Chapter Text
Light water flows against the stream as daylight breaks. Kitsune foxes lumber along, still drowsy, as the fresh morning dew on leaves sticks to their fur. A wandering vagrant walks through the flora and fauna, unmoved and unperturbed, as if he and the forest do not exist simultaneously.
How worthless.
As he walks, he sees more - immaculate sakura blooms and impossibly curated rows of Otogi and Aralia wood. He’s seen them before. Yesterday, and the day before, and once hundreds of years ago. None of it is real. The bark is fake. The earth is hollow. The life is dead. The skies are borrowed. Everything laid bare is an imitation, a mockery, none too interested in hiding its deceit. It does not exist to placate - it exists to taunt.
Anything but the Gnosis.
The response Irminsul had provided to his wish only proved a universal truth - the fate of the world had no intentions of sparing him from its cruel tricks. Even after being robbed of his divinity, he was not granted death. He answered back in kind - if he is forced to live, he will do so within the dreamscape of Irminsul itself. He will fester and rot until one day the corrupted hate infected and tore down the tree of life, or until it finally decides to be done with him and grant him his desire. These vistas, this scenery - it was all a ploy to drive him mad. To make him willingly leave. To save itself.
He would have none of that. If he can have neither divinity nor release, he sees no reason to play by the rules of others. He will tear down Irminsul from the inside, caving in his own roof, or he will force himself to be killed. Either way, the game was over.
The scenery today was especially curated. A mix of Inazuman and Sumerian landscapes and architecture. The grass was greener, the fauna healthier, and the air softer. Such a peace belies the true nature of his confinement - within the dream of Irminsul, only one thing could cause such an increase in the hoax serenity. The wanderer paused his musings and looked behind him, where underneath a Maple Wood the Dendro Archon bloomed.
The hollow puppet scoffed. “I was wondering when you would show yourself, Buer. Too busy playing Archon to come finish your business? You seem to have had plenty of time to toy with me.” He picks a Sakura bloom from a nearby branch and holds it. “Or am I to believe this isn’t your doing?” Nahida eyed him, her expression guilty.
“It has been a busy time for all the people of Sumeru. I have done what I must as their Archon to keep the peace and their faith. I apologize for my late arrival.” She moved closer to him, and he made no effort to shift away. In this fake world, retreat would only serve as humiliation. “I know you must have many questions. I am only here to answer them.” He rolled his eyes.
“I have no questions for a lesser lord like yourself, especially not as your prisoner. Kill me and rid Irminsul of its infection, or get out of my sight.” Nahida looked at him, her face turning into a frown.
“I have no intention to kill you.” She sat down a few feet away from him on the exposed root of an Otogi tree. “And your presence in Irminsul is not a plague. With the state your body was in, I decided that it would be best to not wake you up from the dream you found yourself in. I tried to make it to your liking, but I’m not entirely familiar with Inazuman landscapes, so I had to substitute some aspects of Sumeran design.” She looked at Scaramouche, as if she was expecting his input on her performance. None came. “If it’s not to your liking, I can have the Sumeru portions removed. I don’t mean to cause you any duress for your stay here.” His jaw tightened, but such an action was not nearly subtle enough to go unnoticed. “You will probably be here for a few more days as I try to fix your body. I know of a few scholars that are well versed in machinery, so-”
His head jerks around, indigo eyes aflame with indignation. “You will not lay a hand on me.” It is less a command and more a plea. Nahida wonders if he recognizes how desperate he sounds. “I am not yours to fix . I am not yours to experiment. I am a -” He pauses, aware of his tone. He leans back and turns away from her. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. If you know what’s good for you, Buer, you’ll throw that disgusting puppet out and kill me here while you have the chance.” She lets silence fill the air for a while before speaking again. To refer to oneself in such a way…consequences naturally follow actions, but such misery is never deserved.
“I… am sorry. I should have been more candid about my intentions here. I do not want to keep you prisoner here against your will, but until you are healed you cannot leave. As for why I will not kill you...I saw portions of your memories at Pardis Dhyai. I was angry at many things - the destruction you wrought, the way you were abandoned, the way you were treated by the Doctor. But what made me the most upset is that I understood. More than I wanted to be angry at you, or Ei, or Dottore, I understood why things unfolded the way they did.”
Nahida stands up and faces Scaramouche, though he doesn’t return the gesture. She raises an arm and feels the tendrils of Dendro at her fingertips. It bounces between her hands. A simple motion that anyone with a vision could have done, and yet the pleasant thrum of energy fascinated her nonetheless. “I find myself often playing with my Dendro after I was released, whether or not I realize it. The vast majority of what I do with it I learned from observing the dreams of children,” Nahida giggled, “Child’s play.” She sends the energy down to the ground and watches as a small patch of Padisarahs bloom. “When the traveler commented on it, I found myself questioning why it was so interesting to me when I’d seen it done thousands of times before. It’s hard to explain why the Dendro Archon should be so enamored by what should be, in comparison to my own powers, tavern tricks.” She clasped her hands together and resonated with Dendro again - slowly, all around them, a cathedral of resplendent green and white formed. Scaramouche’s head briefly looked up before returning to his previous ignoring. She smiled, appreciating that he at least recognized it as something.
“This is what I’m truly capable of, and yet I find equal joy in the small tricks of beginners. I came to realize that seeing it done through others and experiencing it for myself firsthand were entirely different fascinations. If that were truly the only difference, then I would have been satisfied with the answer.” After all, what could be more simple than self expression? The admiration of art supplies the soul in an entirely different manner than the creation of it. Alas, the true reason complicated the matter.
“When I saw your memories, I understood what it really was.” The scene of her cage in the sanctuary of Sarasthuna replayed in her mind. 500 years of atonement for a sin she had never committed. Powerless, afraid, and so utterly alone. “I was angry. I was the rightful Dendro Archon and they treated me as lesser because they did not understand. Or, rather, they did not want to understand something foreign. Had it just been the denial of my position, I may have allowed it. If a nation can truly prosper without an Archon, then I had no reason to intervene. An archon is not owed authority due to their birthright. But the denial of my powers, the caging , something so inextricably a part of myself - it hurt . I was constantly seeking the dreams of others to fill that void.” She smiled softly.
“It was a childish, immature, and petty emotion to feel, but when I first stepped out of that cage and used my powers for myself - as much as I felt fascination and wonder, I also wanted to make the ones who imprisoned me see it. You would probably say it was to ‘rub it in their faces’. Every time I used Dendro, it was a rejection of everyone who denied it to me.” She looks back at Scaramouche, who had hardly moved. “I don’t claim to understand fully what you feel, or why you did what you did, but…I cannot help but empathize. You have wronged many, but you were wronged as well.”
“So that’s what this is to you?” His voice comes across still, words chosen carefully. “I’ve no need for your pity, Buer. You and I are nothing alike.” He turns his head. “You sat around for 500 years waiting for someone to save you. You think I did all this just for what, approval? To get back at the Raiden Shogun or that damned fox? What a joke.” His hands gripped the side of the stump he was sitting on. “I did it because it was mine , plain and simple. It was always mine. Save me your nonsense of empathy and understanding. If you truly understood, you would kill me right now for trying to usurp you.” He looks back up at the cathedral surrounding them, a scowl evident. “Utterly foolish. I was a god for mere hours, and yet I understand these things better than you. That gnosis in your hands is as worthless as a bow in Childe’s. I’m surprised you didn’t come to dangle it in my face. It would be just as repulsive as this scenery you’ve supplied me with.”
Ah. Nahida should have figured that the Balladeer was unaware of her exchange with the doctor. He would certainly not have anything good to say if he learned of that transaction.
Scaramouche continued. “Everyone’s got an angle, Buer. I’m not so naive to think that you’re foolish enough to keep me alive for no reason. You said you wanted to be candid, so what is it? Going to sell me back to the Fatui? Ship my worthless body back to Inazuma?” He waved his hand. “Worthless ideas, both of them. I’m of no use to anyone now. Save yourself the trouble and me the dignity and just kill me.”
The languid flow of the river had been replaced with an ever so heightened pace. The trees shouldered just a bit faster than they normally would, and the animals had long since made themselves sparse. As much as this dream was guided by her, it ultimately reflected the mindspace of the person sat across from her. Nature takes time to heal. It will emerge scarred, and it will not be the same, but it will heal. She was not the one who cut down the trees and salted the earth, and yet, she now has the opportunity to remedy it. She hopes the nature will recognize that the inability to be as it once was does not mean it cannot be as much. Nahida shook her head one last time.
“I will not,” Nahida affirmed. “I want to help you in the same way I wanted to be helped. It is not out of pity. I do not see you as something to play with. I want to give you a second chance. You will atone not with your life, but with your actions.”
For him, it may be harder than death. She believes that one day he will see it differently. Her consciousness tugs on her, a reminder of her limited time here. “I cannot stay here much longer, but I will be back soon. I promise. I hope we can talk more then.” He does not acknowledge her. “Before I go… you said that the scenery was displeasing to you. I’m sorry. What can I change?”
He does not answer. She hopes he will, in time.