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When Alhaitham wakes, the first few things he perceives are a firm weight on his chest, and a river of white hair tangled underneath his fingers.
This is notable due to the fact that he remembers falling asleep in an inn at Caravan Ribat– very much alone.
Sunlight streams in through a gap in the curtains at the wrong angle, stained glass windows throwing shards of color onto the walls. His sheets' thread count has increased considerably. It takes a few minutes for him to place this as his childhood room, one that he has not slept in for years.
His body is slower to catch up to his mind at this hour, but when it does, his bedmate stirs, no doubt woken up by the sound of his frantic heartbeat.
Red eyes peer up at him in concern.
His breath catches in his throat.
“Alhaitham?” The General Mahamatra yawns, propping himself up on an elbow. “What’s wrong?”
“General Cyno—”
“‘Cyno’ will do.”
Alhaitham acquiesces. “Cyno. Just to be clear,” he starts, in a tone that conveys how little of this is clear to him at all, “you claim that I am currently five years into the future.”
“That’s right.”
Alhaitham tilts his head. “And you know I would be a poor scholar if I accepted that without question.”
Time travel is a concept that has been discussed in Spantamad and Rtawahist circles, but theory and science fiction are all it has ever amounted to, as far as Alhaitham knows. Cyno’s expression holds steady even in the face of his incredulity.
“We’ll get to that part,” Cyno says. “I promise to answer what I can, even if I was informed of this temporal anomaly recently. Just yesterday, in fact,” he adds in a wry tone. “You should eat breakfast first though.”
With that, Cyno nudges a plate of reheated Sabz meat stew—Alhaitham’s version of it—closer to his side of the table. There is also a plate of sliced mangoes, along with two steaming cups of dark chocolate.
How domestic. Alhaitham’s traitorous stomach grumbles, but he doesn't shovel the food onto his plate just yet. "Last I heard, you exiled yourself from the Akademiya. By any chance, would this—" He gestures to the room. "—happen to be part of the Sages' pet project?"
After all, Alhaitham had decided to investigate on his own with the divine knowledge capsule, after determining that he was unlikely to get the answers he wanted within Sumeru City. For now, he only has the barest idea of what it entails, aside from the Sages’ hubris.
There is also the General Mahamatra. The position requires clear judgment and impartiality, but in between power plays and personal motivations, Alhaitham knows that is rarely the case. Cyno’s sleep-mussed hair and the oversized nightshirt dwarfing his frame also does nothing to diminish the times Alhaitham has seen him in action from afar—or just this morning, really, when Cyno had him pinned in about ten seconds while they were both disoriented.
“No.” The vehemence with which it’s said yanks Alhaitham from his own thoughts. “No, that’s not—” Cyno sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I know that you have no reason to trust me as you are right now, but—” He raises a hand to his heart. “—I will not let any harm come to you here. I swear it.”
Were it anyone else, Alhaitham would have dismissed such words as an attempt to placate him. Cyno cannot guarantee such a thing without accounting for an infinite number of possibilities, but his words echo with the strength of his convictions, his sharp red eyes not once straying from Alhaitham.
It gives him pause.
Still, Alhaitham is hungry and one of his favorite dishes is under consideration. He can postpone his curiosity for a few minutes longer.
“Bold words. I will hold you to them, then,” he says, and helps himself to the food with Cyno watching for his reaction like a hawk.
The first bite of meat he takes is a little dry, but familiar and good. It’s not unlike how Alhaitham would have prepared it himself. He probably has, if there’s any truth to what Cyno has said. Something must show on his face because Cyno gives a satisfied nod, and lets breakfast pass them by in silence.
The passage of five years is easy enough to note on Alhaitham as he looks into a conjured mirror: new scars littering his skin, a darker tan that speaks of more time outdoors, and the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes.
And… there is the house.
After his grandmother had passed, Alhaitham hardly had need of two residences. The apartment given by the Akademiya for his and Kaveh’s research makes for a quicker commute and is closer to the city center. The logical thing to do would have been to sell his childhood home off.
Yet, he had not. He brought what keepsakes he could with him and came back twice a year, every year, for cleaning and general upkeep.
Alhaitham still remembers every detail, from the prior placement of the furniture to the specific creak of the floorboards, so it is strange to see it lived in once more. He finds his grandmother’s wedding portrait in the study, her jewelry in the vanity, and her collection of books and diaries replaced on the shelves. A gentle, woodsy incense wafts through the air.
But in the midst of familiar sights, he also finds clothes two sizes smaller in his own wardrobe, a headdress on the coat rack in the living room, and a deck of cards left on a cabinet. He takes in a photograph inserted in a Haravatat academic journal like a bookmark, one of Cyno looking at the kamera as though surprised into doing so.
A few minutes pass. He lingers some more before he regains the presence of mind to move on.
Photography has been slow to catch on in Sumeru. Many consider it superfluous in the face of the Akasha system, but clearly, said people do not recognize the merits of physical records. (There’s also something to be said about how Cyno and this Alhaitham lack the terminals on their persons.) He comes across what he wants soon enough after a more thorough examination of the shelves, and pulls a hefty album onto the large desk in the middle of the study.
It seems as though his future self has expanded his social circle in the last five years as well. He recognizes a few known figures within the forest: Nilou, the leading performer of Zubayr Theater; and Tighnari, an Amurta alumnus and Forest Ranger. Alhaitham remembers he was gracious enough to treat Kaveh to a meal after the latter tried to build over a withering zone. Kaveh also features in several group photos, so Alhaitham must still be in touch with him until now.
There are also people he’s less familiar with: a grinning woman dressed in the style of an Eremite; another with a serene smile and blue-and-gold eyes; and a sweet-faced child who bears a striking resemblance to their Statue of the Seven.
He finds relatively fewer photos of him and Cyno either individually or together. Alhaitham doesn’t think he would be inclined to be the subject anyway. There is a short series where they are not even the focus, haphazardly taken with Kaveh and Tighnari in the foreground in what looks like Puspa cafe. Both him and Cyno are nursing cups of wine while conversing with each other.
The kamera catches Cyno mid-laugh, a hand in front of his mouth, and Alhaitham looks at him like—
Well. Alhaitham’s face also isn’t one inclined to smiling, but there, he knows he is content in Cyno’s company. Happy, even.
He pushes the album back in its place before making his way to the living room.
True to his word, Cyno has already given him what answers he could. His future self had gone through the same anomaly as him five years ago which had only lasted for a few hours. No, they haven’t pinpointed an exact cause considering the singular nature of the event. He even offered some broad strokes about the future. There had been—or will be a coup at the Akademiya and the Sages’ conspiracy uncovered. Lesser Lord Kusanali will be freed and will govern as Sumeru’s archon once more. Alhaitham will still be the Grand Scribe and live in relative leisure, sans a few incidents, and will move back into this house in three years.
Alhaitham should be more suspicious of how forthcoming Cyno has been, but he is coming to consider that his supposed honesty is really just that.
Cyno is stretched out on the sofa like a cat in a sunbeam, freshly bathed and dressed with cards laid out across the cushions. He mutters something silently to himself in fierce concentration, but he looks up as Alhaitham seats himself on the armrest.
“Oh.” Cyno pushes himself up. “Are you done investigating the house? We could go for a walk, if you wanted to see the city next. There’s still some time.”
“Perhaps,” Alhaitham says. “Is there anything I should know if we run into acquaintances?”
Cyno considers it. “We shouldn’t have a problem if it’s just a quick chat. And I can get us away by saying we have other places to be, which wouldn’t be a lie,” he adds, as if that part is personally important. “But it’s unlikely we’ll meet anyone who knows the both of us very well today. Kaveh is still at Pardis Dhyai, and Tighnari won’t visit until the weekend. Nilou is still busy with the festival. Candace and Dehya—you haven’t met them yet—they aren’t in the city right now. We could always run into Lord Kusanali, but her help would be a good thing in your case…”
Alhaitham listens to the deep, soothing cadence of Cyno’s voice as he gives him a clearer picture of the connections he will make. He takes in the way Cyno’s eyes light up, the sure gestures of his hands.
He thinks about the house. The photos. All the little pieces of another life intertwined with his own.
And he wonders.
“Have I truly changed so much?” he muses out loud.
Cyno blinks. The damp ends of his hair curl against the towel slung across his shoulders.
But before Alhaitham can pick apart his impulsive question, Cyno lets out a thoughtful hum. He understands, Alhaitham thinks with some relief, though if asked, he would not be able to state the basis for this claim. Cyno gathers his cards and stacks them neatly onto the low table, then pats the empty space beside him. Alhaitham follows, sitting an armswidth away.
“It's impossible to remain exactly the same person for that long," Cyno starts. The room is quiet, aside from the distant sounds of the city. “I would know. You’re actually not so different from when I met you five years ago. You're still so infuriatingly reasonable, except at times like when you're trying to tell me why putting yourself in danger is the most logical course of action."
He huffs in a way that tells Alhaitham this is an old grievance. "I can't exactly defend myself without your knowledge of the future,” Alhaitham points out, “but I daresay I wouldn’t make an argument that wasn’t sound.”
"You're also still as blunt as ever. We got off on the wrong foot at first, you know. It took me a few days to realize the thought you were giving to others underneath it all."
Alhaitham raises an eyebrow. Being accused of consideration is a first for him, but he lets Cyno continue.
"And you're good at being on your own." A pause. "As am I. But you were one of the people who showed me that I didn’t always have to be, whether it involved saving our nation, or bearing secrets, or being kept awake at night because of dreams. That’s something you learned for yourself as well, back then—or will.”
Cyno comes to rest his head on a curled up knee.
“So, yes, you’ve changed. Nothing too drastic—it’s not like we're hosting tea parties every week. For what it’s worth though, I think you're at peace with it.”
The landscape hasn't yet been rendered unrecognizable with the passage of time. At the very least, the divine tree still looms over the heart of the city, an ever-present beacon of Dendro to Alhaitham's senses.
But the meandering route they take away from the hustle and bustle still reveals much to him. The lack of Akasha terminals is prevalent throughout the city—an interesting development. Children chase each other around with rattle drums. A flurry of colorful banners decorate the streets, even more so when they drift near the Grand Bazaar. Notices of performances are tacked onto the bulletin board right alongside official announcements. Azar wouldn't have stood for even half of it; he was always quick to stamp such things out before addressing actual problems. More padisarahs line the sidewalks than in all the years Alhaitham has lived here.
“The Sabzeruz Festival,” Cyno says. “You missed the main celebration by a few days.”
Each sight adds more to the outline of the future in Alhaitham’s head. They pass strangers by until they pause at a quiet spot overlooking Yazadaha Pool. The crisp scent of the air here is still the same. Down by the docks, he can see a couple of boats that have made their way upriver bearing the Inazuman flag. Laborers, merchants, scholars, mercenaries—from the Forest and the Sands—all converged in a crowd that Alhaitham has always preferred to observe from afar. He rarely stays close enough for long to grow roots.
And yet, one of those exceptions is standing by his side.
“If you’re hoping that I’ll blindly act to ensure this future comes to pass, you would have to lower your expectations,” Alhaitham says, turning to Cyno.
Cyno is neither dismayed nor disappointed. “You hardly do anything blindly. I just trust that you’ll do what’s best for Sumeru.”
Implying that Alhaitham will have a not-insignificant role in whatever it will be. He sighs. “You seem quite confident about my character. I could do nothing with this knowledge. Hypothetically, I could also use it for selfish gain. What would you do then?”
The look in Cyno’s eyes is somber. “My duty,” he says, an answer all in itself.
Somehow, those words are what makes Alhaitham believe him entirely.
“But I don’t think you will,” Cyno continues, “and I hope you won’t. I’ve grown very fond of you in five years, you see.”
Alhaitham snorts, charmed despite himself. He leans on his arms against the railing. “Have you now? You’ve yet to actually introduce yourself as my future lover—unless I've misread the situation?”
In this light, it’s easy to see how a dark blush crawls from Cyno's cheeks down to the skin hidden by his cloak. He ducks his head slightly under the hood.
"No," he mutters. "That is an accurate term for our relationship. I thought that was obvious.”
“It was more of a surprise,” Alhaitham returns.
The world continues its march onwards around them.
Alhaitham chooses his next words carefully. “You’re still a stranger to me, so I won’t make any grand promises. But at the very least, I think I would like to know you.”
Like a flower unfurling, Cyno smiles, a tiny lift at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll hold you to that, then.”
In the moment that follows, Alhaitham would have liked to say that he had more complex thoughts behind his actions. His hand raises itself to Cyno’s face, stopping midway in the air before Cyno cradles his wrist in a warm grasp.
The Sages’ file on Cyno had been extensive. Alhaitham has read it cover to cover, but such a dry and clinical assessment does not yield much insight into the person in front of him, nor into whatever relationship the two of them will have in time.
He’s rather looking forward to finding out for himself.
“Alhaitham,” Cyno starts. “Alhaitham, I—”
—and he finds himself back at the inn.
The sun is still low in the sky. Alhaitham is still on the bed amidst tangled sheets. His arm is still outstretched in the air, reaching for a fading warmth in the palm of his hand.
He lets himself linger long enough that the Traveler’s flying companion yells at him in a shrill voice through the door. He retrieves his belongings, and once they cross into the golden sands, those few hours he had are already packaged neatly in a box at the back of his mind. There are more pressing matters abound. It’s irrational for him to dwell on this restless anticipation for a person he has yet to know in that future—or that dream.
They make good headway into the desert by the time night falls, with Aaru Village in their sights. Exhaustion eats away at him, and the promise of respite almost distracts him from the prickle at the back of his neck, a split second of awareness before a blade comes for his head.
Lightning flashes. Thunder follows. His opponent is far more attuned to fighting in this terrain than he is, and they make sure to press their advantage. It takes up every bit of himself to fend off each strike. The stalemate that results does not feel like one he has earned, but rather, one that his opponent allows.
When the dust clears, Cyno stands amidst the golden sand and starry sky, his eyes like a brand on Alhaitham.
Ah, a part of him says. His feet carry him forward. There you are.
...
..
.