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Cyrus plucks the delicate sumeru roses from Kasala's hair, his voice full of false concern as he nags her about running away. He hides his anger poorly. He unravels the tight braids with each tug, making her wince in pain, allowing her white curls to spill down gracefully, framing her shoulders and pooling softly onto the bed. The flowers are gone.
"You shouldn't have gone, see? I told you he'd leave." Cyrus carefully takes the final delicate flower from the vibrant display, his fingers brushing against the soft petals of the padisarah. The petals feel less luminous in his hands now that the light is shut from the room. With a gentle toss, he places it atop the collection of sumeru roses and kalpalata lotus' nestled in the small woven basket. The rich hues of the roses, a vibrant purple, sit beautifully with the light shades of blues and subtle green outlines of the lotus, the yellow core wilting. "There. It's over now, Kasala. It never happened." Cyrus delicately weaves his fingers through her hair, the silky strands slipping away like a tide. He rises from the bed, uncomfortable air surrounding him as he prepares to discard the wilting flowers that lie in the basket. Kasala remains silent, caught in a whirlpool of emotions. A deep sense of unease settles in her gut, a gnawing tug that lingers with no hope of release.
Cyrus felt the oppressive silence settle around them like a thick fog. He turned around, a scowl spreading across his face, his eyes flashing with concern. "I warned you this would happen, Kasala," he said, his voice low and tired. The world out there is nothing but hell. Who knows what kind of horrors he could have inflicted upon you or the others? This reckless behavior will only lead to pain," Cyrus sighed, his tone heavy.
It didn't matter anymore, though, because Cyno was gone. Now, only Kasala remained. A name that felt foreign. She thought back to the warmth of who Cyno really was, a name that echoed with memories and laughter but was now silenced forever by absence. The only person who would ever call her Cyno had departed, leaving her with this true identity that weighed heavy on her heart. Her adventures with Deshret, Tighnari, and Kaveh had moments of joy, constant bickering, and plenty of trying to break the two up, but that day felt like a distant dream now. A dream she realized was better than the lanterns that floated around her.
Kasala longed to believe that Alhaitham—whether he was Deshret or someone else entirely—had spoken truthfully when she recounted their moments. Yet doubt gnawed at her relentlessly. Was any of it genuine? The heart-wrenching tale of his grandmother's demise, the tragedy that had torn his family apart, and the Tale of King Deshret he retold—was that all woven from the fabric of lies? Did those piercing eyes, once filled with kindness, conceal a plunging betrayal? The painful questions churned in her mind like a storm, leaving her in a sea of uncertainty.
Kasala watches Cyrus walk away, her heart heavy as she flops onto her bed. The constricting corset digs into her ribs. A fullness of frustration drowns her while she thinks of how he made her feel genuinely herself—free and unburdened. The dress she wears now, a reminder of expectations, fills her with a primal urge to shred it into a thousand fragments with her claws.
Meanwhile, Cyno yearns for the day when he effortlessly provided him with the right clothes—no questions asked. The men's clothes that were bought and not stolen. The soft fabric against his skin wasn't a corset or a skirt. They're gone now.
Tighnari nestled himself comfortably on Cyno's thigh, the soft fur of his small fox form brushing warmly against the cool, purple silk of Cyno's skirt. He pressed his little nose gently against the fabric, inhaling the faint scent of jasmine and sumeru roses that clung to it, letting out a contented sigh as he gazed up at Cyno's disappointed face. The setting sun's golden rays spilled through the windows, casting a warm glow that danced across Cyno's features.
Kasala's hands rose gracefully to hold a delicate piece of cloth intricately embroidered with the emblem of the Temple of Silence. Kasala's thoughts drifted back to the sun-soaked days when he—No, she had danced freely in the warm sand and hot stones outside the Temple, feeling the rhythm of joy pulse through her. She remembered the thrill that played in her heart as she explored the library, surrounded by the scent of aged parchment and ink. Her shoulder lightly brushed against Alhaitham's as they sat side by side, engrossed in the same book. Kasala cherished the moments when she could hear Alhaitham's smooth and melodic voice as he slowly articulated each word. The way Alhaitham effortlessly pronounced the vowels filled Kasala with an ever-deepening sense of companionship and belonging, each whisper of the words on the paper. Phrases he knew how to say confidently. Kasala doesn't know what to do.
Kasala glances up at the tower's ceiling, blinking at the paintings she made. The hell of getting her hair caught up in every splinter and fearing tearing her hair out. She had Tighnari help with the paints, and his faint paw prints were covered in bright yellows and blues on the walls. Symbols of moons, eyes, and the Temple glow in his mind. Like she hallucinated each outline of everything on her ceiling and walls. The swirls of eyes glowing purple. She sits up, just staring at the bright lines. Her eyes grow wide. How does this happen? Why is this happening? Blurry visions flicker before him, a young boy with tousled dark brown hair and strikingly bright green eyes, wide with an unspoken intensity. The boy gazes at her, seemingly frozen in time, as she is gently passed from one set of arms to another—those of an older man with deep, dark hair who cradles him tenderly. Recognition washes over him like a tide. She has seen these faces before. They illustrate the mural at the Temple of Silence, a scene painted in memory.
She recalls the small child nestled in the protective embrace of the older man, the young boy's luminous eyes shining with innocence and wonder.
And then a startling revelation pierces through the fog. White fluffy hair and vivid red eyes. That is the missing princess, a figure enveloped in mystery. The realization strikes him with the force of a crash. How could he have missed this important detail? How could anyone? Kaveh, as a Knight, with his knowledge and sharp eyes on the Temple— surely he should have noticed. As the weight of his realization crashes down on him, he stumbles awkwardly on his feet, losing his balance and toppling backward into the wooden dresser. The sudden impact sends a jarring noise reverberating through the quiet tower, echoing against the stone walls and catching Cyrus' attention, pulling him away from his task with a furrowed brow of concern.
"Kasala?"
Cyno scrambles to gather his thoughts, his heart racing as the loud noise echoes through the walls. Tighnari instinctively ducks behind a nearby shelf, his sensitive ears ringing painfully from the sudden commotion. With a grimace, Cyno pushes himself up from the floor, each movement reminding him of the dull ache searing through his back. The fabric of his dress sticks to his skin, dampened by a cold sweat.
Pulling back the tattered curtain that separates his small, cluttered room from the outside, he clings to its frayed edges, his knuckles whitening under the pressure. “Kasala, are you okay?” Cyrus calls out, his voice strained, searching for any sign of hurt on his daughter.
"I'm the lost princess," Kasala breathes, her voice barely above a whisper, the weight of her words pressing down on her chest. Cyrus peers at her with confusion and disbelief, blinking slowly before a mocking laugh escapes his lips.
"Speak up. You know how much I hate the mumbling," Cyrus retorts, his tone bitter. He brushes the unruly bangs from his forehead, his eyes shifting momentarily to Kasala.
Cyno straightens his posture, anger igniting within him. "I'm the lost princess, am I not? Was that clear enough for you, Father?" His voice rises, and his stance shifts threateningly. The fury and frustration spread across Cyrus' features are unmistakable. His eyes widen as he glares at Kasala. "Are you even my father? Do you really have the right to call yourself that?" Cyno challenges again, his presence radiating fierce electricity that crackles around him, the charged silence burying the weight of his words as he stands and waits for his response.
Cyrus bursts into laughter, a harsh, derisive sound that rings through the air. He fucking laughs. "Do you even hear yourself?" he taunts. A flicker of disbelief in his eyes. "I can't help but wonder how that Temple managed to twist your mind so thoroughly. Those followers of theirs don’t really grasp who you are." With that, he spreads his arms wide, stepping closer with a confident stride. "You’re my daughter."
In response, Cyno shoves him away, resentment across his face, shaking his head. Cyrus' mocking demeanor clashed with his stern resolve.
"Do you even hear yourself?" Cyno's voice rose, disbelief and anger echoing through the air. He stepped back, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Who is my mother, then? Why do I look nothing like you? Why do I have vivid memories of my family?" Cyrus’ glare was sharp and unwavering as he followed Kasala down the dimly lit staircase, the shadows deepening with every step. "All I've done is protect you and your powers. They would take you and exploit your power for their own gain," he shot back.
"You’re the one stealing my power!" Cyno exploded, his frustration spilling over as he tugged at his hair. He turned sharply and locked eyes with Cyrus. "What do you think is going to happen? He won't be here for you once he's gone—paying for his crimes." Cyrus strolled beside Kasala, noticing her eyes, a deep crimson, widen in shock as dread washed over her features. A vulnerability consumed her as if every fiber of her being was laid bare. He gently brushed his hand over her shoulder, his touch controlling and steady. "It's okay, Kasala," he murmured softly, his voice a false soothe. "This is just the way it's meant to be."
A single strand of hair moves and Cyno catches him by the wrist. "No! You're wrong. Nobody wanted to hurt me. Nobody wanted my hair—you will never touch it again." Cyno swiftly pushes the hand away, retreating a step as anger flares in the air. His heart races as he narrowly avoids tripping over his hair as Cyrus stumbles into the mirror. Watching it all shatter onto the ground. He watches as Cyrus' eyes turn dark. A look of surprise turns to anger as Cyno steps away.
Cyno feels the relentless strain of cold, unyielding metal biting into his wrists as he is anchored to the post, a prisoner. Each struggle sends a jolt of pain radiating through him, the rough edges of the shackles scraping agonizingly at his skin. He tries to let out a scream, a cry for help muffled by the fabric tightly bound around his mouth, a desperate plea choked by panic. He can barely think. All he knows is he needs out, to escape, to flee, to save himself, and rescue Tighnari from whatever fate awaits him if he's found.
"Stop that, will you?" Cyrus barks, his frustration clear as he yanks Kasala by the chains, the metal clinking ominously in the struggle.
“Cyno!” His eyes widen at the sudden, piercing yell that cuts through the stillness outside—a desperate yell calling his name. Terror floods his stomach, and an icy grip of fear winds around his heart as he contemplates the alarming possibilities. Though a flicker of hope grows within him, wishing nothing terrible to happen, he can't shake the gnawing distrust he feels toward Cyrus. A silent prayer seeks refuge on his lips as he hears Alhaitham's approach.
Without hesitation, Cyrus dashes to the window. Throwing Cyno's long curls spilling over the ledge like white silk. Cyno winces as the strands are yanked and tugged, a searing sensation torching his scalp. In that instant, he catches a glimpse of Alhaitham—his shadow looming large as he makes his way to the window, a determined figure piercing through the gloom. As Alhaitham’s shoes touch the tower floor.
"I didn't think I would see you again," Alhaitham breathes, his voice a mixture of relief and disbelief. He glances up, his gaze locking on Cyno, desperately thrashing on the cold floor, bound in heavy chains that clink and rattle with every futile movement. Alhaitham feels like cold water was thrown at him, with a growing concern that tightens in his chest. Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain jolts through his side, tearing his attention away from the scene before him as if reminding him of the threat that surrounds them both. He immediately folds in on himself, falling over as he holds his hands at the hole in his body. The blood coating his hands. "Look at what you've done, Kasala." Cyrus towered over Alhaitham, his shadow casting a dark shadow over him. With a swift swipe, he wiped the blood from the glowing blade, the metallic scent heavy in the air. His piercing gaze bore down on Alhaitham, disappointment and mistrust across his face. "It's fine. He can die with our secret." Cyrus mutters as he steps over him.
"Now, we are going somewhere where nobody will ever find you," Cyrus declared, his voice dripping with a mixture of threat and decision. He approached Kasala, shackled and struggling against the chains, the metal clanking against itself as Cyrus tugged harder. The resistance the chains offered only fueled Cyrus’ frustration as he pulled Kasala closer to a narrow staircase that spiraled into darkness. A small fox darted through the room, its tiny paws padding urgently across the floor. The creature bit and tugged at Cyrus' pant leg, desperately trying to get his attention. Trying to get him away from Cyno. Tighnari growled. "How the hell did you get up here?" Cyrus scoffed, irritation flashing in his eyes as he kicked the small animal aside, sending him tumbling to the ground. Wisps of dust floated in the air where he had landed. Cyno looked in alarm, his heart pounding as he saw Tighnari whimpering pitifully on the floor, eyes wide with concern for his small friend.
Cyno fought desperately against the gag constricting his mouth, his voice emerging in a frantic yell when it fell around his neck. "Stop! I'm not going to stop trying to get away from you!" His body thrashed against the restraints as he looked up at Cyrus, determination igniting in his eyes. "I’ll—I’ll go if you let me heal him. Just let me fix him, and I’ll stop fighting," he pleaded, his breath trembling with urgency. The sound of Alhaitham struggling on the floor reached his ears—a harsh cough escaping him as if every word he tried to utter was a fight. "I'll go with you, and I'll stay. Just let me do this," Cyno urged, his gaze locked on Cyrus, gripping the chains. Moments felt like an eternity as Cyno watched Cyrus weigh the request, the tension thick in the air. Finally, to his relief, Cyno felt the shackles release their grip, and his body suddenly relaxed. But his relief was short-lived as he turned to see Cyrus fastening the chains around Alhaitham's wrists instead.
"So you never get any ideas of following us," Cyrus remarked coldly, letting Alhaitham’s hands drop harshly. Cyno rushed to Alhaitham’s side, anxiety flooding in his core as he knelt beside him. Frantic to offer help. "Everything is gonna be okay-" Cyno reassured, his voice steady. He hurriedly reached for his pale curls, pulling them down to press against Alhaitham's bleeding wound. A faint crackle of electro-energy shimmered around Cyno, illuminating the dim surroundings as he focused on him. Yet, Alhaitham, feeling the reality of the situation, pushes Cyno’s hands away. Watching Cyno's face change into anguish.
"No, you're not going to do that," Alhaitham exhales heavily, his posture slackening as he leans deeper against the wooden beam. He shakes his head slowly, a hint of frustration in his eyes. Cyno observes him closely, his breath catching unevenly in his throat, the weight of Alhaitham's words settling in like a heavy cloud. A look of despair twists Cyno's features, shadows of misery playing across his face.
"I don't want you to die," Cyno whispers softly, his voice trembling as he gazes down at Alhaitham, cupping his face with a tender hand. His rough fingertips glide gently along Alhaitham's cheek. "I won’t let you go. You’re not going to die," he insists, his determination unwavering as he pulls his hair close to Alhaitham’s side again. Despite the overwhelming odds, Cyno remains dedicated, pouring every ounce of his will into healing him, refusing to abandon him.
"You'll die if you go, you realize that?" Alhaitham murmurs, his voice a mere whisper as he gazes up at Cyno, his eyes concerned. A weak cough erupts from his chest, each shallow breath a painful reminder of his struggle.
It is painful. He is going to die.
He is okay with that as long as he doesn't see Cyno's fate.
"This isn't just about me anymore—I'll manage. Please, just let me heal you," Cyno pleads, his hand slipping from Alhaitham's pale face. He longs for the warmth that has faded from his body. He presses his white hair against the wound, and it quickly absorbs the blood.
Alhaitham gently shakes his head, a faint sigh escaping his lips as he softly whispers, “Cyno.” His voice carries a warmth, a comfort. With a firm yet gentle grip, he clasps Cyno's shoulder, anchoring him before Cyno begins to sing. Cyno perks up hearing his name. Alhaitham’s hand moves to brush through Cyno's hair, his fingers gliding like silk. Raising his arm, he thrusts the mirror shard into the strands, the shard reflecting light that dances around them. Cyno's eyes widen in shock. He feels the heavy burden lifting from his head. Cyno looked down at Alhaitham, hurt and bloody. Concern flowed through him as Alhaitham leaned forward and erupted into a loud, raspy cough that echoed in the quiet room.
"What?" Cyno breathes out, his voice confused and panicked as he runs a hand through his hair, watching in surprise as his hair slips through his fingers, converting into a dark brown. In seconds, the rest of his cut hair follows suit. He glances toward the chaos unfolding beside him, catching sight of Cyrus.
With a frantic expression, Cyrus shouts, his tone strained as he attempts to gather the unruly locks. He yells and screams, panicking as his hair turns white, his body aging within seconds. Stumbling around the room as Cyno's hair is no longer white and holds no power anymore. He covers himself, mumbling phrases Cyno can't even hear as he trips over his feet. Cyno gasps and reaches out, watching him fall through the window and hearing his screams as he falls
Kaveh pivots abruptly, his heart pounding as he witnesses the body plummet to the ground. The anguished screams fade into eerie silence as the dark cloak rests upon the grass. A delicate cloud of dust waves from the fabric. He leaps to his feet, a twinge of frustration gnawing at him for not being more athletic, his limbs feeling heavy with every breath he takes.
Who gives a fuck about the horse.
He knows he must help them, the worry pressing down on him like the heavy stones of the tower itself. With trembling hands, he grasps at the rough rocks that keep the structure standing, his voice breaking as he yells out for Cyno. A deep, sincere prayer rushes through his mind, yearning for Cyno and Alhaitham, hoping they’re safe and sound. As he glances upward, relief mixes with anxiety at the sight of Cyno peering over the window's ledge, the sharp outlines of his features highlighted by the sunlight. His hair, now distinctly shorter and brown, falls behind his shoulder.
"Cyno!"
"There's a door. Just get up here!"
Kaveh darted around the side of the tower, his eyes landing on a doorway nearly obscured by a tumble of jagged rocks. With a hurried push, he cleared the rubble aside, revealing a worn wooden ladder he pushed himself up. Coughing violently, he battled the dust that swirled around him and clawed at his lungs. He ascended the ladder in a frantic rush, each step echoing his pounding heart, until he finally emerged at the top of the tower, gasping for breath.
The first thing he notices is the long dark brown hair around the room.
The second thing he notices is Alhaitham on the floor being held by Cyno.
Kaveh leaped to his feet, rushing to them quickly. He looks down at Alhaitham, holding a hand to his mouth as he just stands there. The blood on Alhaitham's shirt making him feel queasy. He was a knight, for fucks sake, and seeing him bloody just makes his job look like a joke. Witnessing Cyno’s tears left him paralyzed with helplessness. As he looked down at them, Tighnari rushed forward with a startled squeak, hurrying to Alhaitham’s side.
"What happened?" Kaveh coughs, falling to his knees as he tries to help.
Cyno's heart raced as he pressed his trembling hands against Alhaitham's wound, desperation flooding his veins. "Cyrus stabbed him. He wouldn't let me heal him-" panic laced every word as he clutched Alhaitham's weak body, which felt alarmingly cold against his palms. The paleness of Alhaitham’s face sent a jolt of fear through Cyno. He was losing too much blood, and each second felt worse and worse. "I don't know what to do.." Cyno choked back a sob, his breath hitching in his throat as he gripped Alhaitham's hand tightly, feeling the warmth fade away, leaving only a pit in his stomach.
Cyno’s voice trembles as sorrow overtakes him, each note cracking under the weight of his desperation. He sings fervently, pouring every ounce of his heart into the melody, hoping to summon the power to heal the one he loves. "Cyno, stop," Alhaitham whispers, his words barely escaping his lips. Fatigue weighs heavily on his eyelids, and he barely fights to keep them open, each breath shallow and labored. A harsh cough escapes him, sending a shudder through his frail body as he feels himself drifting further away from the warmth of consciousness.
“No, no—I'm saving you. I promise I will,” Cyno sobs, each labored breath catching in his throat like shards of glass. Tears stream down his face, mingling with the sweat that glistens on his skin. “Just don’t die, please-” His voice trembles, thick with emotion, as he cradles Alhaitham's face gently in his trembling hands. His fingers brush over the moles dotting the skin on his cheeks. Desperation fuels him.
Alhaitham releases a shuddering breath, sinking into the soothing embrace of Cyno. Panic flickers in Cyno's eyes as he blinks rapidly, struggling to grasp what just happened. “Hey, wake up,” Cyno gasps, desperation in each word trembling as he fights back tears and sobs. His chest heaves, tears spilling down his cheeks as he gently shakes Alhaitham, praying for him to wake up. Nearby, Kaveh watches the scene unfold, a surge of conflict washing over him. Furrowing his brow, he reaches out, his hand hovering over Cyno's shoulder, but hesitates, the weight of sadness he feels for Cyno—drawing his hand back.
Cyno’s voice trembles between his faint sobs, his forehead pressed tightly against Alhaitham’s, hardly whispering words. Hiccuping and struggling to catch his breath, he pulls away, the devastating realization crashing over him like a wave—he’s really gone now. Each shuddering breath escapes, hurting him. The fabric of his clothes feels tighter. Desperately, he wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm.
Cyno hears a soft gasp escape from Kaveh, immediately followed by a loud, startled squeak from Tighnari, who sits wide-eyed beside him. Rubbing the wetness from his eyes in confusion, Cyno turns to look at Kaveh, his heart racing in his chest. He is struck by the vivid purple lights shimmering in the air around them, rippling like a mirage. The ethereal glow emanates from the jagged wound on Alhaitham's side, casting an eerie illumination that dances across the surroundings. The lights swirl and morph into disembodied eyes, their curious gazes floating.
"Wha..?" Cyno murmurs, his voice tinged with confusion and fear, a sense of dread creeping in as he contemplates the impossibility of what's happening. He wonders if his powers have returned or if his mind is playing tricks on him.
In an instant, the vibrant glow began to merge back into Alhaitham's body, the brilliant purples swirling and dissipating like ephemeral dust in the air. Cyno watched, his heart pounding, as the wound sealed itself seamlessly, as though it had never been there at all. Hope filled his chest as he lifted his gaze to Alhaitham’s face, desperately searching for any sign of life amid the stillness. And then, just when despair threatened to creep in, a subtle movement drew his attention. Alhaitham's chest was gently rising and falling, the rhythmic breaths breaking the silence and igniting a relief in Cyno’s heart.
Cyno gasped softly, his fingers trembling as they brushed Alhaitham’s cheek, hesitating with doubt. Had he imagined this? Then, Alhaitham's eyelid fluttered open, revealing a dazed gaze. The light caught his irises, bright teal and orange. "Cyno-" His voice was abruptly silenced as Cyno's firm grip tightened around his collar, drawing him closer. The warmth and strength of Cyno’s embrace surrounded him.
Kaveh sits there, a disbelieving laugh escaping his lips as he processes that Alhaitham is alive. A moment later, his expression shifts, curiosity in his gaze as he raises an eyebrow at Cyno. In a sudden movement, Cyno cups Alhaitham's face in his hands, drawing him close. With an intensity that catches them both off guard, he leans in and kisses him. Quickly pulling away and laughing.
Kaveh shifted sharply, his gaze locking onto Tighnari, who stared back, wide-eyed and blinking, a tiny squeak escaping his lips. Seizing the moment, Kaveh landed a punch on Alhaitham's shoulder, making him yelp in slight pain. "Are you fucking stupid?!" he exclaimed, his voice rising with frustration. "You’re incredibly lucky to have been brought back at all!" Cyno observed from the sidelines, his expression revealing little as he watched Alhaitham roll his eyes, unfazed by Kaveh's outburst.
"Even after I'm back from the dead, you're still annoying.." Alhaitham softly murmurs his thoughts aloud.
"Hey, you would've died earlier if it wasn't for me!" Kaveh shouts.