On his way out, Alhaitham's thoughts snagged on a realization: this new Grand Sage might be aiming for more than "fixing Sumeru."
Whatever the reasons, the Akademiya had confined Lesser Lord Kusanali for five hundred years—that was fact. And though Idris's actions these past two days did weigh Sumeru's future, they could just as well be read as—
"—consolidating authority and prestige," he murmured.
And that song, too. Idris had deliberately let them hear Ask the Gods.
Alhaitham quickened his pace, suddenly wary of letting any of that show on his face.
From the office behind him drifted a mild voice: "Alhaitham… overly clever men only burden themselves with needless worries."
His step faltered at the threshold. The words were tossed off lightly, but they crawled down his spine like cold water. For once, the unflappable scribe felt sweat bead between his shoulder blades.
"This Grand Sage," he breathed, "is… a bit terrifying."
"For Sumeru's sake, let that be a good thing."
He left at speed.
Once they were gone, a familiar chime rang in Idris's mind.
[Congratulations. By refitting canned knowledge into the Music Walkman, you have averted the original arc's ensuing chaos—and Sumeru's future turmoil—caused by contraband cans.]
[Reward: Five millennia of rulership experience from the human emperors of Blue Star's Nine Provinces.]
[Note: The knowledge payload is vast and will require time to absorb. Proceed now?]
"Yes."
If the System was paying out, there was no reason to wait. The instant he chose, a flood of statecraft poured into his mind—bright, heavy, endless. The wisdom of sage-kings, the ruthlessness of tyrants. As Grand Sage—and self-styled "villain"—he would take both.
Half an hour passed with his eyes closed before the tide receded. When it did, a new weight settled over him—an effortless, regal gravity he could draw tight or let fade at will.
What's a villain without pressure?
He opened his eyes and exhaled. "Hah… that feels good."
"What feels good? Feeling tired?" asked a small voice.
A white-haired little figure glowed green at the edge of his desk, chin propped on folded arms, bright eyes fixed on him. Nahida—consciousness projected again from the Sanctuary of Surasthana—was peering up, expression unreadable.
Idris's face stayed calm. "Your Excellency, Lesser Lord Kusanali. What brings you here today?"
"Nothing special," she said, a touch too quickly. "I saw you nod off in your chair and worried you might catch a chill, so… I came to check."
She didn't add that she'd been watching him in secret for a while now. As excuses went, catch a chill was flimsy; the weather was mild, and he had a Vision besides.
Idris waved it off. "Then please return, Your Excellency. I've worked through the day. If I say I'm tired, it's because I am."
He rose to leave.
Nahida's lips pursed; she stepped in front of him, displeasure flickering across her face. "Um…"
"I overheard that song—Ask the Gods. It's very good. But you wrote it from Liyue's vantage, didn't you?"
The lyrics had mentioned "three thousand seven hundred years," and spoke openly of immortals. With her knowledge, it wasn't hard to place.
Idris nodded. "Yes. Inspired by Liyue."
"But… you're Sumeru's Grand Sage," she pressed. "Why write a song for Liyue first? Shouldn't you compose one about Sumeru?"
He paused, turned back, and met her gaze.
"Because—even as Grand Sage—I envy Liyue. I admire it," he said simply. "Does that answer satisfy you?"
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