Ren listened to Miko's weary confession, a cold, somber understanding settling in his heart. He knew, with a certainty born of his past life's knowledge, that this was a pivotal, and far more dangerous, moment than Miko realized. The Gnosis in the hands of La Signora or Childe was simply a trophy for their queen. But in the hands of Scaramouche, the failed prototype, the rejected puppet… it was not a trophy. It was a birthright. A validation. He would not be giving that Gnosis to the Tsaritsa. He would be keeping it for himself. A new, rogue, and very powerful player had just been added to the already chaotic world.
His grim, internal thoughts were interrupted by a soft groan.
Lumine's eyes fluttered open. She sat up slowly, her hand going to her head, a look of pained, groggy confusion on her face. Paimon, her earlier hysteria replaced by a profound, tearful relief, immediately zipped to her side.
"Lumine! You're awake!"
As her senses returned, Lumine's golden eyes found Ren, and a look of deep, weary gratitude washed over her face. "Ren," she murmured. "I… I heard what happened. At the ceremony. You stood up for me. Again."
"Friends help each other," he replied softly, the words a simple, unshakeable mantra. He then looked at her, his expression full of a genuine, worried curiosity. "We heard you joined the resistance. What was it like?"
And so, Lumine, with Paimon occasionally interjecting with her own, more dramatic, embellishments, told them of her time on Watatsumi Island. She spoke of the brave, desperate soldiers, of the brilliant, gentle strategist, Kokomi, and of the fierce, loyal general, Gorou. She painted a picture of a rebellion fought not for power, but for the simple, fundamental right to keep one's own dreams.
"But the most surprising thing," Lumine continued, a new, strange energy in her voice, "was how I found out about the Delusion factory." She paused, a small, almost conspiratorial, smile on her face. "The resistance… they weren't using the Delusions."
The statement hit Ren with the force of a physical blow. He stared at her, completely, utterly, and profoundly, shocked. Not using the Delusions? But… that was the entire point of the Fatui's infiltration. That was the core of this part of the story.
"What do you mean?" Ren asked, his voice a little shaky.
Lumine's smile widened. "At first, I thought their morale was just high because of my arrival. But then I saw it. Some of the soldiers, the ones without Visions, they were using elemental powers. Little bursts of Pyro, small shields of Geo. I thought they were Delusions, and I was about to confront them about it."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to an excited, secretive whisper. "But they weren't. The devices they were using… they were brooches, and gauntlets, and wristlets. And they didn't drain their life force. They were safe."
Ren's heart began to pound a frantic, disbelieving rhythm. No. It couldn't be.
"Where did they get them?" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.
"That's the craziest part," Lumine said, her eyes shining. "They were smuggled in. A few weeks ago. A secret shipment that came in the dead of night, on a very famous, very illegal, pirate ship."
She looked at Ren, her expression one of dawning, joyful comprehension. "It was Beidou," she said. "And Kazuha. They brought a crate of them, Ren. Your man-made Visions. They smuggled your invention into Inazuma."
The revelation was a lightning strike, a complete and utter derailment of everything he thought he knew, of everything he had planned.
His technology. His safe, regulated, and carefully controlled technology, which was supposed to be in a slow, monitored rollout in Liyue Harbor, was now here, in the middle of a warzone, being used by a rebel army.
He had wanted to help. He had dreamed of a day when his invention could free the people of Inazuma from the tyranny of the Vision Hunt Decree. But this… this was not how he had envisioned it. It was a secret, illegal, and completely uncontrolled distribution. It was an act of smuggling, of piracy, of open, defiant rebellion.
And it was the most wonderful, the most heroic, and the most beautifully, chaotically, perfect thing he could have ever possibly imagined. His quiet, controlled revolution had just been given a loud, boisterous, and very welcome pirate escort.