Chapter Text
The sun is burning down from the sky, unforgiving. The air is shimmering with heat haze and sweat beads at Cyno’s nape. He really doesn’t understand why scholars keep believing they’ll outlast Cyno in the desert. If he is feeling the effects of the temperature, chances are he’ll find his target passed out somewhere.
Absently, Cyno sifts through his satchel. Three waterskins. A handful of Mist Flower Corollas. If he has to provide first aid for heat stroke, he’s ready.
Cyno has been following tracks through the desert for nearly four days already. They are well hidden, suspiciously so for a scholar. Most of them have the sneaking skills of a toddler, leaving trampled plants, barely buried ration wrappers and remains of burnt fireplaces in their wake—they might just as well light lanterns along their path for Cyno to follow.
Cyno can’t help but admire this scholar’s skill, even as it makes his work all the more tedious. He almost lost them three times, having to resort to expanding his search radius in random directions and hoping for the best. Never before has he had to venture this deeply into the desert for his hunt.
Even the Eremites don’t camp this far out, away from secure travelling paths.
Cyno doesn’t remember anything in the scholar’s file that indicated an affinity for the desert or enhanced survival skills, yet here he is. No collapsed body along the way, no traces of blood, just a barely there trail leading him further and further across the dunes.
The sun is already starting to dip beneath the horizon when Cyno reaches a small mountain range. Cyno tightens his grip on his spear. On the red sandstone, there’s a barely visible print shoe print. His hunt is over.
Cyno knows this place. There is a clearing inside the mountains, with a couple of caves branching off of it. The Temple of Silence does not allow scholars to venture so close to their territory, so it has never been researched whether the formation is natural. In Cyno’s opinion, it is unlikely. The walls inside are so smooth they cannot be scaled. The only way in—and out—is through the tunnel Cyno is standing in front of.
He sets his backpack down near the entrance. If there is a physical altercation it will only get in the way. With silent footsteps, he presses on. The tunnel is less of a tunnel and more of a hallway, really, leading into the inner courtyard after just a few strides.
It has been over a decade since Cyno was here last but the structure stands just as he remembers, polished walls reflecting the red glow of the setting sun. Five openings in the sandstone lead further into the mountain.
Cyno is scanning the area for clues when suddenly a noise wafts through the air. It’s faint, coming from deep inside. Cyno strains his ears to make out words to determine if he might be running into an ambush. Wouldn’t be the first scholar who hired Eremites for protection. But he can only make out one voice, so he decides to follow it.
His bare feet make no noise as he treads over the sand. The light from the outside fades the further he gets into the cave, until the only illumination is provided by the bioluminescent fungi growing along the way. The noises are getting louder too.
What Cyno assumed to be a conversation turns out to be noises of discomfort. He hears groans and gasps and something that almost sounds like cries. It hastens his steps, instilling a sense of urgency in him as he rushes deeper. Whoever is producing the noises is making no effort to muffle their voice. It is such a clear contradiction to how well they covered their tracks that it confuses and worries Cyno to equal degrees.
He is close enough to see the light of torches dance in the distance when he hears a sound that can only be described as an animalistic yowl. Cyno eyes the path he just came from. Perhaps he should not have left his first aid kit at the entrance after all.
But there was no blood anywhere to indicate an injury, and only someone with a clear mind would’ve been able to cover their tracks this consistently, which would rule out heat stroke. Carefully, Cyno crouches down. The fire casts flickering shadows across the opposing wall. Around the next corner lies the main chamber of this cave. Cyno halts.
Another groan. Heavy, fast breathing. Then, a bitten out string of curses.
In spite of the desert heat, Cyno’s entire body suddenly feels cold. Someone might as well have emptied a bucket of ice water over his head. That voice. He knows that voice.
Cyno doesn’t trust his ears. It’s impossible. Tighnari barely manages the distance between Caravan Ribat and Aaru village with his weakness to heat, let alone a four-day trek, especially one away from well-trodden paths. It can’t be him.
Another groan, and a hitched breath that sounds too much like a sob. Cyno cannot unhear Tighnari’s voice, and all the sounds of pain suddenly are knifes to his stomach. A cautious voice in the back of his head warns him that this must be a trap—there’s no way Tighnari is here. But his body doesn’t listen.
He moves as if on autopilot and rounds the corner. It shouldn’t be possible but there he is. Tighnari. There’s no way Cyno would mistake anyone else for him.
Tighnari lies curled up atop a bundle of ragged blankets at the far end of the cave. He squirms and writhes. He looks in pain. Panic squeezes Cyno’s chest so tightly he has trouble breathing.
“Tighnari.” The name is a plea on his lips, a plea for Tighnari to be okay.
Cyno’s voice alerts Tighnari to his presence. His head snaps up. Tighnari’s eyes widen, but not in surprise. He croaks out a soft, “No.”
The next moment, he convulses, a strangled cry ripped from him as if the mere sight of Cyno causes him further anguish.
Even from the distance Cyno can see the dilation of Tighnari’s pupils, the flush creeping all the way down Tighnari’s neck. Vaguely he registers that Tighnari is not wearing his usual ranger outfit but loose-fitting white robes instead, bound around his waist but slipping off his shoulders, showing more skin than they’re hiding. Tighnari’s hair is matted with sweat, sticking to his skin.
He must be running a fever. It’s the only explanation for his state. Frantically, Cyno scans Tighnari’s body for signs of wounds that could have gotten infected.
The only time Cyno’s ever seen someone in a similar state of distress was when one of his subordinates sustained a wound from an old, rusty ruin machine while they were out on a mission together. They only barely managed to save the man’s life by getting him to Birmistan through the nearest Teleport Point.
He cannot spot any wounds on Tignari, and the bright whiteness of his robes should not be able to hide any traces of blood. Perhaps it’s an older injury that Tighnari has dressed already? Perhaps that’s why he isn’t wearing his usual uniform, because it’s lying somewhere, blood-soaked and torn to shreds?
Cyno takes an urgent step forward, ready to cross the distance between them. He freezes in place when Tighnari flinches back. His ears are folded back on his head, his fangs bared. Tighnari growls. “Don’t come closer!”
He looks terrified. Like a wounded animal backed into a corner. Cyno instills fear in many people, most, even, but never in Tighnari. Tighnari has never been afraid of him. There it is again, that knife to his stomach.
“Tighnari…?” he asks, confused and a little scared himself.
“Leave,” Tighnari commands, his voice shaky yet full of assertion.
“It’s me, Cyno.” Cyno speaks as softly and unthreatening as possible. Perhaps Tighnari’s senses are clouded by the fever wrecking his body and he is mistaking Cyno for a stranger.
“I know,” Tighnari grinds out as a new spasm contorts his body, a bitten back groan ending in a hiss. “You have to leave.”
“But you’re unwell,” Cyno argues, in disbelief he even has to state something that obvious.
Tighnari does not like accepting help, but surely he must realise how severe his state is.
“It’s—” Tighnari gasps for air. “It’ll be fine,” he says with urgency. ”Go. Now.”
“But—“
“Now!” Tighnari barks, voice raised to a shout. He has run out of patience. It’s an order, one that drips with enough authority to make Cyno take a step back involuntarily. “I will explain later but you have to leave.” He locks eyes with Cyno. “Please.”
Tighnari looks and sounds desperate. Desperate for Cyno to leave.
“Jadeplume Terrorshroom,” he grinds out when Cyno doesn’t move.
The words hit Cyno like an electric current. Whatever is going on with Tighnari, he is not delirious.
Back in Tighnari’s Akademiya days, whenever he would embark on a project that Cyno considered dangerous or simply impossible, Tighnari would bet Cyno that if anything went wrong, he would give Cyno his Jadeplume Terrorshroom card—the cornerstone of Tighnari’s deck and his favourite. It has never left Tighnari’s possession.
Rooted to the spot, Cyno balls his fists.
It might be the hardest thing Cyno has ever done, to turn around and walk away with mechanical steps. He hears Tighnari sigh in relief behind him. It does nothing to ease the bundle of nerves in his stomach, making him feel sick.
Every single step is heavy, as if he has lead weights tied around his ankles. Behind him, the groans and whines pick up again, each one cutting into him like a blade carving away flesh.
What if it is wrong to listen to Tighnari? What if he was delirious after all, and couldn’t judge his own state? Tighnari has a propensity for self-sacrifice—perhaps he contracted a fatal illness he didn’t want to pass to Cyno? He promised Cyno he would be fine… but what if he just said that because he knows Cyno would never let him be if he said the truth?
If Tighnari dies from whatever afflicted him, it will be Cyno’s responsibility. And even if he doesn’t die, to leave Tighnari in so much pain—how can Cyno simply walk away without at least trying to alleviate it?
And yet he does. He walks and walks, exiting from the cave and crossing the courtyard, until he comes to a stop at his discarded backpack. He looks down at it blankly. There are analgesic herbs inside. He could take them and return to Tighnari. His knuckles are white from how tightly he’s gripping his spear. Every single fiber of his being cries for him to go back to Tighnari.
He doesn’t.
The image of Tighnari flinching away from him replays in his mind. Tighnari wanted him to leave. He asked Cyno to trust him and Cyno chooses to, even if it goes against his every instinct.
There’s no way he will abandon Tighnari though. He will honour his wishes and not get close again, but he is not going to just up and leave.
He is standing in the only entrance to the inner part of the structure. It is far enough out that Tighnari should neither be able to smell nor hear him. Here, Cyno can at least make sure that whatever Tighnari is going through, he will not have to deal with any enemies, humanoid or animalistic or mechanic or otherwise.
Cyno sets up camp in the cover the tunnel provides. A fleeting thought wafts through his head, of the scholar he was supposed to be tracking. He brushes it away swiftly—this is more important.
Cyno builds a fire to ward off the cold of the night. Once it crackles merrily, he sits down next to it with his back to the wall. Then, he waits.
He waits, and waits, and waits.
The stars sparkle high in the sky. The sun rises, following its path across the sky before sinking beneath the horizon once more.
The first day passes. Then the second. The third.
On the fourth day, Cyno leaves his post just long enough to go down to the nearby oasis to refill his waterskins. He finds Ajilenakh trees growing at the waterside, and on a whim takes a handful of the nuts back him. With the tools he has at hand he won’t be able to candy them, but they’re rich in nutrients.
By noon of the fifth day, the nervousness bubbles up in Cyno so strongly he almost gets up. To distract himself, he replays the memory of the cave he had found Tighnari in. Near his makeshift encampment, there had been two big barrels, presumably full of water, and in a corner, Tighnari’s large backpack, the one that easily fits rations to last a single person weeks.
The puzzle pieces don’t fit. Cyno must be missing something. Tighnari had prepared for a longer trip. Had he come out here for research, contracting a rare disease along the way? It would explain why he sent Cyno away, so that he wouldn’t be infected. But how could he have been so certain of his recovery?
Worry swirls in Cyno’s stomach like an acid concoction eating away at his innards. He stays put.
When night falls, he resolves to give Tighnari one more day. Come sunrise on the seventh day, and he won’t care about breaking Tighnari’s trust. Ensuring Tighnari’s well-being is more important, even if Tighnari should be angry with him.
It’s the evening of the sixth day when Cyno gets startled by the sound of footsteps. Heavy ones, entirely uncharacteristic for Tighnari. He is making no attempt to hide his presence—if anything, he emphasizes it. He knows that Cyno is waiting for him.
When he comes into sight, their gazes meet. Tighnari looks solemn.
Cyno immediately scans him for physical injuries. He is still wearing those unusual robes, but this time tied properly, white pants underneath and a white cloak thrown around his shoulders, the hood down. He looks exhausted, his hair a sticky mess and his face smeared with traces of dirt, but he doesn’t look hurt. He moves with his usual elegance as well, ruling out strained muscles and broken bones.
“I need a bath.” Tighnari’s voice sounds hoarser than usual but firm.
Cyno nods wordlessly and gathers the last of his things. With his satchel slung across his back, Cyno follows Tignari, who leads them straight down to the oasis Cyno refilled his waterskins at.
Tighnari’s backpack thuds softly as it collides with the sand, followed by the cloak. Cyno turns around as Tighnari undoes the robe. From the corner of his eye he sees it slide down Tighnari’s shoulders.
Unblemished skin. No bruises, scratches, wounds.
Tighnari is fine.
He repeats the words like a prayer, now that he can actually believe in them. If the scene of Tighnari curled up in pain hadn’t burned itself into Cyno’s brain he might have been inclined to think he imagined the whole thing.
The water ripples gently as Tighnari wades into the oasis, small waves sloshing around Cyno’s ankles.
“Oh, yes.” Tighnari exhales in satisfaction, voice so quiet it’s nearly carried away by the wind.
“You can come in as well, you know,” Tighnari calls out for Cyno. “The water is really nice.”
Cyno stays where he is, facing adamantly away from Tighnari. “I’m good.”
He isn’t, really. After a week without a bath, his skin is crusted with a thin layer of dust, but at least he didn’t sweat. It shouldn’t matter, bathing together with Tighnari. He wonders if it makes him suspicious to refuse.
Tighnari doesn’t comment on it, just produces another exclamation of deep contentment. The water splashes as he fully submerges himself.
“Is there anything you need?” Cyno asks, feeling uneasy just standing around doing nothing. He is good at lying in wait, at guarding, at being still with purpose. Being idle, not so much.
“Actually—” Tighnari starts, cutting himself off. “Turn around. It feels weird talking to your back.”
Cyno does as he’s told. He sees nothing but Tighnari’s head, floating on top of the water’s surface. The reflections are hiding the rest of Tighnari’s body. He looks more at ease already, clean of dirt and sweat.
“I could use some meat.”
It is an unusual request for Tighnari, who generally prefers vegetarian dishes despite his carnivorous ancestry.
“I could hunt something for us,” Cyno says.
Belying his words he doesn’t move, conflicted. Tighnari’s features soften.
“I will be fine on my own. Promise.”
The urge to protest rises in Cyno. He finds himself riddled with a protectiveness he’s unused to, the need to stay by Tighnari’s side near overwhelming. The days of waiting must have affected him stronger, mentally, than he thought.
As if in protest to his own reluctance, Cyno nods, and grabs his spear. He starts walking before his body can betray him by staying rooted to the spot. The more distance he puts between himself and Tighnari, the worse he feels but he keeps going regardless.
By the time he gets back to the oasis, Tighnari has emerged from the water. He is sitting by a fire he built, dressed in a version of his usual Forest Watcher outfit that’s been modified for the desert heat—no long-sleeved undershirt, no hooded shirt, his trousers pulled up past his knees. It’s a much more familiar sight.
“You were successful,” Tighnari notes, eyes fixed on the red vulture Cyno is carrying.
The vulture’s meat is tough but Tighnari devours it with the urgency of a starving man. Cyno quietly wonders if Tighnari’s backpack isn’t full of ration packs after all. Silence hangs between them as they eat, charged with unasked questions.
Tighnari speaks up first, when they’ve cleared away the bones and the fire has eaten its way through a second round of firewood. Tighnari’s hair has dried, and he is brushing oil into his tail carefully.
“What are you doing here?”
Cyno should be the one asking that.
“I tracked a scholar,” Cyno says, then amends. “I thought I was tracking a scholar.”
“And you ran across my tracks instead.”
Cyno nods.
“Guess not even I can escape the General Mahamatra,” Tighnari murmurs, eyes fixed on the brush gliding through his fur. He inhales deeply, then exhales.
“You must be wondering what I’m doing here.”
That Cyno is. He nods again, as encouragement.
Tighnari’s hands don’t stop moving, but they waver momentarily. He swallows, opens his mouth, closes it again. It does nothing to abate Cyno’s nerves. What could possibly be that hard to say? Is Tighnari involved in something illegal?
“I found this formation almost a decade ago,” Tighnari starts, conversationally. “On an old map in my father’s office. It is smack in the middle of a zone that was marked ‘inaccessible, no trespassing allowed, dead zone’. Whoever drew up the map scribbled “human made?” near it. No roads lead here.”
Cyno doesn’t quite understand how any of this is related to Tighnari’s condition, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“When it first started, I hid away in Avidya Forest, in a cave hidden in the Chinvat Ravine. I thought I was going to freeze to death.”
Cyno opens his mouth, about to ask what it is supposed to be, but Tighnari doesn’t give him the chance to interrupt.
“The next time I brought blankets, thick and heavy. They didn’t help.” Tighnari shudders at the memory. ”I figured that I needed to be in a warmer climate. That’s when I suddenly remembered my father’s map. Inaccessible. No trespassing allowed. Dead zone. It sounded like the perfect place stay unseen. So the time after that, I came here. I’ve been coming every year since then.”
“What for?” Cyno asks.
Colour spreads across Tighnari’s cheeks. Is he blushing…?
“It’s called ‘Estrus’,” Tighnari explains, sounding as if he’s giving one of his lectures. “More commonly known as… heat. It is a phase of—” Tighnari swallows, averts his gaze. He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “It is a phase of sexual receptivity.”
“Se- sexual receptivity?” Cyno croaks out. He must have heard Tighnari incorrectly.
Tighnari squirms, but nods. “It is characterized by a strongly increased drive to engage in sexual activity, to ensure reproduction.”
Cyno has heard of heats in mammals before. It’s why Tighnari closes off the Avidya Forests to any and all visitors—merchants, scholars and travelers alike—during the winter months. The chances of running into a Rishboland Tigress in heat are too high. But all the instances Cyno knows of apply to animals.
“Estrus is observed in many mammal species,” Tighnari says and Cyno wonders if he spoke his thoughts aloud. But Tighnari is not looking at him. “Valuka Shuna share an ancestry with Desert Foxes. As such, we also share some of their physiological features. The ears and tail being the most apparent ones, but the similarities go beyond what’s visible. A desert fox enters estrus once a year…” Tighnari lets his voice trail off.
And so do Valuka Shuna, Cyno completes.
“So during… estrus… Valuka Shuna have an increased drive to…”
“…mate,” Tighnari completes Cyno’s sentence. “Yes.”
If Tighnari had human ears, Cyno is sure they would be bright red. His own ears surely are. He’s never been more grateful that that they’re hidden behind his hair.
But something doesn’t add up. Cyno thinks back to how he had found Tighnari. Those had not been sounds of pleasure, no expressions of ecstasy. It had been agony that twisted his face and body alike, nothing less.
”And if a Valuka Shuna doesn’t manage to… mate… during that period?” The words stick to Cyno’s throat but he forces them out regardless of the embarrassment. Tighnari was definitely alone. No one could have snuck past Cyno either to join him.
Tighnari’s hold of his tail tightens. “We survive.”
He doesn’t add anything, but he doesn’t have to either. The state of anguish Cyno witnessed speaks for itself.
As far as Cyno is aware, Tighnari has no other close relationships aside from Cyno. He gets along well with almost everyone, and he has always been popular, but Tighnari doesn’t like to mingle. He cooperates where it will support his cause but those are strictly professional relations. Cyno cannot think of anyone Tighnari would turn to for these… phases. Then again, Tighnari has been keeping this entire thing a secret from him all this time. Perhaps there are other things Cyno doesn’t know about.
Suddenly Cyno can’t decide what thought is worse, imagining Tighnari going through excruciating pain on his own all those years or having someone else with him.
“Let me help you. Next time. I want to help.”
Cyno only realizes what he said when Tighnari looks at him with outright shock, eyes wide and face aflame with a blush.
“Cyno, you don’t realise what you’re offering,” Tighnari dismisses him, his voice shaking uncharacteristically even as his face remains expressionless.
Indignation sparks in Cyno’s veins.
“I do,” Cyno argues. It is a lie.
He is no Amurta scholar, he possesses no knowledge about heat cycles past the general concept, let alone heat cycles in humanoid hybrids. He has no idea what it would entail, to help Tighnari through his heat. It doesn’t matter. Anything to make sure Tighnari will not go through such pain on his own again. Cyno isn’t even sure if he can help, given his human biology, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.
Tighnari bites the inside of his cheek. He looks conflicted, and suddenly Cyno worries that he might have overstepped. This is an intimate affair, perhaps the most intimate, and he is in no position to claw his way into Tighnari’s private business.
“If you don’t want me to, I understand.” Cyno tries to make his voice sound as gentle as he can. “But I don’t make offers I’m not serious about.”
“I know,” Tighnari concedes, finally meeting Cyno’s gaze. He sighs, defeated. “I will think about it, okay?”
“Of course,” Cyno is quick to answer. “It’ll be a year before it happens again, right?”
Tighnari nods. Cyno nods as well, to himself. He looks at Tighnari with conviction.
“My offer stands.”