Yae Miko's visits were always a highlight, a breath of fresh, foxy, and intellectually stimulating air in the quiet, healing atmosphere of the Tenshukaku. She would arrive not with sweets or fireworks, but with a stack of the latest, most popular light novels from her publishing house, her own, unique form of "get well soon" gift.
"For the recovering hero," she announced one afternoon, placing the colorful books on his bedside table with a theatrical flourish. "Though I must say," she added, her violet eyes sparkling with a familiar, teasing amusement, "your own little 'light show' from the top of the Tenshukaku was far more spectacular than anything in these books. A truly dazzling debut. You have a flair for the dramatic, little one."
Her playful tone then softened, her expression turning into one of genuine, profound gratitude and wonder. She sat in the chair beside his bed, her demeanor becoming serious and confidential. "You have done more than you know, Ren," she said, her voice a low, sincere murmur. "The change you have brought about in Ei… it is a miracle. It is a tectonic shift in a landscape that has been frozen for five hundred years."
She leaned in, her gaze full of a deep, ancient wisdom. "She is thinking. She is questioning. She is feeling. You have opened a window in her perfect, eternal prison and have let the world back in. I am sure," she added, with a small, knowing smile, "that you will hear the details of this change from Ei herself, very soon."
Miko's expression then turned a little more grim, a flicker of a foxy, vengeful light in her eyes. "As for our other little problem," she said, "the Balladeer has vanished. After his… disagreement with the Shogun, he disappeared from Inazuma completely. My own network, and Ayato's, I'm sure, can find no trace of him. He has gone to ground, a wounded, humiliated animal. But do not mistake his absence for a lack of threat. He will return, someday."
She then waved a dismissive, elegant hand, as if brushing away a piece of lint. "But that is a worry for another day. The shrine is being repaired," she said, her voice turning light and cheerful again, "your little act of… involuntary architectural redesign is being tended to. And your room," she added with a pointed, meaningful look, "is still waiting for you. It is quite lonely without its little prince."
Her message was clear. "So," she finished, standing up with a graceful, foxy swish of her shrine maiden robes, "you should hurry up and complete your… remaining tasks here at the Tenshukaku. Finish your chats with our dear, reclusive god. So that you can be free to come back home. To the shrine. Where you belong."
It was not just an invitation; it was a gentle, loving, and slightly impatient, command. She was ready for her favorite new friend, her little miracle, to come back home.