The voice by his ear was so soft it could have lulled one to sleep. Idris drew back the Dendro energy he'd been learning to guide and spoke quietly.
"Please, come out, Your Excellency—Lesser Lord Kusanali. I know the Sanctuary of Surasthana can hold your body, not your mind."
At his words, a small, delicate figure settled into the seat across from him. Nahida's bright eyes held a dozen tangled shades of feeling as she looked at the man she should, by all rights, resent most—the Grand Sage.
"Do you need something of me, Your Excellency?" Idris's face was calm as he met the little Grass God's gaze, ignoring the faint hostility there.
Nahida sighed and shook her head. "I… I'm simply curious. Sage Idris, why did you choose that way to spur the Corps of Thirty and Cyno's Matra?"
Idris's expression didn't change. "Have you ever heard the story of 'bearing brambles to atone'?"
"Bearing brambles?" Nahida tilted her head. "No. Will you tell it to me?"
Stories always brightened her, even when the storyteller did not. Idris obliged, keeping it brief: a blunt, hot-tempered general clashed with a greater statesman. Later moved by the other's character, the general slung thorny branches over his back and went to apologize. The statesman, seeing the sincerity, forgave him—an episode sung of for generations.
When he finished, Idris explained himself. "The Corps of Thirty, the Matra, even Cyno—many among them are clever. But they prefer straightforward solutions. In truth, they're warriors at heart. They may chafe at me, but they aren't bad men.
"The wound from a spear through my shoulder—that was my apology on behalf of the sages before me. The scolding that followed was to beat their original temper back into shape. For warriors, that's as close to a proper remedy as you'll get."
Nahida's eyes shifted again. She still disliked that he wouldn't release her—but there was a new sliver of recognition there.
"Sage Idris, it's clear you care deeply for Sumeru," she said softly. "And I must admit—your method was sound. I can feel Cyno and the others have changed. At the very least, their diligence will hold for a good while."
"I'm the Grand Sage of Sumeru and the Akademiya. This is work I ought to do, even if it wears me out."
He said it like it was nothing. In truth, each plot he flipped earned him more from the system. The first reward—a Vision—had given him command over Dendro. All the more reason to stay seated in the "villain's" chair and turn the Grand Sage's script on its head.
At the words even if it wears me out, Nahida's gaze flickered.
"Then… you could let me out," she ventured. "I believe you took this seat to make Sumeru better—to solve the problems we face. If you release me… we can work together."
"Help?" Idris's mouth quirked, amused.
Nahida nodded, solemn. "Yes. Help. May I?"
He sipped his tea and shook his head. "Why would I need the help of someone who, in my eyes, is all but a traitor to Sumeru?"
"Traitor? Me?!"
Her eyes flew wide. Of all words, she hadn't expected that one to be pinned to her. Even her steady heart stumbled, rousing a spark of indignation.
"Sage Idris, mind your words! I am Sumeru's God of Grass. I know I have shortcomings—just as you rebuked the Corps and Cyno, you may be displeased with me—but I cannot accept being called a traitor! Why would you brand me so?"
Idris set the cup down, prepared to let the words flow. He looked straight at her and spoke, each syllable crisp.
"Your Excellency, let me be perfectly clear: you have effected no great change in Sumeru."
"At best—" he said, unblinking, "you're a naive little princess."