelling within him, in a form that even he could only manage for a matter of seconds. The words he spoke now would be the last words his target ever heard.
“...weigh upon your soul.”
The cloaked figure's eyes widened as Cyno descended upon them, Hermanubis's borrowed claws outstretched. By the time Cyno realized that he recognized those eyes as Tighnari's, it was already too late –
X
Years of training and conditioning that stifled his reflexes prevented Cyno from making any noise as jolted upright. Not even a gasp of air.
‘Just a dream,’ he told himself. ‘Tighnari would never. Tighnari is right–’
Next to him.
His eyes, wide open in the darkness, finally began adjusting. A shape began to take form, one with long ears and a slender frame. Not much larger than Cyno himself, actually.
Cyno’s memories of the dream, despite having woken up from it less than a minute ago, were beginning to fade already. That was the nature of most dreams, after all – they had a tendency to flee from their observer. Tighnari had told him, once, that the reason dreams faded so quickly from memory was to avoid being mistaken for reality. Remembering every dream in perfect detail would have been too much like being awake.
The downside to that was Cyno was often left with a lingering sense of paranoia, disgust, or fright, and only the faintest idea of what he’d just woken up from to cause it.
He had been… hunting someone.
Most of what he remembered after waking up were the large, green eyes looking directly into his. The shocked expression. The damage caused by Cyno’s Electro Vision.
Betrayal.
In this world, there were only a handful of people whom Cyno felt that he could trust. Lesser Lord Kusanali, if Cyno even had the honor of counting her among them, would never face his judgment. Wise and just, she was the very incarnation of everything Cyno idealized. Then there was Alhaitham, a man too churlish and arrogant that the thought of abandoning his morals would never even occur to him. Cyno hadn't seen his former upperclassmen at the Akademiya, Lisa, in person in years, but they corresponded through letters often enough for him to get the sense that she hadn't changed. And there was nothing compelling her to anymore, because the Akademiya, and its dark underbelly, couldn't reach her anymore. Not all the way in Mondstadt.
Regardless, at the top of that list was Tighnari. The number one spot on the list of people Cyno would have hated to lose was also Tighnari.
They hadn’t been together for long, but they had known each other for years. Cyno should have trusted him more by now. That was, afterall, his very first impression of Tighnari. Wasn’t it? He’d trusted the other man almost instantly, practically on instinct alone.
If Tighnari had wanted to do something untoward, he’d plenty of chances while he was a student at the Akademiya –
“Cyno, you’re moving around a lot. It’s waking me up.”
“Sorry.” Then, after the realization hit him square in the face, “Sorry, Tighnari.”
“‘S okay.” Tighnari rolled onto his back, clearly not as upset as he’d made himself sound. The thickness caused by waking up too soon was already beginning to leave his voice.
He scooted closer to Tighnari's warmth, though there'd hardly been an inch of space between them to begin with. Sometimes all Cyno wanted was closeness. Closeness that allowed him to feel the way Tighnari's ribs expanded with each breath, to smell the faint and flowery shampoos he used on his tail and hair.
An arm found its way around Cyno's torso, the weight of it comforting and familiar. Cyno rolled onto his side, facing Tighnari. He shuffled even closer, until his head was resting on Tighnari’s chest. One thigh moved to cover Tighnari's.
Sometimes, when Cyno was laying half on top of him like this, Tighnari would joke about not needing a second blanket. It wasn't often that Tighnari deliberately cracked any jokes, even intentionally bad ones, and Cyno could have used a joke right about now.
Cyno had worse dreams than this one. Especially recently. He was sure of it. They normally weren't about Tighnari though.
“I got you.”
Unexpected, strange nausea hit Cyno like a desert storm. It wasn't the first time Tighnari had said that, nor did he believe it would be the last. Something twisted at his insides regardless.
“Aren't you just saying that?” Cyno replied.
It was, per his responsibilities as General Mahamatra, in Cyno's nature to second guess, question, and doubt everything. He normally tried to keep his life with Tighnari separate from his work life.
Must have been a worse night than he'd realized, if he couldn't even manage that. Still, it felt as though Cyno were making a big deal out of nothing.
He wished he could find a way to joke about those feelings. If Tighnari couldn't lighten the mood, Cyno would.
“No. I mean it every time I say it. You're not going to be alone anym–”
“We're not socks,” Cyno interrupted, “but I still think we make a great pair.”
Mentally, he applauded himself, ‘Perfect .’ Not bad for the first thing that came to mind. Tighnari only sighed in response, but that was okay. He'd never known Tighnari to have the greatest sense of humor.
“Don’t ever say that again,” Tighnari mumbled into Cyno’s bare shoulder. His breath was hot and damp, but not unpleasantly so.
Cyno wanted a kiss, but was too afraid to ask for one.
The sad reality was, most of his communication with Tighnari still occurred through mail and whenever Cyno had enough time to stop for dinner in Gandharva Ville. They saw each other only a handful of days out of the year. Any time Tighnari planned a visit to Sumeru City, where Cyno still lived to be near the Akademiya for work, there was no guarantee he would be at home. And the Eremite Mercenaries weren't out of work yet, meaning Cyno wasn't either – plenty of criminal scholars fled to the deserts of Sumeru or hired the mercenaries. Sometimes both.
It wasn't until Lisa reached out to him, some months later about a girl with Elezar, that Cyno began to understand what Tighnari had meant about not being alone.