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Chapter Text

The cafe's warm glow spilled like honey across the damp cobblestones outside, a beacon of comfort on a drizzly Edinburgh afternoon. Tighnari stood by the counter, his gaze drifting lazily out the window as the rain whispered secrets to the city's ancient stones. The grey sky was a soft, plush shroud— gently enfolding the Royal Mile in a soothing melancholy.

Raindrops clung to the windowpane like tiny crystal tears, each one a miniature lens refracting the somber hues of the street outside. The sound of raindrops pattering against the pavement was a steady heartbeat, a lullaby that seemed to synchronize the rhythm of Tighnari's thoughts. As he watched, a lone figure emerged from the misty veil, his  umbrella a vibrant splash of color against the muted backdrop.

The aroma of freshly baked scones wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the rich scent of coffee beans. Tighnari's senses were unraveled by the tender caress of baked delights and rich coffee essences. Though accustomed, he had to admit that his being was still gently unmoored. He breathed deeply, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease, as the sounds and scents of the café blended into a soothing symphony.

Tighnari's eyes wandered back to the figure outside, now hurrying past the café, his footsteps light on the wet pavement. He wondered where he was headed, his destination a mystery shrouded in the grey mist. People often came to the cafe on days like this, seeking refuge from the rain and the demands of their high-stakes profession. Tighnari had grown accustomed to their presence, finding comfort in the familiarity of their reserved smile and the way they savored their coffee, their eyes closing in appreciation of the flavors.

The rain drummed on, a gentle accompaniment to the hum of conversation and the soft clinking of cups. Tighnari's gaze drifted back to the window, where the city's secrets waited, shrouded in mist and rain. He smiled, feeling the cafe's warmth envelop him like a gentle hug, a sense of belonging to this little world of his, where stories unfolded over cups of coffee, and the rain outside became a soothing melody.

Just then, the door swung open. A man in a suit walked in, shaking the rain from his umbrella. The door's soft chime mingled with the rain's melodic pattern. Water droplets on his umbrella sparkled like a scattering of tiny diamonds, momentarily clinging to the fabric before surrendering to gravity's gentle pull. A single, particularly tenacious droplet lingered on the tip of the umbrella's rib, hesitating for a fleeting instant before plummeting to the floor with a tiny splash.

The man's presence was a stark contrast to the cafe's warm ambiance, his suit a somber, midnight hue that seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Yet, a single strand of gray hair, long and silken, escaped his otherwise impeccable coiffure, drifting across his forehead like a wispy brushstroke on a canvas of worn marble. His eyes, two crimson-rimmed rubies, gleamed with a deep-seated fatigue, their redness a testament to late nights and early mornings, perhaps, or the weight of burdens that pressed upon his shoulders.

The sound was almost musical, a staccato beat that harmonized with the hum of conversation and the soft clinking of cups. Tighnari's gaze lingered on the man, his curiosity piqued by the stranger's air of quiet intensity. The man's eyes, those crimson-rimmed orbs, swept the cafe with a detached air, as if he were cataloging each face, each expression. His gaze touched upon Tighnari— and for an instant, their eyes met. The man's expression remained impassive, a mask of polite indifference. 

He approached the counter, and Tighnari greeted him with a smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Coffee, black.” He replied, his voice a contrast to the cafe's warm ambiance. A discordant note that seemed to add depth to the overall harmony. The man's response was low and gravelly, his words tumbling forth like stones skipping across a still pond, sending ripples through the calm surface of the cafe’s atmosphere.

Oh. He does seem to be the type to have a bitter palate.

Tighnari nodded, the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans mingled through the air, mingling with the scent of baked goods. “Shall I prepare it for you to carry with you, or will you be savoring it here amidst the cold?” 

“To-go.” 

The man's response was curt, a single word affirming his intention to depart. The brevity of his answer did not startle Tighnari— instead, it seemed to fit the man's persona, a succinct note in their burgeoning conversation. “Would you prefer the coffee chilled?”

“No.”

A man of few words, clad in black suit. Steaming hot, black coffee. I see. 

“May I inquire as to your name, sir? For the cup, of course.”

 “Cyno.” The man replied, the word dropping into the air with a quiet finality.

Tighnari's fingers grasped the pen, the tip gliding across the cup's surface with smooth precision. The letters formed with elegance, “ Cyno ” etched in bold strokes, a momentary connection between the man and the beverage that would soon bear his name.

With the man's name inscribed on the cup, Tighnari's hands moved, navigating the cafe's counter. He reached for the coffee beans, their rich aroma wafting up as he measured out the precise amount, the beans' deep flavors promising to unfold in the cup. The hum of the grinder filled the air, its mechanical song a counterpoint to the gentle murmur of conversation.

As the coffee grounds poured into the filter, Tighnari's fingers moved with a quiet confidence, each motion a testament to his familiarity with the brewing process. The machine's gurgle was a sensual whisper, its steam rising in tendrils that danced in the air, carrying with them the promise of warmth and comfort. The cafe's atmosphere was alive with the scents of coffee and baked goods, a sensory tapestry woven from threads of earthy and sweet.

With a soft hiss, the coffee began to flow, its dark liquid pouring into the cup with a smooth motion. Tighnari watched, his gaze intent as the coffee's surface began to take on a subtle sheen— its crema forming a delicate pattern that seemed to shift. 

As he placed the lid on the cup, securing it firmly, Tighnari felt a sense of satisfaction, a quiet pleasure in the knowledge that this small, precise act would soon bring warmth and comfort to the man who had ordered it. With a final flourish, Tighnari handed the cup off to be taken, his task complete, yet somehow connected to the man who would soon carry it out into rain-soaked streets.

“Thank you.” 

Cyno's fingers closed around the cup, a fleeting glance of acknowledgement paraded in his eyes. His deep voice— a gentle rumble that expressed gratitude. The brevity of his thanks was the illustration to his reserved nature, yet the sincerity underlying his words lingered. Such faint echo that resonated with Tighnari.

With a subtle shift in stance, Cyno turned toward the door, the soft chime of the bell above it a muted farewell. The rain-soaked world outside seemed to swallow him whole, its grey mist swirling around his figure as he opened his umbrella. The vibrant splash of color that had marked his umbrella earlier now seemed muted, a subdued defiance against the monochrome backdrop of the city.

Tighnari's gaze lingered on the spot where Cyno had vanished, his thoughts tracing the path the man would take, navigating the rain-kissed streets of Edinburgh. The pavements, slick with rain, glistened in the fading light— their granite sheen muted by the drizzle. The droplets fell with a soothing persistence, each one a tiny, crystalline entity that shattered upon impact. Only to merge with the larger narrative of the city's ancient stones.

The cafe's warmth enveloped him once more, and Tighnari's senses readjusted to the gentle hum of conversation. The soft clinking of cups, and the rich aroma of coffee that lingered, a sensual reminder of the cafe's purpose. The sounds blended into a comforting melody, one that seemed to lull the patrons into a state of relaxation, their worries and cares momentarily forgotten in the face of warmth and comfort.

Come to think of it, I've never seen him around before.

The door's soft chime broke the spell, a new figure entering the cafe, shaking the rain from their coat. Tighnari's gaze shifted, his smile a welcoming gesture as he greeted the newcomer, his voice a gentle murmur that seemed to blend seamlessly with the cafe's atmosphere. The ritual of serving coffee, of providing comfort and warmth, would continue, a subtle dance of gestures and words that would weave itself into the fabric of the day.

—

He’s here again. 

‘Twas the next day. Cyno's figure materialized in the doorway, his presence a masterful stroke of darkness against the cafe's warm backdrop. His black suit, a canvas of impeccable tailoring, seemed to absorb the surrounding light, while his gray hair, bound into a sleek ponytail, gleamed with subtle nuances of ruby. Eyes, piercing and unyielding, swept the room with a detached air, their crimson rims a testament to his nocturnal vigors.

As he approached the counter, Tighnari's gaze met his, a spark of recognition igniting in their depths. “Care for a steaming hot, black coffee?”

Cyno's response was a curt nod, his voice, when he spoke, a low, sonorous hum that seemed to resonate with the cafe's atmosphere. “Yes. Black coffee.” 

Tighnari's fingers did the usual— measuring out the coffee grounds, swifty circling the counter. The aromatic essence of the beans permeated, a sensual promise of the brew's depth and complexity. As the coffee flowed into the cup, its dark liquid seemed to take on a life of its own, its surface adorned with a delicate pattern of crema.

With the lid secure, Tighnari handed Cyno the cup, their fingers touching briefly. “For here, or to carry with you?” 

“To-go.” Cyno replied, his voice a deep rumble, his gaze already drifting toward the door, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere.

As Tighnari inscribed Cyno's name on the cup, a familiar gesture, the barista's thoughts turned to the man's enigmatic presence. Who was this stranger who haunted the streets of Edinburgh, fueled by black coffee and an unseen purpose? The questions swirled, tantalizing and unanswered. Cyno's figure vanished into the mist-mantled world outside once more, leaving behind only the faintest whisper of his presence. 

—

It went on for about a week. 

Cyno's punctuality had become a fixture in the cafe's daily rhythm. Every day, precisely at 8 in the morning— he would materialize in the doorway, his black suit a somber silhouette against the warm glow of the cafe. Tighnari would glance up, anticipating the familiar routine as Cyno approached the counter with a quiet stride.

Their exchanges had grown laconic, a monument to the barista's familiarity with Cyno's preferences. Black coffee, to-go . Cyno would murmur— his voice a low, gravelly hum, devoid of embellishment. Tighnari would nod, but he could not help but wonder if these are the only words the man is able to speak. 

Serving Cyno had become an integral part of Tighnari's daily routine. A comforting predictability that anchored his morning. He would inscribe Cyno's name on the cup with a flourish, the gesture a nod to the man's enigmatic presence. As he handed over the coffee, their fingers would touch briefly.

Cyno's presence had become a reassuring constant— a dark, sleek shape that punctuated the cafe's rhythm. Tighnari found himself wondering in the moments before eight. What nuances of expression Cyno would display that day. Would his eyes seem more piercing, his gaze more intense? Or would he betray a hint of weariness, a crack in his stoic facade?

As the days passed, Tighnari began to sense the weight of Cyno's silence, the unspoken narratives that lay beneath his curt responses. He felt an inexplicable urge to probe beyond the man's reserved exterior. To uncover the hidden topography of his thoughts and emotions. Yet, he hesitated. Respecting the boundaries that Cyno had drawn and contenting himself with the small, daily rituals that had become their bond.

—

Tighnari sat by the window, a contemplative silhouette against the soft glow of the city lights. Outside, Edinburgh's streets were a canvas of wet cobblestones, adorned with umbrellas that bobbed and weaved as people treaded the rain-soaked thoroughfares. The gothic spires and turrets of the city's ancient architecture rose like sentinels, their stone facades shrouded in a misty veil that seemed to whisper secrets to the night.

Raindrops danced across the windowpane, their tiny rhythms weaving a soothing melody that accompanied Tighnari's thoughts. His gaze drifted out into the grey expanse, where the city's medieval structures seemed to melt into the mist, their boundaries blurring as the rain washed over them. The effect was one of eerie beauty, as if the city itself were a living, breathing entity, its stone and mortar skin glistening with rain.

The city's sounds, the patter of rain, the distant hum of traffic, the muffled laughter of passersby. All were blended into a gentle hum, a background melody that underscored Tighnari's reverie. As he sat there, suspended in the quiet of the evening, the world outside seemed to slow its pace. Its rhythms synchronize with the beat of his own heart.

“The victim's skin was deathly pale, with a peculiar crinkling effect. As if their very lifeblood had been drained from their veins.”

The TV flickered to life, casting a pale glow over the room as the news anchor's voice delivered a somber report. Tighnari's gaze shifted, his attention drawn to the screen as the words painted a vivid picture in his mind. A dead body had been discovered in a narrow alleyway, its presence a grim reminder of the city's darker underbelly.

The reporter's voice was measured, her tone grave as she described the scene. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Tighnari's expression remained impassive, his emotions locked behind a mask of calm.

“The police are investigating the circumstances surrounding the death, but so far, no leads have been found.”

The news footage cut to a shot of the alleyway, the camera panning across the wet cobblestones, the flickering lights of the city's street lamps casting eerie shadows on the walls. Tighnari's gaze remained fixed on the screen, his eyes absorbing every detail.

As the news segment drew to a close, the anchor's voice segued into a discussion of possible motives, but Tighnari's mind had already wandered, his thoughts tangled in a web of speculation. He sat there, a statue of calm, as the TV continued to drone in the background, its sounds blending into the gentle hum of the city's nightlife. The room was silent, save for the soft rustle of the rain outside, and Tighnari's own quiet breathing.

Tighnari's gaze drifted away from the TV, his eyes drawn to the window, where the city's skyline was shrouded in a dismal veil of mist. The rain-soaked streets below seemed to stretch out before him, a labyrinth of grey stone and dark, glistening pavement. The sky above was a deep, foreboding slate, its colorless hue seeming to suffocate the city's usual vibrancy.

Lost in thought, the city's sounds filtered up to him— the patter of rain on pavement, the muted hum of traffic, and the distant, mournful wail of a siren. The people of Edinburgh scurried about, their footsteps a strident pattern on the wet sidewalks as they sought to escape the rain's relentless drumbeat.

The city's usual bustle seemed muted, subdued by the rain's presence. Tighnari wondered if the sky would ever relinquish its grip on the city, allowing the sun to break through the clouds and illuminate the stone facades. The mist that clung to the city's architecture seemed to cling to his own mood, casting a somber tone over his thoughts.

His gaze lingering on the city's mist-shrouded spires. Tighnari felt a sense of disconnection, as if the rain-soaked streets and grey sky were conspiring to dull his senses. The world outside seemed to be moving at a slower pace— its rhythms muted, and its colors drained. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something hidden beneath the city's drab exterior, something waiting to be uncovered.

—

He didn't come. 

The next day, Tighnari stood behind the counter as usual. The cafe's atmosphere was warm and inviting. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans wafting through the air, mingling with the soft hum of conversation. Yet despite the familiar rhythms of the cafe, Tighnari's gaze kept drifting to the door, his eyes searching for a familiar figure.

It's 5 in the afternoon already. 

Cyno's absence was a subtle disturbance, a faint ripple in the cafe's usual routine. Tighnari's thoughts turned to the man, his mind replaying their daily encounters. Searching for any hint of what might have caused his absence. Has Cyno's schedule changed? Or was something more complex at play?

As the morning wore on, the cafe's bustle showed no signs of abating. Tighnari's attention remained fixed on the door— his ears straining to catch the sound of Cyno's deep voice, his eyes scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the man's black suit. The silence was oppressive, save for the soft clinking of cups and the muted hum of conversation.

The hours ticked by. Each one a slow, measured beat, and still Cyno did not appear. Tighnari's curiosity deepened, his thoughts tangling in a web of speculation. Tighnari's gaze lingered on the empty space where Cyno usually stood.

A faint memory began to stir, a recollection of the news report from the previous night. A body had been found in an alleyway. Its skin drained of color, its presence a grim testament to the city's darker realities. The image had been etched into Tighnari's mind. And now, in the absence of Cyno seemed to resurface with a newfound significance.

“No, it couldn't be,” Tighnari muttered to himself, his voice barely audible, a soft whisper of denial. “I hope not.”

A thread of unease began to weave its way through Tighnari's thoughts muddled as he wondered with a growing sense of anxiety, if the body might be Cyno's. The possibility seemed remote. Yet it refused to be dismissed, lingering in the back of his mind. 

Hours passed by and Tighnari's anxiety simmered just below the surface, a low-grade hum of worry that refused to dissipate. He found himself glancing at the clock, willing the hands to move faster, hoping that Cyno would walk through the door. His presence, a reassuring antidote to Tighnari's growing unease.  

Hold on. Why do I even care?

Why, indeed, was he so invested in the man whom he barely even knew? Their interactions had been fleeting, limited to the briefest of exchanges— with Cyno's orders and Tighnari's responses forming a dissonant rhythm. They were strangers, bound only by the thinnest of threads. A daily transaction of coffee and words. 

“Ah. Whatever.”

—

Tighnari locked up the cafe as the evening's misty veil began to descend, shrouding the streets in a damp, grey obscurity. The clock had just struck seven, and the world outside seemed to be slowly disappearing into the gloom. Tighnari's senses were heightened as he stood outside, his ears attuned to the muffled sounds of the city, his eyes straining to pierce the mist.

Suddenly, he felt a presence approaching. A figure emerging from the swirling vapors. Tighnari's instincts kicked in, his body tensing as he observed the stranger's approach. The figure loomed, its height slightly above his own. Tighnari's hand instinctively slipped into his bag, his fingers closing around a pocket knife. He held it discreetly, his thumb resting on the blade's cool metal as he waited for the figure to make its move.

The mist swirled, a tantalizing curtain of grey that refused to part, and Tighnari's senses were on high alert. His heart rate quickened, his breathing slowed, and his eyes locked onto the figure, searching for any sign of intent. The air was heavy with tense, the silence between them thick with unspoken possibilities.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the mist began to clear, revealing the figure's features in stark relief. Tighnari's eyes widened in surprise as he took in the familiar contours of Cyno's face— his piercing gaze, and his dark, imposing presence. The tension in Tighnari's body dissipated, replaced by a sense of wonder and curiosity. His grip on the pocket knife relaxed, his fingers releasing their hold as he stood frozen, his eyes locked onto Cyno's, searching for answers.

“Cyno?”

Chapter Text

Cyno's presence was imposing, his dark coat and suit seeming to absorb the fading light of day, leaving only the sharp planes of his face illuminated. His eyes, however, shone with a keen potency, a piercing quality that seemed to bore into Tighnari's very soul.

Tighnari's mind whirled with questions, his thoughts tumbling over one another in a mad dash to understand what had brought Cyno to the cafe at this hour. Cyno's gaze held his, and Tighnari swore he felt a cold run down his skin. He stood frozen, his eyes locked onto Cyno's, searching for answers that seemed to hover just beyond his grasp. The silence between them was oppressive, heavy. Tighnari felt his heart pounding in his chest— as if it, too, were searching for a way to break the silence.

What’s he doing here?

Cyno spoke, his voice gravel, sending a ripple of sound through the stillness. “You're closing up?”

Tighnari, still caught off guard by Cyno's sudden appearance, felt a surge of hospitality. “I was just about to lock up,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Would you care for a cup of coffee? I can brew some fresh for you.”

Cyno's expression remained impassive, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered Tighnari's offer. “I wouldn't want to trouble you.” 

But Tighnari was insistent, his smile warm and welcoming. “It's no trouble at all,” he assured, “I'd be happy to make you a cup. Please, come in.”

Cyno's gaze held Tighnari's for a moment, his eyes searching for any sign of insincerity. Then, with a subtle nod of his head, he agreed. “Very well. Thank you."

Cyno stepped inside, Tighnari felt a sense of satisfaction, a small triumph over the uncertainty of the moment. He led Cyno back into the cafe, the warm glow of the lights enveloping them once more, and began to prepare a fresh cup of coffee, the aromatic ritual a soothing balm for his own jangled nerves.

Cyno's footsteps echoed through the cafe, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath his feet seemed to harmonize with the hum of the cars passing by. Tighnari went behind the counter, his movements swift— measuring out the coffee beans, the aromatic dust swirling in the air as he ground them with a soft whir. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the cafe, mingling with the faint hint of dampness that clung to Cyno's coat, creating a rich and earthy aroma that filled the space.

Cyno's eyes roamed the cafe, taking in the worn leather armchairs, the dark wood paneling, and the rows of books that lined the shelves. His gaze lingered on the coffee beans, the grinder, and the brewing equipment. Tighnari poured the steaming coffee into a take-out cup— the liquid flowed like a rich, dark honey, its aroma wafting up to mingle with the scent of the beans. He handed the cup to Cyno, their fingers touching briefly, a fleeting contact that sent a shiver through Tighnari's body.

The silence between them was a loud— such living, breathing entity that pulsed with a quiet energy. A heavy expectant thing that seemed to wait with bated breath for the next move. The next word or the next gesture that would shatter the fragile equilibrium they'd established.

Cyno sipped the coffee, his eyes fluttered open, and his gaze drifted over the rim of the cup, meeting Tighnari's. The air seemed to vibrate with a quiet tension, as if the very atmosphere had been charged with an almost palpable grasp. Tighnari's gaze faltered, his eyes skittering away like a skittish creature, as if seeking refuge from the piercing scrutiny.

Cyno's eyes seemed to have become a magnet, drawing Tighnari's gaze inexorably back to their depths. He found himself stealing glances, his eyes darting to Cyno's face. Each time, he'd hastily look away.

Tighnari's thoughts were a jumble of emotions, his mind dervish. Such maddening vortex that seemed to pull him under. Yet, even as he pondered, he couldn't shake the feeling that Cyno's presence was a harbinger of something more, something that lay just beyond the horizon of their mundane reality.

“That would be two pounds fifty. As usual.”

Tighnari finished up with the cashier, and Cyno slid a crisp cash across the counter, “Keep the change.”

Tighnari's fingers closed around the money, processing the transaction. It was a routine they'd repeated countless times, yet tonight felt different. Tonight, there was an undercurrent of something more, a subtle nuance that seemed to inflect Cyno's every move. 

As Tighnari handed Cyno his receipt, Cyno's eyes met his, a spark of warmth flickering in their depths. “I'll wait for you.”

Tighnari's brows raised, surprise and curiosity warring for dominance. It was an unexpected offer— one that seemed to shatter the template of their usual interactions. For weeks, Cyno had come to the cafe, exchanging a few terse words with Tighnari before disappearing into the Edinburgh’s labyrinthine streets. Tighnari had grown accustomed to Cyno's laconic nature, the few words they exchanged a mere formality.

“Why?” 

“I did trouble you for this cup of coffee.” Cyno's gaze never wavered, “And it's not safe. The streets are treacherous at night.”

Tighnari's mind reeled in astonishment, his thoughts careening off the unexpected revelation as Cyno’s words dawned on him. Tighnari swore the only phrases Cyno could speak were “Yes.” and “Thank you.” He'd never thought Cyno's words were motivated by concern for his safety, a notion that had never previously occurred to him, shrouded as it was in the mundane familiarity of their daily interactions.

“If you insist. I'll just finish up here. Then we can head out.”

Tighnari busied himself with the cafe's closing rituals, Cyno leaned against the counter, his eyes watching Tighnari with an air of quiet interest. The silence between them was no longer oppressive, but rather a comfortable, companionable thing that seemed to wrap itself around them like a warm blanket. The world outside seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them, suspended in a world of their own, where the only sound was the soft hum of the lights.

You're one tough book to read.

—

They walked through the Edinburgh streets, side by side. The night air wrapped itself around them like a damp shroud, the city's usual vibrancy muted by the lateness of the hour. The pavement glistened with a faint sheen of moisture, the promise of rain hanging in the air like an unspoken threat. Tighnari— ever the curious one, sought to breach the silence that had settled between them.

“What do you do, Cyno?”

Cyno's gaze slid towards him, “I'm a private investigator.” 

Tighnari's curiosity was piqued, his mind racing with the implications of Cyno's occupation. “Ah, I've always been intrigued by the work you do. What's it like?”

Cyno's expression turned contemplative, his eyes clouding over like a moonlit sky obscured by wispy clouds. “It's a complex world. One that's full of nuances and contradictions.” 

Tighnari's imagination was sparked, his mind conjuring up images of Cyno navigating the city's hidden corners, uncovering secrets and piecing together puzzles. “I can imagine. You always seem so... composed and collected. I wouldn't have pegged you as a private investigator. But now that I think about it, it makes sense.”

Cyno's gaze drifted back to the street ahead, his eyes narrowing slightly as he navigated the deserted pavement. “I blend in. People tend to overlook me and forget I'm there. It's a useful trait in my line of work.”

Tighnari nodded. He couldn't help but think of the black suits Cyno wore every day— the way they seemed to absorb the light around him, making him all but invisible. "The suits," he said, "you always wear black. Is that part of the job?"

Cyno's gaze flickered towards him, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "It's a uniform of sorts. A way of blending in. Like I said, people tend to overlook me.”

You definitely caught my attention, though.

Tighnari didn't say it out loud. Couldn't say it out loud.

The silence between them grew more comfortable, the conversation flowing like a gentle stream meandering through the city's streets. Tighnari felt a sense of wonder at the man walking beside him, a sense of awe at the secrets and stories that lay hidden beneath Cyno's composed exterior. The city's nocturnal symphony provided a soothing background hum, the distant thrum of a motorcycle's engine fading into the night air.

Tighnari's gaze drifted towards the row of houses, his eyes tracing the familiar contours of his own apartment. “This is my street.”

Cyno's eyes followed Tighnari's gaze, his expression inscrutable, “The night has been enlightening. Thank you for the coffee.” 

Tighnari smiled, the gesture imbuing the night with a warmth that seemed almost palpable. “I feel like I've merely scratched the surface of your world. But I'm grateful for the glimpse you've afforded me.”

Cyno's gaze lingered on Tighnari's face, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he were sifting through the fragments of their conversation, searching for hidden patterns. “Perhaps another time. I’ll come by the cafe.”

The words hung in the air, leaving Tighnari to ponder. As the silence between them grew more pronounced, Tighnari extended his hand, his gesture a bridge spanning the distance between them. “I’ll be expecting you. Goodnight, Cyno.”

Cyno's response was a nod, his eyes locking onto Tighnari's for an instant before he turned away, his figure dissolving into the mist like a specter vanishing into the night. Tighnari watched him go, the sound of Cyno's footsteps fading into the distance, leaving behind a silence.

Tighnari turned towards his apartment, the door's creak seemed to echo through the stillness. He stepped inside, his eyes lingering on the spot where Cyno had vanished, his mind replaying the fragments of their conversation as if it was a puzzle whose solution remained tantalizingly out of reach. The door closed behind him, enveloping him in the warm glow of his home. Yet, his thoughts remained outside, lingering where Cyno's presence still seemed to echo through the night.

That was… unexpected. 

—

“...authorities confirm another body found, drained of blood, with no signs of trauma or struggle...estimated time of death between 10 pm and midnight last night…”

Tighnari settled into his usual window nook, cradled by the soft cushions. Edinburgh’s nocturnal canvas stretched before him. The glass pane reflected the warm glow of his lamp, casting a golden halo around his figure. His book lay open on his lap, the pages fluttering gently in the breeze from the air conditioner as his eyes wandered, unseeing into the night. The city outside pulsed with a quiet energy, its rhythm a gentle counterpoint to the somber news report. Streetlights cast long shadows, like skeletal fingers stretching across the pavement. Tighnari's thoughts drifted, his eyes never leaving the window, as the TV continued its muted narrative.

Another one.

The words "drained of blood" echoed faintly, a haunting whisper that lingered at the periphery of his consciousness. The news report dissolved into a discussion of possible suspects and motives. Its murmurs receded as Tighnari's imagination began to arouse images of the crime scene— his mind's eye saw a deserted alley, moonlight casting an eerie pallor on the walls, and a figure, pale and still, drained of life's vibrant essence. The vision was fleeting, yet it left an indelible mark on his thoughts, a sense of unease that seeped into his consciousness.

How gruesome.

Droplets pattered against the windowpane, etching tiny rivulets that refracted the city and casting miniature rainbows on the floor. The scent of wet earth and ozone wafted in, a primal aroma. The rhythm was a hypnotic cadence, tiny impacts creating a mesmerizing pattern of light and sound. 

Ah, it's raining again.

— 

The alley's narrow confines seemed to amplify the woman's desperate gasps. Her heels clicked out a frantic rhythm on the wet pavement, but it closed in with an effortless stride, its footsteps eerily silent. The flickering glow of a distant street lamp cast macabre shadows on the walls as it pounced, its hand an unyielding vice around her throat.

Her terrified yelps choked off into pitiful gurgles as it spun her around, her back crashing against its chest. Its fingers tightened, a merciless restraint, and her body stiffened, a puppet with severed strings. The scent of rain and desperation clung to her, an intoxicating bouquet that seemed to heighten its senses.

Her struggles ceased, it drew its face closer to the curve of her neck, the warmth of her skin a stark contrast to the chill of the night. Its breath danced across her flesh, sending a shiver through her limp form. In that moment, time seemed to warp and bend, the world narrowing to the thrum of its pulse and the soft, vulnerable skin beneath its lips.

The darkness seemed to coalesce. It could feel her heartbeat falter, a dying ember. Drinking in the details of the scene— the distant hum of solitary cars, the metallic tang of fear that clung to her sweat-drenched skin.

Its grip remained unyielding, a cold, calculated restraint, as it savored the horror of the moment. The alley, once a bleak and forsaken place, had transformed into a twisted sanctuary— a sanctuary where primal instincts reigned supreme and the boundaries of civilized behavior were blissfully forgotten.

In this vacuum of sound and sense, it was the master of this macabre waltz. Its partner was a fragile, yielding form that seemed to melt into its embrace. The world, with all its garish lights and pretentious morality, seemed to recede, leaving only the primal, visceral thrill of the hunt, and the sweet, sweet surrender of its prey.

With a held breath, it lingered over the curve of her neck—

—

Tighnari's eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as if he'd been running for his life. The darkness of his dream still lingered, a heavy shroud that clung to his skin. He sat up, sweat-drenched, his heart pounding in his chest. The room was bathed in a soft, golden light, dawn's gentle fingers creeping through the blinds.

What the hell was that?

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool morning air caressed his skin, a welcome respite from the suffocating heat of his nightmare. He rubbed his face, trying to scrub away the vivid images that still lingered in his mind. The woman's desperate cries for help still echoed in his ears, a haunting melody that refused to fade.

The silence of the room was a balm to his frazzled nerves— a stark contrast to the chaos that had reigned in his dream. Tighnari took a deep breath, feeling the tension seep out of his body, replaced by a growing sense of unease. He couldn't shake off the feeling that his dream had been more than just a product of his subconscious.

“Shit.”

He stood up, padding softly to the window, where he pulled back the curtains, letting the morning light flood in. The city was awakening, its soundscape a roar of engines, birdsong, and distant chatter. The sky was a deep shade of indigo, gradually lightening to a soft pink on the horizon. Tighnari's gaze wandered, his mind still reeling from the vividness of his dream. He wondered if it was just a coincidence that his dream had mirrored the news report. The woman's face, her desperate eyes, lingered in his mind. Such a haunting presence that refused to be exorcised. 

I should probably lay off watching the news. 

—

Tighnari's feet carried him through the crisp morning air, the city's slumber slowly giving way to the cacophony of a new day. The streets, usually a hive of activity by this hour, were still relatively deserted. Except for the scattered souls who, like him, seemed to have been birthed into wakefulness by the early dawn. His own eyes, still heavy with the weight of his dream, felt gritty and uncooperative. As if they'd been sandpapered by the relentless images that lingered in his mind.

As he turned a corner, his gaze was drawn to a commotion in the distance. A cluster of people, their faces upturned and agog, surrounded by the flashing beacons of police cars. A morbid curiosity propelled him forward, his feet carrying him toward the gathering with an inevitability that felt almost sinister. He wove through the crowd, the murmurs and whispers of the onlookers weaving a disquieting melody that seemed to seep into his bones.

“There's another one?”

“Oh dear. How many has it been?”

“Do the policemen even do their jobs properly? This is the 6th time this week!”

“Are they really investigating this case? It's been months. Years, even. But it's been worse these days.”

Tighnari squeezed past the outer ring of crowd, a fluttering ribbon of yellow and black tape came into view. The boundary beyond which the citizens were forbidden to cross. The police, their faces set in somber masks, stood within the cordoned area, their footsteps eerily muted on the pavement. Tighnari's eyes, drawn inexorably to the center of the scene, locked onto a figure— a woman, her body a ghastly parody of humanity.

Her skin was deathly pale, stretched taut over her skeletal frame, as if every last drop of her own blood had been drained from her veins. The sight made Tighnari's skin crawl, his mind recoiling in horror as the woman's face. Her features frozen in a macabre grimace, seemed to mirror the visage that had haunted his dreams mere hours before. A chill wind whispered through the streets, rustling the leaves and sending the police tape fluttering, but Tighnari stood transfixed, his eyes locked onto the gruesome tableau.

The whispers of the crowd, a susurrus of speculation and dread, seemed to recede into the background as Tighnari's mind grappled with the scene of what he was seeing. Was this some twisted echo of his own subconscious, or merely a cruel coincidence? The questions swirled in his mind, a maelstrom of unease and foreboding.

The air seemed suffocating, a presence that lingered just beyond the periphery of perception, watching and waiting. Tighnari's blood ran cold beneath his clothes, his senses on high alert as he struggled to process the sheer brutality of the scene before him. His world narrowed to a single, jarring realization— he needed to get out of there. But his feet seemed rooted to the spot, his eyes refusing to tear themselves away from the ghastly body that lay before him.

The murmurs of the crowd swirled around him, a morbid fascination drawing people in. Beside him, a pair of onlookers whispered, their voices hushed but laced with an air of conviction.

“Must be a vampire's doing.”

“Nobody could drain a body so thoroughly, leaving nothing but skin and bone overnight. Even the most gruesome murders.”

“It's an old tale come to life.”

Tighnari's ears pricked up at the mention of vampires, the word conjuring images of Edinburgh's rich folklore. The city's history was steeped in tales of dark creatures that lurked in, preying on the living. He pondered the notion, his mind weighing the possibility of such a monster existing. The idea seemed absurd, yet the evidence before him defied rational explanation. 

Vampires…

A chill wind swept through the streets, rustling leaves and sending the police tape flapping, as if the very atmosphere itself was alive and restless. Tighnari's gaze drifted back to the body, his thoughts consumed by the haunting image of the woman's desiccated form. The more he looked, the more he felt an unsettling connection to his own dream, the lines between reality and nightmare beginning to blur.

The crowd's whispers grew louder as people traded stories of vampire lore and the supernatural. Tighnari's ears rang with the words “vampire,” “bloodsucker,” and “undead.” Each one conjuring vivid, disturbing images. His skin felt prickly, the morning air thick with an almost palpable sense of unease.

A familiar face ducked beneath the tape, his eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for something— or someone. It was Cyno. His gaze locked onto Tighnari's, a slight recognition crossing his features before he ducked beneath the tape and threaded through the crowd. His black suit seemed to absorb the morning light, his silver hair gleaming in a ponytail.

“Oh, it's you.” Cyno called, “What brings you here?”

“Just passing by,” he replied, his tone neutral, though his mind was anything but. “I saw the commotion and curiosity got the better of me.”

Cyno's gaze drifted to the cordoned area, his expression unreadable. “Curiosity can be a double-edged sword sometimes,” he murmured, his eyes returning to Tighnari's. “You shouldn't linger here. This isn't a place for civilians.”

“I'm guessing you won't be able to stop by the cafe today?” Tighnari said. And he swore he saw Cyno's expression turned resigned, the man's eyes drifting toward the scene behind him as if searching for an escape. The police and investigators were draping a cloth over the woman's body. Cyno let out a soft sigh, the sound carrying a weight that seemed to settle between them. His eyes refocused on Tighnari, a flicker of apology crossing his features. 

“You're right. Duty calls, and I have a feeling this case will consume my day.”

A nuanced shift in Cyno's demeanor occurred, the rigid lines of his face relaxing, peeking through his professional demeanor. “I'll probably come by this evening once I've managed to untangle myself from this... mess.”

The sounds of the scene swirled around them— the murmur of the crowd, the rustle of the police tape, the distant hum of sirens. But Tighnari's attention remained fixed on Cyno.

“I'll hold you to that. I’ll have your usual ready by then.”

Chapter Text

The door swung open, its bell above it announcing his arrival with a cheerful chime. The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted out to greet him, enveloping him in a sense of warmth and welcome. Collei and Kaveh— his coworkers, glanced up from their work, their faces lighting up with friendly smiles as they bid him a warm hello. The cafe's atmosphere seemed to brighten with their greetings, the cozy space feeling even more inviting as the aroma of coffee and the hum of conversation wrapped around him like a comforting blanket.

Tighnari smiled back, slipping into his usual routine. “Hey. Busy morning?”

Collei nodded, her ponytail bobbing as she steamed a pitcher of milk. “Yeah, we're slammed. But we're managing. You know, the usual Saturday crowd.”

Tighnari nodded, his eyes scanning the cafe. The tables were crowded with a crowd of students tapping away on their laptops, freelancers sipping on lattes, and tourists snapping photos— their conversations and laughter blending into a gentle murmur that filled the air. The soft clinking of cups and saucers provided a subtle accompaniment, creating a calming ambiance that was both lively and soothing. As he slid behind the counter, his thoughts wandered.

The morning flew by in a blur of caffeine and chatter, the cafe's atmosphere was of a welcome embrace from the somber scene he'd left behind. Tighnari lost himself in the rhythm of the cafe, the ebb and flow of customers and conversation. Such a comforting distraction from the weight of the image of the woman's body lingering in the back of his mind.

Ah, my head hurts. 

—

The evening sun had long since dipped below the horizon, veiling a dark blue hue over the pavements of Edinburgh. The cafe's neon sign cast a warm glow over the empty tables, the only sound the soft hum of the espresso machine and the gentle clinking of cups as Tighnari cleaned up the last of the evening's mess.

The cafe's bustle subsided into a serene lull, Tighnari's thoughts began to drift toward Cyno. The evening's hush had descended upon the city, casting a blanket of silence over the streets punctuated only by the soft footsteps of stragglers and the muted thrum of nightlife emanating from the city's underground pulse. The neon signs of nearby bars and clubs cast a gaudy glow on the wet pavement.

Meanwhile, the cafe's warm lights seemed to envelop Tighnari in a cozy cocoon, the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air as a gentle reminder of the bustling day.

The cafe's door swung open, and Tighnari's eyes lit up as Cyno walked in, his expression weary but relieved. He looked like he'd been running on fumes for hours, his eyes red-rimmed and his shoulders slumped. Tighnari's smile faltered for a moment as he took in Cyno's disheveled appearance, but he quickly recovered, his face breaking into a warm smile. 

“You’re here.”

“I promised.”

Their gazes met, and Cyno's eyes conveyed a deep-seated emotion Tighnari could not decipher alone. He settled into his customary chair, his entire demeanor seemed to sag as his posture and facial expression broadcasting a profound weariness that was almost unreadable. The tension in his shoulders and the dark smudges under his eyes told a story of a long, grueling day. And the way he let himself drop into the chair suggested that he was out of steam.

Tighnari brought the coffee over— the usual steaming hot, no sugar, black coffee. Tighnari wonders, how in the name of Archons does Cyno even drink this cup of lingering blackhole? 

“Rough day?”

Cyno's eyes closed as he took a sip of the coffee, his expression softening as the caffeine hit his system. “You have no idea.”

Tighnari smiled wryly, taking a seat across from Cyno. His eyes locked on Cyno's face, inviting him to share the weight of his day. “Try me.”

Cyno's expression shifted, and he leaned back in his chair, cradling the coffee cup in his hands. “It's been...eventful.”

Tighnari leaned forward, his elbows rested on his knees and his fingers intertwined in a gesture of rapt attention. The single word ‘eventful’ seemed a gross understatement. “Coming from you, that's quite a tame description, don't you think?” 

A faint smile ghosted across Cyno's lips, and for an instant, Tighnari's pulse faltered for a heartbeat as he beheld the unguarded expression. It was a smile that seemed to unlock a hidden facet of Cyno's personality— one that was soft, authentic, and mesmerizingly beautiful. Squeezing out more than a single word out of Cyno’s lips was and had been a tough job for Tighnari. And seeing the said man smile before him, even if it's quite subtle and almost unnoticeable, was almost comparable to being rewarded by a stack of gold. 

Lo and behold and by the name of all seven Archons, am I really seeing this?

Cyno lifted his cup to his lips once more, “you have a point. The situation was a disaster waiting to happen. It had been years. And yet, we were left-empty handed. Not even a single clue.” 

Tighnari sighed, “it has been the talk of the town. You know, the… dead.”

Cyno's gaze drifted off, his eyes clouding over as he relived the memories. “This one's a tough nut to open.” 

The pause was telling, and Tighnari's curiosity was piqued. He sensed there was more than meets the eye. “The folks in this town were saying it must have been a vampire's doing. Crazy, am I right?”

Cyno's gaze remained distant, his eyes fixed on some unseen point as he nodded slowly. “The vampire theory's been circulating, has it?”

Tighnari leaned in, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. “You know how these small towns are. Rumors spread like wildfire. It has been part of Edinburgh’s folklore too.”

Cyno's expression turned thoughtful, his eyes constricting into slits as his mind wrestled with the particulars, the creases on his forehead deepening into furrows of concentration. “Well, the circumstances are... unusual. The bodies were found with no signs of struggle or trauma, just these strange puncture wounds on the necks. That's not exactly the MO of your average murderer.”

Tighnari's gaze was afire with an unspoken enthusiasm, his eyes aglow with an intensity that bespoke a deep-seated curiosity. “Exactly! And that's what's got everyone stumped. The lack of evidence, the strange wounds... it's like the killer vanished into thin air.”

Cyno's gaze snapped back to Tighnari's face, his eyes piercing. “Vanished, or was never there to begin with?”

“What do you mean?” Tighnari asked.

Cyno's expression was inscrutable, but his voice held a hint of intrigue. “Sometimes, the most obvious explanation isn't the truth. Sometimes, it's what's not there that holds the key.”

Tighnari's mind was racing with possibilities. He sensed that Cyno was onto something, but he wasn't quite sure what. "Now you're speaking in riddles. Please dumb it down for me.”

“I'm saying that we've been looking at this case from the wrong angle. Instead of focusing on what we can see— the wounds, the bodies, the lack of evidence. Maybe we should be looking at what we can't see. The gaps, the silences, the things that don't add up.”

The gentle slope of Tighnari's forehead was scored with the fine lines of concentration, his eyes narrowed in an effort to unravel the man’s words. “You mean, like, what's missing from the scene?”

Cyno nodded. “Exactly. Think about it. If a killer was really there, wouldn't we expect to find some sign of struggle, some evidence of a presence? But there's nothing. It's as if the victims just fell apart.”

It was as if the victims just fell apart. 

The haunting pulse of Cyno's words resonated deep within Tighnari's mind, triggering a cascade of memories that swirled like a maelstrom in his mind. He retraced the sequence of events, revisiting the fragmented reports that had dominated the news and radio broadcasts. The eerie similarities between the incidents sent a shiver down his spine. Each scene was a macabre echo of the others—a tableau of death, devoid of fingerprints, signs of struggle, or injury.

The sole anomaly was the pair of puncture wounds that marred the victims' skin, a haunting signature that seemed to mock the authorities with its inexplicability. And then, there was the image of the woman's lifeless body, seared into his mind like a branding iron, a grim testament to the horrors that lurked in the shadows. The more he reflected on the details, the more he became convinced that the key to unraveling the case lay hidden in the subtle patterns that connected these gruesome events.

Tighnari's eyes widened as a thought occurred to him. “You're suggesting that the killer might not be a person at all. Are you saying that you agree with what the people in this town had been saying? You know, the vampire thing.”

Cyno's gaze locked onto Tighnari's, his shoulders shrugged. “I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just pointing out that some assumptions can be wrong whilst some might be right. And if we keep looking at this case through the same lens, we might miss the truth entirely.”

“Anyway, you need to be careful. The streets can be treacherous, especially at night. Carry something for self-defense.” His gaze bore into Tighnari's, the intensity of his stare unnerving. “A blade, a stun gun. Anything that might grant you safety if danger materializes.”

Tighnari's mind whirled with the weight of Cyno's warning, the words precipitating a shiver that coursed down his spine. He nodded, his thoughts consumed by the cryptic nature of the case. The puncture wounds, the eerie silences, the tableau of death that seemed to defy explanation— all of it coalesced into a sense of foreboding that clung to him like a damp shroud. 

“It's grown dark. We should be off.” The words seemed to hang in the air, a gentle prompt that Tighnari acknowledged with a nod. He finished closing up, the sound of rustling footsteps and the soft click of locks being engaged in the silence.

Cyno stood sentinel, his eyes scanning the surroundings. The fading light cast long shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp planes of his features. He exuded an aura of quiet patience, a stillness that belied the intensity of his gaze. Tighnari couldn't help but feel a sense of reassurance in Cyno's presence.

—

It went on for weeks, as if it was almost like a routine. Their routine. Tighnari waits, Cyno comes. A cup of his usual coffee stood waiting. Tighnari closes, and Cyno waits. Such perfect rhythm for two figures who barely know each other. 

With a final check of the locks, Tighnari straightened his shoulders, squaring as he turned to Cyno. The latter’s gaze flicked to him, a brief nod before he gestured toward the exit. The gloom outside seemed to swallow them whole as they stepped out into the night, the city's sounds and smells enveloping them.

The night had fallen softly over the streets, wrapping them in a cool hush. Tighnari and Cyno walked side by side beneath the dim glow of lanterns that swayed faintly in the breeze. The air smelled faintly of rain, though the sky was clear. Their footsteps echoed lightly against the cobblestones— unhurried, calm.

For a while, neither spoke. There was no need to. The silence between them was not empty; it was peaceful, steady, the kind of quiet shared only by those who understood each other without words.

But then, as they turned a corner, a strange stillness crept into the air. A thin mist began to unfurl from the alleys, curling like smoke at their feet. Within seconds, it thickened— white and dense, swallowing the path ahead. The familiar outlines of buildings blurred and vanished into the haze.

Tighnari slowed his pace, ears twitching as the fog pressed closer. He could barely see a few steps in front of him now. The lantern light fractured into soft halos, floating like ghostly orbs.

“Cyno?” he called softly, expecting a calm, steady answer in return.

No reply.

He turned to his right where Cyno had been walking moments ago, but the space beside him was empty.

“Cyno?” His voice came out sharper this time, echoing faintly into the white void.

His pulse quickened as the fog muffled everything. The sound of his own breathing, the wind, even the faint hum of insects that usually filled the night. It was as though the world had gone quiet all at once.

Tighnari took a careful step forward. Then another. His hand brushed against the damp air, reaching out for something, anything. But the space around him remained hollow. The fog seemed alive now, shifting and whispering with unseen movement. A chill crawled up his spine. He could feel it, the strange weight of being watched, though there was no one in sight.

“Cyno… if this is a joke,” he murmured, voice low, “it’s not funny.”

No answer. Only the soft hiss of the fog rolling over stone.

And somewhere in the distance, faint and fleeting — a silhouette moved.

Chapter Text

Tighnari’s breath hitched as the silhouette drew nearer, its outline shifting through the dense fog. His heart pounded so loudly he could hear nothing else. Every instinct screamed at him to run, and he did. His boots slapped against the wet cobblestones as he bolted down the street, the mist swirling wildly in his wake.

“Cyno!” he shouted, voice cracking into the emptiness. No answer came, only the echo of his own desperation bouncing back at him. The fog seemed endless, every direction looking the same. Panic clawed at his chest, each breath sharper than the last.

He turned a corner, hoping to find another path, another glimpse of safety. But instead, he met a wall. A dead end. The alley was narrow and dim, with no way out except the way he came. His legs trembled as he backed away, his body twitching with fear.

Shit.

The mist thickened again, and through it, the shadow loomed closer. Tighnari pressed his back against the cold wall, his fingers gripping the rough surface behind him. His breathing was shallow, uneven, as if the air itself was too heavy to take in. He could only pray quietly, desperately, that whatever it was would pass him by.

“Please… not now,” he whispered, voice barely audible. His eyes darted around, searching for even the faintest light, a sign, a sound— anything familiar. But the world had turned silent once more.

Then, from within the fog, came a low whisper, soft but near. It wasn’t the wind. It wasn’t Cyno. It was something else. Something that shouldn’t have been there.

Tighnari’s head began to spin as the world around him tilted and blurring into shades of gray. A sharp pain pulsed through his temples, spreading down to his neck like flames under his skin. He gasped softly, pressing a trembling hand against his head as the strength in his knees began to fade. The air felt heavier now, pressing against his lungs with every breath.

The fog moved strangely before him, shifting as if it were alive. Through its pale veil, the silhouette grew clearer, taller than before, its shape distorted and wrong. He tried to step back, but his legs refused to obey. His vision flickered at the edges, dark spots forming where light used to be.

“W–who’s there?” he managed to whisper, his voice fragile and uncertain. There was no answer— only the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoing against the walls of the alley. Each one drew closer, steady and cold.

Then he saw them. Two glowing eyes, bright crimson against the fog, fixed directly on him. They didn’t blink. They didn’t waver. They simply watched.

Tighnari’s breath hitched. The air turned colder, stinging his skin like ice. His heart raced, pounding against his ribs as fear tightened around his chest. He tried to call Cyno’s name again, but his throat felt locked, the words trapped behind his lips.

Cyno…

His vision blurred once more, and the world began to fade. The last thing he saw before everything turned dark were those crimson orbs burning through the mist, unyielding and alive.

Tighnari struggled to breathe, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. The fog clung to him like a second skin, damp and cold, seeping into his fur. His hands shook as he pressed them against the wall, trying to steady himself, but the world spun too fast, the pain in his head unrelenting. Each breath burned his throat, the air heavy with a metallic taste he couldn’t place.

Then, through the haze of fear, his mind dredged up memories he wished he had forgotten— the stories whispered in the town, the bodies found lifeless along these very streets. People who vanished at night, only to be discovered at dawn with their skin pale as snow. Their veins empty, drained of blood. There had been no clues, no witnesses, no justice for them. Only silence. Only fear.

His heart pounded faster as the thought took hold. Would he be next? The image of his own body lying cold and hollow filled his mind, the color drained from his skin, his eyes dull and glassy. He imagined the people finding him the next morning— another nameless victim, another mystery for the town to whisper about. The thought made his stomach twist.

“No… no, not me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. He pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his pulse thundering beneath his fingers as if it were fighting to stay alive. The fog seemed to tighten around him, a suffocating blanket that blurred the line between nightmare and reality. “Please.”

The silhouette was closer now, close enough that he could hear faint breathing. It was as if it's almost human, yet not quite. The glowing red eyes gleamed brighter through the mist, fixed entirely on him. Tighnari felt his knees weaken again, the cold crawling up his spine until it reached the back of his neck. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to do something, but his body refused to move.

He squeezed his eyes shut, whispering a silent prayer that Cyno would appear, that the fog would fade, that he would wake and find it all a dream. But when he opened them again, the red eyes were still there, closer than ever, and the sound of breathing was no longer distant. It was right in front of him.

Archons from above. Someone. Anyone.

Tighnari knew it was too late to fight back or even beg to the divine beings. His body felt heavy, stripped off of all strength— as if the fog itself had seeped into his veins. Each breath came shallow and ragged, and when he tried to rise, his legs refused to hold him. The world spun again, forcing him down until he sat on the cold, uneven ground. His back pressed against the wall, his fingers trembling as they scraped against the stone.

The silhouette stood only a few feet away, close enough for him to see its shape clearly through the haze. Yet it didn’t move. It didn’t speak. It simply stood there, shrouded in mist, watching him. The glowing red eyes never blinked, never wavered. It was as if it was waiting, patient and silent, for him to do something, anything.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Tighnari’s ears twitched at the faint sound of dripping water nearby, but even that seemed distant, drowned beneath the thudding of his own heartbeat. His breathing was slow now, forced and uneven. The fog pulsed faintly, curling at the edges like it was alive, whispering in a language he couldn’t understand.

He swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat stinging like sandpaper. “What do you want from me?” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure if the words ever left his lips. His voice was weak, nearly swallowed by the mist. The figure gave no answer. It didn’t need to. The tension in the air spoke for it. 

Tighnari could feel the weight of its gaze pressing against him, sharp and heavy, like claws brushing against his skin. A part of him wanted to scream, to run. But another part, the one that was slowly being overtaken by the fog could only stare back, frozen between fear and disbelief. And in that terrible stillness, he realized something far worse than danger.

Whatever that thing was… it wasn’t human.

Tighnari tried to lift his head, his vision still swimming in a haze of white. His lips parted, a whisper caught in his throat. But before he could speak, a violent cough tore through his chest. He doubled over, his body wracked with sudden pain as blood splattered across the cold stone beneath him. The metallic taste filled his mouth, sharp and suffocating. His lungs burned as though fire had taken root inside them, spreading with every breath he tried to take.

A strangled sound escaped him as he dropped to his knees, his fingers clawing desperately at the ground. The rough surface bit into his palms, but he barely felt it over the agony coursing through him. His body trembled uncontrollably, and his heartbeat thrashed in his chest— wild and erratic. As if it were trying to break free. The world pulsed with each beat, his hearing fading in and out, replaced by the rush of blood roaring in his ears.

Then came another wave of pain, sharper this time, striking through his jaw. He clenched his teeth, but it only made it worse. A strange, piercing ache spreading through his gums. He could feel it, unmistakable and horrifying— something was changing. His teeth throbbed with pressure, as if something new and sharp was forcing its way through.

Wait… something sharp? 

He froze, his eyes wide with disbelief. The thought struck through his panic like lightning, cold and clear. He touched his mouth with trembling fingers, feeling the edge of something foreign against his tongue, something pointed. His chest heaved as he struggled to understand what was happening, fear twisting deeper into his gut.

The silhouette still hadn’t moved. It stood there, unmoving— a silent witness to his agony. The red eyes gleamed faintly, reflecting his pain, almost as if they knew exactly what was happening to him. As if they had caused it. And as the blood dripped from his lips to the stone below, Tighnari could no longer tell whether the creature was his predator… or his reflection.

What's going on?

Tighnari stared down at his trembling hands, his breath shallow and uneven. The tips of his fingers began to darken, his nails lengthening into sharp, curved claws that glinted faintly under the dim light. A rush of panic surged through him, but his thoughts were hazy, slipping through his grasp. His mind felt clouded. Not only by fear, but by something deeper, something that didn’t belong to him.

He blinked hard, trying to focus, but the world swayed before his eyes. Even the silhouette standing a short distance away had become nothing more than a blur. He couldn’t tell if it was moving closer or simply fading away. His thoughts tangled, fragments of memory flashing in disarray— Cyno’s voice, the lantern glow, the quiet street. All of it drowned beneath the pounding of his heart.

Slowly, unsteadily, he tried to stand. His legs quivered beneath him, his body heavy and unbalanced, forcing him into a half-slouched stance. The fog clung to his skin like a shroud, cold yet strangely comforting. He could feel something coursing through his veins. It was something ancient, unfamiliar, and wild. His breathing grew deeper, as though the air itself was too thin to satisfy the hunger stirring within him.

Then, his reflection caught faintly in a puddle below and the sight froze him. His eyes had turned crimson, glowing faintly in the mist. His once warm complexion had drained to an unnatural pallor, his lips stained dark with blood. The person staring back at him wasn’t the same one who had walked beside Cyno only moments ago. Tighnari lifted a trembling hand to his face, but the reflection only mirrored his fear. Something inside him had changed, something irreversible. 

“Found you.”

The words cut through the silence— a voice that seemed to echo inside Tighnari’s mind more than through the fog itself. He froze. That voice… he knew it. It was the same deep, steady voice that had filled the empty hours of his days with calm. The same voice that had always grounded him when his thoughts spiraled too far. The voice that carried warmth even in its coldest tone. For a heartbeat, the pain and fear fell away, replaced only by disbelief.

His gaze flickered upward, vision still blurred from the haze that lingered around him. The silhouette, once a dark and formless shadow, began to take shape. Each step forward made it clearer. The outline of broad shoulders, the faint shimmer of silver hair, and eyes that glowed not with malice, but with a piercing intensity he could never mistake. The fog seemed to retreat around him, parting as though afraid to touch him.

“Cyno…” Tighnari breathed, the name trembling on his tongue. The moment it left his lips, the world seemed to still. The burning in his lungs, the pounding in his heart— everything was drowned by the sudden rush of emotion that threatened to break him. He had waited all day to hear that voice again, to see him. And yet, now that he did, the moment felt unreal, twisted by something he could not understand.

“What's… going on…?”

Cyno stood before him, half-shrouded by the thinning fog, his crimson eyes glinting faintly under the moonlight. He looked both familiar and foreign. The same man Tighnari had always known, yet surrounded by an aura that was colder and heavier. His expression was unreadable, calm as ever, but behind that calm was something haunting. Something that sent a shiver through Tighnari’s already weakened body.

The fog swirled between them, quiet and restless. Tighnari wanted to speak, to ask what had happened, why everything hurt, why his body was no longer his own. But the words refused to form. He could only stare, his vision swimming, as a single thought repeated in his mind. What is going on?

Tighnari could no longer grasp what was real. His thoughts splintered like glass, reflecting fragments of a truth he refused to see. What had become of him? His skin, once warm and alive, now bore the pallor of the moon. His eyes burned crimson like dying embers, his hands those trembling, bloodstained hands ended in claws that gleamed faintly under the fog’s pale shroud. He stared at them as though they belonged to a stranger, his heart thundering with a horror too vast to name.

This isn't me.

From beyond the mist came the measured sound of footsteps. Each one echoed softly, certain, familiar. The haze parted, and Cyno stepped into view— solid and steady amid the trembling air. His skin held its sun-borne warmth, untainted by the pallor that had consumed Tighnari. Yet his eyes glowed faintly red, reflecting Tighnari’s own. The sight struck deep, threading confusion and relief into one dizzying ache.

He stood there in silence, the night folding itself around him. His expression remained calm, that same unreadable composure Tighnari had come to know so well. But beneath that stillness was something else, something almost tender, like the quiet ache of a memory trying to surface.

“Tighnari,” Cyno spoke at last, carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. “Do you even know what you’ve been doing all these years?”

The words fell heavy between them, sinking into the fog. Tighnari froze, the air catching in his throat. He wanted to answer but his mind was blank, a hollow space filled only with flashes he didn’t understand. The scent of iron, the sound of whispering nights, the image of lifeless faces blurred into nothingness. He tried to push them away. Yet it all clung to him like souls that refused to die. Cyno took a step closer, his eyes softening though his face remained carved in quiet resolve. The mist curled gently around him, as though the night itself bowed to his presence. 

“All the crimes you have committed,” he murmured, “and the bodies you have oh-so mercilessly taken?”

Tighnari’s breath hitched as a sudden heat surged behind his eyes. The world around him bled into shades of crimson, pulsing like the rhythm of a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. His vision narrowed and sharpened. Before he could comprehend what was happening, instinct overtook thought. His body moved on its own, driven by something raw and primal.

A guttural sound escaped his throat as he lunged forward, claws slicing through the fog-thick air. Each motion was swift, violent, filled with desperate energy that he didn’t recognize as his own. The mist scattered in violent swirls with every strike, his movements echoing with the sound of tearing wind.

Cyno stepped back, his coat whispered against the cobblestones. His eyes followed every motion, calm even amidst the chaos. He sidestepped one strike, ducked beneath another, his movements as fluid as water. Tighnari’s claws cut through the air mere inches from his throat, but never touched him.

Tighnari couldn’t recognize him any longer. Or rather, he could. But the voice was distant, drowned beneath the pounding in his skull. The fog roared around him. Every sound was a drumbeat urging him to strike— to tear and to feed. His claws lashed again and Cyno continued to evade, his expression torn between resolve and heartbreak. For an instant, their eyes met, red against red.

Tighnari’s claws were almost upon Cyno— his talons arcing in the air, hungry to reach. In that moment, time itself seemed frail and stretched thin across the cold cobblestones. His heart thundered in his chest like a war-drum, blood roaring in his ears. But then, impossibly, Cyno disappeared. One breath, one heartbeat—gone. The space where his figure had been was empty, swallowed by the shifting fog.

Pain shattered that stillness suddenly, a jolt at the back of Tighnari’s neck as sharp and bitter as razors. It was a brief and unexpected strike that stole his equilibrium before he could even scream. Light fractured at the edges of his vision, flickers of red and black dancing across his sight. The world tilted as the ground beneath him seemed to fall away.

Tighnari clutched at his throat, panic clawing through the haze of agony. Breath came in ragged shards, his lungs burning, his senses unraveling. He tried to steady himself. To stand or to reach out, but his limbs refused their promise of strength. Each movement cost more than he could give. Each second stretched out, distorted, as if the fog itself pulled at his mind.

Then darkness claimed him. It washed over his vision in slow waves, a velvet void pressing against his thoughts, pushing them back, folding them under until nothing remained but the echo of his heartbeat and the metallic taste of fear. The last thing he felt was a cold whisper of the wind that seemed just beyond touch— and then nothing.