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It wasn’t unusual for Buer to call the Wanderer to the garden. Though she could technically summon him anywhere in the Sanctuary, there was something about that place that she seemed to prefer. Perhaps it was the perfumed air, making each word taste like roses despite their intent. Or maybe it was the constant accompaniment of buzzing insects, which kept her tiny voice from growing into a large, lonely echo. Or perhaps it was simply the soil, the soft, spongy substrate that she dug her toes into whenever she was lambasted with a surly reply.
Whatever the reason, she had decided to meet him in the garden once more, summoning him with a single simple note slipped under his bedroom door.
“What is it, Buer?” the Wanderer said as he crossed the threshold between polished stone floor and rough gravel path. After taking a few steps, he spotted Buer not in her usual place amongst the colorful flowers, but instead upon a wooden swing hanging from the bough of a barren tree. Beside her was an empty, identical swing, swaying in the breeze as it awaited its occupant.
“I’ve received some news,” Buer said, looking down at her lap as she dangled her legs off the edge of the swing. Even though her feet hung high above the ground, their toes still curled in search of an anchor.
“If it’s not about the Doctor, I don’t care,” the Wanderer said as he stood before the empty swing, scrutinizing it. From what he could see, the only thing holding up the worn plank of wood was a pair of deep green vines. Though they did not seem to be connected to any kind of proper plant, they still seemed healthier than many of the flowers growing in the garden. Such was the power of Dendro, he supposed.
“It isn’t,” Buer said. “But I still think you should know.”
“Fine,” the Wanderer said, sitting down on the swing and setting his hands on his lap. However, he did not look at Buer, opting instead to gaze out upon the field of fluttering flowers. Unlike the orderly, minimalistic gardens of Inazuma, Buer’s garden was dense and unrestrained, separated by only a single degree of maintenance from the untamed wilds. If not for the occasional weeding and pruning, the blossoms and shrubs would have surely fused together into a single living mass, a feral beast that would have escaped the confines of the Sanctuary and devoured the city below.
“I visited Irminsul this morning,” Buer said. Though her voice was calm, it sent a chill down the Wanderer’s spine.
“And?” the Wanderer asked, locking his eyes onto one particular flower. From his perspective, it was but a single spot of violet amongst a seething sea of scarlet, thrashing in the breeze as it attempted to fend off the encroaching horde.
“I originally hoped to find the names of some forgotten scholars,” Buer said. “A number of old works were recently discovered in the archives, and the Scribe wished to attribute them properly.”
“I could have helped you with that. All you had to do was ask,” the Wanderer said, turning just in time to catch Buer narrowing her eyes at him.
“Calm down, I’m kidding,” he said, though the jest brought him no joy.
“Anyway, Irminsul wouldn’t give me any of the names,” Buer said, sighing. “Instead, it seemed to be pushing me toward a different piece of information.”
“Which was?” the Wanderer asked, turning back toward the purple flower only to find that it had slipped beneath the crimson waves.
“It seems that recently, the Abyss Order has been active around Narukami Island,” Buer said.
“That’s not unusual,” the Wanderer said. “During the Fatui’s operation in Inazuma, they kept detailed logs of Abyss activity around the islands. I don’t think a single day passed without at least one Abyss Mage sighting.”
“This was different,” Buer said. “The Princess and her Heralds tried to perform a ceremony within the roots of the Sacred Sakura.”
The breeze stopped blowing, but still the Wanderer grew cold.
“The Raiden responded, and while she was able to repel the Abyss, her body and its contents were destroyed,” Buer said, voice tapering off into a wavering whisper. “Even the Musou Isshin.”
Even the Musuo Isshin. Even the vessel. Even her.
The Wanderer had been imagining this instant for centuries. Ever since his first days amongst the Fatui, he had been encouraged to fantasize about what it might be like to see his great betrayer finally meet her comeuppance. Would he laugh? Would he cry? Would he revel as no man had before? Though he had spent countless hours envisioning each possibility, he had found that he could never settle on any particular one. All were possible, and all would overwhelm.
But to his great surprise, the long-awaited moment bore no fruit. The world did not spin, the heart did not stutter, and the eyes did not well with tears. Instead, he could barely muster the will to shrug, let alone verbally acknowledge the news. Just as she had never cared for him, he could not care for her.
Buer reached for his hand, but he yanked it away.
“I’d prefer if you didn’t tell anyone about this just yet,” Buer said, looking somewhat hurt as she withdrew. “Only the Tri-Commission leaders and some members of the military seem to know what happened, and I don’t think they’d like it if they knew I told their secret.”
The Wanderer smirked.
“So the Raiden’s seat is empty,” he said. “And she didn’t designate an heir.”
“That’s what it seems like,” Buer said. “They don’t want the people to know they’re leaderless.”
The Wanderer broke down into a dry, biting laugh.
“What a fool,” he sneered. “After all her obsession with eternity, she still forgot to preserve her legacy.”
Buer said nothing.
“Well, I suppose the role will have to go to someone eventually,” the Wanderer said, sighing as he tilted his face up toward the sun. “Maybe the leader of the Yashiro Commission. They were always her favorites.”
“Maybe,” Buer said, though her trembling voice betrayed her uncertainty.
“Maybe?” the Wanderer asked, looking to his right to see Buer nervously kicking her legs in the air.
“From what I could gather, it seems that the most favored candidate is the Raiden’s friend,” Buer said.
“The kitsune?” the Wanderer asked, scowling.
“Mhm,” Buer said. “The Guuji Yae.”
“Hmph,” the Wanderer huffed. “Of course they’d choose her. That’s how they’ve always been. So enamored by divinity that they refuse to see the depravity lurking just beneath.”
“I…I…um,” Buer stammered.
“I don’t mean you, don’t worry,” the Wanderer said. “But that kitsune? To her, humans are just playthings. They exist only for her amusement, and she’ll toss them aside the moment they no longer fit her whims.”
“But aren’t you supposed to take care of your toys?” Buer asked.
“Ha!” the Wanderer exclaimed. “Sure, in theory. But how many balls have you seen sitting in the gutter? How many dolls have you seen with missing eyes and broken limbs? How many puppets have you seen tossed aside by their owners the moment the show’s over?”
Suddenly, the tirade came to a screeching halt. Where there had once been bitter words now sat a substance with no physical form yet all the weight in the world: a thought. Though he initially tried to back away and resume his rant, he discovered that there was simply no escaping the self-made monstrosity. No matter how he fought, no matter where he fled, it would always find him, filling up every crevice of his mind until there was no room left for anything but stark realization:
Not this. Not again.
“I’m going to claim my birthright,” the Wanderer suddenly said, gritting his teeth.
“What?” Buer asked, eyes wide.
“My birthright,” the Wanderer repeated. “As the only son of the Raiden, I am first in line for her throne. That kitsune can whine all she wants, but there’s nothing she can do to change the law of inheritance.”
“Wanderer, please, think this through,” Buer said, trepidation tainting her words. “The last time you tried to become an archon – “
“An archon? Ha,” the Wanderer said, tilting his head down so that the brim of his hat cast a deep shadow across his eyes. “I don’t think I could become one even if I tried.”
“But – “ Buer said.
“An archon’s power is built on love, Buer,” the Wanderer said. “You know that. Just as you love your people and she loved her ideals, every archon needs to base their power on something they adore. But me? I don’t love. I can’t love. I’m just a puppet without a heart.”
Buer opened and closed her mouth a few times before shutting her eyes and drawing in a deep breath. Once she had recomposed herself, she spoke:
“Once you’ve won your mother’s seat…what will you do with it?”
“Get rid of it as soon as I can,” the Wanderer said, shrugging. “I’ll deal with the kitsune and then pass it off to whatever human seems most able to clean up the mess the gods left behind.”
“Wanderer…” Buer said, her voice softened by some quality that made the Wanderer instantly bristle.
“Don’t make this into anything more than it is,” he snapped. “I’m just keeping the fox out of the henhouse. That’s all.”
Buer looked down at her lap and spent a moment twiddling her thumbs.
“I’ll go with you,” she finally said. “Most of the world has forgotten about you. You’ll need help proving your origins.”
“You’ve only just established yourself as Archon,” the Wanderer said. “Isn’t leaving your nation right now pretty unwise?”
“I have faith in the Scribe and his allies,” Buer said. “And if they fail, I’ll still have you to help me.”
“Really?” the Wanderer said. “After everything I’ve put you through, you still trust me to help you?”
“Of course,” Buer said, smiling. “I know a good heart when I see it.”