Three sentences were all it took for the air in the office to turn frigid.
Idris rested his chin on steepled fingers. He'd known from the start that the Doctor wasn't here in peace. His face stayed calm. "Looks like you've realized all those little tricks you planted in the Akasha have already been laid bare," he said. "So you came running to me in a panic?"
He meant the security holes the 360 Safeguard had dug out and purged—pitfalls that had cost the Doctor at least a decade to lace in. Having them yanked out root and stem would make anyone's temper show.
The Doctor didn't bristle. He merely sneered. "Grand Sage Idris, you're the youngest to hold that seat. Naturally your methods differ from your predecessors'. But that's no excuse for arrogance.
"What I left in the Akasha were… trifles. I simply didn't expect you to ferret out all of them without exception.
"You really don't give me any face, do you?"
A dangerous light glinted behind the mask—an unspoken threat.
Idris met it with something harder. "Give you face? The Akasha belongs to Sumeru. Why should I let you point fingers at it?
"I don't bow to gods because I believe I can stand shoulder to shoulder with them.
"You, on the other hand, are merely a madman sheltered by the Tsaritsa. You're the one who lacks the standing to lecture me."
Power rolled off him—clean, crushing, kingly.
It was the weight that had settled in him since absorbing five millennia of mortal rulership: the aura of a human king, borne of the throne and the peril that comes with it.
Behind the mask, the Doctor's eyes narrowed. "Interesting."
—
In the shadows, two gods exchanged a look of surprise.
"This is… the pressure of a mortal king?" Zhongli murmured. "How curious. The last time I felt something like it, Teyvat wasn't yet ruled clearly by Seven archons."
A thousand years ago, he'd felt such a will from kings who refused to live under gods. Yet the aura on Idris was purer—heavier.
Nahida felt it too, and her heart lurched. I still don't understand him enough…
Hearing Idris speak to the Doctor that bluntly, she panicked. "What is he doing?! With his strength, provoking a Fatui Harbinger is reckless."
For all his Vision and resolve, Idris was still, in the end, a mortal. If the Doctor snapped, he might not be able to withstand even the first blow.
Zhongli thought for a beat, then nodded. "Perhaps he speaks so because he is the Grand Sage," he said quietly. "He cannot bend—to anyone. Not even to gods.
"I cannot vouch for former Grand Sages, but at least this one has reminded me of something:
"Even a 'villain' must not forget what it means to be the backbone of a nation."
"Backbone…" Nahida breathed. Understanding clicked into place. She pressed her presence flatter against the dark, and kept watching.
—
Across the desk, pressure met pressure. The Doctor's killing intent was no less palpable. The table between them groaned; fissures spidered across its lacquered surface under the weight of their colliding wills.
At the first splintering creak, they both drew their auras back.
The Doctor chuckled, low. "I'll admit it, Grand Sage—you surprised me. But trading blows like some brute hardly suits either of us."
"Then how do you want to compete?" Idris asked. He had no illusions about killing the Doctor today. But a warning—one that kept the man's claws sheathed for a long while—would do.
The Doctor tipped his head, as if disappointed at how thoroughly his planted exploits had been scrubbed. "Why don't we take this to the Akasha," he purred, "and have ourselves a little virus duel?"
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