#altan fluff

"You're here? Again?"

Altan, with his bloodied eyebrow and busted lip, stretches his arms unceremoniously. "I'm here, again."

An irritated huff leaves your throat. You drop the beat-up clipboard in your hand on the cart nearby, grabbing the small basket usually packed with bandages and antiseptic. You had your head lowered, glaring at him from below while he only offers back a small smile.

It was already quite much considering Altan's usually stoic nature. Still, that smile of his won't excuse another night of fighting in the pits. At least to you it won't.

"How many fights was it this time?" You step on a stool to get on the patient bed. Said patient bed being a mere wooden table padded by a rather flat cushion. You place the basket beside you as well, to your left, while Altan laid on the table to your right.

He shifts on the bed, groaning under his breath. "Didn't keep track of it."

"You didn't keep track of it?" You hiss. Your head snapping to him with wide eyes. He looks away guiltily, willing himself to at least respond by shrugging. "You look like shit now," you scan him, looking over his uniform that had numerous splotches of dried blood. "Any of your limbs broken?"

"No," your brow cocks upward. "I swear."

You've been tending to Altan ever since he began fighting in the pits during first year. During which Enro, the Master of Medicine, had already took you in as a Medicine apprentice. You were the only one that showed any kind of enthusiasm towards the subject anyway.

So, now, you know waaay better than to just take Altan's words at face value. He never admits his injuries. Even when he's limping to the infirmary on a particularly rough couple of rounds at the pits, he'd take himself to the infirmary and tell you it's just cuts and bruises he needs tending to.

Despite that, he stays for hours in the infirmary. He doesn't even do anything. He stays there, staring at the ceiling while you walk around continuously as you do the hundredth task Enro’s entrusted you with.

Humming casually, you twist your body around and look over his legs. You easily decide it looks quite normal. Moving up his body, you put extra focus on the parts with dried blood. You almost almost let his words pass as true until you notice the way his right hand rested uncharacteristically flat on the table.

You reach a hand over, dropping it on his right wrist and there—Altan's nostrils flare and his jaw clenches way too harshly. Two indicators you've grown to memorize the more you tended to his wounds every pit night.

"No broken limbs huh?" You look at him with a deadpan expression. Altan purses his lips as a response. You sigh, "Okay, fine," before reaching over your basket to grab some water, antiseptic, and cloth. Like a routine, Altan ducks down to your level, keeping his mouth shut while you gently cleaned and disinfected the cuts and wounds on his face.

The silence stretches around the two of you comfortably. This kind of scenario now felt like an everyday occurrence.

Altan was never a close friend to you during the start of first year. In fact, you two were in entirely different, yet similar, leagues. Both of you isolated yourselves. You to focus on medicine and its taxing demands, him to… well, you honestly don't know. Just that you saw him most times with Irjah, then Jiang, then Jun. You only sat beside him a handful of times during lunch and dinner, barely spoke during classes, hardly glanced at each other.

If it weren't for one of your upperclassmen waking your entire batch up in the middle of the night to watch some underground pit fight in the Main Hall, you probably wouldn't have seen how vicious Altan actually fought. And without the fights, Altan would have definitely never known how much of the infirmary you actually ran even as a first-year.

Quiet patching up turned into small talks, which then turned into sitting together during lunch and dinner. From there, entirely, everything had simply snowballed.

The two of you sat beside each other in the Mess Hall, in the library, in the training grounds. Notes and assignments were exchanged. He helped you with combat, you helped him memorize the numerous diseases one could contract from rusted blades.

It was unnoticeable at first, but the comfortable shift of the atmosphere became more apparent the more he came.

Sometimes he came with food. Chewing on some meat bun he scourged around the kitchens for after beating a fellow second-year to unconsciousness. You always wondered if he ever got in trouble for bringing you food—or stealing from the kitchens in general.

"Was it Tobi again?" You ask quietly, staring at the nail marks all over his right arm as you walk over to the other side of the bed. The way his face sours gives you enough answer. "He's got sharp nails, damn. Do you think he lets them grow for his tiger claws?"

"I think he lets them grow because he's an infuriating son of a bitch," Altan spits.

He's never liked Tobi. Even during first year. The tao has had bad blood from the very first day. To be frank, you didn't like Tobi either. He always seemed to find himself knocked out on a random patient bed somewhere in the infirmary—Not in your corner, though. He's knocked out in another medicine apprentice's corner, but not yours—after swearing how that night is the night he beats Altan Trengsin.

Unfortunately, it never is that night.

You don't believe it will ever be that night.

Tobi's good at fighting, you admit, but Altan's just in an entirely different level. He's inhuman. He's simply not meant to fight normal people.

"I thought sharp nails aren't allowed?" You bring up, carefully handling his broken forearm now.

"Aren't they?" Altan asks back.

You shrug, sending back the same confused yet intrigued look. "Tobi really did a number on you. These look bad," you hover your hand on his, "Marked you up and broke your arm."

"You should've seen him," Altan scoffs. A slight hint of cockiness on his usually dull voice. "He lost so much blood at the start of the match that it stained the ground." You grimace even from just imagining it, meanwhile he's drawing on a smile from reminiscing. "Pretty sure you'll hear about it from your friend tomorrow."

Looking up at him from where you had been fixing a splint on his arm. "Please stop looking so enthusiastic about it. You're practically giving us more and more work."

"Enro’s still not giving you a break?" A snort-like sound leaves his lips.

You shake your head, pursing your lips, "How could I catch a break with the pit fights happening every night?"

Altan shifts on the bed, sitting up until he can lean forward, watching your movements closer. He didn't look the least bit sympathetic. In fact, he actually looked amused at your verbal jab. You shake him off, focusing on bandaging the splint when you feel a flick on the crown of your head.

"What the fuck?" Your head snaps up, knitting your eyebrows when you see Altan's lip curled at the corner.

"You complain too much," he responds coolly. Reclining until the back of his head rested on his left hand. Said hand bent at the elbow. "You should get used to it. You can't complain during wartime."

You squeeze his forearm, watching the very second his features strained. "Don't you tell me what to do, Altan Trengsin. I could leave you here right now. Let Enro tend to you tomorrow morning."

"You won't dare. I have training with Jun tomorrow," Altan warns. Then, as if realizing something, he springs up. You quickly press two fingers to his left shoulder, dropping him back down. "I have training with Jun tomorrow," he repeats, this time staring blankly at the ceiling. You feel him shake his head. "No, I can still train. I've trained with a cast before."

A yawn leaves your lips, clipping the edge of the bandage as you finish. "Just don't use your right hand."

"That's like telling me to walk on one leg," Altan's voice raises slightly. The kind of tone you normally attribute to irritation.

You lean your head on one knuckle, sitting on a stool a few feet away from him. "You can't walk on one leg?"

Altan's head moves to the side, glaring at you from where he laid. A few chuckles leave your lips, laughing at the look on his face as he rolls his eyes, muttering very funny underneath his breath.

For a moment, the two of you enter a state of comfortable silence. The soft hum of air coming in and out of the latticed wood slowly making you sleepier and sleepier. You don't normally fall asleep during your rounds. Most of the time you even have enough energy to advance study some topics for your classes the next day. There was just something in the air that seemed to cradle you right then and there.

Before you could feel yourself fall fully into sleepland, you hear a loud clang. Your eyes snap open, a snickering Altan coming immediately into view.

"You're an asshole," you glare at him, the steel cart he had just pushed into the neighboring patient bed still rolling away with a high-pitched creak.

"I need water," Altan coughs, slyly forming a grin. "I'm thirsty."

You throw him a cushion, landing straight in his hand as if that was what you aimed at in the first place. Not at his inhumanly handsome face. When Altan places the cushion underneath his head, slightly shuffling his shoulders trying to get comfortable, he sighs loudly, "Fine. I'll let you sleep since you offered me a pillow."

"Let you sleep my ass." But he’s throwing you back the cushion, resting when you shut your eyes for the remainder of the night.

The entirety of second-years were composed of thirty students. Twenty-eight of which were male, the remaining female. With that astonishing number, it was only right that every student were accountable for each of their laundry. After all, Sinegard Academy is a military school financed by the Empire of Nikara. It didn't have the luxury of personal washers that private academies had.

So every seventh day, the administration allowed the entire class to be brought down to the skirts of the mountain where they're then allowed to wash their own laundry for exactly one hour and thirty minutes. Any minute exceeding that would risk getting left out of the gate.

You, unfortunately, was a pretty generous person when it came to changing clothes. Having your own medium-sized basket filled to the brim with uniforms and undergarments. Of course, you didn't have to worry about carrying it though. Altan carried it. His three pairs of clothing placed gingerly above yours.

The entire stream was manned by students crouching over the water, scrubbing their linen clothes while chatting casually with others. A lot of the students had their own little group when doing their laundry, delegating tasks as if it was their own little home.

Both you and Altan weren't any different. Usually, you'd be the one soaping and rinsing the clothing while Altan would wring them out dry. Using his hard-earned muscles from day-night training to make sure every piece is dry and ready to be hung. Unfortunately with Altan's injury, he's set aside to carrying the clothes, handing you the dry, dirty clothes, and taking the freshly cleaned ones.

"Look at 'em, they're just lounging around," you nudge your head towards the group of four a few feet away from the two of you. They were Tobi's group. Surprisingly the boy was able to walk now considering his state the last time you saw him at the infirmary.

Altan spared them a single glance. His forehead creased heavily with the bright sun. "Is this your way of telling me we should change places?"

"Of course not," You roll your eyes at him, wringing out one of his tunics and handing it to him. "It's not everyday that Altan Trengsin's too injured to wash his own laundry." You smirk at him, grinning when you see the familiar look of irritation.

"Fine. Get up," he huffs.

"What?" You ask innocently.

It's his turn to roll his eyes. Arms crossing over his chest after setting the basket down, lowering to a squat beside you.

You look at him weirdly, inching away, "I was just kidding, Altan."

"I'm not," he says flatly. "Now move before I throw you in the water." His left brow nudges up, giving you a look that says he'd very much do it.

"But your hand," you pause, a sense of concern washing over you. Did you tease him too far? Was he genuinely offended? Is he insecure about— “You're doing this so I'll redo your bandages after, aren't you?"

When the familiar curve his lips appears, you suddenly feel a splash of water on the side of your face.

Altan Trengsin just splashed you with water. From a stream of water that was just used to clean liters of sweat off of your classmates' tunics. You two were positioned somewhere near the start of the stream but there were still three or four students washing in front of you two. The water wasn't all that clean.

Tonguing at your cheek, you slice your hand through the water and douse him. The cold water drenching the entire front of his face, some on his clothes. Before you could even relish the sweet taste of victory, coldness washes over you in such large amounts that you freeze, dumbfounded.

The stream wasn't all that deep, but it was still deep enough that you could submerge yourself underneath.

And now you were submerged underneath thanks to Altan Trengsin.

You scramble for a second before getting your footing. Swimming up to the surface only to see Altan continuing on washing both of your clothes as if he did not just pushed you into the water. The students near staring at you with shock.

"You asshole!"

Altan ignores you, holding up a familiar looking tunic of yours and wringing it out with one firm twist. He throws it behind him, shooting it right at the basket.

You take large steps towards the land, holding up your pants as heavy driblets of water dripped from every part of you. Your jaw was clenched so tightly, the cool breeze of the air willing your arm hairs up.

You stand over him, intentionally letting the water dripped on him. You pull your leg up, not bothering to think twice when you thrust it towards him.

It would have hit him. It should have hit him. You moved so fast that he shouldn't have been able to register what you were doing—but he did. He twisted his injured arm behind him, blocking your kick as if he had eyes on the back of his head.

He cranes his head back, looking at you. His brows had that lazy kind of raise that made his face look even more boyish than usual, as if mocking you all the more.

You would've cursed at him. Heck, the curse was already at the tip of your tongue but damn. He looked so… endearing like this. The usually dull cloud that surrounded him now gone as the sun shone down on his skin, making him look even more regal despite the mundane task he's currently doing.

Altan had always looked different; with his intimidating crimson eyes you knew from his Speerly heritage, and his features that seemed just as sharp as the silver three-pronged trident he yielded in Jiang's gardens.

He was always the only person you'd see even in a sea of people. Even when you were first brought to the main hall for the onboarding, a grand number of sixty students gathered, he was still the only one you saw.

Probably the only one you'd ever want to see.

But you don't let him know that, though. You'd never hear the end of it.

"Hey. Did the water freeze up your brain or what?" Warmth seeped in from your ankle. Specifically on that part where his arm came in contact with your now-dry skin.

"What?" You say, breathless. The way your chest heaved felt foreign, along with the rapid beating underneath.

This is weird. This is very weird.

The warmth at your ankle now disappears as his back turns to face you.

"I said you're gonna get a cold," Altan responds, as if he wasn't the reason you're drenched right now. Resuming whatever it was he had been doing a second ago. The dirty clothing slowly decreasing with each one he takes and washes. "You should head up and get changed. I'll just bring these up."

Feeling a weird churning in your stomach, you find yourself unable to form words in your mouth. Whatever voice it was inside your mind, it won over your body as you turn around and walk away.

The days that followed the incident by the streams were grueling.

It felt like some higher being had played a cruel, cruel joke on you because now, you can't look at Altan and not have your heart in your throat. Even when you two are just studying beside each other, a mountain of books separating you two, you still find yourself giddy with each glance you try to steal.

Each one felt like a crime. One that you shouldn't be doing against your only friend in Sinegard because you know what the consequences would be.

You try your best to busy yourself. Filling your head with things other than Altan Trengsin and his infuriating stoic charm. You've put in extra efforts in the infirmary, shocking even Enro herself when you personally volunteer to oversee the soldiers that were being aided in the academy's grounds just so you wouldn’t have to see him in your corner of the infirmary.

When you slept, it was simply because you'd exhausted every fiber in your being studying topics that would probably be discussed months from now. Not because you chose it in the first place.

When you studied with him in the library, you were focused the entire time. Your nose basically one with the books already. Nothing but small talk, questions of do you understand this? exchanged between you both.

When you ate beside him, you all but shove every piece of food into your mouth and usher out. When it’s the day of the month to wash your clothes, you sneak out a day early to wash yours alone.

That act of yours, plus a whole lot of other subtle avoidances, did not go unnoticed by Altan. However, he didn’t just call you out on a random day, or asked you while the two of you headed to the Mess Hall; no, he let the days pass first because Altan, ever the calculative and strategic man that he is, made sure to speak to you in a place you wouldn’t be able to leave.

So you couldn’t just walk away from him like how you’d been acting the past week.

He cornered you in the infirmary, in such a manner that seemed so much like a déjà vu with how he laid there on the patient bed, bloodied cuts and bruises littered all across his face, his clavicle suffering a minor fracture.

And at that moment, you couldn’t find that same voice in your head yelling at you to avoid him and save the friendship.

You couldn’t find the strength to just turn away from him and have a classmate tend to him, solidify that wall you’re building up around your heart. You just couldn’t. Not when he’s lying there, face to the ceiling, letting the air suffocate you both—him, especially, in physical pain.

When you grab the basket for bandages and antiseptics, Altan’s bringing himself up without a word. Letting you work your hands on his face. Warm breath ghosting over your skin. He had his eyes on you the entire time. You, you had yours on his nose, eyebrow, lips—everywhere but those crimson ones of his.

“You’re avoiding me,” Altan spoke, voice rough and firm, like a soldier. His tone offered no rebuttals. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not,” you suck your teeth tightly, breathing out a chuckle to make it seem believable.

“Bullshit.” His eyes narrow, forehead knitting together as he dips his head. Trying to catch your gaze which you stubbornly tried to keep on his collarbone. The bare skin so smooth, it felt unusual considering how roughly Altan treats his body.

The air feels even heavier, impossibly so. Starting to think how you couldn’t possibly get past this night alive and still friends.

You work the cream medicine on his skin, blinking constantly, body working on autopilot. Desperate to get this over with. The hammering in your chest grew stronger by the second, the longer you felt his eyes boring into the side of your face. Almost like he was daring you to look his way even just once.

When you didn’t, you hear his voice again. The very tone of it sending shivers down your spine. “I don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

Wiping off the leftover cream on your uniform, you stake a step back. Finally finding the courage to look him in the eyes.

And gods, did you regret it.

“You’re overreacting, Altan,” you try to sound casual. It obviously failed because his face twists even more. “Make sure not to put anything heavy on your shoulder, okay? The fracture’s still there even if it’s just a minor.” You put on a smile too, tight lips stretching.

The way Altan looked at you then was a notch stronger than whatever you felt in your stomach. Something way harsher, like it was the first and only time he had ever felt offended. His eyes weren’t narrowed now. They weren’t staring at you as sharply as they had been before. His forehead had smoothed over, lips pursed into a singular line.

Now, his face held no emotions. Nothing. Blank.

Like the Altan you had first seen, the Altan that spoke to no one, looked at no one, interacted with no one, had come back.

To you, this was worse. Way worse.

When his mouth parts, he delivers the final blow. “You’re my friend.”

No, actually, it wasn’t him that delivers it.

“And that’s what I’m being.”

It was you.

“I’ll be heading off now!” Mei, the only female student aside from yourself, waved loudly as she left the door. Going back to her home province for the seasonal break.

You were going back home too, though you still had another night to spend in the dormitories since your parents would be coming by tomorrow morning. It wasn’t a problem though, staying in it alone. You’re used to it anyway. After all, you had spent the past month doing all of your work alone.

That night at the infirmary did leave you alive, but it took your only friend though.

Altan took it upon himself to reciprocate the avoidance and more. He didn’t even just avoid you, he was practically a ghost.

You couldn’t see him in the general classes for medicine, you couldn’t see him in the Mess Hall, and you couldn’t even see him in that spot you both claimed as yours.

Every night when the fighting ensued in the fighting pits, he never showed himself at your corner of the infirmary. Actually, he never showed himself in any part of the infirmary. It was like he took whatever beating he got and just shunned it away.

The desperation to catch even a mere glimpse of him reached its maximum when you, of all people, went down to the fighting pits. To where Altan Trengsin ceased to be a second-year student, presenting himself as nothing but a fighting machine ready to take down any and all of his opponents.

When that happened, gods, you forgot how suffocating the fighting pits were. How barbaric it was. How gruesome and hateful. Even still, despite all that red and violet across his body, Altan Trengsin still glowed the brightest in it; in the blood of his challengers, in the loud roars of the crowd.

Your eyes locked with his pulsing crimson ones when he’d knocked down a particular third-year opponent. The entire sea of students seemingly disappearing at that short second.

For a moment there, your heart stopped. The urge to risk it all reaching its all-time high.

But then Altan looked away. His nose scrunched, eyes reverting back to its blank ones as he thrusts his arm in victory.

You never came back to the fighting pits again. And still, he never came back to the infirmary.

The wind whistled into quaint four walls of your dormitory, blowing the neatly stack of your clothes that was on Mei’s futon. You groan, sliding off of yours to rearrange it again. Then, the wind whistles again. This time, it blows away the two lamps you had lit since it was night time already.

“Damn it,” you mutter under your breath. You stand up fully, rushing over to the windows to shut it. Once shut, you grab the remaining lit candle and use it to find the bundle of matches you had stashed.

You bend slightly, match in hand, the thin wooden stick already burning at the tip when you notice the lamp lit up even before you touched it.

“What—“ your body freezes.

There’s someone by the door.

“Mei? Did you come back?” You keep your eyes on the fire. Praying to every god there is that it was just Mei and she forgot something.

“She left already,” but Mei didn’t have the voice of a man. She didn’t have Altan’s voice. This one did. “I’m surprised you haven’t.”

Your voice betrays you the moment you open your mouth. “What’re you doing—woah, hey, calm down now,” you lunge forward, his entire body weight falling onto your shoulders as his legs just give out. The two of you falling down the cold floor.

Confused, you try to look at him but his head was all over the place. Sweeping side-to-side in a kind of drowsy way that you had never really seen him do before. His hands were as jelly as his head, weighing down your shoulders as if he had no strength to hold him up.

You had to bite back a scoff at your thoughts. Altan Trengsin having no strength? That’s funny.

But he did have no strength. If it weren’t for your hand grabbing his chin and tilting his own head, he probably wouldn’t be able to lift up his on his own.

“Altan—What’s wrong? What happened? Why’re you so… why’re you acting like this?” The questions leave your mouth continuously. Each one more concerned than the last.

Your eyes were practically begging his to answer, meanwhile he seemed to be on cloud-fucking-nine.

“Hello? Trengsin?” You raise your voice. “Did you fight in the pits again? I swear—wait, but that’s impossible. The others already left, you wouldn’t have anyone to fight with, and Sonnen already—” You knit your eyebrows, growing even more confused.

His eyes blink slowly, never really leaving yours. His lips stretching into a strange smile.

You sniff out of instinct. An earthy, almost medicinal, and weirdly floral scent infiltrates your nostrils. A kind of smell that you had only encountered once when Enro made you smell every possible known drug for your own awareness and research.

It took you a second to distinguish it out of the numerous ones you smelt before.

It was opium. Poppies.

Altan had been smoking poppies. Was smoking poppies.

“Oh no,” your arms wrap around him before you could even second guess yourself. The realization of what happened washing over you like ice cold water.

His body softens underneath yours. The heat from your body seeping through his black clothing. You feel his arms moving, but you feel nothing in your body, already suspecting his hesitation.

You let the moment settle before you pull away, eyes now looking at him with worry more than anything else. You see that lazy, restful look still on his face. Features eased so much that it made him look younger, more innocent, more boyish.

He surprises you with his next words. “I missed you,” his voice was shaky, “Fuck, you don’t understand—I missed you so much.” You feel his hand come over the one you had placed on his right shoulder, his usually warm palm was now icy.

No words could come out of your mouth. Hell, no words were even in your head when you registered what he said.

“I thought—you said… You said you’re my friend. You said you’re being my friend,” his voice held no weight to them, though you know it was only because of his state.

“I am,” you tell him softly. “I am being your friend.”

“Then why?” He barks out now, body surging forward. But he softens, again, and his voice drops softly, gently, stripped off of the military firmness he always carried, “Why are you avoiding me?”

You couldn’t hold yourself to lie anymore. So you speak, “Because I wouldn’t want to be your friend anymore if I didn’t, Altan.”

His brows curl upwards, the crimson in his eyes pleading at you. “I’m not following.”

A heavy sigh leaves your lips.

Slowly, you inch forward. Shutting off every voice you hear as your lips press onto his hairline. The hand you had in his left shoulder slowly snaking up to the back of his head, pushing him ever so gently until his forehead touched your shoulder.

“Sleep, Altan. Sleep.”

A beat passes.

“But you’d be gone,” he mumbles.

You lick your lips. A singular tear falling down your cheek.

“I won’t.”

Students at Sinegard Academy come from colorful lines of families. Most of them fighting for which father holds greater power over another's. Which student came from a powerful province, and which came from provinces too poor and ignored that others forget about it.

Thankfully, you don't have to bother comparing families because yours never came from a province. You never came from the all-prestigious entrance exam—Keju. Instead, your ticket to the academy was because of your family and Master Jiang's persistence.

Your family was one of the original families tasked with working as keepers and attendants of the revered academy.

As a child, you lived at one of the small houses near the gates of the academy. Helping your family out by watering the plants around the gardens, arranging minuscule things that need arranging. Essentially stewarding the academy during holidays and break. 

When the age came to take the Keju, naturally you didn't get the highest score. Not with you being a resident of Sinegard anyways.

Despite that, one fortunate meeting with Jiang Ziya lead you to getting a shot in the academy. You were just watering the plants in his garden when he see you, eyes swelling and mouth grinning.

He had asked you one singular question then: are you smart?

You answered no with your whole chest. He let out the loudest laugh afterwards, telling you to wait until the start of the classes.

You don't know about the particulars on how Jiang managed to get the administration to let you study at Sinegard Academy despite failing almost every requisite there is. You think it's simply because Jiang wanted to piss off the administration, wanted to see how much bullshit he can pull before they kick him out.

Clearly you weren't enough bullshit because he's still there. Most of all, he's your master. You're his apprentice. Only one, too.

The terms that came with you entering Sinegard was that you still have to work as a steward over the campus grounds. You had to catch up, juggle, and advance your studies all the while maintaining your responsibilities as an attendant.

Fortunately you never had been around your classmates too much during your first year. That small factor helped greatly with you ignoring any unnecessary opinions from your peers.

Now, with the change of uniform from the traditonal Sinegardian student uniforms with your Lore armband to the old and cut-up uniforms of the campus attendants, students from your year barely recognize you as they line up every breakfast, lunch, and dinner for their food.

One of the things you found rather interesting, but at times heavily tiring, as an attendant were mess hall duties.

Having mess hall duties meant overhearing the occasional chatter during breakfast, lunch, and even the usually quiet dinner. It varied greatly with the crowd.

First-years usually race towards the mess hall, carrying with them an enthusiasm you'd never expect from someone training to be a pawn in the country's military.  Only a quarter of them held at least a semblance of respect for attendants like you, the remainder din't really bother much with the custom.

Second-years usually dribble in countable groups. By then, the numbers of students have already been halved and so individuals either find a circle, or eat on their own. Regardless, you'd found that they stay for a maximum of fifteen minutes before the books of the library call their name.

Third-years, fourth-years—even fifth-years—are pretty much ancient texts. You mistake them for your fellow attendants or even mentors most of the time, with their taut and exhausted faces and deep dark circles under their eyes. They hardly cared though. They would mutter a simple thank you or a shallow bow before grabbing their steamed bun and leaving.

Today, the mess hall was pretty rowdy. The tables allotted for the first-years were buzzing with students sharing their plans for the upcoming lantern festival.

It was a three-day celebration. The administration suspended the classes on the last day of the week so students would have three days of rest. Many spoke about heading back to their province. Something about their parents sending carriages in advance so as to waste not much time.

"Do you plan on going back to your province too?" You suddenly ask the student in front of you. Having been debating about sprinkling in some social interaction into your otherwise monotonous and boring day-to-day job at the mess hall.

The student, tall, dark, and foreign-looking, looks at you with surprise. His sharp and thick brows shooting upwards. He looked fairly your age. Familiar too.

"I mean for the lantern festival. Are you going back home?"

He blinks at you. Lips pressed into a thin line.

Move the line! You hear someone say. Your eyebrows furrow, the line wasn't even that long! God forbid you talk to someone other than your fellow attendants. Still, you don't look away from the man in front of you.

He tries to open his mouth but no words follow. Only that awkward silence that makes you look even more like a loser.

"Sorry," you look away then, handing him the remaining food he should have gotten moments ago.

Just as confused, he nods. Turning away sharply, sitting at the farthest corner of the mess hall. You watch in sheer fascination as he sets his food down, back straight and strict, scooping the contents of his soup to his mouth in a fast pace. You'd only been watching him for a short moment before he's already heading out of the mess hall.

That's weird, you think. I think I prefer it if the person'd just cuss me out instead of making me look like a loser.

Huffing out a breath, you turn around and continue to serve the remaining students in line.

When the afternoon rush finishes, you eat your own lunch at one of the stone benches at the edge of the third tier. Sitting beside another mess hall attendant, a bowl of stew on your lap as you overlook the small group of students training at the lower-tiered courtyard.

"Are they second-years or first-years?" You ask. The distance way too far for you to make out the distinction.

"Second-years. They have an armband," your father's voice, deep and scratchy, answers. "The armbands look fairly new too."

You hum, watching them curiously. The synchronized movements of the class proving to be a way better form of amusement than you thought. You watch as they swing the wooden object in their hands, twirling it into the air before slicing it through. The distant hyah! from them contributing to the experience.

They seem to be doing a routine. Each movement perfectly curated to mimic something like a performance. Repeating continuously until mastery, you believe. You've watched them for the entire ten minutes, your bowl untouched, and they still haven't paused to take a break.

"Gods, I remembered hating that," you say ever so casually.

"Good thing you're not in combat. You're in that lousy class Lore," your father says in contrary. Raising an eyebrow as he glances at you.

You take a spoonful of stew. "Better than nothing. You'd be surprised with the amount of things I learn from Jiang," you say lightheartedly, letting your shoulders relax.

Your father clicks his tongue, tearing apart his bread and giving you half. You ask him, "Do we have any plans for the festival?"

"No," your father answers.

"Not even a proper supper? C'mon… we can stir up a few meals from the ingredients in the kitchen!"

"You don't even know how to cook. You'd just be giving your mother more work," your father responds back, that smooth look on his face as he closes his eyes, just in time for his daily meditation.

You don't think he should meditate immediately after eating but hey, you'd just get scolded if you say anything about it.

Keeping your eyes trained on the group, they finally get their rest just as you hear your name get yelled out.

"Bring this to Master Jiang. He forgot to come by for food," your mother says, handing you a wooden tray with a full bow of stew, three meat buns, and a cup of tea. You wonder how he would digest such a meal with a measly cup of liquid.

"Mother, I don't think he forgot…" you take the tray with both hands, already knowing that every food on it would just find its place in your stomach a few moments from now.

Your mother shakes her head, shooing you away as she takes your seat beside her husband, smacking the meditating man awake and scolding him.

You hike up the stone steps, up the spiraling staircase to Jiang's garden. "Master! Speak if you're here!" You sing-song as you go inside the gate, receiving nothing in response. Which, literally, answers your question perfectly.

Taking a seat at one of the benches, you dig in his food. You've known now, from the many times you were told to bring him food, that if he ever forgot to go to the mess hall for a meal, he didn't really forget. He simply chose not to. That's either because he has some better things to do like bother Jun, or look for people to pester down at the busy districts of Sinegard.

Anyway, that simply meant more food for you.

Who were you to deny yourself of such pleasure?

You were in the midst of eating your second meat bun when you feel a heavy presence by the tall sets of bushes to your right. Carefully, you turn your head just slightly. Ready to curse out your master in case it's one of his pranks.

It's not one of his pranks, though, because it's a man standing there and not that white-haired fool.

Wouldn't you know—it's the same tall man that ignored you earlier at the mess hall too! This time, a silver prong protruded from his back, peeking just slightly, glinting from the sunlight.

"You're being weird, you know that right?"

He maintains his silence. Simply quirking his head to the side as if he never heard you in the first place.

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to your tray. Dropping the meat bun on it, suddenly losing your appetite at such an introverted guest. You look back again, ready to call him out once more, only for him to disappear into thin air.

"This guy…" you sigh, shaking off the nerves. You decided on reading your textbook instead, one Jiang had personally stolen from the forbidden section of the main library.

"It's you!" Your words come out way more enthusiastically than you had intended. The finger you had mindlessly pointed at the man got a deep scowl in response. "You come here too?"

He closes the book with a loud thump. "It's a library."

"Technically it's the forbidden section. Technically forbidden means you're not allowed to go there," you say as-a-matter-of-factly.

"Well, you aren't allowed here either," the man retorts, lifting himself up from the floor only for you to stop him.

"Woah, woah, hey—I'm not going to rat you out, don't worry. You can keep reading, I don't really mind! I just came here to read too," you tell him, holding your hands out to prove you weren't a threat.

He snorts, "How perfect."

"Wow, rude."

His brow arches. The light from your lamp lighting the space just enough for you to notice the subtle movement.

You look towards his bicep. "Strategy?"

He doesn't look to yours. Instead he says, "Jiang took you in."

"Yeah, well, he didn't really have a choice. He wanted me here, he needs to take me in. Besides, I never liked Strategy or Combat," you blurt out, hoping he wouldn't notice the sudden word vomit.

"What do you mean?" Well that clearly piqued his interest.

You grin, "You're interested?"

His face tenses. Forehead creasing as his lips slip into a tight line. The exact same look he had when he stood in front of you at the mess hall.

"See, you're doing that again!"

"Doing what?"

"Being fucking weird," you say annoyedly, "First, you ignore me at the mess hall. Second, you hid and watched me eat at Jiang's garden earlier. Now you're here."

"I didn't ignore you," he counters, "and this is the library. It's a public place."

"So you're agreeing?" You cross your arms this time, mimicking his own stance. His face twists in confusion even more. "You're agreeing that you were watching me eat at Jiang's garden?"

A sound leaves him. Somewhere between a disbelieving scoff and a snort. "You're exactly like Jiang."

"No I'm not, I don't smoke during classes." He turns his head to you, movement so sharp you felt the whiplash. "Just kidding…?"

"Hm. You can have the library. I'm leaving," he grunts, walking past you.

"Already? You aren't even interested in why Jiang took me in Lore?" You ask, sounding a bit way too desperate for you like but you quite literally have no friends in your three whole years of studying at the academy.

You need one now.

He pauses, just a few steps from the door. He looks over his shoulder, eyes losing themselves in yours, "No." With that he leaves the room, closing the door shut behind him.

A scoff escapes you, "Douchebag."

You spent that evening reading up on the list of unconventional books Jiang had previously ordered you to. Truth be told it's been about two weeks since you last saw him. You have no idea on what the hell you're supposed to do now that you've finished reading and writing five-paper reflections on each book.

The next time you see that blunt fellow wasn't at the mess hall, it's at the mandatory triage classes Enro held.

"Wow, are we that close of friends that you're sitting beside me in classes now?" You say jokingly, grinning at the stone-faced man.

"I'll sit on the floor," he stands.

You pull at the sleeve of his tunic, "Just kidding! C'mon, sit down. At least I'd have someone to talk to while Enro's killing everyone silently."

"I'd rather get killed by Enro," you hear him murmur. He sits back down nonetheless, huffing out an annoyed breath as he crosses his arms.

"What's your name?" You ask him, offering a friendly smile.

He looks at you.

With a sigh, he answers, "Altan."

Happily, you give him your name in return. Quite content that at least now you and this Altan is on the second level of friendship among its many levels. He doesn't seem the least bit happy of getting a friend but hey, who knows, maybe he was just a tough nut to crack.

The first few minutes of class pass by excruciatingly boring. Something about the kinds of toxic substances everyone must know. You didn't really bother much with paying attention. You were seated at the back, and Enro hardly ever called on students. If she did, she usually called on the student beside you. Altan would answer her questions in a heartbeat, quick and correct, always precisely the answer Enro was looking for.

"How did you know that?" You had asked Altan after a particularly tricky question.

He shrugs, "I read."

"Was that what you were reading last night?"

He shrugs again. This time offering not even a word but a simple jerk of his shoulders.

"I'm really curious," you try again, leaning back on the wall behind you, "How come I don't really remember you during our first year… you're a third-year too, right?"

"Maybe you were too busy buddying up with the other first-years," he responds. It still lacks the enthusiasm, but at least it was more than five words.

"I didn't have any friends during my first year, if that's what you're thinking."

He turns his head to you, raising his eyebrows disbelievingly, "With how talkative you are, I doubt it."

A small smile comes on your lips.

"What are you smiling about now?" He sighs, rolling his eyes at you.

"Gods, it's nothing, Altan. Can't I smile anymore? Would've you preferred if I sobbed right here, right now?"

"Go ahead," he scoffs. 

Unfortunately for him, you are a student of Jiang Ziya.

So you suddenly drop your head, letting a loud sob slip from your lips, crying Altan's name like he'd just broken your heart seconds ago. You could already feel the eyes on you, the way you feel an insistent nudge at your knee. You sob again, this time louder.

Now it's Enro asking the entire class what's wrong with you. Altan cutting in to say it's nothing.

"Cut it out," he says, close enough that you were the only one hearing it. "I said cut it out." He elbows your side, voice coming out stricter.

You lift your head, wiping off imaginary tears as you apologize to the class. "My apologies, Master Enro. It will not happen again," you say, ignoring the lingering whispers and the shameful look coming from Altan himself.

When Enro turns back to her lecture, you turn your head to Altan. A cheeky smile gracing your face, counteracting the death glare he was currently sporting.

This is going to be so much fun, you think.

When you see Altan at the library, in the forbidden section no less, he still makes an effort to get as far away from you. The only difference now is that he didn't fully leave the library.

To you that's good enough progress… especially since now you actually have a human being also reading with you, not just ghosts of whoever.

The more you pester him around, the more talkative he gets. Though most of his words are always laced with some kind of passiveness or sarcasm, sometimes he genuinely asks about you. Like how you got into Sinegard, how Jiang's actually lecturing you in your Lore classes, and now, where he's asking about how your family got into the job of stewarding the campus.

The two of you were somewhere by the third tier, overlooking the same group of combat students you overlooked before with your father. The tray of food Jiang failed to get sat between you and Altan.

"I think it was my great-great-grandfather from my mother's side, I'm not a hundred percent sure. When I ask about it to my family, they always tell me fate just decided best for them to be the keeper of the mountain. I think they're being dramatic," you explain, biting through the piece of bread.

"That's rude. You calling your family dramatic," Altan remarks.

You glare at him, "Altan, do not tell me what's rude. You're ruder than I am."

"Am not."

"You are. You ignored me that first time I talked to you in the mess hall," you point out. The resurfacing memory making you cringe internally. You probably looked so stupid then.

He thinks it over for a moment, the downward jerk of the sides of his lips tells you he remembers it exactly the way you say it.

Then, he says, "I don't really remember that."

"I asked you if you had any plans for the lantern festival," you replied, your memory popping up at the right time. "Actually, now that you're here, do you have any plans for the lantern festival?"

He blinks at you.

"No."

"Oh," his face stiffens for a moment, visibly caught off-guard. "Well if you want you can spend the holiday with us!"

There's a heaviness in the air from his side of the bench. You see the quiet debate within his own mind, pretty obvious now that you've found yourself always floating to his side whenever the situation allows, his mannerisms now docked permanently in your brain.

You wait patiently, keeping a small hopeful smile on your face.

Finally, he exhales a breath. "Has Jiang given you a new set of readings?"

Oh, you think, It's fine. I can ask him again next time.

"He did," you feign an exasperated sigh, reading towards the waistband of your pants and handing him the small piece of parchment where Jiang made you write the list. "I think I'm one more reading list away from finish every text there is in the forbidden section."

Altan snickers, taking the parchment from you as he looks through it thoughtfully.

The topic about the lantern festival doesn't come up the rest of that day, or any other day forward. You've tried dropping hints about it here and there hoping he'd catch onto it, he never did. Well even if he did, he never said anything about it.

Now it is that day of the break. The first day.

The entirety of the academy's grounds are dead silent. Barely any soul walking by as everyone else had already gone back to their home provinces yesterday, refusing to waste any rest time.

You on the other hand couldn't really leave the campus even if you wanted to. Your home was literally by the gate, the lone bungalow where you and your family retire to every break and end-of-classes.

The couch in your living room had definitely seen better days, with you lying on it since your eyes had opened. Not bothering to stand even if you felt the call of the bathroom. You barely have any time to actually rest, so you're taking this break as leisurely as you can.

Sinegard Academy's spot in the mountainside of Wudang Range was actually very airy. The cool winds seeping into the windows lulling you to sleep every time.

"Wake up!"

You peel open your eyes. The angry scowl of your mother comes into your immediate view. "What?" Right from there, you feel a harsh slap of a rolled-up newspaper on your shin.

Apparently, your mother's fury is all because of a singular head of cabbage your father forgot to carry with him when the two of them were walking through the market earlier that day. You couldn't even complain, the savory smell from the kitchen already has you standing up.

Before you leave, you sneak a spring roll in your mouth. The crispiness of the wrapper was downright mouth-watering.

You grab an oil lamp, hiking your way up the stone grounds of Sinegard Academy, wearing on your wrist the link holding the campus keys. You go into the gigantic cooking area of the mess hall. Pulling aside the curtain to the pantry as you look for cabbage.

While you rummage through, you overhear rummaging from a different part of the kitchen entirely. You discreetly take the cabbage from the crate. Peeking just slightly through the curtains, you spot a very, very familiar figure.

"Trengsin?" 

The figure stiffens, broad shoulders lifting.

Slowly, his head turns to your direction. The way realization dawns on his face almost comically has you laughing loudly. His eyebrows were knitted in a way that so clearly expresses his distaste. The slight stretch on his lips, a scowl at you already. 

"When you kept ignoring my invitation, I thought it'd be because you were going back to your province. Yet here you are stealing—" You glance down. He held bags of thickly sliced carrots, three eggs, and a piece of celery. "—do you own a pet bunny?" You can't help but ask, eyes still squinted as you eye the contents in his arms, not entirely sure on what the purpose for those things are. 

"Do I own a pet bunny," he repeats your question. 

Your features keep still. 

He scoffs at you, back turning, making his way to the door. 

Even more confused, you trail after him. Making sure to lock the back door of the mess hall as you leave. "Wow, someone's got a stick up their ass," you say loudly, walking beside him with your arms crossed. The cabbage in your hand poking out like a sore thumb. "Can't someone ask questions now?" 

Altan glares at you, lips pursing into a thin line. "It's my food." 

Oh, you think, Maybe he's making a salad?

"No, I'm not making a salad." The glare is quickly replaced by a knowing look. Almost as if to show that it wasn't just you beginning to remember things about him, but also him to you. Though it's clear he's still snippy with his tone, "I'm eating it as is." 

"Don't you know how to cook?" 

He answers, "No." 

"Oh. Then where are you heading now?" 

Another sigh, "Somewhere." 

Somewhere? What the fuck is that? It's the break, isn't it? He shouldn't even have made it past the gate in the first place. 

"Are you meeting… ah, well, someone?" you ask. 

Now he shakes his head. Something in his eyes feels like he's keeping his guard up, as if you're next words would decide how your friendship with him should progress.

When your eyes light up right then, he feels something in him tense even more. "Perfect! Come to my home then! We're having a traditional dinner in honor of the festival." The genuine smile on your face disarms him. It always does. Altan wonders how he still hasn't built enough walls to resist it. 

Still, his pride seems to make up for the lack of walls. "No. It's too far." 

"Actually it's right here," you halt your steps, extending out the arm holding the oil lamp to reveal a stone door. Your parents' indistinct conversation floating outside the bungalow thanks to the open windows at the sides. You grin at him, "No excuses now huh, Trengsin?" 

Whether or not Altan found your words and invitation amusing did not show in his face. He still had his features pulled to a taut, unreadable expression. You had zero clue as to what was going on in his mind, but you're more committed than anyone to not let him spend the break alone. 

He's your closest friend after all. Though you're sure he'd cringe if you call him that. 

"I can't," he murmurs, "I need to head back now." 

"It's just one dinner, Altan," you tell him, though your voice held no bite now. It was careful, hopeful. "C'mon, just spend the dinner with us. Mother made way too much anyway. I think she predicted your presence so she made a lot," you laugh at the end, trying to pull out even so much as a subtle sound of amusement from him. Anything to tell you that he's actually considering it. 

When he doesn't budge, glancing between the lights of your home seeping through the wooden door and the light-ridden stone path leading to the dorms, you feel your palms sweat. Altan's wordlessly rejected you so many times already, now, you worry, he'd finally verbally reject you.

Fortunately, fate seems to be on your side because someone comes out from your home. You hear that familiar creeeek, then your father's voice follows, calling out your name harshly, "You've been there all this time and you didn't even come in? Your mother's going to kill me if you don't get that damn cabbage to her now."

Your lips part, stuck in your spot facing Altan. 

"Please?" 

"You haven't had tangyuan before? Seriously? Have you even lived before?" 

Altan stifles a choked up laugh at your father's dramatic tone, with his wrinkly eyes wide open, jaw hanging as if genuinely dumbfounded. "I… I just never had the chance to try them," it was probably your first time seeing him speak so politely, look so politely. 

Your father shakes his head harshly, reaching to the center of the small wooden table and personally serving two balls of rice cakes onto his bowl. Pouring the extra sauce over the two cream-colored delicacies. He looks at you, eyes confused, begging for some help with your father. 

You smirk, ignoring him and paying your full attention to your plate. 

The food were just simple, basic, made by the same hands that cook food for the students every day and yet Altan finds it way more delicious. Heavenly, even. When that first spring roll crunched in his mouth, small flakes flying everywhere, the explosion of flavors coating his tastebuds, he genuinely felt his stomach expand. 

He wonders if such a taste was because it was made without the budgetary restrictions of the administrators, or perhaps because of the occasion. A glance at you tells him it's neither. 

It was the company that made it all the more delicious.  

Your parents' inquire on the peculiarity of his daily living with the same amount of curiosity you once did. They gasp whenever Altan tells them he hasn't tasted much besides what the mess hall serves, they gasp even more when Altan answers a question about his personal life. 

"So you don't find anybody cute in the academy? You don't receive any gifts during Valentine's day?" 

Yes, his fight or flight instincts almost took him. Even still, he answered them as truthfully as he could, ignoring the way you eye at him with guarded interest. 

"I do…" he says carefully, "…but I don't really pay it any mind. I throw it away."  

"That's rude," you interject. 

Finally, at your voice, his shoulder eases. "I didn't ask for it in the first place," he reasons out, teasing. 

The two of you lock eyes. The corner of his lip slowly rising when he notices color rising on your cheeks. You looked away, suddenly finding the steamed bok choy interesting. 

He takes notice of your mother's outstretched hand in his direction, taking the big bowl of lotus root and pork soup and handing it to her, all the while keeping his eyes on your profile. 

And if that wasn't the most amusing part of the entire dinner, your father personally inviting him to accompany you at the lantern festival near Jade District definitely was. You complained then, telling your father you were fine by yourself. Your father, in response, ignored your complaints. Roping in your mother as well.

Altan may have laughed at the family bickering then, but the invitation lingers in his head even now where you walk him out of the bungalow. 

"Ignore them. They're insane," you tell him, rubbing at your arms. 

Knowingly, he draws his own oil lamp closer to you. Your shoulders easing just as his once did. 

"Coming from you?" He huffs, eyebrows raising. 

"Yes," you say sassily, "They're old people, Trengsin. You really shouldn't take their word seriously." 

"Huh. I didn't think you'd be the type of person to take back an invitation." 

It's your turn to huff. "Excuse me?" Your tone raises, head tilting to the side. "It was my father that invited you. I didn't."

He keeps silent, watching you step around in circles. 

Your head perks up. He arches an eyebrow. 

"You know, if I didn't know you any better, I'd think you'd actually wanna come to the festival." A thoughtful grin grows on your lips as you search through his unreadable expression. You gasp, "Wait, do you?" 

As if the entire night wasn't already entirely out of his plans, he laughs at you. A real, unrestrained laugh. Boyish and free. Something you haven't heard. Another thing to add to the mental list you kept of every new thing you discover in him. 

His voice drops to a whisper, broad shoulders you know all too well facing you, a hand lifting as if to tell you to head back home. 

"Thank you for the dinner, idiot."

"Rin, are you sure we won't get in trouble?"

Rin, who'd been sitting at the bow since the boat departed hours ago, shakes her head with a wide enthusiastic grin. "Oh I'm sure. You're gonna love it in the island," she assures you, eyes widening just a little more when the familiar silhouette of the island of Speer appears.

"I don't know… I'm feelin' a little too old for this," you cross your arms, leaning on a nearby wooden crate. Kitay strolls in, "Because you are. You're already working, while we're still studying."

"If I throw you off this boat you won't be studying," you shoot him a sharp glare before craning your head to the other side—to the island.

You weren't really a student of Sinegard Academy anymore… well, not for the past two years. You've graduated and enlisted in the Sinegardian Reserve Forces thanks to Jima's recommendation. Since then, you've worked part-time in Sinegard Academy as a secondary linguistic master.

Why exactly you're here now with two fourth-year Sinegard students is something you aren't really sure you could answer.

Sure, you were close with Rin and Kitay back during their first year in the academy but you didn't expect you'd leave such a lasting expression that even years after, the pair's still missing you. When you'd told Jima that Rin was inviting you to a three-day trip to Speer, you were even more surprised when she willingly let you off those four days and three nights you'd be gone.

Though you were partly suspicious that it was just so you could form better relations with the soldiers of Speer. After all, you still are a master of linguistics and relations through and through.

"Doubt it. Even at his grave, Kitay's probably packing a few books with him," Rin joins in with a snort, tipping her head back to drink.

"That I will," Kitay nods. "Wait, is that your cousin?"

Your eyebrows furrow, not expecting the boat to already be near enough for Kitay to start noticing familiar faces. There was still a reasonable amount of distance, meaning you still couldn't make out who was waiting by the shore to welcome the isle's number one trouble—Rin—alongside her friend and mentor.

When you hear a gleeful huff from Rin, the short woman shooting up with a wave of her hand. Responses came in the form of indistinct arm waves, blurs of brown brushing through the haze.

Somehow, the waters surrounding the isle had looked way better than they had been described in stories; hues of blue and green, soft sandy shores, with tall tropical trees as they say. The closer the boat drew to shore, the more people came. A specified few even carrying a plank-like piece of wood.

"Huh, he actually came by," you hear Rin say, tone lighthearted before she screams from the top of her lungs: "Altan! Altan!"

Altan, the cocky, overconfident Strategy student that's been on your nerves since the first day you got admitted to Sinegard Academy? The golden boy every master favored, every student fawned over?

That Altan?

"Mai'rinnen!"

It's him. It's definitely Altan Trengsin.

"We're almost there, c'mon, grab your packs," Rin says, running past you. "Kitay did you see my—" before she'd even finish it, Kitay was already grumbling, "I don't know, Rin! My attendants packed my stuff, not me!"

You ignore them, squinting your eyes. You grab a nearby spyglass, placing it by your eye only to harshly shove the piece of mech down.

Fuck!

The very first fave you see at the shore was Altan's.

"You didn't tell me Altan's your cousin," you stalk over the bickering duo, grabbing your own pack from the floor and hauling it over your shoulder. Rin's eyebrows raise innocently, "Dunno what you're talking about."

"Altan. That Trengsin boy. He's your cousin."

"Yeah…? I know?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She blinks at you skeptically. "I didn't even know you knew him in the first place. What's wrong—why're you worried about my cousin? Did something—"

"No!" You hurriedly respond, frantically shaking your head. "Gods no! We were classmates. Barely, really. He was always favored by the—" your words gets stopped as the boat comes to an abrupt stop, yells in native dialects filling your ears.

The plank is placed down and you begin to see speerlies come on the boat. Most of them hoisting the crates of supplies on their shoulders before heading down. Your body turns to the opposite direction as a voice, "Ah, glad you guys could made it."

"Hi Rin, Kitay, and—huh, is that you, Dumpling?"

You cringe, lips pulling to a tight smile as you lift your head up to face the half-surprised, half-irritating smirk on Altan Trengsin's face. He wore a simple red vest, vibrant and warm, decorated with beaded patterns by the shoulder. His trousers were patterned, reaching just above his knee as his waist adorned a flashy native ornament that seemed to distinguish him from the others that wore the same pieces of clothing.

Oh and he wore nothing underneath that vest. Nothing but that moon necklace you'd always see around his neck; bronzed skin illuminating against the piercing sun, muscles seemingly more defined than before.

You felt your throat drying up just a bit.

Mentally, you deliver an upper cut to yourself.

Focus! This was the bane of your existence back in the academy. Don't fawn over him now!

Oh but you couldn't just do that. Not when the sun's hitting his skin so perfectly that every feature on his face looked all the more regal. His purple-toned hair looked more apparent than they were back in the academy. He definitely built up muscle, too. Shoulders almost twice as broad as yours, biceps bulging around the bands of beads you found they commonly wore as accessories.

Altan crosses his arms, arching one brow. "It is you. Rin didn't tell me you'd be coming. Jima finally let you go or are you an emissary

"Actually, your cousin made me come," you speak to him for the first time in years. "Wouldn't wanna miss seeing her arrogant, one-of-a-kind, definitely not overconfident cousin."

He doesn't look too offended. If anything, he looked amused at you. Eyes glinting with something you're not quite sure. Next thing you know, he was hooking on a beaded necklace over your and Kitay's necks, taking your packs and hauling them away.

"Ever the gentleman," you comment with a slight sneer, adjusting the jewelry on your skin.

He snickers, one eyebrow raised, "Gotta make a good impression. This'll all come back to Jima, am I right?" Altan has that got you look on his face, lips inching up at the side.

"Funny," you comment just before Rin comes in between you two. Practically an infant with her height in comparison to both of yours. "Enough with the eye-fucking! Let's go, I miss mother," she zips past you and Altan with a hand around Kitay's wrist. Dragging the slim man behind her as the traditional necklace clanked around.

"What?!" You exclaimed, hand clutching the beads.

Altan snickers at them, offering no response to his younger cousin. He, instead, jerks his head to the speerlies behind him. He says something in their native tongue, an order of some sorts as the said speerlies let out a synchronized "Hah!" as they carry the crates with renewed vigor.

Then you feel two hands on your shoulders. "We leave them be," Altan tells you, proceeding to push you away from the other speerlies. "Follow Rin next time. It's easy to get lost in the island if you do not have a guide."

"So, what, you're my guide for now?" You cross your arms.

He rolls his eyes, only for a subtle grin to form, "Sure."

You grimace, shrugging off his hands and walking two steps ahead. You hear Altan's distant chuckle as he takes one big stride towards you to match paces.

On the way to the village, you couldn't help but notice the paradise surrounding you; kids played around the shore, running around and throwing balls at each other. Some were climbing the trees, some were dancing with older speerlies, some were helping out the small fishing boats from carrying out pails of freshly caught seafood.

The entire place looked and felt peaceful. It was a stark contrast from the densely populated and fast-moving environment in Sinegard. Here, everything seemed to anchor on letting time pass by leisurely.

When the both of you arrived at the village, a small gathering area marked by a communal fire pit in the middle, you spot Rin at the other side, hugging an older woman you're sure her mother. The woman's hair is long and silky, colorful beads draped all over her patterned clothing. Features too similar with Rin's in a sharper, more mature way.

Everybody's attention shifted from the pair of Sinegard students to you and Altan. A rather skeptical look settling on their faces when you halt, a feeling of uneasiness appearing in your chest.

It doesn't last long, though, because a loud voice from behind quickly fills the stiff air. Your name left his lips first, gesturing towards you as he continued, "A master of linguistics at Sinegard Academy," you wait for him to continue but it never comes. So you stomp on his feet, subtly, looking up at him with a well-hidden glare.

"Colonel of the Sinegardian Reserve Forces," you correct with a stiff smile to the speerlies.

"I forgot," you're a hundred percent sure he didn't.

Nevertheless, you were thankful to be welcomed by a crowd of smiles and acknowledging nods.

A decorated speerly woman comes to you and holds your hand, holding it in between both of hers as she stared at you with a look of welcome. The stretches on her face made her seem all the more mature, like every word she'd speak would be of utmost wisdom.

"It is our pleasure to have you at the isle of Speer, colonel," she gives a shallow bow, one you quickly responded with a deeper kind, basically going down on one knee. You didn't have to be a genius to know the woman's position in the island. "O-oh, I, uh—it's my pleasure, believe me. Please, you can address me plainly. I did not come here as a colonel, I came as a friend."

"I thought you came as Jima Lain's emissary?" Altan mutters, suddenly feeling his breath by your shoulder.

You twist your body, nose almost coming in contact with the skin of his cheek with how close he'd been. Your eyes widen just a bit, feeling your breath stagger for a moment there. "I did not—"

A laugh stops you on the spot, this time from Hanelai, Rin's mother. "Please, it's okay," she assures you, proceeding to look at Altan with that kind of look only a mother would be capable of doing. "She just got here, Altan. You should be fixing her living quarters right now. Rin is already dragging that poor curly-haired boy to his." Altan retracts back to his original height, lips pursing with a huff.

"Oh, no! It's fine, I can fix my own quarters. I'll just find Rin again and talk to her I can get settled in perfectly," your voice raises in pitch, definitely trying to seem even nicer than before.

"Good luck with that," Altan blows off a breath, "I doubt you'd last twenty minutes if we leave you to find Rin."

"Altan," the higher ranking woman says sternly. You wince. "Stop your attitude. Bring this lady to her quarters so she may rest. Gods know how long they've been at sea."

"It was just a two-hour ride, mother."

Your ears perk up.

Mother? This woman, this respected, honorable, powerful lady in front of you is Altan Trengsin's mother?

Huh. Where'd he get such an overbearing personality then?

"Your son really needs some attitude management," you blurt out so suddenly, unable to hold yourself back.

The look of surprise on her face had you worry for a moment. Contemplating whether or not you should've spoken, after all, you're the visitor here. You should be respecting the leader's son no matter how irritating he is.

But she laughs, surprisingly. Her eyes wrinkling into crescent moons as she does. "I suppose you're right, colonel. It's been a long time since I gave my son a scolding." She touches your shoulder, a warm touch. "I hope to see you a lot more later, my dear. First, you must rest." She sends a look over at Altan, the simple gesture prompting him to walk past you with a mumble of fine, follow me.

The moment you were shown to your room, you fall asleep at the first touch of the bed. Unlike your quarters back in Sinegard, the bed was a decently sized cushion above a bamboo-made bed frame. The cushion had its own cover, some thin fabric that seemed to cool off the island heat.

You spent the entire day asleep, which was actually a surprise. You hadn't expected yourself to be tired out by the journey but oh well. When you left your hut, Rin and Kitay were on their way to you, both of them now changed into a lighter, airier attire as they call you for dinner.

Dinner was an entire experience in itself. The food was fresh, savory, and very fucking delicious. You forgot about the travesty that was academy food the more meat skewers you took, or the more refills you had of that peculiar juice they took from the gigantic circular fruits lying around.

Everyone encouraged you to take more. Linara, the ruler of Speer—who also happens to be Altan's mother, sat with you throughout the dinner. More dedicated than anyone to keep your plate full and overflowing. She sat in quiet reverence as she listened to stories told by Rin, added onto Kitay's knowledge by sharing some of the island's history.

The dinner wrapped up with traditional performances around the fire. Little speerlies dancing around their element, the older ones providing the music with their percussion instrument, meanwhile you watched in absolute awe.

It was incredible. Peaceful, really.

All you've ever heard about the isle was that it was an island of warriors, of strong-willed shamans that summoned inhumanly powers through the Phoenix; but they're really just humans, in every way.

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"How is she doing that so fast?" You watched with a gape mouth, a child definitely not older than ten was climbing the tall, bended tree with their eyes fixated on the bundle of fruits beneath its leaves.

Altan was beside you. Apparently he'd make good on his word to be your island guide for the time being, though you honestly believe you'd appreciate the island more in his absence.

"It's just a game," Altan tells you, "Children as young as seven climb those trees. The fruit at the top is a good reward." He whistles at the kid above, watching as she pull out an outrageously large blade from the band she had across her body.

You all but gasp, "That's dangerous!"

"Don't yell, you'll scare her," he says pointedly, looking back at the girl with narrowed eyes. You didn't notice him looking so sharply at her, arms crossed and feet seemingly ready to dart out.

You watch as the blade cuts through the thick roots of the fruits, yelling something you couldn't understand. The children at the base of the tree ran away to where you and Altan stood, giddy smiles on their faces as the girl resumed her actions.

Soon enough, the fruit fell heavily. Indenting itself onto the sand as more of it fell down until the entire top of the tree had been free of those circular clusters.

You glance at Altan, noticing the subtle pleased smile. When he suddenly looks back at you, your head turns slower than you planned. You hear him snicker, "C'mon, you gotta taste this."

Altan runs to the base of the tree, stretching out his arms as the girl slid down carefully before releasing herself and landing in Altan's arms. He places her down on the sand, the girl rushing to join her friends as they gather around the bundle.

A plethora of cheers and applause surrounded the small circle, most of which were clapping the young girl's back. You couldn't help but smile, such a unique game for children.

"Tilt your head back," you feel a nudge at your shoulder. Altan. He's holding one of those fruits in the palm of his hand, the other wrapped around the hilt of a machete. "Excuse me?" You step back, eyebrows knitting together as you look at him like he'd grown three heads.

"I meant taste this. We don't have a cup right now so you'd just have to drink it directly from the source." He slots his machete somewhere in the fruit, pulling that hand back so as to open something you're not quite sure of.

"Is it safe?"

Altan snorts, "No, it's poisonous, obviously."

You scoff, arms crossing over your chest. Altan sheathes back his machete before taking a step towards you, his free hand now gliding to the back of your head.

"Are you serious?" You put a hand out, kind of weary of such proximity.

Altan closes the distance, standing to your side with his feet spread, one hand gripping the base of the fruit firmly. "Don't be a coward. It's just fruit," he lets out an annoyed breath, "It's good, trust me."

"Well give me then—" you try to reach for the fruit, just to reduce whatever this was and actually taste it for yourself without needing his help—but he holds the fruit higher. "It's heavy. Just tilt your head back and open your mouth. Not that hard, Dumplings."

You glare at him, he glares back.

Then, you hold out a finger, "No funny business," you raise your eyebrows at him and he simply mumbles: "yeah, yeah, just drink it." All while you let your head rest ever so carefully on the palm of his other hand, mouth opening.

Finally, when the first stream of liquid hits your throat, perfectly aimed to not spill down your chin or the front of your body, an instant sweetness consumes your tastebuds.

It wasn't like those overly sweet drinks sold in the markets during festivals, it wasn't even anything like the ones sold in taverns or establishments. This is refreshing. It was the right amount of sweet and nutty, the rich taste of it immersing you even more because of course, this kind of fruits grew in islands like these.

When Altan takes the fruit away, he pushes your head back from its tilt carefully. A small anticipatory grin forming on his lips.

"What, it's good huh?" Clearly he knows the answer, he's just waiting for you to say it.

"Yeah," you look away as you answer, not really wanting to see that look of I told you so from him.

He chuckles loudly, throwing his own head back and taking his own serving of the liquid. He's doing it more messily though, with a few trickles straying and dripping down the side of his lips. That makes you look away again, feeling a random rush in your stomach.

Altan lets out a raspy that's good all whilst smacking his lips. He turns his head to the crowd of children now watching the girl from earlier try to whack the center of the fruit.

Wordlessly, he grabs at the sleeve of your airy tunic—something you finally changed into after your morning bath—and pulls you to the small group.

"Gather 'round, quick," Altan says to the group, standing beside the girl. "We have a guest here so we have to show her what this is, alright?" A choir of yes! erupts, some glancing at you, while most of the kids' eyes kept themselves on Altan. Rounding as they watch Altan smoothly pick up a piece of fruit, asking for the girl's blade.

"This is called a coconut," he begins, tapping the firm green shell with the blunt side of the machete. "When it's fully ripe, coconuts fall down on their own. When they don't, you can climb up a tree and get some for yourself," in one skillful whack, the blade horizontally slices the top of the coconut. Not fully, just enough to make a notch.

From there Altan gave each kid an opportunity to get a generous amount of the juice, their little cheers and mutters of gratitude making both you and him smile.

When the first coconut gets emptied out, Altan whacks it one more time before handing off the blade to the girl. Then, you feel your throat dry out as his biceps flex shamelessly under the golden sun. Two big hands held the coconut, veins protruding just enough for you to know he's putting in some force. The coconut look unusually smaller in between his hands.

Time passes by traitorously. You don't even notice Altan's eyes on you until he and all the others were calling out your name.

"What?" You swallow involuntarily, blinking.

Altan huffs out a breath, smirking off to the side as he walks over to you with an offering. You look down and it's actually the coconut torn in half, its milky white interior surprising you.

"I said it has meat, too. It's chewy and sweet. Try it," he jerks his head, instructing you to take one of the pieces he'd sliced off already. You take in the deep breath, mentally slapping yourself again as you take a piece and eat it without any other complaints.

"It's good," you say, the meat melting in your mouth. Providing even more refreshment than the juice. "Really good."

"Really?" Altan raises an eyebrow.

Your forehead creases, "Yeah, why?"

He shakes his head, pursing his lips before handing it to you to eat. He takes the other half and slices it up. That he gives to the children.

"Give me a second, I'll just cut these up for them," Altan says, uncharacteristically genuine. Nevertheless you nod, walking over to a small stump to the side and sitting down as you eat the coconut.

Damn you. He's teaching the kids and you're thinking of… things?

Physically, you actually slap yourself on the forehead. You gotta stop whatever this is. You're there for a vacation, not something more.

You spent just a little over ten minutes at that little stump, having brought to a training-like facility by Altan as your designated—or self-proclaimed—island guide.

It was an indentation in the island's mountain, an opening to the cave. Firm orders could be heard even from outside, both womanly and manly voices mixing together with the loud thumps of people getting thrown down onto the stone ground.

Altan halted, you do too. Both of you watching from afar as two speerlies sparred each other. Two fully-grown women with tribal markings on their backs. One of them, the slimmer one, had shorter hair, her neck bleeding a slight crimson color due to the rock that had sliced it after being pummeled down. The longer haired was muscular, yet dark purple spots bloomed on her arms as well.

"Colonel, I'm happy you're here," Hanelai speaks, suddenly coming from your right. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"General! Yes, actually. I drank some coconut earlier. I spoke with some kids too," you smile, both you and Hanelai keeping your eyes glued to the spar. "Altan had told me this is where the warriors of Speer are trained?"

"As a start, yes. Altan and Rin both went through here before they finished it in the temple." She glances to the side, at the man beside her.

"The temple?"

Hanelai turns to you now, the curious look on your features as you look at her seemingly catching her off-guard. "Temple of the Phoenix. We pray to our god in there. In fact, later today we will be going there for our offering—though I am not sure if the queen will allow us—"

"It's fine!" You interject, hands shooting out, "I don't mind. I can stay with Kitay anyways."

Truth be told, seeing the temple had been one of your plans. Rin had told you all about it on the way to the island.

A grand shrine that housed the grand sculpture of the Phoenix, with its gigantic wings unfurled and calling out for life. Rin said it was unlike any of the shrines one could go to in Nikan. The energy, unrivaled. The beauty, unparalleled.

The one and only place a person, speerly-born or not, could feel the presence of such a powerful god.

In the end, Hanelai's bidding you farewell. Hoping you'd join their family for dinner. Telling you where to find that damned pair that's been running around the whole day as well.

Your eyes immediately get caught with Altan's as she walks away. The towering specimen of man looking at you with such expressionless eyes that it made you feel irrelevant.

You square your shoulders, shaking off the feeling as you turn back and watch the rest of the match.

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Rin had informed you—prior to even going to the island—of the hours-long devotions that the speerlies partake every fifth day of the week. Such devotions that usually meant a night of fasting considering that by the time they get back to the village, everyone would be too busy to cook anything.

That's why, fortunately, you and Kitay offered to cook for that night. A simple Sinegardian dinner, really, nothing too fancy. You and Kitay, with the ingredients, spices, and herbs you'd brought, plus the meat that had been caught during the day.

Kitay definitely didn't know how to cook, having been saved simply by his burning desire to learn how to cook. You, on the other hand, made do with whatever knowledge you had from years of living alone after graduating from Sinegard Academy.

Nonetheless, the speerlies graciously ate everything. If they didn't like it, well, you and Kitay would never know.

Once dinner finished, you all went back to your huts. Usually, you take a half-bath at night to keep yourself cool throughout the night but, unfortunately, fate clearly had a different objective.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You whisper-yell, jutting your head out past the door and looking at the neighboring huts. Altan slips into your hut, a good-for-nothing grin on his face. He wore warmer clothes, an airy lapiz tunic and some shorts. "You should be resting right now!"

"Calm down, you're so loud," Altan huffs, ignoring you and exploring your temporary living space with a twist of his head. "We're going somewhere."

"Excuse me?"

His eyes lock with yours, an ambiguous grin forming on his lips when he reaches over to the foot of your bed and throws you the crocheted cape the villagers and offered you during your first day.

"We're going out. Unless you're scared," he leans against the wall, raising an eyebrow at you.

You scoff. "More like sane. Who the hell goes out in the middle of the night in an island they don't even know? And, you just got back from your worship you're tired—"

"You worried about me, colonel?"

You stop abruptly, staring at him with your mouth hanging. Your mind malfunctions for a moment before you feel it—the faintest of color creeping up in your cheeks faster than you'd like to admit. The heat from your face fighting off the strong winds of the island.

A gruff sound of irritation leaves your throat, landing your fist on his shoulder and he all but moves. That damned smirk still on his face, staring you down in a way that you wondered if it was him being cocky or him being condescending.

Nevertheless, you hated it. Hated how it made your insides churn just like earlier when he'd offered to open those pile of coconuts for the children.

"I couldn't care less about you, Trengsin," you say, though your head had been turned the other way now. "Gods, you're as irritating as you were during Sinegard."

You hear him scoff. Foot steps coming closer until you feel familiar hands on your shoulders again. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. If you're done acting difficult, we can leave now and be back before sunrise," you feel a slight push from behind you, as if urging you to step towards the door. "You'll still have your beauty sleep, don't worry. If you get tired, I'll carry you down anyway."

"Carry me down?!" You exclaim. Your eyes widened, brows creased heavily. "Altan Trengsin, where are we going?"

He simply pushes you to the door as a response.

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Up the island's mountain, past the bountiful forest that Altan somehow manage to navigate the two of you through amidst the utter darkness, the shrine of the Phoenix stood. A hollowed circle surrounded by trees, covered heavily by the vegetation.

In the middle was the monument. The Phoenix's wings spread wide, a ravenous expression carved onto its face as if calling for destruction; its as Rin had described it—magnificent.

Even before you could step foot on the actual shrine, you could feel the hairs on your arms standing up. The air surrounding you seemingly warmer than before, sweat prickling your skin in a way that did not feel real.

Altan's hand, the one which he somehow managed to talk you into holding your wrist, tightens. You notice his breath hitch. A flare of red flashing through his crimson irises.

"We're here," he says, voice reverent.

You decide against a snarky remark like no shit, or obviously. Instead, you simply nod and watch from afar.

You're a brave woman. Braver than people would want to admit, yet at that moment, the presence of the Phoenix trampled over whatever sense of bravery you had in you. Even at its stationary position, you could feel its eyes darting down at you, sizing you from where it stood.

"Hey," a gargled voice, faint and worried, calls at you. You stay fixated on the monument. Legs moving on their own as you take another step forward. "Hey. Are you okay? Are you tired?" The hand around your wrist left and went to your face instead. Both of Altan's hands cradling the sides of your face.

He calls out your name, your eyes wander onto his face. His usually stoic and calm demeanor now looked agitated, as if unsure of what to do.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," you hold a hand up only for it to fall forward onto Altan's shoulder. From where you could see, the Phoenix was moving behind him. Head cocking to the side, watching you both. "Oh gods, it's… It's moving—Altan, the monument is—"

"That's enough," not needing any more words, Altan lifts you up. One hand by your shoulders, the other under your knees. You kept your head fixed at the center of the shrine, locked at the eerie movements of the should-be unmoving monument.

"I'm getting you back to your hut," Altan lets out a sharp breath, weaving through the trees skillfully. "You're right, I should have just let you slept."

"Told you," you unintentionally chuckle.  You let your head fall back, staring at the night sky. The string of stars looked familiar to you. When you squint, shutting off the environment around you, only then did you recognize it.

The sixty-four constellations.

"Altan. The stars," you point gently. The soldier's head tilts up. He chuckles, strained and airy at the same time, "Yeah. They usually do come at this time."

Silence stretches between the two of you. A minute, two—hell, five maybe?

You don't know how long it took. Only thing you know is that somehow, by some cruel turn of events, you spent the night underneath the blanket of the sixty-four constellations beside Altan.

And even at your sleepiest, you still manage to hear the faintest: "Someday, the Phoenix will accept you. Us."