Ren left the cold, imposing silence of the Tenshaku with a heavy heart, the Shogun's divine, dismissive words echoing in his mind. Mortal trifles. The phrase was a chilling, profound summary of the immense, almost insurmountable, gap between his perspective and hers.
He wandered through the bustling, vibrant streets of Inazuma City, the lively, cheerful chaos of mortal life a stark, beautiful contrast to the sterile, eternal stillness of the god's throne room. He bought a stick of tri-color dango from a street vendor, the sweet, familiar taste a small, grounding comfort in a world that had suddenly become very large and very complicated.
He began the long, slow, and scenic walk up the path to the Grand Narukami Shrine, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. How do you show a god that mortal life matters? How do you prove the value of a single, fleeting spark to a being who has watched the unchanging stars for millennia?
He was so lost in his deep, philosophical contemplation that he did not at first notice that the cheerful, ambient noise of the path had fallen silent. He did not notice the subtle, almost imperceptible, shift in the air, the way it began to crackle with a familiar, malevolent energy.
He was brought back to reality when he found his path blocked.
They had emerged from the shadows of the ancient, towering cedar trees, their movements silent and practiced. A dozen Fatui skirmishers, their armor gleaming, their weapons drawn, had surrounded him, forming a tight, inescapable circle.
And stepping out from their ranks, a slow, condescending smirk on his beautiful, doll-like face, was Scaramouche.
"Well, well," the Balladeer sneered, his indigo eyes filled with a familiar, venomous scorn. "Look what the little rat dragged in. All alone, and so far from your gilded cage."
His gaze fell upon the Shogun's pendant, still hanging visibly on Ren's chest, and his smirk twisted into a look of pure, unadulterated contempt. "Making quite the name for yourself here in Inazuma, aren't you? Whispering in the ear of a god. Challenging the very concept of Eternity. And you have the audacity to wear her symbol around your neck."
He took a slow, menacing step forward. "You must be feeling so very full of yourself. So very… important."
Ren looked at the fuming, arrogant Harbinger before him, and for the first time, he felt not fear, but a profound, almost weary, sense of pity. He saw not the powerful, terrifying Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers. He saw the puppet, the prototype, the discarded, failed creation of the very god he had just been speaking with. He saw a being consumed by a bottomless, ancient jealousy, a rage born of rejection, a desperate, pathetic need to prove his own worth by tearing down others.
Ren did not flinch. He simply met the Harbinger's hateful, scornful gaze, and his own glowing azure eyes were full of a calm, quiet, and utterly unimpressed pity.
He then spoke, his voice not a plea, not a challenge, but a simple, devastatingly logical, observation.
"I must be very important," Ren said, his voice a soft, almost conversational, murmur.
Scaramouche's smirk faltered, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.
"So important," Ren continued, his voice still quiet, but now laced with a subtle, sharp, and cutting edge, "that the great and powerful Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers has to personally come all the way out here, with a dozen of his best soldiers, just to mock a ten-year-old boy. You must have no other important work to do at all."
He tilted his head, his expression one of pure, innocent, and utterly disarming sincerity. "How flattering."
The words, a perfect, flawless, and utterly infuriating sting, hit Scaramouche with the force of a physical slap. The child had not just refused to be intimidated; he had taken the Harbinger's own, pathetic attempt at a power play and had, with a few, simple words, turned it into a testament of his own importance. He had used Scaramouche's own, massive, fragile ego as a weapon against him.
The smirk vanished from the Balladeer's face, replaced by a mask of pure, silent, and murderous rage. The air around him began to crackle and hiss with a violent, uncontrolled Electro energy. He had come here to mock a child, and the child, in return, had effortlessly, calmly, and completely, humiliated him.