A long, heavy silence descended once more upon the Plane of Euthymia. Ren's final, pointed question echoed in the vast, still space, an undeniable truth that had struck at the very heart of Ei's self-imposed isolation. The goddess looked at the small boy, her face a turbulent sea of ancient grief, dawning doubt, and the stubborn, ingrained pride of a god who had walked a lonely path for five hundred years.
"The path of Eternity cannot be altered," she said finally, her voice regaining a sliver of its divine, unyielding authority. It was not a rebuttal of his logic, but a statement of ingrained, unshakable dogma. "To waver, to change course, would be to admit that the past five hundred years have been a mistake. I will not. Change is the enemy. It is the source of all loss."
Ren listened, and a small, sad, and deeply understanding smile touched his lips. He nodded slowly. "I expected you to say that," he said, his voice soft, devoid of any disappointment. "It's alright. A belief held for so long can't be changed by a single conversation."
He knew he hadn't "won" the debate. He had never expected to. He had not come here to shatter her worldview in a single, dramatic moment. He had come to plant a seed of doubt, to introduce a new, compassionate variable into her perfect, unchanging equation. And in that, he had succeeded.
"Thank you, though," he continued, his tone one of genuine, earnest gratitude. "For listening to me. For allowing me to understand your idea of Eternity." He looked around at the beautiful, lonely, twilight world she had built. "I hope that, in time, you will also see the truth. That even as the sun sets into night, as you believe it has, change has still occurred. The world has still turned. Change itself… is the only true eternal."
He gestured vaguely at the space around them. "You have been in here for five hundred years, seeking to stop time. But for you, five hundred years have still passed. That is the greatest change of all."
His philosophical parting shot delivered, Ren's demeanor then shifted completely, the serious, wise old soul vanishing, replaced by a bright, curious, and slightly mischievous child.
"Before I go," he said, his eyes sparkling, "can I ask for one more thing?"
Ei, thrown off by the sudden, disarming shift in his tone, could only blink.
From a small pouch at his belt, Ren produced a strange, intricate, metallic box with a glass lens on the front. It was a brand-new, top-of-the-line Kamera, a marvel of Fontainian engineering that he had, with much pleading, convinced Ganyu to purchase for him in Liyue.
"Could I… take a picture?" he asked, his voice full of a pure, childish excitement. "The scenery in here is amazing! And I want to remember our conversation."
The request was so completely, utterly mundane, so profoundly, wonderfully human, that the goddess was momentarily speechless. No one had ever asked to take a souvenir photo of her inner world before.
Before she could refuse, Ren had already set the Kamera on an invisible, hovering point in the air, using a tiny wisp of his Cryo power to hold it in place. He fiddled with the timer mechanism.
"Okay, get ready!" he chirped.
He then ran to a spot in front of her meditating, floating form, turned his back to her, and gave the Kamera the biggest, brightest, most radiant smile he could muster, his glowing azure eyes crinkling at the corners.
A small flash of light, and a soft click echoed in the silent plane.
The Kamera whirred for a moment, and then a small, rectangular sheet of paper slid out. Ren caught it, waving it gently in the still air. An image slowly, magically, appeared on its surface.
It was a perfect, crystal-clear photograph. In the background, the serene, beautiful, and eternal goddess Raiden Ei floated in her meditative pose. And in the foreground, a small, ridiculously cute boy with messy, blue-streaked hair was giving the world a smile of pure, unadulterated joy. The contrast was a work of profound, surrealist art.
The Kamera produced a second, identical copy. Ren took one of the photos and, with a respectful, almost reverent, gesture, held it out to the still-stunned goddess.
"Here," he said, a soft, knowing smile on his face. "A gift for you."
Ei looked at the small, rectangular object. She saw her own image, frozen, perfect, and unchanging.
"Look," Ren said softly. "I've managed to stop the flow of time. This photo… this moment… will be yours, eternally. Your hair in this picture will never move. The light will never change. It is a perfect, captured piece of eternity." He had used her own philosophy, her own desires, to frame his gift. "Just like a person's beliefs, and their memories. Those can be eternal, too."
He had given her a piece of her own Eternity, but one that was filled with a new, warm, and happy memory.
Ren then took the second photo and carefully tucked it away in his pouch. He looked at the goddess one last time. "Thank you for the talk, Lady Ei," he said, his tone now polite and formal once more. "Now, if you don't mind, could you please send me back? And maybe," he added, a hint of a mischievous, pleading look in his eyes, "could you ask your Shogun to please tell those men in the fancy armor to stop trying to get money from me and my big sister? It's really quite rude."
A strange, unfamiliar, and utterly beautiful sound echoed in the Plane of Euthymia for the first time in five hundred years. It was the soft, gentle, and completely unexpected sound of the god of Eternity's quiet, surprised laughter.