— post created with the help of the sweet @itskvyhii (thank you)

"Raban shrugged. 'He mostly keeps to himself. He’s quiet. Trains alone and doesn’t really have friends.'"
— The Poppy War

Five years. Altan Trengsin spent five years at Sinegard Academy. And by his final year? He was a well-known loner. How does someone so brilliant—praised as a prodigy, top of every class—end up completely alone?

It’s impossible to overstate what it must’ve felt like. To be marginalized because of your skin, to carry a legacy that your classmates saw as slave blood, and then to survive in that environment by becoming something untouchable. A symbol. A trophy. The kind of brilliance people gawk at, but never befriend. Worshipped, but never truly known.

And it makes me think about Rin—how lucky she was, in a way. Because even at her loneliest, she had someone.

“Sounds like someone we know.” Kitay jabbed an elbow at Rin.
She bristled. “Shut up. I have friends.”
“You have a friend,” Kitay said. “Singular.” — The Poppy War

And that friend was Kitay. Her anchor. Her mirror. Her soulmate in every way that wasn’t romantic.
They held each other together. Until the end.

But Altan?

Who did he have?

I started thinking, surely, at least one of the Cike must’ve gone to Sinegard with him, right?
Right?

Wrong. And it hurts:

- Baji? Older. Already in the Baghra Desert prison.

- Suni? Same deal.

- Ramsa? Younger, also imprisoned for years.

- Enki? The team’s medic-slash-drug-manager. No Sinegard mention.

- Unegen? A literal fox.

- Aratsha? Nope.

- Qara and Chaghan? Spies met later on, not schoolmates.

Oh, and Jiang? The only person who might’ve understood him? Abandoned him after two years. Altan spent three more years completely alone. Fighting to keep his god at bay. Fighting to prove his worth. With no one to lean on. No one to say “you’re not crazy,” no one to share the burden with.

And then we’re surprised when he drowns in opium? Honestly… who wouldn’t?

still, here’s what kills me:

Altan was not someone who wanted to be feared or worshipped. Not really. I see it as a facade. He was someone who wanted to be loved. Appreciated. To be seen not as a weapon, but as a person. And that comes through in the quietest ways—like when Rin interrupts his training in the gardens:

But Altan just looked surprised, not irritated. ‘Stick around Jiang long enough, and you’ll learn plenty of arcane forms.’” - The Poppy War

That’s year five. Three years after Jiang left him. And he still remembers his teacher with warmth. Still holds onto those moments like they meant something. Because they did, to Altan. Jiang was the one person who ever showed real interest in him. Cared for him. Believed in him. And Altan clung to that memory like a lifeline. And the tragedy? He never got to know that Jiang regretted everything.

“I needed you—Altan needed you—and all you did was, was—”
Jiang spoke so quietly she almost couldn’t hear him. “I couldn’t save Altan.”
— The Burning God

He did care. Deeply. And the way Altan’s story ended? It broke Jiang’s heart too.