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The tiles were cold against Cyno's boiling skin. He lay there, motionless, his bones charred to ash, and his blood turned to lead. It was easier that way, curled against the wall in the darkness of his bathroom. He could almost forget the memories writhing beneath his skin like rats. Almost-- because Cyno would never truly be free.
The Akademiya's files, the labs, the experiments. He'd thought they were over, destroyed, wiped from Teyvat when Cyrus refused to continue the project-- when he took Cyno from the brightly lit labs and sterile white rooms. To discover that had been a lie-
For Alhaitham to be the one to find the files-
He wanted to throw up. A distant part of him knew nothing was left in his stomach to do so. He hadn't eaten or drank since the first day, and he didn't even know how long ago that was. Time flowed differently, discordant, his perception skewed, but he knew it had been a while. He thought he slept, but he couldn't be sure when nothing felt real. It was hard to tell the dreams from memories, so unused to the act of dreaming.
It made his head ache, his body begging for food and water, but it felt distant, veiled by gossamer. Cyno floated half outside his body, only vaguely aware of the feeling. He couldn't bring himself to move. It reminded him of his childhood when he starved himself, hoping to die before their next experiment. It hadn't worked-- the Akademiya would never have allowed him the peace of death.
Hermanubis was silent within him, wisely knowing that Cyno couldn't handle its presence. Neither of them wanted to repeat the last weeks of the experimentation, when Cyno had taken stolen blades to his skin to cut out the spirit inside him, when he swallowed poison to make it stop. Cyrus had found him passed out in his room, his small body breathing shallowly and covered in bloody vomit.
He closed his eyes, breathing in the lingering scent of sickness. Fevered chills wracked through him, but Cyno didn't know whether it was caused by the stress or some ailment. Probably the former, although it had been years since he had last made himself ill-- not since he was a child hiding in darkened corners and jumping at shadows.
His body ached, old injuries flaring at the memories of the agony they brought. Being strapped down and pulling at the bindings until he bled, being injected with substances he never knew the name of. The files Alhaitham found described all of it-- the only blessing was that they never used his name. Cyno was always The Subject, never him.
Minutes passed, or maybe hours. It was impossible to tell, but the shade of darkness changed as the sun travelled through the sky, hitting his bathroom door at different angles. Cyno drifted, caught in memories that refused to let him go, even as he picked them off like tendrils and vines. They only wrapped tighter around his limbs.
Breathing hurt, his chest struggling to rise and fall. He wasn't sure why, but some part of him knew it was the panic—an endless cycle of panic into lethargy into panic again.
There were distant sounds beyond the veil of his thoughts. Somebody pounded on a door. Cyno flinched at the sound, curling inward until he was pressed even further into the dark corner of (the laboratory) his bathroom.
"Cyno?" The call of his name seemed to echo like an underground cavern, seemed muffled like it came from underwater-- or maybe Cyno was underwater. Maybe he was drowning. Maybe he never stopped drowning.
Light. It hurt, bright against his eyes. The pain in his head pulsed, agony sharp beneath his skull. He stayed silent, not even a sharp intake of breath. They always wanted him silent; silence meant they were less likely to hurt him.
Somebody was next to him, hand reaching out. Cyno flinched back, his body slamming into the wall. A quiet, wounded noise escaped him as his heart thumped in his chest.
"Oh, Cyno." The words sounded heartbroken. "Shhh, it's okay. It's just me, Cyrus."
Cyrus. Cyrus was safe, and something unknotted in Cyno's chest. He blinked his eyes open to see the bleary figure in front of him, familiar and warm.
"I'm going to touch you, alright?"
Cyno didn't respond. He just closed his eyes and rested his face back against the tiles. He restrained a flinch when Cyrus laid a hand on his forehead and hissed.
"Kiddo, you're burning up," Cyrus muttered with the same worried tone he always did-- the one that coaxed Cyno into coming to him when scared or sick. "Can you walk?"
He stayed silent. The thought of moving was too much. It was impossible, like he was a puppet with cut strings, like his limbs were made of melted wax. He certainly felt like both of those things; like he wasn't quite real.
Cyrus' fingers combed through his hair.
"Alright, kiddo, just hold on. I'm going to pick you up."
Cyrus slipped one arm behind Cyno's knees and another on his back, standing with a grunt.
It had been a long time since Cyno was last carried like this. He was too old now, no longer the malnourished child who picked at meals. Cyrus carried him nonetheless, and Cyno tucked his face against the man's shoulder, shuddering. His muscles were tense but weak, the room spinning as he was carried.
He was settled somewhere soft, the blankets smooth against his skin. Cyrus piled them the way Cyno always liked-- the pressure made him feel grounded, made him feel safe when there was no safety to be found.
Cyrus came and went, bringing water, tea, and broth. Cyno refused it all. He didn't have the energy, and even swallowing mouthfuls of water seemed insurmountable. He only wanted to sleep, to escape the pains of reality, but he knew sleep held no respite. It hadn't since the Akasha shut down; since dreams and nightmaresbreturned to Sumeru.
"Come on, kid," Cyrus said as he held Cyno against his side, a water bottle in his hand. "You're dehydrated. You need to drink something."
Cyno shook his head. He leaned heavily on Cyrus' shoulder, perpetually exhausted.
The silence was deafening, heavy. Guilt coiled in Cyno's chest, and he curled closer to Cyrus' warmth. It made him feel like a child again, desperate for comfort he didn't deserve.
(A plague, a cockroach, worthless-)
"You're safe, Cyno," Cyrus said, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but you are. You're an adult. You're the General Mahamatra. You have a Vision, friends, family. Whatever is going on in your head, whatever memories you're trapped between, they aren't happening."
In a way, Cyno knew that. He knew what reality was, but it didn't feel like reality. It was as if he was standing between the past and present, aware of both at once. He was so tired of living a nightmare.
Cyrus sighed and readjusted until Cyno was once again laying down.
"Try to get some rest," he said, rubbing Cyno's shoulder in soothing circles before he stood.
He woke to the low rumble of voices and a hand calmly stroking his hair.
For a moment, he thought they belonged to the doctors of his nightmares-- that maybe they were discussing their next experiments, but no. The voices were familiar, and no doctor would be so gentle with him.
"... been a long time since he was last this bad," Cyrus said, and even through the fog-like haze in his mind, Cyno recognized the obvious concern in his voice.
"Have you called for Tighnari?" Taj replied.
Cyno wasn't sure when the last time he spoke to Taj was. Months ago in passing, probably. Longer since their last real conversation.
"I sent a message," Cyrus said, "but if he keeps refusing water, then we won't be able to wait-- we're already pushing it as it is. He's dangerously dehydrated, and his fever isn't helping. We may have to take him to the Bimarstan."
Cyno tensed, his heart stuttering in his chest and his breath catching.
There was a reason he never went to the Bimarstan. He couldn't. Not when it meant IVs, needles, and white-washed walls. People who poked and prodded at him and expected him not to fight back. He always did, with teeth and nails and bright flares of electricity, no matter how injured he was. Cyno had almost bled out more than once as he refused and fought against treatment.
The hand petting his hair stopped momentarily before continuing its steady rhythm.
"Cyno?" Kaveh said quietly, his voice like soothing aloe. "Are you awake?"
Cyno's shoulders trembled as he sucked in an unsteady breath. The room spun, his head pounding deep within his skull. He couldn't make himself speak.
Kaveh didn't press. He kept up the rhythmic motions until Cyno's heart rate returned to something closer to normal-- still too quick, his pulse thready, but no longer drowned in panic. Eventually, Cyno managed to pry his eyes open.
"There you are," Kaveh said, smiling softly. He sat with his legs crossed and Cyno's head in his lap, the bed's pillows moved to the side. "How are you feeling?" He tucked a strand of hair behind Cyno's ear.
"I don't know," Cyno replied. His voice was raspy and painful after days(?) of disuse. It stung with iron.
There was a barely audible exhale from across the room. Cyno glanced toward the sound to see Cyrus covering his mouth with a hand, his shoulder hunched. Next to him, Taj squeezed his shoulder before pulling away.
"I'll get some juice," he said before leaving the room.
Cyrus approached slowly and sat on the edge of the bed. He rested a shaking hand on Cyno's leg.
"You need to drink something, okay?" he told Cyno. "I know you aren't feeling well but it's important."
He didn't really want anything. Even the weakness in his muscles and the dryness of his throat weren't enough to convince him. Cyrus' fretful expression made him rethink his refusal.
When Taj returned with a cup of pink juice, Kaveh supported him.
"It's henna berry juice," Cyrus said, helping steady Cyno's trembling grip around the cup.
It was difficult to find outside of the desert. They must have gone looking for it. Rainforest dwellers weren't partial to the flavour, but to Cyno, it was a glimpse into his half-remembered childhood spent among the sands.
He drank a little over half before it sat too heavily in his stomach to continue. They swapped to water after, and he managed a few more sips.
"Okay, okay, that's good," Cyrus said, passing Taj the cup and feeling Cyno's forehead. He frowned but didn't comment.
"Do you think you can tell us what's wrong?" Taj asked.
The files. Cyno's breath caught. He closed his eyes and shook his head, his jaw tight.
"That's okay," Cyrus said softly. "We can deal with it later, then."
He wasn't awake long. Kaveh let him rest against his side, Cyno's head against his shoulder. Any other day, Cyno would have been reticent, but he longed for the comfort his friend could give. He fell asleep as quiet conversation drifted around him.
"...begins on the towering Mt. Yougou. Legend has it that in the time of the Great Kitsune Hakushin, she had six apprentices. All were greatly skilled in magic and in shape-shifting. Day-to-day, they were tasked with assisting their matriarch, Hakushin, in managing the shrine and defending Mt. Yougou. The eldest of the six was Itaru the Black Fox, who, unlike most other females, was built as broad as a bear and as strong as a tiger." Cyrus' voice filtered through Cyno's mind like sunlight, warm and comforting.
Cyno shifted as he woke and raised his hand to rub at his eyes. Something tugged from the inside of his arm, and his eyes snapped open. The room was painfully bright, although the ache in his head faded to something more tolerable after a moment.
A hand settled over his shoulder and squeezed.
"Don't panic, love. Breathe," Tighnari said. "It's an IV. I know you don't like them, but we didn't have a choice. You're still at home, though."
Something uncurled in Cyno's chest at the sound of Tighnari's voice, and he turned his head to face his partner. He was dressed down, only wearing his base layers as he sat beside Cyno on the bed.
Cyrus chuckled, and Cyno finally turned his attention to the rest of the room.
They weren't alone. Kaveh perched on the windowsill, a sketchbook in hand. Taj sat next to Cyrus and drank what Cyno assumed was coffee. They all looked tired, and Cyno swallowed dryly.
It wasn't the first time Cyno woke to a room full of loved ones, but it still made him twist his hands in the fabric of his blankets. Guilt and anxiety warred inside his tightened chest. He didn't like lying down around so many people. It put him lower than them, vulnerable.
His arms shook as he tried to sit up, and Tighnari steadied him.
"I've got you," Tighnari said, helping to pile pillows around him. The change in position made the room spin.
When the black spots cleared from his eyesight, Kaveh had left the room. His sketchbook remained in his place.
Tighnari pressed close, and Cyno slumped against him as he looked toward Cyrus.
"What were you reading?" he asked. His voice hurt just as much as before.
Cyrus flipped the book around to read the cover. "The New Chronicles of the Six Kitsune. It's a popular Inazuman light novel I picked up from Treasure Street a few days ago." He shrugged. "I thought it might help. You always liked stories when you were little."
Cyno remembered. Books were still banned then, and Cyno didn't know how to read anyway, but Cyrus would sit at his bedside when he was sick or afraid and tell stories until he could breathe again.
Kaveh re-entered before he could respond. He carried another cup of henna berry juice.
"Here," he said, handing it over. "Drink as much as you can, okay?"
"The IV is helping a lot, but you still need to drink," Tighnari added.
Cyno didn't appreciate the reminder of the line leaning from his arm. They'd strung up the back from his headboard, but even that reminded him too much of things better left forgotten-- not that he could forget.
He reluctantly accepted the cup and stared down at the liquid inside. Everybody but Tighnari turned their attention elsewhere, which Cyno was thankful for. Cyrus learned quickly that less attention on him was better when Cyno was stressed or ill. Otherwise, the desire to hide away and lick his wound like a scared animal was too powerful to ignore.
The juice stared back at him. Cyno didn't particularly want to drink, although he knew he needed to-- if only just to get the IV out of his arm before he ripped it out himself. It wouldn't have been the first time.
"It'll raise your blood sugar," Tighnari said. "We have some broth boiling that you can try a bit later. You're probably hungry."
He wasn't. Despite being more aware of what was real, Cyno still felt detached from his body. The hunger cramps in his stomach were distant, like an impression left by a long-dead ghost. It didn't matter. Cyno would eat if it meant Tighnari would stop fretting, concern coming off him in waves. The others were no better.
The juice was cold when he sipped it. They must have kept it in his cold-box.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
"Corps of Thirty," Taj replied. "Most of them grew up in the rainforest as the children of other members, but a few moved from the desert. They usually have some on hand."
Oh. Cyno hadn't considered that. He took another sip.
When he finished, Tighnari made him drink another cup of water and swallow several pills. Cyno was reluctant, but Tighnari's hands trembled minutely as he held them out.
"The IV did its job," Tighnari said as he checked Cyno's vitals. "Your pulse and breathing are better, and you're not nearly as dehydrated as you were. Your fever lowered too. The medication and another day of rest should break it." He wasn't speaking just for Cyno's sake. The others listened with rapt attention, varying levels of worry evident in their features.
Cyrus and Kaveh were the worst for that. Taj and Tighnari had long learned how to mask their emotions for the sake of work, but Cyno knew them too well to be fooled.
"Let me see your arm, and I'll take the IV out," Tighnari told him.
Cyno was quick to offer it up. He could feel the catheter where it entered his skin and wanted nothing more than to tear it out.
Tighnari was careful as he removed it, pressing a cotton ball in its place. Cyrus carefully took it to be disposed of. After a few moments, he wrapped a bandage over the cotton ball to keep it in place.
"How long was I out?" Cyno asked afterwards. He felt steadier without the IV.
"This is the fourth day," Taj said, and Cyno winced. "Cyrus found you the day before yesterday."
Alhaitham wouldn't be happy with the General Mahamatra disappearing, especially not after such an important discussion.
"You went two days without water," Tighnari told him, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. There was an edge to his voice, anger disguising fear and concern. "If Cyrus hadn't found you, you might have died."
He could imagine what they were all thinking. "Would you have laid there until you died?" Cyno didn't have an answer.
"Oh," he said, lacking anything better. The undivided attention of the group made his skin crawl. He looked down. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you all."
"What happened, Kiddo?" Cyrus asked, reaching for his hand. "You were completely out of it. It's been a long time since something made you so sick."
Sick, because as a child, when Cyno was stressed, he always developed a fever. They lacked a name for the other phenomenon-- when Cyno would go days as a ghost haunting his own body, unresponsive.
The words stuck in his throat. Cyno clenched his free hand in his sheets, twisting them into his fist. He bit the inside of his mouth. How was he supposed to explain that he was faced with his worst memories and asked to investigate them?
Thankfully, he didn't have to.
"Does this have anything to do with the files Alhaitham found?" Kaveh's voice was gentle as he spoke, coaxing like Cyno was a wounded animal. In some ways, he supposed that was apt.
He froze, his breath catching, and Cyno felt Tighnari tense next to him.
"What files?" Cyrus asked slowly, dangerously .
"I don't know the specifics," Kaveh said. He paused, likely choosing his words carefully. "I know he found some files from an experiment twenty years ago. He was disturbed by it and mentioned asking Cyno to look into it. I hadn't thought anything of it, but seeing Cyno's reaction..." He didn't elaborate; he didn't have to.
Every person in that room knew of Cyno's background, of the hours spent tormented at the hands of the Akademiya and the Temple of Silence, because Cyrus took him from that place. He traded his future as a Grand Sage to do so.
"Those records were destroyed," Taj said. "Both in the Akasha and the physical copies."
"Breathe, love," Tighnari said, and on instinct, Cyno did so. Air rushed into his lungs and was expelled just as quickly.
Cyrus squeezed his hand, and Tighnari rubbed up and down his arm.
"It's okay, Cyno," Cyrus said, "that's over. You're safe."
Tighnari rubbed his back and counted a rhythm for Cyno to follow. It helped. He focused on the sounds and sensations around him until the static in his ears calmed.
"Just like that," Tighnari told him, "you're okay, sweetheart."
Cyno swallowed dryly. He felt sick.
"I'm sorry," Cyrus said, rubbing circles onto the back of Cyno's hand with a thumb. "We can talk about this later."
They couldn't. Cyno wouldn't be able to later, and Alhaitham would keep asking about those files-
"They were about a series of experiments on an unnamed child," Cyno said, his voice quiet. The room was silent as they all listened. "Alhaitham- he found them with some of the previous Grand Sage's other personal projects. Unofficial."
Off the books. The type that broke cardinal sins-- just like Azar's All-Knowing God.
He picked at the loose threads of his blanket and gnawed on his lip as he tried to force out the words. He shivered at the memory of those pages, how they described the torments he endured in clinical detachment.
The subject required restraints. The subject showed immense signs of pain. Further testing is required.
"He asked me to track down the child and find those responsible." The words were strangled, and Cyno curled forward, trying to ease the strain on his lungs.
Conversation drifted around him as the others spoke, but Cyno didn't listen. Tighnari wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, and Cyno tucked his face into his partner's neck. It was one of the few times he allowed himself to be vulnerable.
Tighnari tucked blankets around his shoulders. Cyno could feel the rumble of his chest as he spoke, the security of his arms and the warmth of his skin. He breathed in the scent of the rainforest that always lingered on Tighnari's clothing and let it ground him.
"Cyno?" Tighnari said softly. "Can we talk to you?"
He didn't particularly want to talk. He wanted to stay warm and safe in Tighnari's arms until the world outside was no longer so overwhelming.
Tighnari nudged him, and Cyno reluctantly pulled away. He was still bundled in blankets.
Cyrus sat in the same chair as before while Kaveh leaned against the wall. Taj stood with his arms crossed, staring at the floor.
"We have a plan," Cyrus said. He sounded calm, but Cyno recognized old anger in his voice, righteous indignation at having to let those responsible walk away. If he hadn't, Cyno would have been dragged before every board and inquiry the Akademiya had, and even then, nothing may have come of it.
"Taj and I are going to speak to Nahida," Kaveh said. "I'm already acquainted with her since I'm helping rebuild the Sanctuary of Surasthana, and Taj is a matra, so nobody will think anything of it. I'm going to ask her to tell Alhaitham that she'll handle this issue personally." He nodded toward Taj, who spoke next.
"If Lord Kusanali grants me permission, I'm going to go through the rest of the files myself. From what I understand, Acting Grand Sage Alhaitham will be happy to have it off his plate. If the former sages left anything else behind, I'll deal with it."
"Tighnari and I are going to say here," Cyrus said. "Neither of us feels comfortable leaving you alone right now."
Cyno stared down at the sheets. It was always like this. Cyrus put aside plans to care for him and cancelled classes and meetings. Tighnari had his own work too. He was nothing but a burden. It had been more than fifteen years since the experiments ended, and yet-
And yet.
"Hey," Cyrus said, drawing his attention. "I know what you're thinking, but we're all here because we love you and don't want to see you hurt."
"It isn't your fault," Tighnari added. "Or would you tell Collei to get over the things that were done to her?"
Cyno jolted, swirling his head to look at Tighnari with wide eyes. His partner only raised an eyebrow, a silent question of, "well?"
Of course he wouldn't. His shoulders slumped. He could already imagine Tighnari's response, "then why are you different?"
Instead of replying, he sighed.
Kaveh and Taj left to meet with Lord Kusanali. Tighnari looped an arm around Cyno's waist to help him to the living room, and Cyrus brought a mug full of soup. It was familiar, the soup Cyrus always made when Cyno was a child.
They sat on the couch, Cyno between them, and Cyrus caught them up on all the things he'd been doing recently. He even mentioned inviting Lisa out for the Spantamad reunion in a few months. It had been a long time since she was last in Sumeru, and with the changes at the Akademiya, she might be willing to visit.
Tighnari told them both about Collei and her recovery. Cyrus hadn't been able to meet her yet, but he always pestered Cyno and Tighnari for news when he could. Kaveh always said he was like a grandparent, and Cyno tried not to think too deeply about that.
He rubbed absently at his wrists. The scars from shackles and padded cuffs that chafed his skin were still visible, although lessened with time. Such was the way with old wounds; faded but never gone.
"We'll have to have you over for dinner soon. What do you think, Cyno?" Tighnari asked.
"Hm?" he looked up, realizing he had tuned out the conversation.
"Cyrus visiting Gandharva Ville for dinner to meet Collei."
Cyno thought for a moment. He hadn't wanted them to meet at first. It was easier to compartmentalize his own similarities to Collei when those two parts of his life never crossed, but maybe it was time she knew.
"I think she'd like that," he said.
"Good, then we agree," Tighnari said. "Cyrus, pass him the water. He needs more."
"I'm fine, Tighnari."
"Sorry, kid, I'm with him on this one," Cyrus said, passing him a cup of water. "I raised you; I know that the only time you ever lie is about your health."
He had to admit with reluctance that Cyrus was right.
Cyno drank the water and listened to two of the people he loved most in the world share stories about him. It was more than he ever thought he'd get.