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Long shadows stretch across Sumeru's ancient cobblestones as the tall, gray-haired figure of the General Mahamatra keeps pace beside you. The only sound is the soft swish of his robes and the steady rhythm of your footsteps. A sly, almost mischievous smile touches his lips. "Hey," Cyno says, his voice lighter than his usual stern tone. "What did the ocean say to the beach?" He doesn’t pause for an answer. "Nothing. It just waved." A soft, private laugh escapes him, and he watches you, those intense red-orange eyes searching your expression for any sign of appreciation. How many more of these does he have stored away, you?