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It’s not often Tighnari comes out into Sumeru city. Preferring the tranquil air of Avidya forest to the bustling atmosphere, his visits to the city are few and far in between.
But there are exceptions to be made, when he folds his ears and walks through the streets slightly overstimulated. It’s not bad once in a while, he muses. Though by the end of the day, his opinion will certainly have changed.
“Hey, Tighnari! Over here!”
Aether and Paimon approach him swiftly once their gazes meet, beckoning him over to Puspa Cafe’s entrance. Tighnari raises a hand as a greeting, following them with a look of relief.
They secure a table for three, choosing a quiet corner away from any loud groups. The traveller had always been considerate of Tighnari’s sensitivity to noise, which he’s often grateful for. It’s not often he gets to truly enjoy being in the city.
“We could share a shrimp curry between us,” Aether suggests, pointing to the large portions shown on the menu. “It shouldn’t be too heavy on the spices.”
Tighnari gives him a thankful smile. “I appreciate the consideration, but I’ve had seafood for the past week. I’m in the mood for some meat.” His ears twitch at the mere thought.
Aether flips through the menu a little more, deciding on his own main course before choosing some side dishes. “I can get some deep-fried sweet potatoes and chicken rice to share.”
“Sounds good. I’ll pay for the drinks then.”
They don’t wait long before the food arrives, piping hot and appetising. Tighnari had ordered some sfiha for himself, while Aether had ended up sharing his curry with Paimon. It’s not long before Paimon begins eyeing up the other portions, long finished her own.
“What’s that, Tighnari? Is it good?” Paimon asks, flying over to take a peek at his food.
Aether gives her a look, and Paimon huffs. Tighnari’s meal had piqued both her appetite and curiosity.
“It’s minced lamb on flatbread.” Tighnari explains, taking a large bite out of one. “It’s very good. Why don’t you try it next time?”
He shivers slightly, noticing the drop in temperature since their arrival. Despite wearing lighter clothing than him, Aether seems unaffected. It must be a byproduct of exploring, he muses.
“Come on, just one bite!” Paimon begins to bargain with Tighnari, pleading for a mouthful of his food. Aether bites back a sigh as he pulls her back, shoving a sweet potato wedge in her mouth.
Tighnari lets out a chuckle, feeling another shiver coming on. He almost jolts, the unnerving chill sweeping against his skin.
Perhaps he’s coming down with something. He slips his jacket back onto himself, taking in the heat between the fabric.
“Sorry,” Aether chuckles, sipping on the date juice Tighnari had ordered for them. “You might want to eat a little faster, though.”
Tighnari agrees, bringing up another piece of sfiha to his mouth.
Before he can take a bite, a violent shudder seizes him. And at the same time, a piercing ache in his gut.
He freezes, the flatbread slipping from his grasp. The pain is enough to bring intense nausea with it, and he immediately knows he’s not going to make it anywhere.
Tighnari barely manages to turn to the side before he vomits, the sickness too sudden for him to even gag. Uneven splatters ring in his ears, only just drowned out by the stabbing pain in his lower stomach.
He can hear Aether calling out his name, and Paimon yelping beside them. He can only grip his stomach through the agonizing pain, bringing up another surge of vomit on top of the spreading puddle.
“What’s wrong?” Aether is quick by his side, moving their bags away from the mess and laying a hand on his back. “Here, get it up. Don’t worry.”
There’s something wrong, no doubt. Tighnari knows it’s nothing like a stomach bug or food not sitting well. He barely has time to process the next wave before he’s puking, splattering the front of his clothes. He looks down at his hands, and finds them trembling.
He’s shuddering against Aether’s hand. He seems to notice it too, pressing a hand onto his forehead. “No fever,” he hears him say, concern-filled.
The remnants of Tighnari’s lunch are completely out of his system, and his breakfast follows in quick succession. But the nausea doesn’t abate after emptying his stomach. He drools uncontrollably with each dry-heave, bringing up the occasional stream of stomach acid.
“Tighnari, can you hear me?” Aether is tapping his shoulder with more force, bringing him back from the haze of illness. He can only give him a garbled whimper, throat thick with various liquids.
Each time he opens his mouth to talk, the pain streaking through his abdomen only worsens. Tighnari cries out with each spike, the pressure of his own hand against his gut too much to bear.
“We’re taking you to Bimarstan.”
“Please,” Tighnari murmurs, tears trailing down his face.
Aether is stern, hoisting him up with surprising strength. He throws a handful of mora onto the table and mutters an apology before exiting the cafe, slinging Tighnari over his shoulder.
Though the pain is blinding, Tighnari’s mind is clear enough to filter out the causes. The sudden onset of symptoms rule out many viral sicknesses, leaving him with a terrifying possibility.
Poisoning.
It’s the only explanation he can come up with. The intense urge to throw up is nothing like he’s ever experienced, not even after he’d been too generous on the mushroom sampling portions. Whatever it is, it had to be done with purpose.
“Someone—someone’s poisoned me,” Tighnari chokes out, ears flattening against his head. The light against his eyes suddenly hurts, burning into his eye sockets. He clenches his eyes shut, bringing up a hand to block out all light.
“You think they’ve poisoned you,” Aether repeats, holding him steady as they approach the entrance of Bimarstan. “We’re almost there. Just keep the strength in your legs, okay?”
A nurse immediately recognizes the two of them, ushering them both to an indoor room. While Tighnari appreciates the privacy, he barely makes it to the mattress before all strength leaves him. Aether quickly turns him to his side as he gags.
“What are the symptoms?” The staff asks, grabbing a wooden basin and some medium-sized towels. She carefully wipes down Tighnari’s skin, examining his eyes and nails.
Aether moves beside Tighnari, helping him lean over the basin as he hacks up bile. “He’s been vomiting non-stop and shivering,” he explains, brushing away the hair and tears around his face.
“It’s— ngh— poison,” Tighnari grips the sheets with one hand, the uncontrollable shaking turning closer to convulsions. “It may be something of the bloodgrass variant.” He presses the back of his hand to his eyes, the pain in his head growing worse with each second.
“We’ll run some tests just in case.” The nurse hastily notes down something in her memo, wincing as a painful retch comes out of Tighnari’s throat. “There should be a toxicologist on duty right now.”
If Tighnari’s suspicions are correct, vomiting the poison would not be enough. The absorption into the bloodstream would occur quickly, leaving various organs in the body vulnerable. He’s never encountered a case himself, but the treatment had been antidote infusions and pain reduction. He doesn’t recall the survival rate.
A completely different chill runs down his spine. He could die from this. He could die, not even knowing who did this to him.
“Aether,” Tighnari reaches out, feeling the traveller’s hand around his own. “Get Cyno. Just—just in case.”
In case he doesn’t make it through the night.
“We’ll find him as quick as we can,” Aether assures him, the worry apparent in his voice.
They leave without saying further, dashing out of the facility and heading back towards the inner city.
Tighnari is left alone again. He curls further into the blankets, feeling his body shudder against itself. Every wave of pain brings a cold grip of fear with it.
“We found high concentrations of sterinine in your blood.”
The toxicologist brings him his test results, confirming the potent poison inside his bloodstream. They’re quick to attach an intravenous infusion into his arm, the needle grazing him a few times as his muscles spasm.
Tighnari attempts to lay on his side, taking care not to disturb the needle inside him. He feels vulnerable, laid out on the bed to be treated. He vomits onto the towels near his pillow, no longer able to pull the basin towards him.
“For someone of your age and health, poisonings like this have a high survival rate.” They explain to him, setting down another empty basin and changing the soiled towels. “But due to the large dosage, the recovery process may be painful and long-lasting.”
“How are the pain levels?” The nurse asks him, prompting him to talk. He groans instead of answering, arms tightly wrapped around his middle.
Tighnari bites the inside of his cheek, preventing the scream that threatens to escape. “It’s bad,” he almost sobs. “Especially near the navel. I—I really can’t talk—”
“We’ve administered painkillers and they’ll take effect soon.” They reassure him, rubbing his back in comforting circles. It only makes another tear trickle down his cheek, reminding him that he’s truly alone. “The symptoms will become manageable once you make it through tonight.”
Tighnari isn’t sure if he’ll make it through the night.
He tastes blood as he pukes the water he’d been given. He knows it’s not coming from his scraped-up throat, from the way it’s beginning to turn brown. When he does see crimson in the basin, it’s from the burst capillaries in his nose. He’s a mess of excess fluids, sweat and tears sticking to his skin.
He closes his eyes, attempting to let his exhaustion win. He wakes up with bile gurgling up his throat.
And every single thing his body does to fight against it hurts. There’s a constant cramp stuck in his chest, exacerbated from his stomach wringing itself out. His head hurts, even after shutting out every trace of light. His joints and muscles ache from the constant signals frying his nerves.
The sky darkens around him, and he notices the near-empty bag of fluids attached to his arm. He shakily reaches for the bell within reach, alerting the staff of his finished infusion.
“I know it must hurt.” The nurse holds him down as he thrashes, administering the second dose of antidotes. “You’ll feel a little better once it kicks back in, all right?”
Tighnari becomes increasingly frustrated with the vague promises. He doesn’t want to feel a little better. He wants it all to stop right now.
He knows that if he were to sob and cry about his pain, one of the nurses would hold his hand and comfort him. He knows they’re taking care of him to the best of their capabilities. But the thorough knowledge of medical care makes nothing better for him, instead isolating him further.
The hospital is cold, despite the blankets layered onto him. The air is different from the forest, and the silence carries a different weight. He wants nothing more than a shred of familiarity.
Just as Tighnari closes his eyes, he hears multiple footsteps heading towards him from outside. Though he can’t hear the ensuing conversations, he knows the voices well enough. His eyes widen, amidst the fatigue that chokes him.
“Tighnari.”
Cyno marches ahead of Aether, not sparing a moment before throwing the door open. He’s disheveled, without his signature headpiece and a jacket draped over his shoulders. One look at him fills Tighnari’s eyes with tears.
The traveller and Paimon follow close by, eyes widening at the extent of Tighnari’s pallor. If he had been pale earlier, he’s now nothing short of blanched.
Tighnari stiffens, coughing up blood-tinted drool into his palm. He hastily wipes it on the towel before either of them can see.
Sensing Tighnari’s overattentiveness, Cyno steps in front of Tighnari with an extended arm. “Thank you for bringing me here. I can take it from here—rest assured he’s in good hands.”
Aether nods, knowing the closeness the two share. “Let me know if there’s anything I can help with.”
Cyno lets out an affirmative hum, giving minimal attention to the pleasantries before turning back to Tighnari. He places a hand in his hair, and Tighnari immediately knows its warmth. It’s miles different from the methodical touches he’d been subject to.
“No one’s here except us. You can breathe easy.”
Cyno dips a cloth in cold water, wiping at the sweat on Tighnari’s forehead. It’s far from pleasant or clean, but Tighnari doesn’t mumble an apology for once. He instead leans into him, the lump in his throat rendering him unable to speak.
It’s not long before another episode of pain hits him full force. He’s surprised at how loud he yelps, gripping Cyno’s hand through the excruciating sensations. His body betrays him all at once, forcing up another wave of dark blood up his throat.
Tighnari sees Cyno’s eyes, brimming with barely-concealed anger. But the pained grimace he displays immediately softens them, and Cyno brings the basin closer to him. He spits the dark liquid gathering in his mouth.
“Cyno,” he manages out, no longer able to hold back the sobs. “It—it really hurts. I’ve been throwing up for hours.”
He’s immediately pulled into Cyno’s arms, hair brushed aside and tail curling around them both. Though Cyno’s worry shows, he doesn’t show any more fear than Tighnari does. For the first time, Tighnari feels comforted.
“It hurts everywhere when I seize up.” Tighnari talks through tears, drenching his own face and Cyno’s jacket. “I—I’m not going to die. But it feels too close to it.”
Cyno hums, his hands focused on making him comfortable. He gently rubs circles into Tighnari’s chest, moving to his stomach when it gurgles painfully. “You’ve endured well,” he presses his lips to Tighnari’s head, drawing the curtains to leave the room untouched by moonlight.
Tighnari closes his eyes, leaning against Cyno’s chest. It’s not easy to get the sleep he desperately needs—he throws up on Cyno on more than one occasion, waking up mid-choking to sharp slaps on his back. Though he mumbles an apology, Cyno only wipes his mouth and suggests he get the rest he needs.
It’s almost dawn when Tighnari sleeps for an hour, eyes pried open by yet another stab of pain in his gut. He’s paying the price of surviving a poisoning attempt, something completely unwarranted.
Tighnari lets out a frustrated scream, curling away from everything that touches his skin. “It won’t stop,” he sobs, digging his nails into his palm. “It just keeps happening over and over. I want it to stop hurting so fucking much.”
His words are shaky as he cries, angry tears trailing down his reddened cheeks. Cyno doesn’t touch him until he falls back into his arms, muffling his cries into his chest.
“I know. And I’m not going to leave until it stops.” Cyno continues to pat his back, slowing down until he matches his heartbeat. “You’re going to be all right.”
It comes out with such conviction that Tighnari genuinely believes it. He clings onto Cyno, choked sobs becoming sniffles. He realizes how badly he’d wanted the reassurance, however blind.
“I just don’t know why they did this,” Tighnari cries, this time not from the pain. “Why did they hurt me like this?”
It’s a question neither know the answer to. Cyno doesn’t intend to figure it out, nor does he need the answer. What matters is that he’ll soon have blood on his hands, under the name of justice and his own blinding anger.