The Akademiya's bulletin read:
On the Doctor's conduct within the Akasha:
We will be issuing a formal diplomatic protest to Snezhnaya.
The vulnerabilities implanted in the Akasha network have long troubled Sumeru, given that nearly all adults rely on terminals.
Good news to our citizens: through the efforts of Sumeru and Grand Sage Idris, we have finally isolated the root cause behind five centuries of dreamlessness.
Effective immediately, the right to dream in one's sleep is restored. May every Sumeru citizen sleep well, and dream well.
No names were explicitly named. They didn't need to be. Placed back-to-back with the Fatui apology, the implication hit like thunder—and the city roared.
"What?! So the reason adults couldn't dream was that Fatui Doctor's handiwork in the Akasha?"
"Those curs! Five hundred years without dreams!"
"If something evil happens and you suspect the Fatui, you're probably right! Proven again!"
"Good news, everyone! I napped—actually dreamed. It's real!"
"Praise the Grand Sage! He unmasked the plot and fixed it. We would've gone on thinking only children dream…"
For days the avenues rang with two themes: curses for the Doctor and cheers for Idris. Even some of Little Lucky Grass King's faithful wavered.
Far away, in a dim laboratory, the masked man ground his teeth.
"So this is how you play, Grand Sage Idris…"
He slammed a palm onto the bench, then forced a laugh that came out like a hiss.
"By plan, the Balladeer should already hold the gnosis. The creation proceeds within months. And the Traveler—hot-blooded as ever—will come."
"Today you 'won.' Let's see, in a few months, whether you can stand when the tide of malice turns. I won't forget."
The laugh that followed was thin, cold, and very tired.
In the Grand Sage's quarters, a different fire burned.
Idris had been seated before the Eight-Trigram Pill Furnace for two full days and nights, living on water, a few bites of bread, and sheer will. If not for the Dendro Vision fortifying his body, he'd have toppled hours ago.
Only one person had kept him company: Nahida's drifting consciousness, quiet with worry.
"Grand Sage Idris… must you push yourself this hard for a new discipline?" she asked softly. "At least get up to use the washroom."
"Quiet," he murmured, eyes never leaving the furnace. "It's almost there."
The breath, the flame, the fold of essence—everything finally locked.
"Rise."
With a crisp ring, eight pills leapt from the furnace mouth and arced into his waiting palm. Of course the eight-gated furnace would yield eight at a time. Had it not been so sturdily made, the marathon session would have cracked a lesser cauldron to shards.
Nahida leaned in, nose twitching at the herbal warmth. "What are these?"
Idris let the heat bleed from his hands, gaze bright despite the shadows under his eyes.
"Verdant Purification Pills—Grade I."
"They do three things. First, they purge residual Akasha strain from long-term terminal use—calming nightmares from the 'REM rebound' our people will suffer now that dreams have returned. Second, they bolster vitality and spirit—safe enough for ordinary citizens. Third…" He paused. "A mild inhibitory effect on Eleazar's progression. Not a cure—yet—but enough to slow the scales."
Nahida's eyes widened. "You… already reached that?"
"Foundation work," Idris said. "The formulas look grand on paper. In practice, it's the first brick."
He set one pill aside, then spoke as if dictating a decree:
"Trial protocol—tomorrow. Controlled dosing at Bimarstan, with Matra oversight. Tighnari's team for field observation. Double-blind groups, no corner-cutting. Anyone caught hawking knockoffs will answer to the Great Vayuda and to me."
Nahida blinked—and then nodded, faint relief warming her face. "Strict, but right. Thank you… for not turning people into test subjects of convenience."
"Villains with backbones still build scaffolds," he said dryly.
Only then did his hand tremble. The past seventy hours crashed down at once.
"Sit," Nahida urged. Vines you could not see steadied the chair beneath him; a cup of tea—her own energy steeped into the leaves—floated to his fingertips. "Just one sip."
He didn't argue. The tea slid down like cool spring over stone. The worst of the tremor eased.
"Good." Idris palmed a pill, studying its emerald sheen. "Quality is passable."
He tossed it into his mouth.
It burst on his tongue like dew, melted to green light, and flowed through his meridians. The furnace-heat of fatigue was swept by a soft rain; his Dendro Vision pulsed once in answer, then steadied. Breath deepened. Thoughts cleared.
"Effective." He exhaled, a hint of a smile finally touching his face. "Draft the charter for Pillcraft Darshan."
A knock came at the door.
"Report," he called.
A Matra captain entered, saluted. "Grand Sage: twenty-seven suspects from the Akasha exploit list apprehended; the rest are being pursued. Also—trial production at the Music Walkman line succeeded. First run complete, all units functional."
"Good." Idris waved him out, then looked to Nahida. "Sumeru is loud tonight."
Outside, the city had begun to sing. Snatches of a new melody rode the night air, whistled by patrolling guards and hummed by shopkeepers locking up.
Ask the gods, ask the immortals, ask the sky and the land…
Nahida smiled despite herself. "You're impossible," she murmured. "And very… human."
He didn't answer. He was already sketching a new matrix in his mind—three future formulas branching like green shoots:
Seed of Dawn Pill — temporary resistance for rangers entering Withering zones.
Reedheart Antitoxin — sandborne maladies; for the desert's mercenaries who actually work.
Green Lotus Pill (Grade II) — the next step against Eleazar.
On the far side of the world, a masked man plotted. In Sumeru City, a furnace glowed. Between them, a nation finally dreamed.
Tomorrow, the trials would begin. Tonight, the Grand Sage allowed himself one thing he had not taken in days:
Sleep.
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