"Th… that…"
Idris's counter landed, and Nahida's gaze went unfocused. She knew it was true: three days ago, half the city would have cried for the Grand Sage to die to atone. If the past crimes of former Grand Sages were all laid bare, nine out of ten Sumeru citizens would want him dead—and most of the rest would prefer a punishment worse than death.
People have kindness—people also crave swift retribution.
That single, simple line of reasoning unraveled the story she'd just told.
But Idris wasn't finished.
"The Grand Sage is human too. If anything, judged by the old custom of honoring age, the previous Grand Sage was an old man," he said evenly. "Why does no one forgive him? Because everyone knows the shape of his sins—everyone knows how many innocents were harmed.
"And why do you assume that man in your tale would be forgiven once you turned him to your side? Because no one remembers his crimes."
"Your Excellency, your mercy is your motto—your most laudable trait. It is also exactly why you are unsuited to rule Sumeru.
"As for recruiting any strong hand so the nation can survive—if survival means swallowing every insult, what does that make this country but a dog that lives by groveling?"
He held her eyes. "Now do you see why, for five hundred years, not one Grand Sage chose to release you?"
"Stop… don't say any more!" Nahida's voice broke.
His words pricked like needles—sharp, spare, factual. Even as the God of Wisdom, she had no rebuttal. She could only beg him to stop, like a five-hundred-year-old child throwing a fit.
Tears welled again.
Last time, she'd cried from remorse. This time… from ignorance.
Twice now, and not a single counterargument.
Idris frowned. A villain is not truly heartless. Seeing her cry even harder than before, he couldn't help lifting a hand—to wipe the tears from her lashes—
—and his fingers passed straight through. Right. She was only a projection, not her body.
Fine. If he couldn't dry them, he'd sit and wait them out.
Watching him try—and then not come over—made her sob harder. He even poured himself a cup of sleep-aid tea. Ten whole minutes of muffled crying later, Idris looked at the red-eyed little god and asked, calm as ever:
"Your Excellency, have you cried enough?"
"Mm… hic…"
Her sobs softened. She looked up at him with eyes so pink and wet they could have gentled a butcher mid-swing.
Useless on him.
When she'd quieted, he spoke. "Lady of Grass, don't cheapen your tears before me.
"They may work on anyone else. They don't work on me.
"You told me yourself you aren't a child. I doubt you want to look this helpless in front of someone you claim to dislike."
Stung, Nahida glared at him through the redness—but having just cried herself out, she could only ask, voice small:
"Then tell me… what should I do that truly helps this nation?"
Idris took a slow sip of tea. "Do nothing. Remain in the Sanctuary of Surasthana, the princess under guard.
"If you want to sing nursery songs to children, go. If you want to comfort the maddened in Aaru Village, go. I don't care if you pick up a few more faithful.
"Just don't walk out of the Sanctuary to 'govern' at my side."
"You've endured five hundred years like this. Surely a few months won't break you."
He rose from the chair and headed for his quarters. At the door, he paused and glanced back, voice level.
"Oh—and about last night. Thank you for healing me. For that, you have my thanks."
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