Rynth: Four Beats

| 6th of Teryusin — Year 362 of the Cycle of Synthesis, Grand Cycle ??? |

And so he pushed the doors open. Strangely enough, both slid across the floor in a noticeably quieter motion, with little creaking to lay over the otherwise dead silent mansion. A burst of cold air rushed past him, bringing about a fierce flinch and shiver. Sunlight from the dual windows in the opposite end of the room—each equally as tall as the door he had just pushed open—shone into the study in blinding rays, completely masking the middle half, where a massive rectangular desk and an accompanying tired-looking young man sat cross-legged, his hands neatly unfolded in a gesture of complete readiness to receive.

Raoul squinted his eyes, using Awakening to pierce through the sunlit veil that covered his face.

To say he had changed was an understatement. In contrast to the prim, proper, and dapper waistcoat-wearing, monocle-sporting beau he had known nearly a decade ago, a visibly weary and fatigued young man who was struggling to keep a stable welcoming expression was there, practically slouching into his desk. His hair, once an elegantly groomed curl, now twisted and tangled in obfuscated circles that made it not too dissimilar to an unkempt afro.

Stains of coffee littered the half-unbuttoned, pale white dress shirt he clumsily sported, spilling its scent into the rest of the room. Iuean Green Peak, Pesdavilan-grown. Exceptionally bitter and recommended for cramming students and overworked office workers as a way to pull all-nighters at any time of the week. The more that was consumed of the drink, the more its effectiveness lessened. Raoul never relied on the brew excessively to finish his work, hard as it was. He couldn’t say the same for Avil. He counted one, two, three… six cups of unwashed, coffee-scented mugs dominating the right side of his desk.

All over the floor and scattered here and there were an endless sea of files and papers, each scribbled in barely-legible handwriting and stacked high almost pushing past his desk’s upper half. They gathered in messy chunks that barricaded parts of the walkway, making wading through them carefully the only way to navigate the study.

His face, a caffeine-rattled mess of jitters and unshaved facial hair, struggled to smile properly. Slowly he raised a hand—gesturing to a small, comfy couch-chair just on the other end of the desk. Unlike the rest of the room, it was much cleaner, a clear nod to how Avil had hurriedly cleaned it in anticipation of Raoul’s arrival.

“Please, take a seat. It’s been a while.”

He hesitated, but acquiesced nonetheless and tiptoed his way right before his desk and placed himself on the chair. Once more he took note of the disheveled state of the room—one or two castings of Ablution would have made it good as new, and yet it wasn’t. It was one of Avil’s favorite cantrips, and he often made use of it for every single little speck of dust that wandered into his clothes. No matter how small the grime, he would wave a hand over it and mouth the chant.

“Apologies for the state of the room,” he muttered, awkwardly sweeping away a sizable chunk of papers that was partly blocking his view of Raoul. “I’ve been really busy filling in my father’s shoes, and there’s been no time to rest.”

“That’s not how I remember you, Avil,” Raoul replied. With his own hand he vaguely swept over the desk area and willed the Jati in him to manifest in the form of the Stray-si cantrip. Within seconds, two cartoonishly-drawn hands manifested, both carrying a broom and dustpan. They quickly went to work, sweeping out dust and reorganizing the papers into neat piles. “You always take breaks, no matter how busy.”

“I know. I’ve just been really busy, to say the least. Every hour there’s a new set of paperwork to be filled. Contracts to review and sign. Letters to read and reply to. If I take even a short break, it’ll pile up and I won’t have time to breathe.”

“Your father’s retiring, if I recall. Why does he make you do all this? Doesn’t he have subordinates?”

“He said he’s teaching me how to fit in with my future workplace. Once he’s retired, I’ll be taking over the company as its head and overseeing all its branches. All seventeen thousand of it, that is.”

He’d read articles on the sheer scale of the Burilan Trading Company’s operating power. As one of the largest suppliers and leading researchers in Rynthian technology, they made much of their current wealth from securing trade routes to less advanced settlements and offering them technology from premier Cycles. To put it simply, they were selling Synthesis-era achievements to entire cities still stuck in Order. A way to boost all of Rynth into an equal playing field. Their operations ran through all five of the continents, with much of their wealth flowing in from Iomansi and Pesdavil.

He could scarcely imagine the day-to-day work someone in charge of such a monstrosity of a conglomerate would have.

“I see. How… how have you been?”

“Fine,” Avil replied, clearly straining his words just to even utter it. “It’s been rough, but father assured me that I’d be a good heir to the company if I continued in his footsteps. It’s what he’s been training me to do these past few years.”

“Oh…”

The subject was tugging at his heartstrings far too harshly.

“And you’re… fine with that?”

“Fine…? I suppose. It’ll get more manageable when I ease into my position. Once I become the president of the company, my father will be able to rest easy.”

You’re just like me, aren’t you? He thought to himself.

Sixty seconds had passed. The hands from Ablution began to disappear. Another wave of the hand came from Raoul, and they instantly reconstituted, returning back to their duties in sweeping and filing.

“Your flowers are dying outside, Avil,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “And the tree, too. It’s starting to rot and decay. When was the last time you left the house and breathed in some fresh air?”

“When?” Avil repeated, flicking a finger, then two, then three from his right hand. “I leave the study to head to the bathroom and eat dinner, but the last time I did leave the estate was three weeks ago. I suppose I should tell Cali to plant autumn’s flowers and find a druid to rejuvenate the tree.”

“You’re not even going to step outside and check?”

“I can’t, Raoul. I have too much work to do.”

His tone reeked of unapologeticness mixed half with genuine care. Whatever it was, his personal business clearly trumped over any sign of obligation to the hobby he had kept since he was a child.

You had that tree specially grown for Idri, you know. You even spent it out of your own allowance. Raoul gritted his teeth. Is she not even worth your time?

“It’s been great to see you, especially with how long it’s been since we last met.” Avil continued. “Can I ask why you came to visit?”

“If not for friends, then for an invitation.” replied Raoul, clenching his fist tightly. “I wanted to invite you to join me, Avil. On a journey out of this city. To the world beyond, to find ourselves.”

“Journey?” he tilted his head, the very prospect of leaving the city seeming blasphemous to his ears. “The world? Raoul, I’m not following.”

“It’s a journey to find ourselves. I’m in it to find myself, and so is Idri. We came here so we could invite you and Cali over, too. I figured… if all four of us decided to fly, we’d chance upon a way forward. Not be confined to our current lives. You’re not really satisfied, are you?”

An offer to find himself. Krocko had done the same for him, under a different pretense. His words rang through his ears, as vivid as the moment he had heard it. I noticed you were yearning. Was Avil yearning, too? Drivers were attracted to each other, after all.

A deep breath. Avil steadied his posture, completely leaning back into his chair. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t accept your offer, Raoul.”

His heart dropped. It was like glass shattering.

“...Why not?”

“Because… I’m satisfied with my life. I truly am.”