The conversations between the child and the god became a new, quiet, and world-altering routine. Ren would visit the tranquil garden in the Tenshukaku, and Ei would be there, no longer a reclusive, meditating goddess, but an active, engaged, and deeply thoughtful, participant in the world she had so long ignored.
Their talks were not of grand, cosmic theories anymore, but of the small, practical, and deeply human, realities of governing a nation. Ren, with his clear, compassionate, and surprisingly pragmatic, logic, would offer his perspective. And Ei, her mind finally, blessedly, opened to the possibility of change, would listen.
And the results of their discussions began to ripple out from the quiet garden and into the very fabric of Inazuman society.
A few days after their last talk, a new, imperial decree, sealed with the Shogun's personal insignia, was posted in every city, town, and village in the nation.
The Vision Hunt Decree was abolished.
The announcement was a thunderclap of pure, unadulterated, joyous disbelief. All confiscated Visions, the decree stated, were to be returned to their rightful owners, immediately and with a formal apology from the Tenryou Commission. The hunt was over. The long, dark night of stolen ambitions had finally, miraculously, come to an end.
When Ren next visited, he found Ei looking out over the city, a new, lighter, and almost peaceful, expression on her face. "The Sakoku Decree, for now, will remain in effect," she said, anticipating his next question. "The nation is in a state of flux. To throw open the gates now, while the Tri-Commission is being purged of its corrupt elements… it would be an invitation for our enemies to encroach. We need time to heal, to stabilize."
She then looked at him, a small, hopeful smile on her lips. "But it will not be forever. I am already… reworking it. Thinking of a new way. A way to engage with the world, not to hide from it."
It was a promise of a brighter, more open future for Inazuma.
Amidst all of this, a new, curious question had been forming in Ren's mind. He looked at the beautiful, living, breathing goddess before him. "Ei," he began, his tone one of simple, genuine curiosity. "Where is… the Shogun? The puppet, I mean. You are in this body now, in the real world. Does she just… go away?"
A complex, almost guilty, expression crossed Ei's face. "No," she said softly. "She is… still here. Within me. In the Plane of Euthymia. She is… processing. Understanding the change in my own, and therefore, her own, perspective."
She looked away, her gaze full of a strange, profound remorse. "She feels… a great deal of guilt. For her inaction. She calculates, correctly, that her failure to act, her rigid adherence to a flawed protocol, is what allowed the Balladeer to harm you. The fact that you were injured under her watch, in her nation… it is a source of a logical contradiction she is finding it difficult to resolve." Ei's own expression was a mirror of that same, deep guilt.
Ren looked at the goddess, at the profound, almost human, remorse she felt for a mistake that was not, in any logical sense, her own, and his heart was filled with a deep, compassionate empathy.
"You shouldn't feel guilty," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Neither of you. You are not to blame for the Balladeer's actions. He is the one who chose to be cruel. He is the one who chose to hurt people. Not you."
He then looked at her, his next words a simple, beautiful, and utterly unexpected, wish. "I'm happy that you've decided to come out and rule Inazuma yourself, Ei," he said, a warm, genuine smile on his face. "But I hope that someday… you'll give the Shogun her own body. A new one. So that she, too, can have a chance to walk in this world. To see the flowers, to eat dango, to make her own friends. To be more than just a guardian of a lonely eternity."
He was not just asking for forgiveness for the puppet. He was asking for her freedom. A freedom to live, to experience, to change.
Ei stared at him, her amethyst eyes wide with a stunned, profound, and deeply, deeply, moved, surprise. This child… this impossible, wonderful child… his compassion was a thing without limits. It extended not just to the living, not just to the gods, but even to a soulless, programmable puppet, a being he saw not as a tool, but as a person deserving of her own life.
She said nothing. She simply reached out and, for the second time, gently, lovingly, placed her hand on his head, a silent, grateful, and profoundly, beautifully, changed, god.