Chapter Text
It has been three and a half years since Magnai has found his Nhaama. And he has not seen him since.
He will be honest, it didn’t feel good for weeks . He snapped and growled at everyone; spitting harsh words out of his mouth like blood and cursed the ache in his chest that felt like it would linger under his skin for the rest of his damned life. He trained hard and long sun up to sun down trying to exhaust his mind and bury the resentment he carries for his actions.
Cinira of all people met him one afternoon as the sun burnt orange and red against the blue sky. Magnai was bone tired, splayed skyward on the grass and panting.
“Can we talk, Magnai?” She crouches beside him and takes a seat before he can answer. “Everyone is worried about you.”
“I am fine.” He huffs from the ground.
“Okay, but I know you are lying.” She rolls her eyes. “Everyone knows something is up with you since the Naadam. Sadu sent me here to talk to you.” What the fuck?
“Sadu sent you?” Magnai asks incredulously. He sits up off the ground and turns to Cirina. Why does Sadu even care?
“Baatu as well.” She adds and it puts a grimace on Magnai’s face. He might as well be out with it or he won’t hear the end of it for a while.
“I am- not nice.” Magnai tries. “And I am an arrogant prick.”
“And that makes you exhaust yourself in a field for weeks on end?” Cirina asks cautiously.
“No- I mean, I am blessed by the Dawn Father, khan of this mighty tribe. But I am not the most radiant in all aspects. Azim was a warrior strong and true but he was also kind. Just. I fall short in that regard and it very well may have cost me everything.”
“Oh.” The genuine look of surprise on her face lingered for a moment. “Um- sorry, I just really wasn’t expecting that. What has you feeling that way?”
“I met my moon.” This is the first time he has said it out loud, he wished that it would have felt good. That it didn’t feel like sandpaper across his throat. “He refused me before I had even realized who he was. And now he is gone.”
“You couldn’t possibly tell from that short amount of time.” Cirina sounds disbelieving with a scoff.
“I know it, Cirina. The Oronir are different, we know when we’ve met them.” He urges. “I just didn’t listen to my body when it told me, I chose to ignore it for the sake of my pride.”
“Was it Sugar?” She asks, but the look on her face implies that she already knows.
“Yes.” Is all Magnai can get himself to reply.
“There is something special about him. Even my grandmother says so.” Cirina says as she crosses her legs, getting more comfortable on the grass as they sit in silence. The sun threatens to dip past the horizon and Magnai can do naught else but watch.
“So, what would you like to do about this situation you’ve found yourself in?” She asks after a few long moments. “Continue to tire yourself out in the grass for the rest of your days? That’s hardly the behavior of a khan.” There was always something odd about the way Cirina talked to people, no matter what she said her words never seemed to sting. Even when they most certainly should have.
“I am unsure as where to even begin. I want to be less of a…” He trails off, unsure of what wording to use.
“Judgmental asshole?” Cirin supplies, quicker than he’d like if he’s honest.
“Precisely.” He agrees anyway. “I feel as if I don’t know how to stop digging the hole I’ve got myself in.”
“Would you like some help?”
For the first time in weeks relief runs cooly down Magnai’s back. Yes, help is exactly what he needs.
The years after were better. It was a lot of effort, and even more frustration but he persevered with support this time. Baatu, Sadu, and Cirina have been his companions and confidants and Magnai will be forever grateful for them. His sisters helped too but he had to endure a fair amount of teasing so he considers it offset.
But the most important thing was his mouth was no longer an open sore, he could use it without hurting himself and others. It did not happen overnight and many things he thought were okay often ended with an aside from Cirina and an apology to follow. But it was progress, and progress felt good.
He was considered friend to many outside of his tribe now, and those within the tribe had warmed right up to his company easily. His words were less sharp and hurtful, he grew humbler and kinder. Magnai could see the difference it made to his community and it warmed his heart. Children would run up to him and ask to play or to tell them stories, people would shove food in his face whenever he would pass by. He found satisfaction and fulfillment with his tribe. The love he held for his people was felt bone deep and it helped alleviate the ache he suffered through in his chest at night.
That was something he wouldn’t confide in with anyone though. The yearning. The heartache. Knowing he is out there but will never be by his side. A longing made a home inside of his chest. It was like a wound that he would tend to every night. One that never seemed to heal or scar over.
The wistful daydreaming of white hair and his laugh certainly didn’t help. And that damned word that tumbles through his thoughts, pinning him heavy under sweltering solemnity. Nhaama. Magnai had spent years searching for his Nhaama hoping for them to look back. He did not even consider the chance that his Nhaama would find him wanting when they finally met.
Life was tricky in that regard. Of course his Nhaama would set him straight, he wouldn’t settle for anything less than best. Even so he has a selfish wish. He wants a chance to try again. He knows it’s moot, that the Warrior of Light is continents away and probably doesn’t even think of him. Magnai does not blame him, but if he could get one more chance? He would do it right.
But that was frivolous, storybook and childish. Magnai has reserved himself to be content with the prospect of one day helping the scions again, should they ask. He will do all in his power to aid them again if given the chance, it’s the least he could do.
And that’s the thing about chances. You never know when one is about to fall in your lap. So when Cirina receives a call to arms from the scions to aid against Garlemald he agrees to come with, not solely for Sugar’s sake of course, he knows the scions have grown largely as an organization and wherever he goes has the possibility of him not knowing a single person there.
He lights a candle for the Dusk Mother on the day he leaves, just in case.