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Sumeru was a nation notorious for many things.
When the name of the country left the lips of any who uttered it, the mere presence of it within any conversation would cast up watercolour masterpieces of verdant rainforest with vibrant, fantastic flora. It would cause deserts and sandstorms to sift through the membrane of obscurity and ravage across the mindscape with the reminder of the harsh conditions and hostile life forms that also habituated there; hot temperatures would leave foreigners finding it difficult to sleep at night whilst deceivingly cute fungi would be sure to cause strife in those ignorant enough to not heed any fatigued (and slightly cantankerous) Forest Ranger's warnings.
It brought to mind the very thing the country was known for and the power the Archon presiding over it exercised - wisdom. From the ruins that sporadically scattered around the place containing arcane knowledge to the groves of books thriving within the Akademiya that flocks of scholars would consume, Sumeru was known for the erudition that it fondly nurtured, like how a gardener tends to their garden of roses.
In relation to their God, Sumeru was the nation of Dendro, meaning it had all sorts of links to the concept of life. Of the trees and of mortality. Of the philosophical and existential. It protected that which was tangibly living as well as cultivating those which were not; dreams and emotions that all had a life of their own, which contributed to living as well.
Sumeru was a nation notorious for many things.
But ask it's Archon, and she would tell you that what she believes defines Sumeru is lesser known than the secrets buried with King Deshret.
To her, Sumeru was a nation of growth, of growing through cycles or growing out of them - whatever benefited the precious miracle of nature into blooming. To be blessed by the element of Dendro was to be recognised for your tenacity, the ability to grow up, grow strong, grow past, move forward, grow the progression of the Samsara that was life.
This was the first lesson he had truly acknowledged from her, albeit not the first lesson she had attempted to teach him: there was always room for growth, and one had to learn to grow as a person. From then on, they could become better from what they were. They could move on.
He was a Samsara in itself. He lived in a cycle of pain and betrayal, attempting to remedy this by creating a cycle of burning bridges. He would singe the name Kabukimono and become Kunikuzushi when shedding tears only fueled his vitreol - vulnerability that made him weak. Weakness that consequently made him unworthy. There was no place nor use for crying. He would then torch that title and become the Balladeer. But, the fire from the bridge would always catch onto the grass and trees where one thought they were safe. Kunikuzushi wept over a child who had died. The Balladeer lost his heart once again and plunged into a coma. There were consequences to burning bridges. There were always consequences he had to face.
It was ironic how he was stuck in a cycle of extremes. At one given moment in time, the past consumed him. He indulged in the rage that suffocated him. It became his eyes, his lenses, his irises. It was his reason for chasing after a heart. The belief was that if he burned the bridge of his emotions, his past would no longer hurt. His godhood would become his source of worth. And as a god, he would be above all, never to be abandoned and never to be hurt. The gnosis would turn his emotions to a blank slate and divinity would gaze upon the ugly forms of Kabukimono and Kunikuzushi with indifference.
But at another, when his heart was no longer obtainable and he had been slumped against concrete floor, the gaze of the Dendro Archon trained on his defeated figure, when he had been imprisoned and disposed of, left to be a dog that retrieved information, he no longer wanted to be consumed by the past. He wanted it eradicated entirely. Fuck burning the bridges, he wanted to burn his whole world. He wanted the flames to gnaw and gnash at his skin, divine skin immune to erosion, until he was nothing but a charred statue, soul smoked out of his eyes and mouth. He wanted to cease existing, for he was worth nothing and his life had been nothing but a lie. His future had no prospect. His present form lost his worth in the eyes of Kusanali the moment he returned from Irminsul. His past was nothing but a thunderstorm of pain that would stab and irritate him. It would simply be better if he didn't exist at all. He would feel no pain, no betrayal, no abandonment, no loss, no emotions. It was a simple solution.
Be consumed by the past or erase it entirely. The two radical ends of the spectrum. His cycle of torment. His morose Sabzeruz festival in which the guest of honour was, at either end, Anguish.
So it was why Lord Kusanali's lesson had stuck with him after he left her sanctuary, after regaining his memories. He couldn't wallow in the past, for there was no worth in his obsessive emotions. He couldn't erase it either, for he had learned it had left his existence very void indeed, a worthless existence that was constantly yearning for meaning. There was only one option. Each spectrum had a midground where one could live comfortably. In this instance, he could acknowledge the past and utilise it to atone for his mistakes. Balance the books. Pay off a debt. That was it. He had to grow out of the cycle of the Balladeer and grow into the new one of the Wanderer. A cycle of life where the past was just there. The past.
This had been easy to grasp despite his stubborn demeanour. Mainly because he had witnessed the result of all other endeavours and they had failed. There was nothing left to try or do, and he was always one to continue moving forward rather than stagnating, even if he didn't have a clue what he was moving forward to. It was simply another option he could try.
Of course, committing to change had always depended on the benefits it could reap for him and personal growth could possibly help him achieve his long term goals. All he knew was that he wanted two things: revenge on Dottore and to repay his debt. To obtain those two things, he had to keep going and he had to remove himself from that tragic cycle of extremes - the metronome of emptiness and extreme anguish.
That and it helped knowing that two of the three of his betrayals were never out of malice, his despair and inability to grieve properly had been the culprit, rather. He had been given a justification to grow out of the extremes and seek a newer life rather than staying embroiled in rage and distrust. His life had been a lie and growth would finally provide some truth, certainty and tangibility to his lifespan.
Nevertheless, the lesson had a profound effect on him. Much like the anemo that cradled his figure whenever he soared, a sense of liberation uplifted his steps. For once, he felt at ease. He was not weighed down by his past but, at the same token, he was not completely astray, lost, thanks to a lack of it. If that archon had a weird metaphor for it, she would probably compare his current existence to a leaf; it wasn't bound to a rotting, dying tree, nor was it curled on the ground with no direction nor life to it - it was simply floating in the wind.
"It is good to see that you have started to grow, like a Harra fruit sprout amidst a stampede. It is good to see that you have finally accepted what could never be altered - your past. But I wonder…."
"What?" The Wanderer had snapped at the young god as she sat within the Akademiya gardens, the flowers revering her presence, clamouring to hold her. He disliked imperfection and rejected failure; being told that he had not 'completed' growth was tantamount to such and it grated upon his patience.
"You strive for personal growth by acknowledging the past but you still have not put your lesson of growth into practice. When you face situations that harm you, will you be able to move past them? If you face failure, will you be able to grow, learn, from it or will you stagnate and wither like your previous incarnation?"
"Personal growth is like a flower in a green house - for immortals like us, we have all the time in the world to work on it. Moreover, it is in a space that we can control. We can control what issues we expose ourselves to or what problems we would like to work through that day. When faced with external stimuli that you cannot control, that you cannot take the time to sit and ponder, I wonder how you will react".
He had paused at the words, folding his arms as he looked beside her. Wanderer watched as the dainty hands of the Dendro Archon had caressed the flowers with the element that was her birthright. He had watched as the flowers grew more vibrant, their petals becoming vivacious.
"Are you gambling on my ability to forgive?" the puppet scoffed.
"No. Firstly, I do not believe that forgiving is strictly necessary for growth. Sometimes you need to be angry and learn when to take a stand. I do not forgive the sages for what they did to me, that does not mean I have stunted my own personal growth".
Nahida had then turned to face him with those verdure gardens in her eyes. Inside, tranquillity had been cultivated within them and he recalled instantly feeling a prickle of discomfort at his accusation.
"You taught me that it was ok to set boundaries. To say no. To not forgive. To get angry. It is a valuable lesson that has allowed me to better protect my people. For some, learning not to forgive is their version of growth. Moreover, you are like family to me. I would not gamble on your own personal wellbeing; I am just curious to see what you will do".
"Family? That's a weird title to give someone that's your prisoner, Buer. Has your benevolence finally caused your judgement to fail?"
"Are you my prisoner? Or is that prison self-imposed? Are you denying yourself the ability to be seen as anything else? It still seems you have room for growth".
"I… I have something important to notify you upon".
As they sat at the normal place, sipping bitter tea whilst observing the winds of change in Sumeru, the Wanderer glanced over to Buer, tongue prepared with some harmless yet scathing remark that was customary to his constellation. She never took offence to it. Sometimes she even found it amusing.
Yet, the young god sat, fidgeting in her seat. Her Dendro swing was uncharacteristically absent, swapped for some karmaphala chair, and the gardens thriving in her eyes were cast into the shadows of some cloudy day, trained upon the ripples within her cup. Her brows were furrowed as she was biting her lip, fingers tapping impatiently against the porcelain vessel clamped within the wooden vice that was her hands.
And so whatever sly retort he had locked and loaded was instantly discarded as he turned to give her his full attention.
"It has to do with the Raiden Shogun".
If he had blood that thermoregulated, he was sure at that moment it would run cold.
"Now that the sociopolitical state of Sumeru is at a satisfactory state, many of the other nations have been contacting me in regards to arranging new deals for trade or assistance. And… obviously… the authority for Inazuma is ultimately Beelzebul".
Thickly, he swallowed.
"How long will she be here for?"
"Only a day. Despite the political dispute within Inazuma being settled, the shogunate still has little trust in the three commissions. The Shogun and the Embassy with her are like migrating birds, hunting for new opportunities in the horizon before ultimately returning home to feed their reckless and inexperienced young with wealth".
The puppet turned to stare back out at the verdure; a tree was growing in his chest he was certain of it. Its roots were winding around his false lungs, squeezing and crushing them so nothing but fluid pooled into his chest.
He could feel those moon-like eyes on his figure, the bearer of bad news finally taking responsibility to gauge his response.
"Will you be able to handle this?"
"How weak do you think I am, Buer?" He hissed, "Don't worry, I'm not going to dive headfirst into Irminsul again at the sight of that reclusive hermit".
The vitriol had no effect, nothing unusual there, but it only fueled his anger and anxiety as he clenched his jaw. She merely blinked, peering into the depths of his soul not to analyse and scrutinise him - she knew far too much about him at that point, little needed thinking about - but to try to understand why he was openly seething, a small lick of a flame feeding on the tree in his chest to claw up his throat, as if his response had somewhat baffled her.
"You misunderstand me". The dainty little god reached over the table, her cup emitting a small clinking sound when set on the surface, before patting one of his cold hands. Such a small action gave him tentative flickers of a happier, simple time. The tree in his chest grew but olive leaves had started to bloom on its branches, quelling the fire lacing his trachea.
"Have you grown to become your own tree hollow? Or do you need the presence of another tree?"
"You say I misunderstand you and then you spout metaphors like that". He stated with a raised eyebrow, pardisarahs squinting whilst his posture hunched as if her analogy was tangible and he was trying to reread it in hopes the meaning would leap out at him.
"I'm here for you. If you want it".
He quietened, stilled, at the confirmation of something he had known for quite some time now, for Buer had put in the effort to make sure it was known and that he would believe it. His entire body was digesting that shred of emotional support that he would typically regurgitate and vomit, burn with his acidic words before it ever came into contact with him.
He had no words for her. He had grown, yes, but he would genuinely rather end up back on Dottore's operating table than openly admit to needing assistance, something which the archon (amidst all her general concern and kindness) seemed to be prompting him to do.
The Shogun was not going to bring him to his knees. That much he was certain. With that epiphany, he straightened his posture and clasped his hands together, gathering his composure. He would not be reduced to asking for help when all he had to do was ignore her.
She probably didn't remember him anyway. He was truly getting worked up over nothing.
How pathetic.
"I can see if any of the sages have scheduled plans for the Shogun so I can construct some assignments that prevent you from coming into contact with her".
"What if I want to confront her?" The puppet challenged.
"Well… do you?"
"She doesn't remember me. I erased myself, it would be impossible".
"Hmm, I do not think that answers both of our questions somehow. Do you want to confront her?"
The Wanderer had spent most of the day a week after that exchange observing a meeting between the Matra, dissecting the information they presented like game from a successful hunt.
In the bowels of the Akademiya, witnessed by the sanctity of the Holy Tree, Sumeru's elite would coalesce, converse and disperse like thunderstorms; for one moment, they were there and discussing manners of criminality in aggressive, harsh terms - in the next, they were gone, purveyors of safety and justice with their spears sharpened and plans etched into their minds. They struck fast, struck strongly and obliterated all that opposed them without so much as a speck of dust as trace of justice's secret victory.
As Buer's advisor, his role was to be well versed on the workings of the nation of Dendro - although, arguably, overseeing the Matra was not within his job description. However, with Nahida growing more and more busy as she fully assumed many of the roles she had been deprived during her imprisonment, someone had to analyse the information gathered in their meetings and report back to her; who better than an ex-harbinger who specialised in subterfuge to do so?
And, especially after the Matra's slip up a few weeks prior (which consisted of current and previous members sharing forbidden knowledge and endangering others for self gain), they had to be monitored for any signs of deviance. It didn't matter if the fearsome General recognised by lightning incarnate kept them all in line - the Wanderer had been tasked with watching for hints of treason or betrayal; it was practically his forté
Of course, the Matra didn't know that he had been present in the room. They would never divulge sensitive information with him fully present: the members of Kusanali's staff were never privy to such secrets in case their dreams consisted of treason. Plus, with his eccentric appearance and curt manner, he practically attracted suspicion. So, he had listened from the shadows, anemo masking his presence.
They discussed an array of topics, from security for both archons to Eremite clans in the desert that had caught their attention. Any mention of the fatui within that hour-bound meeting pricked his ears whilst mundane topics of petty street crime felt like some sort of drug that lulled him to sleep.
But it was all useful at the end of the day. It told him the Matra were doing their job, exposed him to some of Sumeru's laws and provided him with the intel he would need for his own personal…. Endeavours.
When the Mahamatra had finally left the room amongst his fellows, the Wanderer too stepped into the gentle light and then into corridors of the Akademiya that were bubbling with excited chatter - or well, as exciting academic debates could get.
The Archon of Inazuma was gracing the land of Dendro with her presence today, a scenario which, despite his days of mental preparation, had still left him snapping at attendants, glaring greatswords at any mild inconvenience and just generally evading any and all contact with a quick turn of his heel and hasty retreat. Conversations were left unfinished and researchers were chased away by the bubbling hurricane sealed in a puppet vessel. Although, uncharacteristically, he was slightly pleased at awaking to the sun this morning; rainy weather was always alluring to whatever equivalent of a soul he had whilst the sun always felt too overbearing, too optimistic for something that would swiftly take to the grave, dying for twelve hours and replaced by a duller doppelganger. But rain was often a prelude to a storm, and a storm was a harbinger to lightning.
He had not wanted to wake up to lightning today.
So, as he stalked down the pristine halls of white and emerald architecture - occasionally gilded by gold or tourmaline - he would occasionally stop to peer out of the cyan stained glass window, scrutinising blue skies for any trace of that which he dreaded before humming to himself in satisfaction and moving on.
It wasn't that he feared her arrival. He had only feared her upon his creation; actually, that was wrong as well for he had only feared her judgement. But now? He was as Buer described, a sprout who had finally broken out of the shell of the seed to leave the darkness of the void behind. His creator, as Buer aptly followed on her metaphor, could become like a crow on farmland, stealing away the little sprout and consuming it forever if he wasn't careful. It wasn't a word of warning nor meant to put fear into him but more of a careful reminder to have some respect for his own boundaries and limits.
He had resolved to respect himself by remaining far away from the Shogun's sphere of acknowledgement.
Raiden Ei had no recollection of him after he erased himself in the eyes of Irminsul and Teyvat. He would at least have respite from any questions that arose if they did indeed cross paths during her stay. He doubted it.
As he knocked on the white and emerald doors of the Sanctuary of Surasthana, the Dendro Archon's living quarters, he reminded himself to keep the information brief so that he could return to his room before the Electro Archon arrived.
"Come in, Icarus, although you did not have to knock".
He pushed through into the verdant room framed by an ethereal yet significantly more real glow than what it had contained before the Lord of Dendro was released.
She had decorated the place adequately, he supposed, although he never claimed to understand why she was comfortable with repurposing his prison. But then again, he had a track record of committing arson to places that harboured bad memories so maybe he wasn't the best person to listen to on this subject.
The centre of the room with the lotus shaped pedestal had been repurposed to a desk of sorts, an architect had raised its platform so several people could sit at it without having to kneel. Neatly organised on top was a tea set likely prepared for the presence of other guests. No papers or books were needed given that Nahida's documents were stored on a Dendro panel of sorts, manifested by Irminsul, yet a singular document remained in the centre of the marble surface with a pen placed beside it.
Shelves had been implemented into the pillars that surrounded this central platform, being filled with books and plants and intricate trinkets from the Bazaar or the Aranara. Even a jar of Candied Ajilenakh nuts had a designated space. And, framing their sides, suspended in open air, were hanging potted plants. Not only did they curtain this small space but many hung over the void that likely led down to the great roots of the Divine Tree. They were like stars, some of the plants colourful and vibrant whilst their pots were decorated with local ores.
She had told him that her previous incarnation used it as a space to meditate but she stated she'd had five hundred years of meditation. This place no longer had to be empty and serene; it could be lively and personalised and uniquely her. It could reflect her love for life, her curiosity and serve as a reminder to all that she adored.
"I've gathered the information you requested from me". He claimed plainly as he approached her desk, ignoring the way his footsteps echoed off the walls and also ignoring the informal way he had been ushered into the room by Buer. Many a time he had commented upon her overly friendly and willing demeanour in regards to her subjects. As time had flowed on, he realised this was the one ground she would never concede on. Her people would be treated with kindness and respect whether they respected her or not. This treatment extended to him.
The young God in front of him sat simply, her small hands swiping through different screens intermittently as she worked. And yet, when he spoke, she halted her actions and turned to face him with her face attentively painted.
"Thank you, I appreciate your assistance. Hopefully the news you bring is good, I don't think Sumeru could politically handle a reformulation of the most trusted group in the nation. But that isn't the most important bit of information I want to know right now".
The Wanderer peered upon her in curiosity that only flooded his eyes, widening them slightly and clearing the sharpened edges of night into something more softer.
"I don't recall you asking me to listen in on anything else".
"I did not. Nevertheless, my question still remains important. How was your day? Do you have any new stories to tell?" She gave him her signature small smile towards the end; it was something so warm yet transient like the benevolent rays of the sun or the serene glow of the moon. His posture loosened slightly at the epitome of comfort; it was no wonder that everyone saw her as a gentle god.
"It's been fine" he simply responded, albeit the tone lilted towards the end into something more curt, more brief, more closed off. He glanced at the door briefly, a sudden wave of something akin to paranoia (he was not paranoid about Ei for Archon's sake) tingling at his senses like touchy dynamite, making the rest of his movements pointed. Certain the hinges were not slowly drawing open, he added: "Nothing eventful. Idle chatter isn't useful at the moment".
The puppet paused, expression taut as he continued to stare expectantly at the door. As seconds stretched out into grains of sand cascading through glass, he turned back around to face Nahida, tapping his fingers against his forearm impatiently.
"How long do you have?"
"I have been notified not too long before you entered that they arrived in Sumeru City recently". The words were deafeningly loud, clashing with the tranquil silence of the Sanctuary; they seeped into the hanging plants around them, causing their petals to quiver with the weight they held. Buer's tone was oxymoronically calm, even, as if she didn't know her words were like a wrecking ball to his nerves, sending cracked walls built on sand foundations closer to entirely crumbling.
Wanderer swallowed, the knuckles of his fist turning white as he clenched the palms of his hands. She observed him with something in those eyes, what it was he couldn't entirely tell.
The archon shifted from her chair, feet patting softly against the floor, approaching him. Her movements did nothing to disturb the peace of the room, as if she was one with her surroundings. Her presence was soothing, in a way.
"Look, I don't need constant checking in o-"
"I have arranged for the Corps of Thirty to tour them around Sumeru city. I believe it shall be good for them to understand the more complex nature of what the city may need from our negotiations. So, we have some time before they are due to arrive". A dainty hand lay on his elbow. He didn't even realise he was slightly trembling before. It was only evident now he was being grounded by Kusanali, like a tree being tied down by its roots.
He shot her a look.
"You didn't arrange that on my behalf, did you?"
"No. I want the negotiations to not only go smoothly but be beneficial to my people. I do not particularly care for small talk during our negotiations. If understanding my people will make our conversation more productive and efficient, then I will put those measures in place".
The tapping finger turned to a tapping foot, violent eyes darting to the plain floor and fixating on a spot to violently burn holes into. He narrowed his eyes once, twice, before changing what spot he was glaring at. Despite not being able to personally see it himself, he knew a scowl had curled its way onto his features, feeling the familiar position it rested on in the crevices of his porcelain skin.
Irritation was an emotion he was all too familiar with; he had been irritated at incapable subordinates who bumbled across Teyvat creating a grand mess in his wake. He had been irritated at the Harbingers' arrogance even when he was amongst them. He had been irritated with Buer during his initial healing during the Shouki No Kami incident, loathing her self sacrificing and benevolent facade. But these moments of irritation all remained filed under his past incarnation of Scaramouche. He found that with donning the new, blank mask of Wanderer, much of that irritation had subsided. It had not disappeared but had rather grown less fervent, no longer a precursor to a bad mood and a barrage of insults.
But now, he was getting irritated. Not at Kusanali, nor at her blunt and unsympathetic words. She was not only the god of Wisdom but the Ode to Truth, speaking honestly was in her nature and he appreciated the bluntness to some degree; they had an unspoken rule that they could communicate as frankly as they wanted. No, he was irritated at the passage of time. Irritated that this moment had come so soon and seemed to be approaching so fast like the ship to its wreck yet also so slow, each second drawing agonising scratches down the left side of his cerebellum.
"You can't just rely on the tour to get them heeding your pleas," The former fatui settled for instead of whatever snappy and brief response that had been bouncing on the tip of his tongue. He knew whining and sulking would not aid the predicament, moreover he did not want to be reduced to such a pathetic, snivelling state. He had taken down countries from the inside, dealt with the most slimy mortals and endured that complete mockery of a human being, Childe. He could endure this; a day of the past meeting the present.
And, if he wanted to cultivate efficiency into the negotiations (not just for Nahida's sake but for his own), quick advice would not hurt. "Both the Electro Archon and that wet dog of hers are sly and aware. They've been doing this for a lot longer than you have. What you should be concerned about is that they will have this perception of you - they will think you are meek and inexperienced. Don't think for a second that the divine are exempt from the lowest of the low dog fights over scraps of information".
Kusanali tilted her head, placing an arched finger underneath her lips, firmly placed on her chin, whilst her other arm supported her hovering elbow.
"I had considered that a possibility, yes. I hoped that our shared status as an archon would garner me some respect in their eyes. Moreover, the tour is to help them see that my people need to prosper as much as theirs to prevent them exploiting my inexperience". Her eyes became downcast, flickering to the floor, "but I acknowledge this is not the 'truth', merely a desire. Do you have any advice for me?"
"You assigned me the role of advisor for a reason, and I'm here to advise. I intend to fulfil that function".
A part of him, possibly the bemused part clad in black and red heralded with high graces amongst Snezhnaya's ranks, would have then proceeded to carefully weave the threads of a score together, spilling a song of discord into her ear that she would then spill to the targets. It could create a most beautiful dissonance of chaos, destroying any prospect of friendship with the land of eternity whilst sowing the seeds of animosity and war. Number six would have taken that opportunity with glee, uncaring of the collateral damage.
He inhaled.
"The electro Archon is a simple and pathetic being," If his hatred wasn't already obvious enough, Buer did not comment. She valued honesty, after all. "She thrives when focusing on the statistical and military aspect of her nation. You can expect her to be direct during conversation but narrow-minded. She's like a child. Stubborn, ignorant and unable to think further than herself".
"As for that fox, it's a surprise she's coming really. Normally Inazuma's affairs are left to her in that… that god's absence. She knows a lot of secrets and she thrives on them as well, using them to manipulate, lie, annoy. Beelzebul will be a challenge because speaking to her is like smashing your head against a brick wall. Miko will be a challenge because she'll always conspire against you to benefit her god. Your best bet is to address Beelzebul and ignore Miko whilst watching your wording. Be cordial, you do not want Miko being antagonistic because she understands you are avoiding her. Are we clear?"
The cogs turned behind Irminsuls protector's eyes as she pattered back over to her desk to take a seat. A fleeting glance washed over the document she had placed to check everything was in order before she too followed his earlier actions of inhaling and exhaling.
They were both gods, both made from the wood of Irminsul. They had no need to breathe and yet doing so brought something to them, whether it was comfort or release. Buer hummed in affirmation, accentuating it with a little nod that made the bell on her cape jingle and her elvish ears bounce.
"Your information is vital. I will remember this when I am conversing. Do I need to know anything else?"
"Not really. The art of subterfuge is to know who you're deceiving so you're able to adapt to their responses in a way that pleases them and lowers their guard. You hold your cards close to your chest, keep your goal clear in your mind and listen to whatever information you deem useful. But, with Inazuma recently being under the grasp of the fatui, deceit is the last tactic you'd want to use. The fox would be aware of that, at least".
"That and deception would not make for a good olive branch. I want to strengthen the bond between our nations like how a gardener waters their plants, not take a sword and smite their petals and stem".
"Just, be honest and assertive. Show no signs of weakness. A negotiation, diplomacy; both are as much of a battle as those done with physical weapons. Show weakness or hesitance and you'll be pushed against a wall-"
Before he could continue with lessons ingrained upon him from his time at the Fatui, the doors of the sanctuary opened and his words caught in his trachea, choking him with a sudden spike of a familiar feeling. What would have been a witty retort about the conduct of the corps, lacking in the manners that dictated needing to knock had instead been reduced to the anxiety of realising you were left behind, of entering a burning furnace, of seeing a cold body lay unresponsive on the floor.
It was the feeling of falling, of imminent dismay staring you right in the face, rapidly approaching closer with no sign of stopping.
A waterfall of golden light came trickling in as if bouncing upon stones in a babbling brook. It softly ebbed onto the white floor, filling the atmosphere with a sense of energy and life that had been slumbering within its forestry groves previously. The glimpses of outside were brief as several Corps of Thirty marched into the room, bowing in respect to their god before formulating into two lines facing each other.
Contradicting nature's exuberant design was the epitome of thunderous storms herself, each step leaving lasting, sharp echoes in her wake like the roll of thunder and lingering electricity that cut air after lightning, despite the cacophony of the wind and curious voices outside. She carried a darkness into the sanctuary, one that spoke of the heaviness of autumn and winter; it condensed the atmosphere, leaving a hefty impression that strangled both breath and thought. Her face spoke of nothing but might, power crackling in those electrode eyes whilst her mouth remained fixed into something neutral yet composed, purposeful, focused on the task ahead. Preventing all distractions to eternity.
By her side was a crown of sakura blossoms, a mighty contrast to her companion and she seemed to float with every sauntered step into the room. She seemed ephemeral, misty, shimmering with some sort of shrine incense that created an enigmatic aura to her, only further accentuated by the smirk on her lips that carried to the indigo void of her eyes.
"The Raiden Shogun and Guuiji Yae, Lord Kusanali".
The little god nodded, giving her Eremites a kind smile.
"Thank you".
And with that, the guards of Sumeru city filed out after bowing in respect to the prestigious gods, shutting the doors behind them, locking this dangerous tension in the room.
After 500 years, this was the first he had seen his creator up close. Yae would no longer remember, but he had seen her only a year ago as the Balladeer to gain the gnosis. But his creator? The last glimpse he'd had of her was when he first awoke, shedding tears at the sheer pain the gnosis had brought him, tainted by tragedy and blood. She still seemed stiff, distant and so earnest by the way she carried her body and expressions, yet there was something in her eyes that was novel; he recalled them being akin to black clouds that block the sky, stealing all light and condemning the mortal world to darkness. Now, there was a light to them - a flash of lightning, a slither of life, a spark to be wished upon.
That was unusually alive.
That was unusually mortal.
He didn't know how to feel about that. In fact he didn't want to feel about it at all.
Instead, the Wanderer looked downwards, a hand flitting to the brim of his hat to further secure the mask that guarded his features. He kept his body still - he was a member of staff, he had to keep his composure as a sign of respect no matter how much it killed him - yet clenched his fists, certain that if he didn't practise restraint he would soon find blood moons engraved in his palms.
"Forgive me if I seem surprised at your arrival," Kusanali started, tone inviting as she clasped both her hands together over the surface of the table, "you are earlier than I was told you would be".
"Ei wanted to start negotiations before touring Sumeru". Yae Miko answered casually and, Archons, he did not miss the honey that was her voice. The overly sweet tone with a warm timbre that spoke pages upon pages of mischief and cunning, the melodic lilt that most mortals indulged in at their demise, sinking further into that viscous honey until they got stuck, unable to free themselves from the kitsune's toying grasp.
"A great shame, really, I was looking forward to leisurely viewing the light novels here".
The puppet's lips curled into a slight scowl. That sickly sweet tone was rotting his ears, resurrecting a visceral hatred for the owner of such an irritating voice; he was reminded of her traitorous and deceptive nature, of the mortal lives she loved to play with even when someone bearing her lover's visage begged her to send help to those dying in Tartarasuna. Of the diplomatic and pacifistic words utilised as a mask for judgement and superciliousness in the masquerade of the gnosis negotiations.
That honey-sugar voice must have decayed her teeth too, for when she flashed a smile as warm as the enchanting spell of spring yet still secretive and coy like blossom buds remaining sealed, he found himself having to fight back the impulsive bile burning at the back of his throat caused by sheer disgust, itching him to just punch her.
Those events may have been erased, but he would always remember. And so would fate, for Yae Miko had not changed one bit.
He needed to leave.
"I appreciate your hospitality, Lord Kusanali". Ei stated, bowing her head at the small god, her tone containing that notorious neutrality that he recalled echoed his own when first waking up on Shakkei Pavillion.
"I appreciate your presence, Raiden Ei. The both of you, please take a seat so that our discussions can begin. I have also prepared some Inazuman tea for your fancy".
The two women moved forward, sitting on the chairs set out for them with the decorum expected of such prestigious entities meeting. Whilst Miko seemed naturally composed, resting her hands on her lap with an enigmatic smile settled on her face, Ei seemed unprepared; her brows furrowed as she attempted to get somewhere between comfortable on the chair and looking attentive. This lack of perfection in her presentation and movements would have been enough to cause him to burst out into euphoric laughter if it wasn't for the fiery bile blocking his throat.
In Inazuma, it was customary for foreign diplomats to sit on tatami as a display of respect for both the country's traditions and as a representation of their individual country's strength. But in Sumeru, the nation of Wisdom, they had to play by their customs. It seemed the Electro Archon had not fully prepared herself for this aspect.
Wanderer settled to scoff at her ignorance. Miko's ears twitched.
"Inazuman tea, it seems you are well versed in both of our tastes". The kitsune praised. "Such is to be expected from the God of Wisdom, I suppose. We shall both have a cup".
Miko's eyes turned to him expectantly whilst Ei remained staring at the small god. It struck him then how his presence in this room looked, standing at the right hand side of the Dendro Archon, quiet and seemingly reverent. He looked like a servant, there to answer the beck and call of the two divine visitors. To some degree, he supposed he was, but Kusanali treated her staff with much more respect than that. The word servant never left her lips, for she saw her role as serving the people rather than the other way round. And, even if he saw himself as needing to repay her, she saw him differently. How differently, he did not delve to find out.
Speaking of, Buer reached over for the tray of tea herself, the trickle of warm water reverberating around the quiet room like a river. Those eyes that had him chained in place then quickly turned to the source of the noise, the fox's eyes narrowing just slightly with silent judgement whilst Ei had less of an inhibition to restrict her shrewdness.
"Kusanali, your servant is here beside you, why do you toil?"
With a content smile on her face, Buer placed a cup for each participant at the table, her movements calm.
"That is my advisor".
"Yes," he bitterly added, only looking to address Kusanali to prevent himself from glaring, "I have important business to attend to. I'll fill you in on the details of the meeting later".
"Of course, keep in touch".
He turned to leave. He knew it was customary to bow as a sign of respect but he would rather die than do that.
Yet before he could fully leave, Yae Miko cleared her throat, bringing all eyes save his own to her.
"Do all of your court attendants show a lack of respect towards the Shogun? Not only does he refuse to acknowledge her but he even refuses to bow".
Her voice was smug, he could identify that much and he hated it. He hated how she was clearly mocking him, indirectly mocking Kusanali in the process. That fox never changed, always carrying a mischievous air of audacity with her yet still being a dog to her archon and image. He knew, the thunder god beside her would not care whether he bowed or not; she was Makoto's weapon, not a subject of royal pomp and ceremony, and she valued doing her role efficiently rather than being respected. Yet Yae would always step in to manage that part, defend her image and the reverence that was her birthright.
He could not restrain himself. The Wanderer shifted back to face three pairs of eyes on him, ready to spit something out; Buer's concealed concerned ones, Yae's challenging and the Shogun's…. Were widened? It was yet another unusual expression to see on her paling face that was normally so steadfast and certain. Her eyebrows were upturned and that electric intimidation in her eyes had quietened down to soft yet clear rain. Her lips trembled with words unspoken and, for once, whilst the tension grew thicker on the back of his neck, he also felt a sense of unease.
"I apologise," Buer started in his silence, placing a hand on her chest to show sincerity whilst closing her eyes as if reciting lines. Clearly, she had been prepared for this outcome, "but your early arrival did leave us all frazzled. My advisor does have some important meetings to attend given my absence. Objectively, our customs-"
Before the God of Wisdom could finish her explanation, finish bailing him out for a second time in his life (increasing the price he would have to pay and the debts he would have to settle), The Shogun sharply stood from her seat, that same haunted expression painfully cemented on her face. She would then go on to whisper one word that would shake his entire being across several incarnations.
"Makoto?"
Silence enveloped the room once again for the third time.
Irminsul's guardian had frozen, a blank expression on her face similar to when a dissenter approached her spewing criticism and hatred she knew not how to respond to. Ei remained fixated on him, a shaky hand slowly reaching out as if to call for him to come closer to her so that she could stare into the eyes of her sister once more. Yae's smug look had dropped off a sheer cliff, replaced by thinly veiled shock. For all her scheming and astuteness, she could not have predicted these events. In a better time, he would have laughed at her rare lack of confidence.
Ah yes, Makoto .
This was not the name that was designed to be his at birth, but it might as well have been.
He had come to realise, during his period of 'growth' working alongside Buer, that it was a doomed task to ever replicate the Shogun's steely disinterestedness that was desired of him. He would always have failed to be the perfect, unfeeling vessel for Ei in her eyes. Not only was he tainted by the nightmares of war locked within the gnosis and Ei's own grief, but he had always been created with the intention of harbouring a heart, of being the heart of Inazuma that the kind Raiden Makoto was known for. He was intended to emulate her, replace her, and as such he was designed to reflect a few of her aspects; the only one visible now after all those long years was his eyes, much deeper than Ei's own.
The Wanderer was paralysed, staring back at a set of eyes that were swimming with human emotion that he was once shunned for. He could see the dam start to crack, tears collecting in her perfect eyelashes.
He could have denied that he knew what she was talking about or knew of such a person, but his unplanned reaction had already given away his understanding of her claim.
The panic and apprehension that had slowly been tightening its grip on his throat ever since he entered this damned room had diffused into his bloodstream, spreading the sensation throughout his body; If he was plunged into a tundra with his nerves frozen in ice. Yet a familiar heat thrummed under his skin, that acidic sensation that had blinded his previous incarnation. His body and mind were in a state of juxtaposition, creating a crackle of energy that was ready to explode. He was angry, bitter, at not only the woman close to tears in front of him but also at the world for always seeming to prove his evaluations on its nature.
How dare she abandon him and then come waltzing back into his life like this, leaving him scrambling for stable ground. How dare he go through the lengths of erasing himself only for the world to draw a cruel joke based on his appearance.
He wanted to strangle her, rip her apart, destroy those porcelain limbs until they were nothing but cracked shards of china. How dare she cry. How dare she cry in front of him when he was abandoned for that very reason. How dare she act so mortal.
The puppet snarled, gritting his teeth as a hand once again lifted to his hat, drawing it down to guard the very thing that had given him away.
He was seething.
He would kill her, turn her to dust.
He had grown. He was better than this. He was better than her. He would not recklessly go diving into Irminsul out of fear nor would he destroy the entire sanctuary of Surasthana in a hurricane out of fury. If not to show himself as the better out of the two of them, it was to save Nahida's negotiation that rapidly seemed to be running away from her. He was indebted to her after all. He had to look out for her best interests as he, well cared was a strong word he didn't feel particularly ready to use, but he knew enough to know that she deserved his assistance.
"Buer, I will inform you of the rest of the Matra's meeting later".
As long as he left the room, the Shogun would not be able to continue her pursuit. The guards at the end of the corridor on the other side of the door would check for staff identification to let him into the private areas of the Akademiya, which foreigners no matter how divine were forbidden from entering. And for the rest of her stay, he could stay hidden. It was one of his special talents of staying in the shadows and laying low.
"Wait, Makoto!" A cup of tea clattered onto the floor, smashing into splinters as the Electro Archon hastily manoeuvred around the chair to chase after illusions of the past. He could hear another chair shift, small feet echoing after thunderous earthquakes that rumbled deep into the Sanctuary's void.
Wanderer was close to the door now. He could reach out a hand to push its intricate design open. At least some of the tension would be lifted from him then, nor would he feel claustrophobic.
A hand gently yet desperately ghosted across the back of his neck, sending a bullet of electricity piercing through his brain as if overloaded. She had touched his sigil and the divine electro energy sealed within him had responded to its owner at her touch, calling for her, communicating with her and betraying his will.
It was as if Ei had somehow accessed a secret stop button, because his hand faltered just before the door. The Wanderer was never one to falter.
Her touch.
It felt so repulsive.
For all those times Kabukimono had cried, wondering what it would be like to be held, he finally had an answer; it felt like his skin was crawling, jolting with uncomfortable volts. They prickled, overwhelming him with the urge to lash out or be sick. He wasn't entirely sure yet.
"Beelzebul, I ask that you respect a member of my court and leave him be".
Kusanali's voice was still as soothing and calm as ever as she called out to an archon that was far more powerful than she in a plethora of ways. The certainty in her tone was a powerful reminder that she was not a weed nor a wilting flower but a god made from the bark of Irminsul, a tree of wisdom that sheltered all who wished to have purpose for their knowledge.
He couldn't turn to see her expression lest he wanted to face his creator and allow her through the windows and into the armoury, though. Her words were a power yet held the strength to reassure of lotus petals on a stream.
"Leave him be?" The kitsune also stood now with the gesture of a hand over her mouth, able to be discerned from her mocking tone alone. She likely had the light of electricity in her eyes, alight with joy at the opportunity to judge another divine on her plate.
"My, Buer, you have no right to ask that from us. In fact, you should be asking us if it is alright if you utilise it. It bears the Inazuman emblem on the back of its neck and the yellow feather. It is the Raiden Shogun's property and she can do as she wishes with it as such. That is the truth, after all, isn't it. And as the God of Wisdom, what kind of God would you be if you denounced the truth?"
Those words were a sledgehammer statement and he knew that. Not just to him, not just by being referred to as property or an it . But he knew the questioning of the morals and worthiness of the Dendro Archon had left a large axe mark in the small tree. He turned his head, only minimally, seeing Kusanali just in his peripherals. Her green eyes had widened, dulling in colour yet glowing with a protective sheen of tears; a light drizzle of rain in Avidya forest late in some cloudy afternoon. Tiny fists had been balled up, instinctually reaching to the hem of her dress before instead settling to clasp together against her chest.
She looked like she wanted to say something in response, prove the prowling predator wrong whilst returning with a statement that could save him from his situation. Her mouth opened and no saving symphony came out.
Instead she looked at the floor, ears tilted downwards and brows furrowed, weighed by a lack of confidence; a plant once again, bearing the weight of stormy weather.
For a second time he was made to furiously think how dare they . How dare they question Kusanali and her ideas. How dare they look down upon her .
He would kill them both. He would destroy them.
Raiden Ei cleared her throat, breath stammering.
Her tone was light, wavering, like transitory lightening that could not know if it would ever exist again.
"You… you are the prototype. The one that shed tears. I did not think you would be able to awaken. Yet here you are….. how intriguing…. Speak. Say something. How did you get here? Why aren't you in Inazuma? What is your function now?"
There was something about those words that irked him. Not just the uncharacteristic way it was said, so tainted with emotions and nervousness that contrasted the solitary guardian of eternity she had indoctrinated in her people, but the words used. He would have answered her had things been different but she only exacerbated the anger, some electrical current that switched his emotions from apprehensive to furious.
She did not deserve answers from him. What she had said had confirmed a thousand and one things to him, possibly causing a few more questions to appear here and there, but talking was pointless. Idle chatter was pointless. Screaming back at the past was pointless. Kabukimono and Scaramouche had perished, what use was the Raiden Shogun to him now?
She served as a symbol of anger. For the rest of his life he doubted that would change. She truly was the god of eternity, the unshakeable symbol of eternal anger and hatred at everything he hated. Why should he speak to one who would never change?
She did not deserve the luxury of closure from him. Not when she waltzed back into his life when he was moving on. Not when she tried to get her way through commands and insulting Kusanali alone.
Yes, he would let her lay awake at night, wondering if he carried the memories of Makoto or if he loved her. He would let her ponder the morality of her actions and let guilt puppeteer her at the realisation that he wished to avoid her. She would never know peace.
And from that, he would be able to move on. He would not be lying awake at night, obsessing over words he had once dreamed about. He would be able to live in the present. He wouldn't have to think of her again. However she suffered due to his silence was not his concern.
"Buer". He clearly stated, never betraying himself.
"Yes?"
"I will see you later. At the usual place. I hope negotiations go well".
The door in front of him answered to his will, pushing forward and allowing cool air to swaddle his figure, chastising the iron hot tension that dominated the room as it beckoned him down the corridor and to the Akademiya. It absorbed his anger, leaving him with nothing but fatigue and a headache that he wished to sleep off.
"Wait- but- Buer," He could still hear her call out, like she had cursed the walls of the blasted place with her voice of clashing steel, "I was merely curious about my prototype and curious about where fate has guided him i-"
"He is an autonomous being that has experienced many things. Things that I have no right to divulge, just as how the wind has no right to demand the leaves from a tree. That is why I asked you to respect him. Respect him as a living being, respect him as a member of my court".
"I ask you to respect him as my family".
Wanderer halted in his tracks, at the door of safety as those words came to chase after him.
"Family?"
He faltered.
"Yes, family. That is the truth as well. Not subjective or up to negotiation. He is my family. As you said, as the God of Wisdom, who would I be if I denounced the truth?"
And with that, he left the vicinity of the conversation, the next words only privy to the three in the room.
"Now that we've cleared up some misconceptions and satisfied your curiosity, let us move onto negotiations".
Nahida really was a benevolent and kind God.
And for once, Icarus would vocally admit to her afterwards with an uncharacteristically quiet voice, that, for once he was grateful for the needed help.