The return to the Grand Narukami Shrine was a quiet, somber affair. The adrenaline of the confrontation had faded, leaving behind a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The news of what had transpired in the plaza had, of course, already reached Yae Miko.
She was waiting for them in her study, a pot of fragrant, calming tea already prepared. Her usual teasing, foxy smile was absent, replaced by a look of profound, serious contemplation.
She listened in silence as Ren recounted the events, her violet eyes never leaving his face. When he finished, she let out a long, slow sigh, a sound that was a complex mixture of admiration, exasperation, and deep, profound worry.
"Well, now," she began, her voice regaining a sliver of its usual, light, teasing tone, "it seems our little pixie prince has a hero complex. To stand before the Musou no Hitotachi itself… I must say, I applaud your bravery. It was a spectacle of the highest, most foolish, order."
She poured him a cup of tea, her movements graceful and deliberate. "But let's be clear, little one," she continued, her gaze turning sharp and serious, all traces of teasing gone. "Do not mistake a moment of divine hesitation for a permanent change in the weather. You must prioritize your own well-being. To risk your own life so blatantly, even for a friend… it is a gamble you cannot afford to make again."
It was the most direct, most sincere expression of concern she had ever shown him. Her words, though couched in her usual, slightly mocking style, were a clear, undisguised plea. She was worried about him. Miko trusted Ei, the friend locked away in her own heart. But the Raiden Shogun, the divine, unfeeling puppet who enforced Eternity with a cold, unyielding logic… she trusted that puppet only as far as she could throw it, which, she mused, was not very far at all.
Later that evening, after a quiet, mostly silent dinner, Ren sat alone on the small, wooden balcony of their guesthouse room. He looked out over the vast, sprawling city of Inazuma below, its thousands of paper lanterns a sea of warm, gentle light against the deepening twilight. The city was beautiful, but it was a city now at war with itself, a city of secrets, of fear, and of open rebellion.
The sliding door behind him opened and closed softly. It was Ganyu. She came and sat beside him, not saying a word, simply sharing the quiet, peaceful moment. The cool, clean mountain air was a gentle balm after the day's heated, terrifying events.
After a long, comfortable silence, she spoke, her voice a soft, fragile whisper. "Ren."
He turned to look at her. Her face, illuminated by the soft, distant glow of the city lights, was full of a profound, heart-wrenching sorrow and fear.
Without another word, she reached out and gently, carefully, pulled him from his seat and onto her lap. She wrapped her arms around him, her embrace a desperate, trembling, and all-encompassing cage of pure, undiluted love. She held him not as a hero, not as an inventor, but as her precious, fragile, and impossibly brave little brother who had, just hours before, almost been erased from existence.
She buried her face in his messy, blue-streaked hair, and he could feel the silent, hot tears begin to soak into his tunic.
"Don't you ever do that again," she whispered, her voice a raw, broken plea, a sound of pure, heart-shattering terror. "Ever."
She held him tighter, as if trying to physically infuse her words into his very being. "Not for Lumine. Not for your friends." She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, her own amethyst eyes shimmering with tears, her expression one of utter, desperate seriousness. "Not even for me."
Her voice broke, a sob catching in her throat. "Your life… it is more precious than anything. More precious than my own. If I had to choose between my own safety and yours… I would not hesitate. But you… you must promise me. Promise me you will always, always, choose to be safe."
He had never seen her like this, so completely, utterly, and openly terrified. He saw not the powerful, ancient adeptus, but his big sister, his family, who had just been forced to watch the most precious person in her life stand on the edge of annihilation.
He didn't offer any grand promises of heroism or duty. He just looked into her tear-filled eyes, his own heart aching with a profound, quiet love, and he gave her the only answer that mattered.
He snuggled deeper into her embrace, his small hand coming up to rest on her arm. "Okay, big sister," he whispered into the quiet, peaceful night. "I promise."