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Oh, illusory justice of mine—

Cyno x Fem Reader

Set just before the events of the Sumeru archon quest/coincides with some of the questline. Fluff, kind of e2l but the lovers is more subtext, I suppose.

A lot of identity politics and xenophobia from the Akademiya. Semi-brainwashing from the Akasha Terminal.

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『 The air crackled, sunlight glinting off the blade that sliced through limbs with no-uncertain ease. "You are wanted by the Akademiya; any resistance is futile. If you do not come willingly, I will bring you to justice by any means necessary." For a moment, there was little to no expression on her face. Whatever shock had been in her system had boiled away, leaving a state of apathy behind he wasn't particularly familiar with. It was pleading, begging, anger and desperate fury that he reckoned with and grown to expect - not this unwavering stare of her eyes into his. "Is this how you repay people who save your life? You threaten them with 'justice'?" The curl of her lip was sharp; he knew it was out of disgust. "Who are you to accuse me of committing a crime?" "The General Mahamatra." It was Six Cardinal Sins within which he operated, dared to hold his head high to. But, it was when those sins blurred into something man-made, something erring on the side of human arrogation, that his own steadfast rules began to judge him on the order of ma'at.』 The rainforest or the desert. Justice or impudence. A Potter or the General.

There was little on Earth that Cyno may consider being affected by, and even less of such that he might admit to being worthy of a reaction.

The desert cared little for these distinctions other than to challenge them. To it, he was as insignificant as the sand of which bled between his toes, scorched the calloused skin with an eagerness to toughen what was already wrought with thickness. Perhaps there was meaning to him, a collective that his lonesome gave meaning to - a grain in the system that bonded with the molecules of the others.

But he was insignificant, still. It didn't matter if the sun might scorch him to ash under its unflinching light.

A hiss escaped through gritted teeth. Ordinarily, he would traverse the desert at night when the temperature was more favourable, less deadly. This time, he had to make an exception. He only had two days before his duties beckoned him to return and the pouch he had dropped could be retrieved.

If he was less sentimental he might have let it sink into oblivion and become entombed with the rest of the Scarlet King's bounty.

Only… Collei had hand stitched it for him: an almost crude coin pouch that barely held more than a few thousand mora. Really, Cyno cared more for its thought than its beauty.

Hence, he used what little amount of free time he had to retrace his latest hunt - wherein he had tracked down a scholar who had made off with a sizeable amount of the treasury fund.

It was foolish and desperate. So desperate that he felt something akin to pity when the man sobbed, echoing words on how he had squandered himself into unimaginable debt to pay the Akademiya tuition fees. It was nothing he had not heard before, but the manner in which the man pleaded - forehead to his feet and snot dribbling over the curves of his trembling lips - made Cyno truly linger on how consuming debt can be.

The sun beat down harder, made the nape of his neck itch where it slithered through the cover of fabric. No matter his preparations, the burning heat would make itself known in every crevice possible.

So, he carried on walking with the Akasha Terminal in his ear, informing him that there were only 15 minutes left until he arrived. He breathed a little easier when the destination finally came into view.

The pouch remained untouched, buried only minimally in the sand. Its meager contents of 514 mora hadn't attracted any attention, he thought to himself in mild amusement.

His fingers brushed against the scalding metal clasp, poised to reach under and extract it from its bounds-

The ground gave way.

It was as mundane as any day would get within the God King Amun's empire. The sandstorms had become more frequent in intensity, but not enough to discourage the millings of the people, to dampen the sounds of sellers announcing their wares and hagglers wittling down their prices to a fraction of the cost.

Today, he had to purchase more scrolls. They could not be subpar, and certainly not anything less than reinforced papyrus that soaked up ink with a voracious appetite but didn't allow it to bleed uselessly into surrounding fibres. These scrolls were going to hold the words of his Lord, after all.

The staff in his hands was more decorative in this moment, a mere symbol of what it meant to strike down onto dry Earth and crumble what trembled beneath. He had no intention of using it, yet dozens of eyes followed with a subtle drag that betrayed their weariness.

He did not bother with reassurance.

The bows of heads followed like a wave through his passing footfall- soft in its lulling gesture but emboldened in the undercurrent of his power. It were as if they were compelled by an invisible hand, divine fingers tugging at the strings in a realm everyone was too unworthy to see yet blessed enough to experience.

He didn't think he was worthy of such respect. There was little he did other than his duty of remaining faithful; which was to say that he lingered in this space undefined between the celestial and the mortal. Not yet ascended whilst comfortably above commonality. A precarious middle.

Still, he had the humility to acknowledge the people with a sweeping gaze. As a priest, who was he without the people to share his gospel to? A retainer of the God King was only as good as its capabilities in engaging the people, after all.

He continued his walk with this single minded dedication. Papyrus scrolls. The store with the most quality product was sheltered in this area among the towering golden bricks and intricate bead curtains that adorned the entryways.

"Mister. Excuse me, Mister!"

This voice was in his head - so loud and piercing that he could not help but wince.

"Are you awake? I can't tell…"

He blinked-

No. Cyno blinked.

The world around him dissolved like sand bleeding from between cracked fingers. Whatever respite he had found in another's world was gone, leaving him in the borderlands of consciousness and awareness.

Ah. His head pounded like a rod was pushed between his tender ears.

Above him, a blurred mirage of a woman stared down with a furrow between her eyebrows - analysing him like one might a choking child after the incident. He supposed there was little distinction right now between him and that notion, especially with the sand that caked his throat and left him hacking up what had lodged itself deep.

"Please, have some water," she insisted, pressing a cool leather skin pouch into his fist. It was heavy with fresh water, and he barely managed a croaked word of gratitude before swallowing a good few mouthfuls of grains and liquid.

The sharp pain echoed throughout his cranium, lodged itself firmly between his ears until he could only grit his teeth in the hopes of diverting some tension. When his body had first become a vessel, these kinds of migraines had plagued him day after day, and night after night; Cyno wasn't appreciative of reliving it.

At least he had the clarity of mind to not drink the whole pouch - though he was greatly tempted. "Thank you," he managed, gaze falling to his dirt-dotted cream tunic. 'What happened,' he wanted to ask but, oddly, could not bring himself to say. It had felt so real, the faces of the masses warm and tangible if he'd extended his hand - let his fingers graze over their clothes…

"You activated something," she said. "It looks like it has Hermanubus' seal."

Oh. "I see." He swallowed again, thick and coagulated. "I didn't see anything."

The pouch was in his pocket; he didn't remember putting it there. Nonetheless, it was as heavy as it had been in the beginning.

"Can you stand? I brought you to a cave, but there is wenut activity close by and I'm worried they will try to attack."

Luckily, he could. The vertigo was mild, if a little disconcerting. "I am fine. Your concern is kind but unnecessary."

"I think it is quite necessary, especially when you were not responsive for a good five minutes."

Cyno had the sense to not argue. Rather, he pinched the corners of his eyes to collect whatever particles had inched their way into the ducts, and wiped them clean. The fuzziness at the corners had dissipated, leaving behind the clear set face of an elegant woman - one that the Akasha was readily scanning.

"Where are you from?" She continued to speak, eyes following his as they carved over her face, analysed each of her features as though he might erect a statue in her likeness. "You look like you're from the south of the desert."

How strange. She was right.

He didn't realise that was so easily discernible.

Then, the Akasha clicked - glowed such a stark red that it nearly blinded him. 'WANTED CRIMINAL!' it warned, flashing in his mind's eyes with an intensity meant to spur him to action. 'Wanted for theft and destruction of Akademiya property. MUST BE APPREHENDED!'.

"Hello?" She tried again, waving her hand to try and gather his attention. In her eyes, he must have looked like a helpless, dizzied animal - one with middling clarity right up until his staff pressed drew static in the mere millimetres left between her delicate skin and its sharp, metallic edge. "Wha- Why are your raising your weapon?!"

The air crackled, sunlight glinting off the blade that sliced through limbs with no-uncertain ease. "You are wanted by the Akademiya; any resistance is futile. If you do not come willingly, I will bring you to justice by any means necessary."

For a moment, there was little to no expression on her face. Whatever shock had been in her system had boiled away, leaving a state of apathy behind he wasn't particularly familiar with. It was pleading, begging, anger and desperate fury that he reckoned with and grown to expect - not this unwavering stare of her eyes into his.

"Is this how you repay people who save your life? You threaten them with 'justice'?" The curl of her lip was sharp; he knew it was out of disgust. "Who are you to accuse me of committing a crime?"

"The General Mahamatra."

A sudden laugh coloured the air, one that made his fingers tighten (and then loosen) around the laminated shaft before it lowered. "You? The General? You couldn't even save yourself from a simple domain. If you are the General, then the Akademiya is truly built on iniquity."

Cyno gave no reaction. "Your opinion matters little," he surmised, unbothered by the disdain with which she bore holes into his skin. "I advise you save your energy for the journey back."

If he was honest, he'd never heard such colourful curses and imaginative insults. Had he not had his heart hardened through years of criminal dealings, he might have snapped back at some of them - especially at the ones where she picked apart every little thing he did - down to the space between his toes.

(Cyno hated to admit that he consciously tried to hide his feet from her after that.)

The Matra had prepared a cell beforehand, a simple thing with a slightly softer pillow than normal. She had rescued him, after all, and no good deed could go unrewarded - or unpunished, as she had irritably put it.

"Your case will be judged by the Matra before you are put to trial," he told her, deftly undoing the bounds around her wrists. While she had made no move to run away, they were loosely placed as precaution. "If you wish to confess to anything, call for one of the Matra, and they will answer."

She scoffed. "Confess… You assume my guilt before the trial has even began. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

"The Akasha Terminal does not flag people without due regard."

"That sounds like you will beat a confession out of me."

Cyno merely pulled the bounds away, making sure that they had not marked her skin. "That is against our code of conduct. No one will lay a hand on you."

"How reassuring. I'm sure your code of conduct is as moral as you are."

Somehow, he didn't think she was complimenting him.

"If you require anything, let someone know and you will be tended to."

He turned to leave, only to catch the thick wad of spit she had spat at his feet. It landed with an alarming accuracy, mere centimetres away from brushing against his bare skin.

Cyno stepped aside and continued onwards. She did not look over her shoulder, nor did she care to regard him with anything more that same vitriol that he had incited with his actions. The weight in his chest mattered not - not when he knew his terminal did not falsely flag. The right of her aid did not overturn the wrong of property destruction and theft.

His conviction rate was 100% because of his diligence and discernment; Innocent was not a word in his proximity.

Hence, he squashed the guilt that ebbed within him. There was much worse in this world than a scorned woman.

The other Matra had offered to be the ones to investigate her case; it was menial and something that he would not normally concern himself with, yet he had declined on no other basis other than he had some personal interest in it. No, he did not tell them this; yes, he was piling up uncompleted paperwork in his office, but he found it of no dire consequence.

For someone that had incited such shocking reaction to his Akasha - the scarlet that was primarily reserved for some of the more dangerous outlaws in Sumeru - her home had little to no security. There were the few locks imbued with elemental energy, nothing more difficult to open than a box of chocolates with his electro vision, but it was scarce otherwise.

Regardless, Cyno made no habit of lingering in people's spaces, and certainly not in women's houses. He kept his gaze straight, tried not to stare at the congealing glass of milk on the kitchen counter before he caved and dumped it out (since it was too cruel to let it turn into a mound of festering mould).

He looked for where the elemental energy was the most concentrated, following the faint trails until he was inside of her bedroom.

While he told himself that it was merely business, and he had a duty to uphold, he could only sigh. Why the bedroom? he thought to himself almost petulantly, trying not to catch the eyes of the embroidered tapestries hung on her walls. Why not the cellar, or the attic?

It was a small house on the seam between the Ashavan Realm and the Wall of Samiel. Nestled perfectly against the backdrop of Caravan Ribat, it was the perfect place to buy and sell canned knowledge with ease - with a swiftness that wasn't easily afforded elsewhere in Sumeru.

To think, she might have gone unnoticed for much longer had she not been out in the desert that day.

(And he might not have made it out unscathed, though, he preferred not to dwell on that).

The elemental energy was the strongest in her bedside drawers. It hummed in his ears, low and obnoxious in its continuous drone. Cyno opened the drawer - only to be met with rows of neatly folded undergarments.

What an underhanded tactic.

He'd done worse. Seen worse. Tackled worse.

His hand hovered over the clothes, stayed there like it couldn't bear to move a single millimetre closer.

Shit. He should have let the Matra do it instead of insisting.

With a resigned sigh, he took a deep breath and plunged his hand in. His teeth were gritted, as though the cotton fabric might breathe its own air and break through skin with gnarled incisors. Cyno pressed his fingers to the base of the drawer, feeling for where the capsule might be, before realising it was a hollow bottom.

It was with much mortification that he removed all the garments. He did not look at them as much as he tried not to disturb them - which was to say he plucked at them like they were the most delicate thing on Earth.

The hollow bottom gave way with a strong tug, revealing three glowing green capsules. The hum grew louder, the concentrated dendro bringing about a faint autumn leaf scent. Cyno collected them as quickly as possible, haphazardly putting everything back where it was. While he doubted she would return for quite some time, he didn't want to give off any impression that he was a pervert.

Being called a traitor was easy to deal with. A sexual deviant? Not so much.

'History of the Wall of Samiel IV; Bartering in Aaru Village; Legends of the Three God Kings XI'.

All three of them were reported missing.

They were hardly anything worth hiding, and certainly not something worth getting prison time over. Time and time again, he was faced with crimes that had everything to lose and very little to gain. What benefit was there to stealing such impertinent canned knowledge? They wouldn't yield any profit, nor would people go out of their way to buy them discounted.

Evidently, he thought with a subtle shake of his head, some people couldn't keep themselves away from trouble until it snowballed.

Once he had left the four walls of her home, the scent of autumn leaves intensified - pulled him towards the back garden where an outdoor stove smouldered with the embers of a pyro flower's core underneath it. The cast iron pot was singed, black along the bottom with thickly caked soot.

Dendro shimmered within, powdered glass telling of something that had been crushed and crumbled into its simplest form. When he dragged a finger through it, he knew instantly that it had been a capsule shimmered within, powdered glass telling of something that had been crushed and crumbled into its simplest form. When he dragged a finger through it, he knew instantly that it had been a capsule.

"These were found in your home."

She cast him a sideways glance, as though he were barely worth the effort of turning her head. "I've never seen them before."

The claim was so outlandish that Cyno was momentarily stunned. Out of all the things she could have claimed, she claimed ignorance? There was no man, woman or scarab beetle that didn't know what canned knowledge was - not when the Akasha system was as ingrained in Sumeru's everyday life as it was.

"Is that so?" He asked sceptically. "They were hidden in your bedroom, where you are the only occupant of the house."

"Conducted some research, did you? Did you have fun being a pervert?"

He pursed his lips imperceptibly. "You cannot hide something with such concentrated dendro energy. Not even Allogenes can conceal it." When she didn't move, he spoke again. "Being tight-lipped will only lead to harsher punishment. If you co-operate, there is potential for your sentence to be less severe."

She turned her back to him completely. "I'm not convinced on the word 'potential'. What do you want me to admit to? Someone could have framed me; I live in an area where travellers pass through daily."

"Perhaps in an alternate world ," Cyno said, "Your elemental signature is on these capsules and there was a pot in your garden that suggests destruction of property."

"Suggests," she emphasised, " and I am not a vision bearer."

"Everything has innate elemental energy."

Her scoff rang loudly against the stone walls. "So why bother questioning me? You have the evidence. Are you here to provoke me to anger instead? I cannot stand the sight of you."

"I wish to know why you have them. Did you intend to use them? Sell them?" Cyno stood against the bars of her cell, faced with her back and the scent of damp that clung to every inch of this space. No matter how vigorously it was scrubbed, the everlasting spores of fungi were more persistent.

"I don't use that bullshit Akasha Terminal. People like you who rely on it are incapable of intelligent thought; everything must be spoonfed to you, and you believe whatever nonsense has been injected into your brain without question." Her anger was bright, so heated in its intensity that the room felt a little warmer afterwards.

Wow, he thought to himself, she has quite the opinion.

"Then why do you have them? They are worthless on the black market."

Stilted silence hung between them, the canisters glowing faintly green in the pouch that they were held in. She had yet to even acknowledge them. "I refuse to speak with you."

"That is fine. However, the other Matra have different tactics to make you talk."

"They can beat me all they like; I have nothing to say."

Every conversation with her was like pulling out his own teeth. "That isn't what I meant."

"Can you get out?"

Finally, Cyno relented. The Matra would not dare raise a hand or a weapon to her, but they needed an admission of guilt. There were rules in place to prevent any undue cruelness, but that did not mean that the others would be kind, or even patient.

He'd get to the bottom of this no matter what.

All her income came in clean - a regular civilian that sold her pottery and utensils to those who travelled along the worn path towards Caravan Ribat. Her taxes were done well in advance, every last mora accounted for with receipts, and there were no criminal convictions on her record aside from this pending case. For all intents and purposes, she was a law abiding citizen that had migrated from the desert to the forest a few years ago.

On paper, this was a case that should have been open and shut. She possessed stolen goods and had subsequently ground them into spot and ash, hence the destruction of Akademiya property.

Yet, there was no MO.

Very rarely did people do things with no motive. Even spur of the moment crimes had a reason why, something that ignited that spark towards action - whether it be anger, a lapse in judgement or simply because they wanted to.

As she had said, she seldom used her terminal. It had been used less than five times since its activation three years ago, and each time was for less than ten minutes. A few uploads of legally bought canned knowledge had been completed, all of them containing information on the habits of tribes in the desert. There was nothing else.

He had let her Akasha play through the information, trying to find what had prompted her to covet these specifically.

Nothing.

Cyno could only return to the office and write out another form with little updates. If only she would talk without being roundabout or down right hostile, but he knew that he'd left that possibility behind long ago.

The three capsules mocked him with their dull green. He'd played them through, wondering if there was something hidden within their faintly glowing exterior.

No such thing.

Bartering in Aaru village had consisted of transcribed conversations between patrons and merchants, with aside dialogue given on how the customs worked and on how to avoid being conned out of extra money. Legends of the Three God Kings had been run of the mill, too, with information mostly centring the Greater Lord and her feats of courage involving the desert and the other two Gods.

The only one that had seemed slightly strange was the condescending tone in the History of the Wall of Samiel. Cyno wasn't a fan of the way they had framed the interactions between the people of the desert and the Akademiya, the air of condescension not lost on him. Regardless, it was unaltered.

The quill rested against his finger, the ink bleeding further into the paper where the tip rested on the end of her name.

Another officer had asked him, albeit in a roundabout way, why he was so bothered with this case. It was small, inconsequential in the vast scheme of erroneous data that was being kept hidden and purposely rewritten, yet he made time everyday to look over it.

Perhaps it was gratitude that spurred him on, a desire to repay in some minute way by lessening her sentence. Cyno understood it was stupid; he was the entire reason she was even sitting in that cell with an inert frown. Even then, stupidity could not console the guilt that ebbed through him whenever he looked at her name on these pieces of paper.

A General isn't made through exemptions, he told himself (and willed himself to believe) - only through dedication.

There was little as humbling as sitting back against a cold, stone wall, and being ignored for an hour straight.

"You truly won't talk to me?"

Oh, how the mighty fell. He was acting like a lovesick fool that couldn't let go - only with the lovesickness supplemented by a humiliating drive to get a reply. The imported box of expensive nuts and chocolates he had brought as a semi peace offering were ignored, tossed aside with a grunt when he'd presented them as a belated token of thanks.

"I know that I am pestering you, and I apologise, but you have not eaten nor have you spoken to any of the other Matra." And they certainly did try. Whatever person was unfortunate enough to be the one tasked with interrogation, they almost always came out with a solemn expression. When pressed, they grumbled that her tongue was too sharp and jaw unwilling to loosen. "Going on hunger strike is ineffective. Your court date is in two weeks."

"I told you that I will not speak to you." Her clothes had changed into a simple cotton tunic, the beige of it dull and uninspired with frayed hemlines. They were made with no particular silhouette in mind, and sat according to that intention: frumpy and unflattering.

"Me and everyone else, is it?"

"I have the right to stay silent."

"You do," Cyno agreed, shifting slightly so the wall no longer carved its pattern into his bare back. "But that right isn't always the best decision to take."

A breath was drawn, one so soft that it could have been mistaken for the whisperings of the draft that somehow managed to worm its way this far down under the Akademiya. "Actually, I think I will talk."

Finally.

With his whole body now turned to face her, he waited with baited breath.

"Have you taken a look at the contents of the canned knowledge?" she asked, looking into eyes so richly brown they almost shone red under the faint light.

His nod was prompt, unguarded. "I did. They were standard recounts of desert history. There was nothing of interest."

"Did you go through it all?"

He made a noise of agreement.

"You saw nothing wrong?" Agree or disagree, he was damned either way judging from her tone.

He remained silent.

"Nothing? You thought that the description of the tribes as uncivilised people who tear each other apart was apt? You didn't care that it said the Wall of Samiel was built as a filter for only those 'educated enough to cross'?"

Indignation crossed her features, marred what was soft into something harsher than the down-turned curve of her lips. For the first time since she had been placed into this cell two weeks ago, she came closer - crawled towards him as though she were a beast intent on ripping out the shimmering plumes of his head-dress. The muscles in his jaw tightened, caught in this gaze that wished to maim him, that stared through him like she could will the snap of his neck through sheer determination.

Her hands curled around the bars. Her nails were filed into a neat almonds.

"Traitors like you make me sick," she snarled. "You think you are so established, so above the rest of us, that you don't care what happens to the rest of us who come from the desert - so long as your owners reward you with a cheque."

Try as he might, Cyno felt the tidings of impatience lapping at him. He had to endure.

"You can masquerade yourself as Justice Incarnate, but your soul will be weighed with your betrayals. In those capsules that the Akademiya spreads are lies. They paint us like we're scum that the Greater Lord didn't care to save, but they do it subtly enough that people that aren't bothered to notice, won't notice." When her eyes searched his, he wondered what she expected to see. "I would have thought you'd pick up on it, but the Sage's dog won't dare bark at its owner's faults."

He kept himself level, met her eyes with the same intensity. "Your anger at being caught does not mean that I am to blame for the injustices faced by other people."

"Other…?" Those carefully filed nails wrapped around his necklace, tugged him closer until he could smell the Sumeru rose shampoo that was given to all prisoners. "We're not 'other'. You will always be a desert dweller like us. You can study here, learn their language and open your mouth when they tell you to, but your skin is still brown. Your accent is still there." She let him go with a shove: pulled her hand back to her side after wiping it on her clothes. "I don't care that I was caught. I care that you think it's more of a crime to destroy propaganda than to make and distribute it. Your sense of justice is not based in morality."

Cyno stood up. So much for trying to reason with her. He had wasted hours sitting here despite knowing she was as unreasonable as unreasonable came. "Console yourself with whatever you want. The law will be upheld, and I am not a traitor for making sure that those who have broken it will face the consequences."

"You say the same shit every time you come down here no matter what I say. Resize your hat; it must be blocking your ears." Her scoff of laughter was hollow. Her back was to him once again. "Go run back on all fours to Azar."

"I do not answer to the Grand Sage."

"You're still here?"

He should have let it go, told himself it wasn't worth it to argue with someone that was hurting- "I worked my way up the same as anyone else," he stated, disregarding his sense. "My position was not earned through begging, or by standing on other people. Everyone is treated equally."

"Judged by where they come from, more like."

He shook his head. "You are incorrigible."

"I don't give a fuck."

His teeth were gritted the entire walk back to the surface.

(Her back ached from the hours of laying against the stone bed, the woollen blanket doing little to curb the bite of muscle pain and fatigue. The days had blurred together, blending into endless hours of staring at the ceiling, of fiddling with the jewellery in her ears and spinning them around so often that long-healed piercings swelled up in irritation.

Another sigh escaped her, one amongst a thousand others. Two weeks had passed inch by inch, crawling along on its hands and feet until she felt the phantom sores on her body - an itch that only worsened whenever footsteps sounded outside of her cell. Sometimes, it was accompanied by the sounds of protests - another catch of the Matra dragged in to fester behind iron walls - mostly, it was silent, save for the sounds of keys jingling.

On the rare occasion, the General Mahamatra would come by and her blood would boil in her veins. There was nothing more agitating than forcing down a mouthful of flavourless rice porridge with a pitiful drizzle of overly fried onions, and then being made to endure his chatter.

For a man with a reputation of being stoic and silent, he liked to talk frivolously; Unlucky, she was the only victim of this uncharacteristic quirk. Always single-minded, always grating.

However, another box of those chocolates sounded nice right around now when the flavour in her mouth was all but gone. So what if she'd thrown them in the moment? Food was food, especially when the 'chefs' of the prison could barely muster the courage to salt their meals.

That man…

She sighed once more, turning onto her left now that her back had started to ache.

If he came again, she would definitely give him another earful. There was little on Teyvat that set her off more than those who turned their back on their own people, and then had the gall to argue about whether or not it was righteous of them to do so. An idiot with a hat too big, she was convinced, an idiot with no sense of duty other than what the higher ups instructed.

Did he sleep soundly at night, she wondered. From his near flawless face, it seemed like he never missed a wink of beauty sleep. The notion made her snort; the General applying face-cream with the likeness of a blushing bride just before he slept - flat on his back and arms crossed as if laid in a sarcophagus.

Idiot.

Sudden footsteps drew her out of her wandering thoughts, the clinking of metal so close by that she couldn't help but crane her head over her shoulder. An officer pushed a bundle through the gaps, his expression dull and unimpressed.

"The General Mahamatra has sent these blankets," he said. She did not deign to give gratitude. "Hello? Did you hear me?"

"Yes," she replied dryly, "I did."

"So ungrateful," he muttered intentionally loud enough for her to hear. "He must only bother with you because of your pretty face."

Another stupid man to deal with.

"Jealous?" she couldn't stop herself from saying, feeling more than satisfied with herself at the reflection of his disgruntled look. "I'm sure he'll notice you if you do something exceptional."

An insult followed that she didn't care to repeat. It was always the same thing with these men, some useless misogynistic phrase that had been recycled and tired from the beginning of time.

"Heretics like you are why the desert dwellers are so easy to fool. You all believe things with no evidence, and then wonder why you're up to your teeth in debt. Your God isn't coming back." Suddenly, she wished she had a bowl of that porridge just so she could throw it at him. She hardly believed that the Scarlet King was coming back, but she didn't expect him to other her in a favourable way. "You won't be getting out soon, regardless."

Her body was upright in a matter of seconds. He was so painfully smug, the bands of grey in his hair glimmering under the kerosene lamplight. The sash across his body boasted multiple awards, all of which undermined by the triumphant smile across his lips at successfully getting a reaction. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're looking at a minimum of 20 years."

20…?

The tang of iron coated her teeth, gave her that burst of flavour she had been craving. She'd known better than to hope, yet it still struck her as obnoxiously harsh.

"You better pray that you stay pretty," he remarked, just to add salt to the barely scabbed wound, "or the General won't look at you twice again."

She made sure to remember every badge on that sash and the sneer on his face. The lack of name badge mattered little when faced with spite. "You should focus on being pretty, too." Her smile mimicked his like a canine's bared teeth. "Go and apply some mehndi to those white hairs, you old bastard."

At least only Cyno had the keys to her cell because she was sure that he would have brandished that baton attached to his belt with a renewed zest for life if he could get inside. Instead, he could only curse up a storm outside of her cell, all words of which fell on deaf, unbothered ears.)

"Do you know who this woman is?"

The painting he had done of her was rudimentary at best, and childishly crude at worst. Upon her almost violent refusal at taking a picture, and the Akademiya Kamera only capable of subar picturs with a moving subject, Cyno had to unleash his inner artist.

That was to say, he tried his best. His brush strokes could not hope to capture her looks, let alone those eyes that he could recognise from the intensity of her stare alone. Still, he hoped that she was somewhat recognisable to the people who lived around the area.

Most of the people had some idea, telling him that she often came to the markets to sell her wares and would leave by 5pm because her skin was sensitive to the sun. It was a strange thing to hear - that someone from the desert couldn't handle the heat of the golden sun, but he was hardly hung up on this.

"She hasn't come for a few weeks now," Ahmad the vegetable seller remarked, his thick eyebrows furrowing together. "Normally, she takes the stall next to Lubna Auntie and helps her throughout the day. The last time she was absent for this long was because she caught some illness from a Fontainian fish monger."

Cyno nodded solemnly. Foreign illness were nothing to laugh at. "Did she ever sell any canned knowledge?"

He shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. The girl hates anything to do with the Akasha, and won't sell to anyone who's wearing one." A shrug punctuated the ironic observation; Cyno's Akasha had been quietly processin everything the whole time as a second pair of eyes. "Beggars can't be choosers, if you ask me. What those bastards at the Akademiya say has no use to me."

"Has she always disliked the Akademiya?"

Ahmad raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down in a way that made his skin itch. Shit- did he recognise him?

Then, he smiled, coming in closer with this smile on his lips that meant trouble, his neatly trimmed moustache twitching. "You're asking so many questions about her. If you have an interest, you'll have to talk about something other than the Akademiya, or you'll never get anywhere."

Cyno's mouth hung open. The merchant's smile grew wide until he clapped Cyno on the back, making him stumble forwards despite himself.

"Between you and me," he whispered. "She's a scary lady. I've never seen someone scare off so many trouble making eremites with just a stick, but I'm sure a handsome young man like you can tame the beast. Just say a few sweet words and grovel when you need to."

"Right," Cyno uttered with faltering confidence, "I shall keep that mind." These types of nosy old geezers would never listen if he denied it, and it was a battle he would not win without a loss of pride. "Was she a former student?"

"Definitely not. She said something about being a contractor for the murals in House of Daena, but she'd rather milk a cactus than be a student there."

The rest of his conversations were similar: people recognised her here and there, stated that her dislike for the Akademiya was obvious, and that she wasn't the type to bring trouble to herself for no reason (but not the type to ignore it, he noted). Most did not wish to entertain conversations for too long, and Cyno didn't push his luck.

With the sun starting to set, he approached a few others along the outskirts of the small market area to varying levels of satisfactory response. As his final attempt for the night, he approached the stall of an elderly woman who sold flowers on the verge of wilting despite the syrupy water they were perched in.

The florist whom had turned away less than a second after glancing at the painting, merely grunted.

Of course you have no idea, he thought to himself, people here only care about money.

The paper crumpled between his fingers in sudden horror; the curve of her replica's face scrunched into a further, deeper frown.

What was he thinking? Why was he thinking that?!

He knew he had no right to this woman's time, yet something so uncharacteristically rude had crossed his mind?

The taste in his mouth soured, any semblance of focus disappearing as his Akasha continued to scan the faces of unsuspecting people. Despite having weak access to the main data areas in Sumeru's rain forest hubs, it whirred in his ears as if trying to drown out all rational thought.

Cyno turned it off, a queasiness settling within his stomach that felt like it was inviting bile. His hand fumbled in his pocket before producing a pile of mora, buying the last few bundles of flowers she had for the day and leaving hurriedly after.

Maybe he needed to take some time off.

His eyes burned from the hours of carefully trawling through hundreds of canned knowledge capsules, the dendro energy staining his fingers a luminescent green. They piled up around him, translated into his akasha with information that he knew to be false - yet couldn't help but believe - and half truths mixed in with the intentionally underhanded commentary of desert life.

Beside it, a scroll of all the authors was unfurled. Rather than hundreds of names to match the volume of canned knowledge being produced, the same dozen names repeatedly showed up. Concentrating such a vast topic down into the hands of less than 20 people would introduce nothing but bias presented as fact - and the Sages that commissioned them knew this better than anyone else.

The inconsistencies made his head swim. 'King Deshret's Mausoleum II' had stated that The Greater Lord Rukkhadevata assisted in building the structures in the desert during their shared reign with the Flower Goddess, while 'Eremite Tacit Knowledge' claimed that the structures in the desert were not crafted until after the death of the Flower Goddess and the remaining two God Kings had split their domain into two. It was abundantly obvious that quality control was non-existent - and had no chance of being vetted when they, and dozen others, had flooded the market within months.

She had been right from the very beginning; he'd didn't know how he might look her in the face.

His Akasha was pushed to the side, the earpiece dull once it had disconnected. Without it, the fog that had seeped into the crevices of his brain began to alleviate, the haze that he hadn't realised was there was gone.

So that was it. The Akasha create dependency after all.

His audit was lengthy, his wrist aching with overuse, but he continued until the entire scroll of parchment was filled with perfect references and a wax seal of the General. However, even as he delivered it directly, he knew this was simply lip service. No crook ever willingly showed their hand.

Ultimately, his hands were tied.

(Another box of sweet, candied nuts lay just within the confines of her cell, pushed past the narrow bars and haphazardly placed. It took no long, nor hard thought to realise who they had come from, and, unlike before, she opened them right away. Only a foolish man wasted his money on a woman who was unperturbed by his efforts, but she'd reap the benefits without complaint.

The carefully wrapped paper was torn into jagged ribbons - tossed into the mess that the Matra had the audacity to call 'pillow filling'. The nuts were triple glazed, shiny to the touch and even tastier on the tongue. Half of her wondered if he might have poisoned it; the other half didn't care.

Under the first tray lay a letter, carefully folded and written on a piece of paper torn from a notebook. A small jackal drawing in the corner confirmed it as his.

Her tongue clicked. She still opened the paper.

'I have verified what you said. Although I cannot clear you of your crimes because there is evidence of it, I am working towards having you acquitted. I understand that you do not trust me, and I do not dare overstep by asking for it, but I hope that you can have some faith that you will not spend much longer in prison.

The state of academic integrity in the Akademiya is in a state I have never seen before; I am ashamed at what the Sages have been approving under my nose. I cannot share too much with you right now, though I can say that many of your theories are right. I wonder if you've had some insider training; Did you take any Akademiya sponsored projects?

I will come by within the week to speak to you. Your verbal response would be much appreciated. Thank you.

Once you have read this letter, please dispose of it carefully. I will send someone to bring you wet towels and a change of clothes. If you have any meal requests, please let the Matra know; I have instructed them to not refuse.

Yours Sincerely, Cyno.'

For a moment, she let herself stare at the perfect, cursive script. It was the kind only a scholar could have, elegant and refined through years of gruelling lectures and essays of above average quality. Then, she tore the letter up, erasing the small smile on her face as fast as it came.)

When Nayab came to him looking rushed off his feet, panting as though he had held his breathe until his lungs could bear not a second longer, Cyno paused his brisk walk to listen.

"General Cyno," he huffed, clutching onto the staff that had began to change colour where the salt of his skin had seeped into the atoms. "The Sages are pushing for execution for the young lady. I've tried to speak to her, but she refuses to say a word."

Where Nayab's fingers pressed against his spear, they only gripped tighter after delivering this news.

"Execution?" Cyno echoed, expecting to hear a crude laugh after this. The death penalty over something so lowly? "Are you mistaken?"

Nayab swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. "No, General. Even I thought this was too severe but they are pushing for it on the grounds that the knowledge she destroyed can't be recuperated. They said 20 years originally but…" He trailed off, any contradiction pointless in the face of absurdity.

"None of what she has stolen is worth execution. They were low level capsules that are easily replaceable." Yes, he was well aware of knowledge being one of highest forms of capital - second only to mora - but it was not worth a human life. Never. "I will speak to them."

So he did, assigning his routine patrol to a nearby officer as he headed straight for the Grand Sage's office. Azar was not a man who welcomed unprompted visits: Cyno was not a man who cared for propriety.

Nonetheless, when Cyno knocked, he waited until he had heard an 'enter' before coming in to a stony face and a body sat too upright in his seat to be natural. "Cyno, what brings you to my office? Has something happened?"

Yes, he itched under his skin to say, something has happened. You are hiding things from me and expecting me to play the lolling-tongued dog.

Rather, he settled for something more amicable. "I have a few concerns I wish to bring forth."

The man folded his hands together, the illusion of full attention doing little to convince Cyno of his authenticity. "What are they? They must be troubling you if you've come to me firstly without arranging a meeting." The thinly veiled jab was almost laughable. Arrange a meeting so you can destroy evidence beforehand, he scorned.

If Azar thought Cyno cared about that, then the man didn't know who the hell he had hired. "Someone is attempting to override the Matra's ruling and sentence a woman to death over canned knowledge. We both know this is a gross overreaction, but I can't help but wonder why this sudden push."

Grey eyebrows furrowed together, Azar's frown lines only becoming more pronounced. "Is this the woman that stole and destroyed official Akademiya canned knowledge?" Upon Cyno's lack of reply, he leant back in his gaudy seat. "Cyno, Cyno, Cyno. You and I both know it is bordering a sin to destroy knowledge and conceal it, especially when we have taken the time to distribute it to the people of Sumeru. If we're lenient on this, then we have to be lenient on everything."

It took all the strength in his body to not react to the disgustingly condescending tone. "It is bordering, but it's not crossed the boundary. Killing a woman over some low-level capsules is asinine."

"If we don't have some sort of quality control, then why even have the Akademiya? We should let any lowbrow individual do whatever they please, is it?" Azar shook his head, as if reprimanding a child. "It's setting an example, Cyno."

"You don't set examples through murder."

The Grand Sage tsked. "The council can judge her fate. That's what the court system is for. I don't personally make these judgements."

"I am aware," Cyno gritted out. It was always like this. The man talked in circles like he had written his dissertation specifically on worming his way out of difficult conversations. "I am asking that the Sages do not interfere and escalate a sentence unnecessarily."

On the table, the sun shone through the stained glass panels, in smatterings of rainbow. They decorated the bare skin of his thighs, danced over his femoral artery. Cyno noticed Azar shuffling some documents out of his view. "Yes, yes. I'll tell them to keep your words in mind."

"Secondly, I submitted an audit into the academic integrity of what was written in those capsules; I found them to be bloated with half truths and unreferenced claims about Al-ahmar and the people of the desert." Azar avoided his gaze, choosing to shuffle and reshuffle a stack of documents that were similarly full of idle musings. "I haven't heard anything back for a week now, and I personally delivered it to your mailbox."

The man rose to his feet, hands behind his back with inflated importance. "I'm a busy man, Cyno, I can't answer everything within minutes." A week was hardly a minute, especially when he was reprimanded for taking more than three days to fill out and file paperwork. "The Sages personally vet all the canned knowledge before they are distributed. They wouldn't let anything subpar be published."

"Is that so?" Cyno muttered, unimpressed.

"In all honesty, it's better if you turn your attention on more pressing matters. The Sages are the highest level of authority, Cyno, we understand what should and should not be published." His laugh was grating, the kind that had never known any real mirth. "It's not the Matra's job to focus on what we're doing."

At this, Cyno stood up. "Are you suggesting you're above the law?"

Wrinkled hands raised in mock surrender. "I am saying that you are focusing on the wrong things. We are disciples of the Greater Lord and we share her vision for knowledge. We do not need supervision."

Knowledge his ass. He'd heard enough of this nonsense to know where he stood in the eyes of this man. In the end, the sanctity of Ma'at meant little to the Grand Sage that could order as he pleased, and it only sunk further beneath him when the one delivering it was a desert dweller.

"Alright. I will take my leave." Before I lose my patience and draw my weapon instead, he decided against saying.

His back was turned, only the echo of his name keeping him still. "Yes?"

"General Mahamatra, I have noticed that you aren't logging all your actions in the Akasha. I recommend you do not fall short of your duties in the future."

He held himself still - grateful that the tightness of his jaw was invisible to the Grand Sage. "Duly noted. Please excuse me."

The door slammed shut under its own weight.

As if he'd do anything of the sort.

Night had become thick in the Sumerun sky, the crescent moon high in the sky as Cyno headed into the prison. It was not a foreign sight, far from it, really, but it was not common for him to come so late.

The attending night duty staff welcomed him in, left when he dismissed them and said he would be stationed there for the night. They had little reason to doubt the word of the General Mahamatra, especially not with the loftiness of that title.

He only hoped they would face too much trouble when morning light broke.

Her name was soft on his tongue, whispered so softly that it might not have been uttered at all. It repeated, rolled over and stuck to the roof of his mouth, before she finally stirred and turned to him from underneath his gifted blanket.

Despite the finger against his lips, he knew she was dying to say something - anything - especially when the lock clicked loudly in the absence of prison murmurings. 'Don't speak,' he mouthed, his touch deft as he pulled the cloak around her body, the hood shrouding her visage. It was created as a backup, the kind thought of the tailor who had made the original jackal eared clock.

Nothing was taken with her aside from a thinner blanket, the other used to form a vaguely human like shape under the covers. No one would notice until it was too late, and they'd certainly not think to cast the blame on to him.

It wasn't until they were far away from the Akademiya's shroud that she finally let herself speak. The chill of the rainforest night settled against their skin, travelling up the hemp sleeves of their cloaks with every hurried footfall. "Are you letting me go?" she asked, almost afraid to say it too loud in case he changed his mind - dragged her back to that cell in a show of psychological warfare.

"Yes," he confirmed, fingers tightening on the sleeve as he rushed them along the outskirts of the city towards his home. "I have resigned from my position. The Akademiya are trying to cover something up, and I cannot investigate from within anymore. I know the Grand Sage and the Akasha is involved somehow."

"Resigned?" she repeated as if the word itself was completely foreign. Honestly, it was when used in relation to him. Even a month ago, he would have thought it some ill-advised fantasy. "Why?"

Her fingers brushed against his in a light pulse of warmth despite the frigid temperature. "They were using the Akasha to track me." A deep breath. "You were right," he confessed, too sheepish to look her in the eyes just yet. "The Akasha creates dependency. They wanted me to use it and log my actions so I would follow their orders without hesitation." Then, he paused. "I was acting like a traitor - not entirely of my own free will - but it was my actions, nonetheless. Please forgive me."

This once, he allowed himself to be a little avoidant and act as if he couldn't feel the pressing force of her infinite gaze against his profile. He didn't want to tackle what would stare him in the face, and he didn't want to know what beast would bare its teeth: whether it was triumphant or pitying.

"Won't they try to arrest you?" she questioned, derailing what he assumed would be the next line of conversation.

"Perhaps," he said before pausing to reconsider. "Most likely."

"I'm surprised you bothered with freeing me, then," she commented, bemused. "You made yourself a wanted criminal."

It was the complete opposite of everything he had embodied for so long, and he'd certainly only cemented himself as a hypocrite, yet he found that he didn't care at all. "I'm aware," he acknowledged with slight purse of his lips. "However, the law should prevent unnecessary punishment, not be used as a tool against people who are challenging the unjust. If I have to take the fall, I will take it."

A part of him expected something sarcastic, a snarky comment about how he was playing the martyr after being the cause of her troubles.

It didn't come.

"You'll be fine," she reassured, fingers gripping onto the hem of his sleeve. "The truth has a way of coming out no matter what. Grand Prick Azar will get his dues."

"Grand Prick Azar," Cyno uttered, admiring the unabashed disrespect. "You're right. I will bring him to justice."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You have such a one track mind."

His home was warm, a contained wood burner keeping the inside heated in his absence. He had packed just before he left, leaving a bag full of belongings he would take with him into the east of the desert. Beside it lay a smaller, leather pouch filled with mora. "This is for you." He pressed it into her palm, refusing to take it back when she all but threw it at him. "Use it to find somewhere safe to stay, but do not come near Sumeru City, Port Omos or Aaru village. There will be Matra dispatched everywhere. If you need to go home, take your things and leave within the day."

"Where are you going?"

"I cannot tell you."

Her hands were held open in surrender, the pouch dangling from the strings laced between her fingers. "Then you should stay away from anymore ruins, or I won't be there to save you."

"I'll do as you say."

"Hmph."

When silence fell between them, it wasn't as awkward as it was strangely charged. All these weeks he had only seen her clearly during their very first meeting, with the rest of the rest conducted under indirect lighting that cast unnatural shadows over her. Even now, the overhead light was harsher than the sun, drowned out the softer edges of her features save for her piercing gaze. He couldn't meet it for longer than a few seconds, his open palms swiping against the fabric of his shendyt.

"I will say"-she started, breaking the silence-"your sense of justice is very rigid. It can be admirable, but impersonal. The best of us are those who are the best to the less fortunate."

It stung, but it was true. "Justice is best when impartial."

"To a certain extent, yes, but impartiality can remove humanity." She shrugged lightly. The hood fell from her head. "For example, you can criticise the people of the desert for believing in Al-Ahmar's resurrection even when we all know that it is near impossible, however this ignores how the Akademiya are the ones sowing seeds of discord in the first place to create a rift between everyone. Fanaticism doesn't come out of nowhere, right?"

"I agree with you. The Akademiya has always had their prejudices, and I know it first hand, but that doesn't mean everyone in the system is corrupt. I was adopted by a former Sage, and I know with full confidence that the only thing he has been unjust to are his cucumber plants; they've been in a pickle." They both stared at one another without a word until Cyno cleared his throat. "You see, it's a double entendre because 'being in a pickle' means to be in trouble-"

"I got the joke," she interrupted him. "I didn't realise it was on purpose."

"Oh."

She gave a short, incredulous laugh. "Maybe I misjudged you. Only someone crazy could be the General."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's an observation."

Cyno nodded, his tongue poking his cheek. He'd never felt like more of an aimless buffoon than now-

Then, she reached into her pocket and took his hand. Thin, golden ribbon that had been carefully deconstructed and rewoven into a frail cat was placed into his palm. "I made this with the gift box ribbon. You can have it."

His fingers closed around it, already imagining it within Collei's pouch. "Thank you." A pause. "We should leave soon to get ahead."

"We should," she confirmed. "Will you return to the city?"

"If the circumstances are right, I will."

The door locked behind them. She moved to the left, Cyno to the right. "Then I will come back, too, and I expect a nice meal on your mora."

He certainly wasn't going to oppose that. "Do you have any dietary restrictions?"

"No. It only has to be tasty." Then she added, "and expensive."

Cyno's lips curled into the slightest smile. "Whatever you want."

One year later

His stomach was fit to burst, almost comically round as he tried to hide it under the shawl he had brought along. While it was doubtful anyone would notice, or even care since their own bellies were in a similar, pitiful state, he had an image to maintain - and a glutton wasn't included in frame.

However, Cyno couldn't help but be astonished at how much Paimon could eat. The little fairy ate more than three grown men combined, and still managed to fly without any wings.

"Ahhh," Paimon exclaimed, patting her tummy after a libertine burp, her smile accomplished. It was certainly an achievement to eat two sharing thali's by herself, he thought. "Paimon hadn't eaten this well in a while. It's so nice to relax after everything that's happened."

Murmurs of agreement followed from around the table, faces from the desert and rain-forest alike congregated upon Nilou's invitation. Cyno had initially thought of declining as he'd been inundated with work following the Lesser Lord becoming archon and his rejoining of the Matra; Tighnari's unimpressed sideways glare had him swiftly changing his mind.

For now, he wouldn't think of what mess lay in wait. A good celebration was deserved after the hell that everyone had endured for the last few months - with the goodness coming in the form of endless food.

He stood up once he heard drunken hiccuping and the announcement of another round of toasts. His stomach couldn't take anymore, and the sight of him groaning in overfed agony was not pretty.

Outside of the Grand Bazaar, the night was young. Stars twinkled above, the stickiness of a crowded space melting away with the breeze. The faint tang of sand and ouid was carried along it.

"Oh! Cyno!" The door opened and Paimon floated through towards him. "Traveller asked me to give you this." From almost thin air, Paimon brandished a sizeable box, her little face scrunching from having to hold it. "Take it quickly, it's heavy!"

He took it quickly. There was no sender. "Who gave it?"

"I don't know. She just said that it was from a shady woman in a jackal cloak, you know, like your hat." Paimon tapped her chin in thought. "Open it. It might be a trap."

He knew exactly who had given it, and he honestly couldn't rule out that it might be something unsavoury - even if the chance was slim. "Thank you," he said, giving her a grateful nod of his head before undoing the tape keeping the box together. Inside lay a limited edition Raiden Shogun TCG card, one he'd been chasing down for the better part of 6 months, and thick, decadent fudges from Fontaine. At the very bottom was a box of candied nuts.

"Do you know where the woman who gave this went?" Cyno asked, stomach churning with something sickening, something between hope and relief.

"Um, Traveller said she was near Katheryne. Maybe she's still there?"

"I see. Tell Traveller I said thank you." Paimon had barely lifted her little hand to wave before he was gone, leaving her baffled and muttering to herself about how he seemed eager.

It had to have been a few hours since she'd given the gift to the Traveller and the chances of her staying around were slim. Even so, he hurried over with the speed of a man possessed, the box clutched to his chest like he could push it into his heart and cradle it within him.

"Are you still here?" he called out into the still air. Even Katheryne had left for the night, the area devoid of anyone aside from the call of cicadas. "Where could you have gone?" Cyno murmured under his breath, only to hear giggling.

"Who are you calling for?" A shockingly familiar voice came from above him, his eyes catching sight of her leaning against the window sill of the nearby inn. Golden light lavished her from behind, shrouding her face in darkness. Cyno knew there was a smile on her face. "It's rude to be so noisy at night."

"Forgive me," he said, not meaning it at all. "It's good to see you again."

"I can't hear you from up here, say it again."

"It is good to see you again."

"One more time!"

Cyno suppressed an eye-roll. "Then meet me down here if you cannot hear."

Unsurprisingly, she heard that loud and clear since she appeared a few moments later. "You know, news travels fast. I knew the Akademiya was untrustworthy, but trying to instate a false god is beyond my imagination."

"Yours and mine," he agreed. "Azar and his minions were banished to Avidya Forest, so they are of no concern."

Her eyebrow raised. "Who decided that punishment? I'm sentenced to three weeks in a deplorable cell and they get a forest retreat?"

He shook his head. "I'd hardly call it a retreat, but it was the Dendro Archon's decision." A moment passed. "She is more benevolent than I am."

"What is the archon like?" she asked, eyes roving over his face so slowly that he felt self-conscious.

"She is kind and understanding," Cyno summerised, thinking that an abridged version would suffice for now. "She is certainly more open to change than the Sages. I cannot comment on a God's understanding, but I think she will adapt quickly to the needs of Sumeruns."

She listened dutifully, and he wondered what she might be thinking. If he might guess, it would be on how the relationship between the Akademiya and the desert would change. There was still a mountain to climb, and the summit was edging on the planes of Heaven, but Cyno had faith that Nahida might be the one to lead that expedition. "High praise," she said, finally.

He shuffled, fingers brushing against the tacky tape. "How did you know I wanted this card?"

"A birdy told me you're a TCG lover."

"Who tweeted?"

She chuckled at the - admittedly - terrible joke. "I asked the Chief Officer of the Forest Rangers. I heard he is close to you."

Huh. And Tighnari hadn't said a word to him. He would ask about that.

"Where did you find it?"

"I took a trip to Inazuma. Nice country, but I think the person I went with was a little… too much." She shook her head and sighed heavily. "It was a young man from Fontaine, and he was strangely obsessed with Inazuman women and light novels: called them exotic and innocent. I'd recommend going alone."

It was his turn to look disconcerted. "Sounds harrowing," Cyno sympathised, "if you wish, I can accompany you next time."

The moment he said that, he wanted to turn into a beetle and hide in the cracks of the stone beneath their feet. That stare of hers was no light punishment.

"As long as you don't moan when you eat a stick of dango, feel free."

"Rest assured, I wont." Cyno felt stilted, like the things he wanted to say were inconvenient yet consuming. Would she be annoyed with all his questioning? He had wondered how she was doing, if she was well. His worry had been for nought, not that he expected otherwise. "Will you be staying in the city now that you've been pardoned?"

"Why? You want to arrest me again?"

Heat blossomed along his neck. Cyno was suddenly grateful that his skin didn't blush. "No. In fact, I think you would make a great Matra. You have the tenacity and drive."

"I think I'll pass on your generous offer," she said, "I prefer my pottery and mural work, but let me know if there's any commissions you need doing."

"I'll keep you in mind." Some areas were in need of rework. "You didn't answer if you're staying in the city."

"For this month, yes."

Perfect. He could make some time in his schedule. "Then let's have dinner sometime soon - as expensive as you want."

Her smile was bright, eager. "Are you free tomorrow?"

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