The house was quiet, the lamps dimmed low. Ren stood by the table, watching the pulsing green light of Lisa's Akasha Terminal. It beat like a tiny, synthetic heart.
"Lisa, Lady Ningguang," Ren said, his voice calm but laced with an unshakeable seriousness. "Could you please remove your terminals? And keep them off tomorrow."
Ningguang paused in the middle of untying her hair. Lisa looked up from her book, eyebrows raised.
"Is something wrong, cutie?" Lisa asked.
"I have a hunch," Ren said carefully. "The Sages… they've been acting strange. Azar's hostility, the delays, the secrecy. I think they might be planning an experiment during the festival. Something using the Akasha network."
He didn't mention Nahida. He didn't mention the dream harvesting. He kept it vague, relying on their trust in his intuition.
Ningguang studied his face for a long moment. She saw the tension in his jaw, the resolve in his eyes. She trusted him. She reached up and unclasped the device from her ear, setting it on the table with a soft click.
"Very well," she said simply. "If you sense danger, I will heed your warning. The flow of information can wait."
Lisa followed suit, shrugging. "A day without the voices of a thousand scholars droning in my ear? Sounds like a vacation to me."
Ren let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. At least they would be safe from the initial harvest.
The morning of the Sabzeruz Festival dawned bright and vibrant. The city was transformed, draped in colorful banners and filled with the scent of Padisarahs and sweet Harra fruit.
Ren, Ningguang, and Lisa met up with Lumine and Paimon near the citadel. Lumine looked refreshed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Beside her was Dunyarzad, looking frail but radiant in her festive dress, her face glowing with a gentle, determined joy.
"Lady Ningguang! Ren!" Lumine greeted them happily. "This is my friend, Dunyarzad. She's the one who organized the festival!"
"It is an honor," Dunyarzad said, bowing slightly. "To have guests from Liyue celebrate with us… it means so much."
Together, they wandered the stalls. They sampled candied Ajilenakh nuts, bought small, carved trinkets, and watched street performers juggle fire and water. Ren even convinced Ningguang to try a Yalda candy, laughing as the Tianquan delicately nibbled the sticky treat.
The day was perfect. It was everything a festival should be: joyful, communal, alive.
As evening fell, they made their way to the Grand Bazaar. The anticipation was palpable. The stage was lit, the musicians were ready. And there, center stage, was Nilou.
She was breathtaking in her costume, a vision of red and gold, her horns adorned with flowers. She spotted Ren and Lumine in the crowd and waved, her smile radiant.
"She's beautiful," Lisa murmured.
"She is the heart of this celebration," Dunyarzad whispered, her eyes shining with tears.
But before the first note could be played, a hush fell over the crowd. The heavy tread of boots echoed on the stone.
Grand Sage Azar strode onto the stage, flanked by Setaria and a squad of Matra. His face was a mask of cold, intellectual disdain. He looked at the decorations, at the hopeful faces of the people, with pure contempt.
"Stop this farce," Azar commanded, his voice ringing through the silent bazaar. "The Akademiya does not tolerate such frivolity. This is a city of wisdom, not a playground for children."
He turned to Nilou, his gaze withering. "There will be no dance. Disperse."
His eyes then scanned the crowd, landing on Ren. For a moment, their gazes locked. Azar's eyes held a challenge, a dare. Will you speak now, boy? Will you defend this foolishness with your clever words?
Ren remained silent. He felt Ningguang tense beside him, ready to intervene, ready to use her authority to defend the cultural rights of the people. But Ren gently placed a hand on her arm, shaking his head slightly.
This wasn't his battle. Not today. This was a necessary tragedy, a stepping stone in the grander narrative. Azar needed to show his true colors. The people needed to see the cruelty of their leaders. To fight now would be to waste energy on a symptom while the disease raged on.
Azar, seeing no resistance, sneered. He turned and swept off the stage, Setaria trailing behind him, looking conflicted but obedient.
The festival was over. The joy evaporated, leaving behind a heavy, crushing disappointment.
Ren made his way to Nilou. She was sitting on the edge of the stage, her shoulders slumped, her beautiful costume suddenly looking like a sad costume.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, not looking up. "I'm so sorry, Ren. You came all this way… and I couldn't even dance for you."
Ren sat beside her. "Don't be sorry, Nilou," he said softly. "It's not your fault."
She looked at him, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I just wanted to make everyone happy. To celebrate Lesser Lord Kusanali's birthday. Why… why do they hate it so much?"
"Because they don't understand," Ren said. "They think wisdom is only found in books. They don't know that joy is a kind of wisdom too."
He took her hand. "You will dance, Nilou. I promise. You will dance, and it will be the most beautiful thing this city has ever seen. I will be there. I'll always root for you."
Nilou managed a small, watery smile. "Thank you, Ren."
They walked back to the alumni house in silence. The city felt dimmer, the air heavier.
Ren climbed into bed, pulling the covers up. He closed his eyes, listening to the quiet breathing of Ningguang beside him.
Tomorrow.
According to the cycle, tomorrow would be the same day. The festival would reset. The people would forget. The dream would begin.
He lay in the darkness, waiting for the beep. Waiting for the reset. Waiting for the Samsara to claim them all.
And he wondered, with a cold, sharp curiosity: What happens when you know you're dreaming?