I stretch my arms, cracking my neck like I'm about to start a lecture instead of trauma‑dumping lore that technically shouldn't exist anymore.
Greg adjusts his grip on my shoulders, claws careful, tail resting across my head like a living paperweight. The weight is familiar. Comforting. Also vaguely threatening.
Right. Audience restrained. Lecturer supervised.
"Alright," I announce cheerfully, planting my hands on my hips. "Class is in session. Topic of the day—The Hat Guy. Or, as I like to call him… The Gremlin Formerly Known as a Problem."
Greg flicks my ear.
"Yes, yes," I mutter. "Former problem. Mostly. Reduced threat level. Emotionally pending DLC."
Nahida tilts her head, hands folded politely in front of her. "The… Balladeer, was it? Is that a codename?"
"Used to be," I nod sagely. "Now it's more like… a deleted file. Or a corrupted save slot. Or a salad that someone forgot to season and then threw away."
Greg flicks my ear harder.
"Okay, okay. Bad metaphor. I get it. No more food analogies—"
Greg tightens his tail slightly.
"—for the next five minutes," I amend quickly. "Let me rewind time."
I clear my throat dramatically and begin pacing a slow circle, hands clasped behind my back like a storyteller who absolutely loves the sound of his own voice.
"Once upon a time—no, seriously, this part actually matters—there was a puppet created by the Electro Archon. Not a toy puppet. A very expensive, emotionally neglected, god‑adjacent puppet with zero instruction manual."
Nilou smiles gently, already bracing herself.
"He was made to hold divine power," I continue, gesturing grandly. "But Ei looked at him and went, 'Hmm. You have emotions. That's inconvenient.' So she sealed him away and left him to… vibe."
I pause.
"…Bad vibes," I clarify.
Greg lets out a tiny huff, tail tightening like punctuation.
"Which, shockingly," I add, "is not great for one's mental health. Especially when you wake up, wander among humans, and accidentally learn kindness, attachment, and—worst of all—expectations."
Nahida's expression sharpens. She's fully engaged now, eyes thoughtful, brows knit just enough to say continue.
"He learned friendship," I say more quietly. "He learned hope. He learned that people can care."
I stop pacing.
"And then—Tatarasuna happened."
The name hangs heavy.
I tap my chin. "Long story short? He thought he was betrayed three times. Friends died. Trust shattered. Lies stacked on lies like a really bad Jenga tower. Turns out the whole thing was sabotaged by a mad scientist with too much free time and absolutely zero moral compass."
Greg huffs again, louder this time.
"Yeah," I nod. "That guy."
I resume pacing. "So our boy goes full emo. No trust in humans. No love for gods. Collects grudges like limited‑edition merch. Joins the Fatui. Becomes a Harbinger. Wears a ridiculous hat that somehow becomes his entire brand."
Nilou lets out a small laugh, quickly covering her mouth. "It is very memorable."
"Tragically so," I agree. "You see that hat and immediately think 'problem.'"
"He comes back to Inazuma," I continue, "gets his hands on a Gnosis there, then runs off to Sumeru to try becoming a god. Which—side note—never works out the way people think it will."
Greg flicks my ear in agreement.
"That's where I come in," I say, pointing to myself with my thumb. "Beat the absolute shit out of him in the most chaotic yet spectacular way possible. He loses the Gnosis, the fight, his dignity, basically everything… and then finally stumbles into Irminsul."
I snap my fingers.
"And boom. Truth reveal."
Nahida leans forward slightly. "He learned the truth of his past."
"Bingo," I grin. "Turns out his entire life was built on lies. So instead of fixing the world, he tried to delete himself from the recipe."
Nilou blinks. "You turned a tragedy into a cooking analogy again."
"Hey," I defend. "This time it's salad. Healthy. Symbolic. Low‑calorie existential despair."
Greg flicks my ear.
"Worth it," I mutter.
Nahida closes her eyes, thinking deeply. "So if no one remembers him… then his attempt may have succeeded. At least partially. Irminsul rewrote the records."
I nod. "Which explains why you looked at me earlier like I was explaining an imaginary friend I refuse to let go of."
She offers a small, apologetic smile. "I did."
Her expression grows serious again. "If that is true, then there will be consequences. Historical inconsistencies. Gaps. People who should remember events… but cannot. The world will attempt to reconcile the contradiction."
"And sometimes," I add quietly, grin fading just a bit, "it does that violently. Reality hates being told it's wrong."
The air grows heavy.
Then—
Footsteps.
Paimon bursts in first. "We're back! And wow, Inazuma's still standing! Mostly! No spontaneous disappearances! Yet!"
Lumine follows, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "I hope you didn't say anything too stupid while we were gone."
Nilou smiles serenely. "He did. But it was… controlled. Mostly chronological."
"Hey!" I protest. "I was educational. I even used bullet‑point pacing in my head."
Lumine squints. "That's never reassuring."
Nahida lets out a soft laugh and turns back to us. "Regardless… thank you. This information is valuable. And troubling."
I grin again, hands behind my head. "Welcome to my life, little Radish. Confusing, loud, and occasionally world‑ending."
Greg flicks my ear one more time, then pats my head with his tail like you're done.
"And thus," I conclude grandly, "the lore dive officially begins."
***
Look. If there is one thing I am proud of, it's my ability to turn a perfectly tragic, emotionally complex situation into something that sounds like it came out of a fever dream.
Apparently, Lumine agrees.
She finishes her report about Inazuma with her arms crossed, posture straight, expression serious, eyes sharp like she's mentally checking a list of things that should exist.
"Inazuma is still intact," she says. "The Shogun is still ruling. The people are fine. But some things changed. Subtle things. Gaps."
She pauses, then looks straight at me.
"And despite how stupid, chaotic, and unnecessarily hard to understand your explanation was…"
I straighten proudly.
"…about fifty percent of it was correct," she finishes. "The other fifty percent was pure flair."
I beam. "So you admit I'm at least half a genius."
Greg flicks my ear.
Nilou giggles softly. "That's… still impressive, actually."
"See?" I point at her. "She gets it."
Nahida nods slowly, thoughtful rather than amused. "It aligns with what Irminsul now reflects. Or rather… what it refuses to reflect."
Her gaze shifts back to Lumine, lingering.
"Something else is worrying you," Nahida says gently. "Something you haven't shared."
Lumine hesitates.
Her shoulders drop just a fraction.
Then she exhales.
"I just feel… empty," she admits. "He chose such a radical option, and yet…"
She trails off, fingers tightening at her sleeve.
Nahida completes the thought softly. "It couldn't change the fate of those who had already died. Correct?"
Lumine nods.
"And once he realized he hadn't been betrayed," Nahida continues, "his entire perception of the people of Tatarasuna must have changed. They became friends again. Not enemies."
Nilou folds her hands together. "So he couldn't keep hating them."
"And if there was even a chance he could save them," Nahida says, "it would have been impossible for him not to try."
Paimon floats lower, wings drooping. "It still feels unfair. He gave everything… and it feels like he got nothing back."
Lumine looks away.
"He changed the world," she says quietly. "But the dead didn't get a second chance. Fate still won."
Silence settles.
Even I don't joke.
Greg's tail tightens around my head, grounding.
Then Nahida straightens.
"Please wait a moment. There's something I want to check."
She closes her eyes.
The air hums, soft and deep, like a distant heartbeat.
"…Found it," she says at last.
A translucent cube appears in front of her, inside it a floating green orb, pulsing gently.
"It turns out," Nahida says, "that I have a way to confirm everything you've told me."
Paimon perks up instantly. "What is it?"
"A record from my personal collection," Nahida explains. "Hidden carefully."
She offers it forward.
The information unfolds like a fairy tale—symbols, scenes, names twisted just enough to hide the truth.
Paimon squints. "Wait… this is a story? Who wrote this?"
I grin, rocking on my heels. "Matches everything I said, doesn't it?"
Nahida nods. "I wrote it."
Paimon freezes midair. "You wrote a fairy tale… about the Balladeer?"
"It's an allegory," Nahida says calmly. "Every character, every event, is a symbol."
Nilou's eyes widen. "So it survived because it wasn't literal."
"Exactly," Nahida replies. "Irminsul rewrites direct records. But information hidden abstractly, metaphorically… remains."
She looks at us.
"I must have written this as a contingency. Before he entered Irminsul."
Paimon gasps. "That's incredible!"
"And sending all of you with him," Nahida continues, "was another safeguard. I knew Lumine and Shigeru would remember."
I scratch my head. "So I'm basically a walking backup file."
Greg flicks my ear.
"Yes," Nahida says, smiling. "An… unconventional one."
She grows serious again.
"When we connect all these fragments together," she says, "the true story that emerges is the one you told."
The erased life of the Balladeer.
I clap my hands together. "Cool. Great. Fantastic."
Everyone looks at me.
"Which means," I add cheerfully, grin sharp despite the weight in the room, "it's time for the slightly big reveal."
We sit together as the book opens, pages filled with soft illustrations that look almost too gentle for the weight they carry.
The colors are warm. Pastel. Almost comforting—like the story itself is trying very hard to soften the blow, to cradle the truth before letting it sting.
For a moment, I just watch the pages turn.
Funny how something this quiet can hold a life.
Greg shifts slightly on my shoulder, tail draped loosely now, no longer a judgmental paperweight but a silent witness. His claws hook lightly into my coat, grounding. Present. Here.
Nahida's voice is calm, steady, like a lullaby meant for truths too sharp to say aloud.
"There once was a lone monster draped in fox fur," she reads.
I lean back, arms crossed. "Already sounds like a fashion disaster."
Greg flicks my ear.
"Okay, okay. Serious mode," I mutter. "Temporarily. On a timer."
Nahida continues, unfazed.
"The monster found a family of foxes. It joined them, lived among them, day and night, and everyone treated it as one of their own."
Nilou's fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the book. Her posture remains gentle, but I can see it—the way her shoulders draw in, like she's bracing herself.
"At night," Nahida goes on, "the monster would remove its fox fur and gaze at its reflection in the water. 'I am a monstrosity,' it would say. 'They are too foolish to see it.'"
Paimon floats closer without realizing it, voice hushed. "Wow… that's… really depressing."
Lumine doesn't speak. Her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. I know that look. It's the one she gets when she's listening not just with her ears, but with memory.
"And yet," Nahida reads, "the monster found solace when another arrived. A kitten carved from the wood of a white tree, abandoned by humans."
I hum thoughtfully. "Ah. Wooden cat. Relatable. Big 'no instructions included' energy."
Greg turns his head slowly to stare at me.
"…Too soon?" I whisper.
His tail gives a warning twitch.
The illustrations darken as the story continues—foxes comforting the kitten, belonging offered without conditions, warmth without demand. For a brief stretch, the pages almost glow.
Then the colors sharpen.
"The monster, furious, lit a fire on the mountain."
Lumine's fingers curl into her palm.
"A gray fox stepped forward," Nahida says softly. "'You are the cleverest among us. Surely you can help us.'"
She pauses.
"The monster led the fox to the fire… and murdered it."
The words land.
They don't echo. They don't need to.
Greg's tail tightens unconsciously around my collar.
"The fox's heart became a drop of pure water," Nahida continues. "And the monster handed it to the kitten, saying it must be sacrificed."
Nilou exhales shakily, hands clasped together now as if holding something fragile.
"But the kitten lived," Nahida reads. "It left the mountain, found a bird with a broken wing. They promised to stay together. The bird died. The kitten left forever."
Her voice lowers further, almost reverent.
"Never again would it cherish a single creature. It wished to swallow the moon and become the new moon itself—so that no one would remember birds, foxes, or cats ever existed."
The book closes with a soft thud.
No dramatic flourish.
Just an ending.
For a long moment, no one speaks.
I feel the weight settle—not crushing, just… present.
Then—
Paimon claps suddenly. "We solved it!"
Everyone jumps.
I nod seriously. "Agreed. Also, Scarameow is objectively cooler than the original. Cuter. Less angry. No stupid hat."
Greg flicks me hard.
"Ow," I hiss. "Worth it."
Nahida gazes at the closed book, thoughtful. "I remember now. This is not just his story. These are his memories. I preserved them."
She explains calmly—experiments, restraint, scholars attempting to replicate and control what they didn't understand.
I grimace. "Wow. That's… super illegal. Like, morally. Cosmically. Academically."
Greg huffs in agreement.
Nilou presses her hands together. "So this story survived because it was hidden in a dream."
"Yes," Nahida nods. "An allegory cannot be erased so easily. Especially one written with care."
Paimon frowns, floating lower. "Paimon can't believe someone like that existed… or that he vanished like smoke."
"He still helped you," Nahida adds gently. "He confirmed Khaenri'ah was where your twin first arrived."
Lumine stares at the floor. "I've never felt this way before… like life is as light as a feather."
Greg shifts, tail brushing my neck—a quiet reminder to breathe.
Nahida smiles softly. "Truth gives people the chance to choose their own destiny. That mattered to him."
I scratch my cheek. "Figures. Dramatic to the end."
Paimon suddenly brightens. "Okay! Heavy talk break! Snacks!"
Nilou smiles warmly. "That does sound nice."
I stand and stretch. "I'm cheered up. Blondie is not. Goddess is smiling, so that's probably her default now."
Nilou laughs softly. "It seems this is my personality now."
Greg flicks me again.
"Alright, fine, my fault," I sigh. "Let's go. Who knows? Maybe we'll find a random blue guy with a big hat wandering around."
Paimon groans. "Here he goes again…"
I grin over my shoulder as we walk. "What? I'm optimistic."
And just like that, we step out—
Leaving the weight behind for now.
Choosing to breathe.
To walk.
To live.
_____________
End of Chapter 165
Quests Completed:
*Deliver a comprehensive lore lecture about a man who technically no longer exists.*Remain supervised by Greg to prevent catastrophic metaphor abuse.*Explain puppet origins, divine neglect, and emotional damage without triggering a timeline collapse.*Accidentally confirm Nahida authored a contingency fairy tale.*Learn that allegories survive where direct records are erased.*Witness Lumine emotionally connect the dots she already feared existed.*Confirm Inazuma's stability post-rewrite (no sudden population edits detected).*Identify subtle historical gaps caused by Irminsul's aggressive patching.*Watch Nilou understand everything without needing full context.*Realize Shigeru functions as a walking, talking memory backup.*Sit through the reading of a story that carries an entire erased life.*Resist joking during the emotional climax. Fail intermittently.*Accept that fate can be challenged, but not fully undone.*Choose to leave the weight behind—temporarily.
Rewards:
*Primogems: +165 (earned by surviving heavy lore without screaming).*Friendship EXP +150 with Nahida — for sharing forbidden truth responsibly.*Friendship EXP +150 with Lumine — she trusted your understanding before the world did.*Friendship EXP +130 with Nilou — compassion maintained despite uncertainty.*Friendship EXP +80 with Paimon — emotional overload, snacks pending.
*Item: Allegorical Record: Fox, Kitten, and Moon – Cannot be erased. Cannot be forgotten.*Item: Irminsul Blind Spot Fragment – A proof-of-error in a supposedly perfect system.*Item: Fairy Tale Cube (Replica) – Glows faintly when truth is spoken nearby.*Item: Quiet Moment Bookmark – Marks the page where jokes finally stopped.
*Buff: Narrative Persistence – +30% resistance to memory erasure effects.*Buff: Truth Through Metaphor – Complex concepts are harder to delete when explained creatively.
*+1 Greg Approval (Very Rare) – Tail grip loosens. Judgment remains.*+20 Existential Composure – You can sit with heavy truths longer before deflecting.*+10 Lore Authority – People take your nonsense more seriously than they should.*+1 "Walking Backup File" Status – Some truths persist because you do.