Nahida froze at Idris's icy tone. She shot him a pleading look—don't go further!
Sure, "childish" was a word Idris often used to scold her, but she'd never imagined he'd throw it at the Greater Lord Rukkhadevata—to her face. Was he really treating the Great Lord like he treated Nahida just because they looked the same now?
Having confirmed Idris wasn't joking, Rukkhadevata's gentle gaze cooled.
"Grand Sage Idris, why do you call me childish?" she asked. "I acknowledge your ability. But if you choose harsh words even for someone at the end of her life, I doubt I'll hold a good impression when I pass."
Idris pressed a hand lightly on Nahida's arm to stop her from interjecting, then looked calmly at the Great Lord.
"Do you truly think that once you sacrifice yourself, Sumeru will be safe forever?"
"Guess which of the Seven Nations of Teyvat can't survive without its god."
"It isn't Liyue. They've already moved on from Morax's rule into a new era."
"It isn't Mondstadt. Their god taught them to live freely from the outset—Barbatos is a symbol more than a ruler."
"Not Fontaine either. Even under a prophecy of doom and with a god who treats much as a lark, they still search for ways to live."
"Nor Natlan. Glory and valor pass from warrior to warrior across generations."
"Not even Inazuma. When their god grows tyrannical, they raise the banner of resistance."
"It's Sumeru. The only nation that can't live without its god is Sumeru."
"As far as I'm concerned, if a country dies the moment its god is gone, then its destruction is merely being… expedited."
"When trouble comes and the first thought is 'the God of Wisdom will fix it,' that sickness is worse than the Akasha addiction."
Rukkhadevata fell silent. Nahida, too, had no words—only a pang of recognition. Idris had scolded her like this before.
Thinking it over, the Great Lord realized he had a point. Rukkhadevata and Nahida were both innately kind. As gods, they had protected people too well. In the long run, that wasn't necessarily good.
Other nations, facing the Abyss or catastrophe, had legends of people who stood up: Mondstadt's wolves and knights; Liyue's Millelith and adepti; Inazuma's yokai and samurai; Natlan's warriors and heroes. Even the Scarlet King of the desert had high priests by his side. Those figures, though long buried, remained in song and history, waiting for travelers to uncover their stories anew.
But in Sumeru's rainforest, whenever disaster struck, only the gods—and the Aranara—took the field. Almost never… humans.
To Nahida and the Great Lord, that had seemed fine—the kindest gods walk ahead and bear the burden.
To Idris, it was the root problem.
If a nation coddled by benevolence gives birth to no great people when crisis comes, what is that nation even for?
Under his unflinching words, Rukkhadevata recognized her mistakes. Yet in her present state—a fading remnant—there was little she could change.
"Thank you, Grand Sage Idris," she said quietly. "I must admit—even as the God of Wisdom—I was lacking. But now, neither of us has a better way to cleanse the Irminsul."
"And truthfully, I doubt Sumeru's future is as bleak as you say. It has Nahida—and you. You will be the first Sumeru mortal whose name shines through the ages."
Idris chuckled and waved the praise away.
"Don't dump tomorrow's solutions on me. I'm human. One day I'll grow tired and step down. When Sumeru faces trouble then, what—should Nahida repeat your sacrifice?"
"So no, Great Lord. I won't accept your self-sacrifice, nor will I accept saving this nation through sacrifice. Leaving everything to a god belongs to the past."
This time Rukkhadevata didn't grow angry; her expression softened.
"Thank you, my sage… Sumeru's king. Those words have the rightful severity of a king—remind me of a domineering friend I once had in the desert. You do share a trace of his temperament. I'm glad someone still cares for me. But I have no choice. Only by offering myself can I purge the Irminsul's taboo and abyssal stain."
"Not necessarily," Idris replied, smiling.
"The world's order is yin and yang—light and shadow. With you governing the Irminsul that embodies light and order, naturally there should also be a tree that bears and contains malice and conflict."
"What if I grow a counterpart—an Irminsul that collects evil and feeds on it?"
He opened his palm. A seed lay there.
Nahida and Rukkhadevata were stunned.
"That… that's an Irminsul Seed? Impossible! How could you have such a thing?!"
"Who knows," Idris said lightly. "Maybe, like Natlan's Pyro Archon, I'm a peculiar sort of reincarnate. Perhaps my last turn wasn't in this world, and I brought this seed from another. This lifetime I just happen to be your Grand Sage."
It wasn't a lie. He was a man from another world; call it reincarnation and the gods could grasp it.
Rukkhadevata stared at the seed. "So you, too, are a unique reincarnate, like Natlan's god?"
"Perhaps."
Nahida's eyes rekindled with hope. She believed the sage she trusted would change everything.
Idris knelt in the Irminsul's mental realm, found a bare patch, and planted the seed. Then he began feeding it energy.
"Conveniently, after I erased Marana's avatar, I stored all its taboo knowledge and withering power. Filthy, deathly stuff—perfect fertilizer for this seed."
Rukkhadevata hesitated. "Isn't that dangerous? Its essence is evil."
Idris smiled.
"Even a child born a blank slate—or with a demon core—has a homeland, elders who cared for them when they were weak. And if the Irminsul can take your shape and end up being scolded by me just like Nahida…" He glanced at Nahida. "…then even if this 'tree of dusk' grows a will, I'm confident I can keep it in line."
After all, he would be the tree's father.
As the stored withering and taboo energies poured in, the seed sprouted. A trunk rose quickly—darker than Rukkhadevata's Irminsul, tinged black-violet, ominous to the eye. Yet every time that violent breath passed near Idris, it calmed, soothed, tamed.
The energy demand was staggering. Everything he'd siphoned from Marana only raised this "tree of evil" to a sapling roughly as tall as Idris himself. But it was enough.
He guided the sapling's intent and beckoned behind him.
"She's your elder sister. She's poisoned. Help her draw it out."
As if nodding, the dark sapling unfurled tendrils that climbed Rukkhadevata's Irminsul. Wisps of blackness began to leach away—slowly, but effectively. Cleansing the millennial taint would take time, but halting the spread was well within reach.
Watching the sapling drink in the filth, Idris turned to the Great Lord.
"Now then, Great Lord—perhaps consider what new identity you'd like to live under in Sumeru."
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