Sanctuary of Surasthana, Sumeru.
Nahida sat in her special cell, face drawn. Since last night—ever since Su Xuan's diary revealed the "hero" farce—there'd been no further updates. Anxiety gnawed at her. Had Rosalyne already gone to Inazuma? Had she confronted Scaramouche? With fate fawning over him, any delay felt dangerous. The False Firmament's "corrections" were running wild; as long as he breathed, who knew what scene it would script next—and who it would drag under with him.
Piecing together Su Xuan's earlier entries, Nahida understood: to slip the leash of fate, one must accept power from outside the world. Rukkhadevata died because of Abyssal taint; the False Firmament couldn't foresee that infection, but it could still judge and correct the aftermath—erase her from Irminsul, shatter Nahida's self, and then use the "new first Archon" to launder Scaramouche's life. Afterward, the Witches' Tea Party would certify his new "virtue." A neat loop. A monstrous one.
She pressed her temples. "No. I can't disappear. I won't forget the Greater Lord."
But if Rosalyne truly killed Scaramouche… even if Nahida later vanished from memory, the "new" Nahida would have no way to whitewash a corpse. Relief rose—then curdled. What if fate simply rebuilt him? A fresh puppet, a memory download from Irminsul—who could authorize such a thing but the Tree's own keeper?
Nahida swallowed dryly. "I don't want that sin on any version of me… Su Xuan, please—come to Sumeru and break this."
The diary flickered to life—no text this time, only a glowing panel. Unusual. In the past it showed scenes from Su Xuan's eyes and never carried sound. Now it opened on Rosalyne's view—and the audio clicked on.
…
Yashiori Island, Inazuma. Deep night.
A starship skimmed the sea and hovered over the island.
"Didn't expect your Fatui to still be active on Yashiori," Lumine said on the deck, squinting into the dark.
"Lamp under the lantern," Rosalyne murmured, flicking her hair. The island sat far from Narukami, and Inazuma had grown complacent—assuming the Fatui were too terrified to return, especially to the wrecked Delusion Factory. That arrogance gave them cover. Not that the high ranks were ignorant now; tonight's aim was simple: cut down the Balladeer. Afterward Rosalyne—wearing a diplomat's sash—would offer reparations and thaw relations. Everyone was a diary-bearer now; it wouldn't do to sour Su Xuan's mood with old grudges.
"Head back to Tenshukaku, Lumine. I'll meet him alone."
"You sure?" Lumine asked.
"It's only a puppet," Rosalyne smiled thinly. "Besides, if we're seen together right now, it'll complicate your movements. And if he spooks and runs, where's our pride?"
"Be careful," Lumine said.
Rosalyne stepped off the starship and fell into the island's shadow. As she vanished, Lumine's diary sprang a light-curtain of its own. "Huh? Su's telekinetic sense is riding the sea all the way to Yashiori? He's watching this live… He's gotten scary strong."
…
A narrow cleft in the rock. Rosalyne slipped down a stone throat into a subterranean ruin—the gutted shell of the old Delusion Factory Su Xuan had stolen from the earth.
Two Fatui agents dropped to one knee. "My Lady."
She waved a pale arm, chin high. "Where is Scaramouche?"
"Inside, my lady," they said together.
"Orders from above," Rosalyne said. "Your cell disbands. Notify the others: withdraw from Inazuma at once. I see him alone."
They traded a glance—opened their mouths—shut them at her glare. "N-no objections."
"Mm." She swept past. "Fools who don't value their lives…"
The peanut gallery of diary-bearers collectively facepalmed. When it came to towering arrogance, Rosalyne remained undefeated.
Deepest chamber. Ruined gantries and scorched stone. A youth in a kasa hat and theatrical garb lounged high above on a broken platform.
"My, aren't you relaxed," Rosalyne drawled. "So—did you get the Raiden's Gnosis yet?"
If not for wanting to salt the wound with words first, she'd already have twisted his head off. Fate had pampered him while butchering her; spite thrummed behind her smile.
He looked down, bored and sharp. "Spare me the chatter. This is the factory you left me? Just rubble. And those idiots you left behind? The Shogun cut them down."
The plan—Dottore's plan—had made the factory the keystone for seizing the Electro Gnosis under the twin pressures of Sakoku and the Vision Hunt Decree. But by the time he'd come to take charge, it had been reduced to wreckage—and Ei herself had undone Eternity's stagnation. The board upended.
Rosalyne laughed once, cold. "Still that mouth. What does belittling subordinates buy you? And weren't you the linchpin of the Doctor's plan? Oh wait—what's got you so irritable is that being a test subject was more fun than field work, hm?"
His brows knotted; he glared—then smiled a knife-edge smile. "Sharp tongue. As useless as Childe's—always trouble. Just don't get under my feet."
Her fingers tightened. In the sport of pure disdain, she couldn't out-pout him. Fine. Then she'd jab the nerve.
"Pushing, as ever," she said lightly. "Too bad. If the timetable had held, the Delusions would have bled Inazuma harder. But the Shogun woke up for no reason, and the factory got 'mysteriously' exposed and scrapped." She tilted her head. "That must sting. After all—discarded things want to smash the place that threw them away."
His eyes went black-cold at discarded thing; the air around him trembled with killing intent.
"Oh? Struck a chord?" She smiled, cruel and bright. "Did I lie? Remember the smiths you butchered—"
"Shut up," he hissed.
"Your angry face is nauseating," she said. "Why, guilty? Did someone hold a blade to your throat and force you to slaughter the Gokaden's masters? Don't throw a tantrum when the truth prods you. It's pathetic."
"I said shut up, Rosalyne!" Power blew off him in a violet wave.
Rosalyne laughed in his face. "So much for 'Eternity's' finest craftsmanship. A tantrum-throwing doll who only knows how to blame others. Two sentences and you tilt; centuries and you're still a child."
He rose, murder bright in his eyes—colleague or not, he'd end her here—when she said, almost lazily:
"Look."
A small, violet chesspiece glinted between her fingers.
He froze. "That—"
"Ah. You recognize it." Her smile sharpened. "Yes, your mother's Gnosis. You said I was dead weight. A stumbling block. 'Don't count on me,' was it? Too late. I acquired it—by other means."
She turned away. "I only came to bring the news. I'll be on my way to Snezhnaya now—with the prize."
"Wait!" he barked, vaulting down. "Stop. Hand it over."
Rosalyne looked back, all scorn. "Why should I? What do you think you are? You imagine I take orders from you?"
The word cracked like a whip in the hollow ruin.
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