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The night air was a pleasant respite from the long, arduous day of trudging through a war-torn landscape.
Zasha padded through the narrow rows of tents, his shoulders and wings hanging loose after a long day scouting. His muscles hummed with that tired, satisfied ache that whispered ‘You can rest now’, though the experience of constant scouting suggested otherwise. He was halfway to his own tent when a murmur, barely audible, drifted from the tent he was just passing.
Sai’s tent.
Zasha paused. He wasn’t intentionally snooping, just… listening by accident. (That’s what he called it, at least.) A professional hazard, really. One that Zasha was quite used to. Quiet steps, quick ears, and a life trained on noticing all the things people tried to hide.
Inside, two voices fluttered in a whisper.
“...I don’t think I can just ask him something like that,” came Sai’s voice. He sounded stressed. Maybe even embarrassed?
As expected, Shea’s voice answered with her usual upbeat tone. “It doesn’t hurt to ask!”
“Normally, yes,” Sai hissed, “but we are also in the middle of a war.”
“All the more reason to ask if he is.”
“If he— Sheaaa…” Sai groaned.
A beat. Then, “But he’s from Ast. What if—”
“So are most of the people here, and they’re fine! And he seems fine with it! Especially with Kurt.”
He. Interesting. Zasha’s brow inched up.
Shea’s voice was rising ever so slightly, barely raising above her hushed whisper. “Sai, you’re overthinking! Just talk to him!”
“I think the problem is that I am thinking,” Sai muttered. “Thinking about other things when I, no, when we need to be focused on our mission.”
Zasha stood very still as he eavesdropped. The mercenary was caught between curiosity and common sense. Something about the tone made his heart race, but he forced himself to shake it off.
Not his business, not his conversation, and most certainly not his problem. And, honestly, he’d already gathered more than he should’ve.
As Zasha eventually slipped away, he frowned thoughtfully, the conversation still ringing in his mind.
Who and what were they talking about?
He didn’t have the answer. But he had a sinking suspicion the question would find him sooner or later.
.
.
.
Zasha was sitting against a cold boulder, letting the shade drape over him as he finished wringing river water from his hair. Scouting had been a long trek over thorny ground, both literal and metaphorical, and he was grateful for a brief moment’s stillness.
Then the grass rustled, breaking any sort of quiet. Zasha turned quickly, prepared for anything. Though his tense shoulders dropped when he saw who it was.
Sai.
Bright and shining as the morning, but still carrying the same unsure energy Zasha had heard from him the night before.
“Zasha,” Sai greeted, tucking a stray lock behind his ear. “How was scouting?”
“Quiet,” Zasha answered. “No movement on the north ridge. A good sign, for once.”
Sai nodded, then hovered.
It was only after a beat that Zasha realized Sai was presumably waiting to be welcomed to join Zasha, so the mercenary nodded his head and made room beside him next to the boulder.
Sai settled beside him with a polite, easy and easy smile. A smile, one that Zasha recognized as deliberately disarming. Before Zasha could look into it more, Sai spoke.
“What did you think of the border villages you passed?” Sai asked. “Yesterday, I mean. You mentioned seeing some of the villagers leaving towards the west?”
Zasha raised a brow. “It was crowded. People were uneasy. Saw some families gathering what they could carry. Probably more people fleeing to somewhere away from the bandits.”
Sai nodded, expression thoughtful. “Shea and I traveled near the western cities when we first arrived on the surface. We spoke to a few locals.” He paused, letting the silence breathe just long enough to emphasize what he was saying. “Ast culture seems… complicated. Proud, but also a bit inflexible?”
Zasha shifted slightly.
“Inflexible is a polite word for it,” he replied slowly.
Sai hummed, looking out at the treeline. “I noticed they prioritize lineage. Roles of a family. Expectations for the children.” His tone was neutral, almost academic. Like he was dissecting a plant to see how it grew. “Some of those expectations can be… constricting.”
Zasha felt the tug now. A tug that was gentle and precise and almost elegant, it became the main topic of their talk. Clearly, Sai wasn’t asking out of idle curiosity. He was easing the lid off a very specific, very complicated box.
“And,” Sai continued lightly, “I wonder how much of those traditions you agree with. Since you grew up there.”
Ah. There it was. Cleanly delivered. Very well set “trap”. Most people would stumble through the conversation, especially when asking about something as difficult as Ast’s traditional values.
Too bad Zasha had already seen the snare. He had experienced this conversation many times before and knew how to keep his mouth shut to not piss anyone off with opposing views. He hoped Sai wouldn’t be one of those people.
He allowed one slow blink. “Depends which traditions you mean.”
Sai’s lips tugged upward, just a little. He was acknowledging the challenge, the shared awareness. “The… social ones,” he clarified. “The ones about what people should be. Or… who they should be allowed to be.”
A beat.
Zasha’s mind flicked, uninvited, to the snippets from last night and the hushed tones of Sai and Shea.
So that’s where this is going. The only question left was why.
Internally, he sighed. Externally, he stayed perfectly calm.
“I don’t care for those traditions,” Zasha said. “Most of them are used to box people in. Or hurt them.” He leaned back on his hands, watching a small dust mote drift in a shaft of sunlight. “A lot of them are just excuses. Those ideals are used to keep people small. Meek, and afraid of stepping outside the lines someone else drew.”
Sai listened as if each word were a carefully placed stone he intended to collect and keep.
“What kind of lines?” he asked softly.
Zasha exhaled through his nose. “Lines about family, about duty. About who you’re allowed to care about, or not care about.”
A faint, wry but sad smile touched his lips. “Even things like grief. You’re supposed to carry it the ‘right’ way. You can’t be too loud about it, and can’t take the time to deal with it.”
Sai’s brows furrowed together. To him, it must be so strange to hear about Ast and its expectations.
“And people,” Zasha added, shrugging one shoulder. “Ast likes putting people in boxes. It’s tidy. It’s convenient. But it’s never been honest.”
His gaze drifted toward Sai. “I don’t think anyone should be told what they’re allowed to be.”
A very small silence followed. Not an uncomfortable one, luckily.
“Oh,” Sai breathed. “Admittedly, I’m pleasantly surprised. I didn’t expect you to have such strong opposition. Not that I was expecting you to follow along in Ast’s beliefs. You don’t seem like that type of man.”
“Hm.” Zasha’s voice was steady, but something warm flickered beneath it. “I have many reasons to go against what is normally expected of the people of Ast.”
Another pause.
“Especially considering one of the reasons is that I like men.” He replied, voice blunt and unbothered.
Sai’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Pink flooded his cheeks.
“Oh,” he said again, softer, dazed. “I see.”
Zasha’s eyebrows raised again. “Is that… Is that not what you were trying to figure out?”
“…I—” Sai sputtered, then grimaced. “I thought I was being very subtle about that.”
“You were,” Zasha allowed. “Just not enough. Especially since I pretty much overheard you speaking with your sister about this last night.”
Sai dropped his face into both hands. “I have never been more ashamed in my life.”
Zasha’s chuckle rippled through the shade like warm wind. “You don’t need to be ashamed. I’m more curious as to why you’re asking.”
Sai dragged his hands down his face, ears still tinged pink, then ventured a glance up at Zasha. His voice, when it came, was quieter. It was the first time Zasha had ever seen the retainer like this.
“Well,” Sai said slowly, “I… suppose I was curious because…” His fingers traced the hem of his sleeve, thoughtful. “It matters to me. Personally.”
Zasha tilted his head. “Personally?” he repeated.
Sai nodded once, not nearly as flustered this time.
“I don’t… quite fit into Ast’s expectations either,” he said, choosing each word with deliberate care. “I never have. Not when it comes to that.”
The air shifted.
Zasha watched him for a beat, when the implication hit him.
“…Ah,” Zasha murmured. “Good to know.”
Sai’s breath left him in a quiet exhale. His eyes met Zasha’s without wavering now, clear open, and hopeful in a way that warmed the cool shade around them.
A small, almost private smile curved at Sai’s lips. “Good,” he said softly. “I’m glad.”
And the moment stretched, with the two truths laid gently on the ground between them, close enough that they almost touched.
When Zasha finally rose, he offered, “Would.. Would you like to take a walk with me?”
Sai stood beside him with a quiet certainty that hadn’t been there a breath ago. “I’d like that,” he replied, voice warm and low.
And as they moved back toward camp, their steps aligned naturally.
It was as if something promising had just clicked into place.