"Where is Grand Sage Idris? Where did he go?"
Nahida's consciousness streaked across Sumeru City like a pale-green comet, combing rooftops, arcades, and the boughs of the sacred tree. Nothing. No trace.
He was beneath the Sanctuary of Surasthana—far below the roots—where the peculiar architecture muffled divine perception and hid a cavernous hall. Nahida hadn't considered that yet. All she knew was that the city held no Idris.
She reached for the mind she trusted most.
"General Mahamatra Cyno, this is the Little Lucky Grass King. I need your help!"
Cyno froze mid-patrol. It was the first time he'd heard the god's voice.
"Your Excellency…? The Little Lucky Grass King?"
"Yes. Idris, the Grand Sage, is missing. I can't sense him anywhere in Sumeru City."
"What?!"
The news hit like a jolt. Right now, Idris was the keystone—politically and practically. The Liyue delegation was in town, and by morning he was supposed to see them off. If something happened to him now…
Cyno snapped to action. "Understood. I'll dispatch teams to sweep the outskirts immediately."
"Do that. I'll handle the interior."
A beat of hesitation. "Your Excellency… forgive the question, but given he… continued your confinement, why warn us? How did you notice he was in danger?"
"That's… not important," she deflected, cheeks warming at a reason she wasn't ready to name. "Just go. I'll cover the city."
"By your will."
Cyno turned, barking orders. Nahida, for the first time in centuries, found herself praying.
Please be all right…
Idris was more than all right.
He was thriving.
"Samsara Deadwood Domain."
Dusk-green light flooded the cavern under the Sanctuary. From floor to vault, a forest erupted—slick black vines braided with thorns, oozing a cold funerary breath. Dendro power intertwined with a shadowed death-aether; a domain unrolled like a living labyrinth, sealing every avenue of escape.
"What—what is that?!"
A Gilded Brigade sell-sword stumbled as a vine coiled his leg. Thorns punched through leather and skin; corruptive chill surged through his veins. He gurgled, collapsed, and sloughed into a puddle of red—then even the blood was sipped away, threads of vine drinking it dry.
Panic surged. Only the elders at the rear still tried to sound righteous.
"Idris! You're the Grand Sage and you use such evil arts? Aren't you afraid of retribution?"
"Retribution?" Idris's laugh was soft and cutting. "A villain fearing karma? You really do misunderstand me."
They had chosen their place in this story. He'd simply accept their contribution—their lives would more than suffice to top up the meager energy the Divine Machine still lacked. No need to waste pills or his freshly-won dragon blood.
"You lot are amusing. 'Kill Idris' one moment, 'Grand Sage, remember your station' the next—hoping I'll let you walk away. I won't."
His blade dipped.
"Die."
Frostmourne howled and he moved. The first swing split a Fatui Rifthound Hammerer's weapon in two; the second carved through mask and man. Elemental blasts detonated from every direction as mercenaries and Fatui went all in, forcing themselves to commit.
"Stop holding back!" their commander roared. "We either fight to the last or we die where we stand!"
A storm of Pyro, Electro, Hydro crashed against the Deadwood Domain. Idris's vines drank the spillover, the sword took the rest. Power boomed so hard it bled past the Temple's wards—out into Sumeru's night.
Nahida's head snapped toward the Sanctuary. She felt it at once: a savage, layered surge—Dendro threaded with something colder, older.
He was below. And he was fighting.
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