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Once upon a time, a little bird was born.

This little bird was a princess and the new ruler of her forest realm, for her mother, the previous queen, had died while laying her eggs. The death of one brings the birth of another. Such is the way of life.

The other birds in the forest had waited eagerly for the egg to hatch, looking forward to meeting their new queen. But when the little bird finally broke free of the shell, she was greeted not with the cheerful reception one would expect from the birth of a princess, but rather with hushed whispers and nervous looks.

“Isn’t she a little… small?”

“Isn’t she a little… ugly?”

“The queen, may her soul fly eternal, was so wise and regal. This princess is but an ordinary hatchling.”

“Is she really fit to lead us?”

The little bird did not know what they spoke of, for the world and all its evils were new to her. So she did not protest when a group of elegant, extravagant birds, their plumage bright and colorful, took her aside. They were the former queen’s most trusted advisors, and though they had loved Her Majesty very much, they could not believe that a sage leader like herself would entrust the realm to such a pathetic successor.

They led the little bird to a cage, hidden away from the rest of the flock. “Stay here until you are older and wiser,” the queen’s advisors said, “and when you are ready to lead us, you will return to your rightful place.”

And the little bird believed them.

“Thank you for your time and hard work! I’ll review this right away.”

The Matra, a new recruit and young man of no more than twenty years, gives her a grin and salute. “Of course, Lord Kusanali! Oh, and,” he adds, a hint of bashfulness in his voice, “if I don’t see you in the next week… a very happy Sabzeruz Festival to you.”

Nahida keeps the bright smile on her face for 10.6 seconds — the amount of time it takes the Matra to exit her office and for the echo of his footsteps down the hall to fade from earshot.

The moment those 10.6 seconds are up, she lets out a sigh for the ages and slumps over the mound of paperwork that’s accumulated on her desk in the past hour. The flat surface of the desk pushes her cheeks up so that her face resembles that of a chipmunk even more than it usually does.

“So even the great Buer’s patience is not unlimited, hm?”

She jerks upright, startled, but the tension dissipates when she sees the familiar sky-blue ribbons dangling a few meters above the ground. “It’s impolite to sneak up on people, you know. Besides, I told you not to call me that.”

The Wanderer leans against the open doorframe, arms wrapped around his torso. There’s a look of bored disinterest on his face — one of his more neutral expressions, Nahida’s learned. “I’ll keep it in mind.” Nahida knows he won’t, but she appreciates the attempt at appeasement, insincere as it may be. Baby steps. His indigo eyes are darting to and fro, inspecting the room carefully (though what standard he’s judging it by, she has no idea). “Not a bad setup, but you could do better.”

“It was on short notice,” Nahida mutters. Generally, she conducts her business from the Sanctuary of Surasthana or the Grand Sage’s office, but she’s found those places to be rather isolating. She’s been separated from her people long enough, she thinks, and has been toying with the idea of moving her base of operations somewhere within closer reach of the general public for the past few months now. When she began overhearing complaints from her subordinates about their recently-increased workload, she jumped at the opportunity to realize her ambition.

(Of course, Nahida’s never had much free time to spare in the first place — though she always feels as though she isn’t doing enough, isn’t listening to the common people enough, isn’t assisting the students enough — but what little she has, she will gladly give up to be more useful.)

The reason for the extra bustle around the Akademiya is the approaching end of term and all the excitement that comes with it. Previously, this occasion had been marked by Jnagarbha Day. Though the abolition of the Akasha rendered the holiday functionless, Nahida saw no reason to end the traditions that had sprung up around it. This is when students celebrate their triumphs (or drown their failures) with drink and lively gatherings, when alumni return from all corners of Teyvat to reunite with old friends and keep up with the latest research, when potential grant sponsors and those interested in becoming scholars themselves visit to see if Teyvat’s finest academic institution is worth investing in. As Nahida told the Sages during their last meeting, it’d be a good chance to restore the Akademiya’s public reputation after the decline of recent years — include the common folk, show off valuable research, and bring in lucrative tourist mora for the merchants in the area.

Knowledge is Sumeru’s greatest asset, she’d said, despite knowing they didn’t need much convincing to agree to slightly expand on well-established traditions. We should encourage our people to feel pride in that.

Needless to say, there’s a lot going on, and for the first time (and by her own volition!), Nahida finds herself in charge of all of it.

To make the first Jnagarbha Day of her active reign the best Sumeru’s ever seen, Nahida requested a space in the faculty quarters, alongside all the professors and governmental staff. It’s more convenient that way. The mahamata had been quick to acquiesce (Nahida’s long since given up on the lost cause of insisting they treat her as an ordinary person), but the only office available was a small one usually used by interns and temporary instructors.

This is where the seat of Sumeru’s government is currently operating. The furniture is in desperate need of refurbishing, the floors polishing and the walls repapering, but Nahida’s done her best to make it hers with the few possessions she has — a multicolored cube puzzle sits on the corner of her desk, a vase of blooming padisarahs is placed on the windowsill, and many paper garlands of silhouetted figures holding hands hang from the ceiling.

The ceiling isn’t very high by most people’s standards (though it doesn’t bother one of Nahida’s stature), and the Wanderer doesn’t even need to use his Vision to poke one of the paper decorations, sending a ripple through the figures like they’re performing some obscure folk dance. He smirks. “You cut these out yourself?”

A flash of Dendro energy bats his offending hand away. “Yes. I’m sorry for not inviting you to help; I know you enjoy crafting.” He might think he’s being sneaky about it, but she’s seen the needle and thread he carries around for embroidering his little cloth dolls.

The smug look on the Wanderer’s face is quickly replaced by embarrassment masquerading as something angrier. “Hmph.”

Nahida doesn’t bother hiding her amused smile. “Anyway. Was there something you needed from me, Hat Guy? A new thesis draft to review, I hope?”

He makes a face that tells her — no mind-reading required! — that she’s a long way from reading any thesis of his. Oh well. “Can you really not come up with a better name? No, I was wondering about that festival of yours.”

“If you’re offering to help, that’s very kind of you, but I’m alright,” she says, pretending she isn’t surrounded by mountains of paperwork. Only some of them have to do with Jnagarbha preparations, anyhow — others are requests from ordinary citizens, or proposals for new projects in the desert, or student papers she promised to read personally, or formal invitations from foreign diplomats for conversations over coffee, or budgets ready for final review. It wouldn’t feel right to delegate those things to someone else, not when it’s her nation, her people, her responsibility. “My role in Jnagarbha Day is pretty limited, actually. It’s not celebrating me or anything, but the rest of the Akademiya. The students and professors have been remarkably helpful with the logistics.”

She can’t understand why the Wanderer looks so irritated. She thought that was a great answer! “Not that one. I’m talking about the one that does celebrate you.”

Nahida blinks at him, not comprehending.

That does nothing to ease the annoyance clearly felt by the Wanderer, who continues, “You know, the thing that kid who was just in here mentioned? Sab-day-something?”

“Sabzeruz,” Nahida corrects automatically, her voice nearly a whisper. She’d like to say she’d forgotten about it, but, well. “It’s not important.”

The Wanderer raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “You sure about that? Because this is the second time I’ve heard it mentioned in the past hour. Some of the old fogeys in the Bazaar were talking about it. Seemed pretty excited about it, too, saying how this year was going to be special or whatever. Oh, speaking of the Bazaar, here.” He tosses a bag on her desk. Whatever’s inside makes a dull clinking sound. “They’re selling a new flavor of that drink from Fontaine. Too sugary for me, but apparently it’s supposed to taste like coffee. Figured you’d need it.”

The bit of warmth she feels upon learning he’s gotten her a gift without asking (even if coffee-flavored Fonta sounds… less than appealing) fades when the Wanderer clears his throat, apparently hoping for more information. Nahida sighs. “The Sabzeruz Festival commemorates my birthday. It hasn’t been celebrated very openly in the five hundred years since my… my rebirth, though. The Akademiya wasn’t very fond of it.”

“Figures,” the Wanderer says with a frown that would tell Nahida all she needs to know about the former Harbinger’s opinion on the old regime — if she hadn’t already been on the receiving end of many an impassioned rant. “So what’s the plan, then?”

“What?”

“You know, the plan?” The Wanderer gesticulates wildly enough to knock his hands into the paper garlands, setting them aflutter. “I’ve had to run dozens of errands for this Akademiya party you’re running. On top of projects for the classes you insisted I enroll in, by the way,” he adds pointedly, “and I haven’t heard anything about this birthday festival of yours. So. What’s your plan?”

Nahida drops her eyes to the topmost report on her desk (An Overview of Fraud and Related Crimes in Caravan Ribat and Their Enforcement, 142nd edition). Her fingers lace together, thumbs twiddling anxiously. “There is no plan.”

Now it’s the Wanderer’s turn to give a small, “What?”

“There is no plan,” Nahida repeats. “I’m not organizing an official Sabzeruz celebration.”

“Why?” The Wanderer’s hands reach into the bag he’s left on Nahida’s desk for a bottle of coffee-flavored Fonta. Despite his earlier statement that he didn’t want it, he pops off the cap with a flick of his thumb and takes a swig. The expression he makes is one Nahida can’t quite discern, even after months of experience reading the puppet’s body language. He coughs not-so-subtly and continues. “It’s a whole festival about you. What Archon — hell, what person wouldn’t want to be involved?”

“I was never involved before,” Nahida protests. She’s rarely insecure about her childlike appearance, but sometimes — like now — she wishes her voice wasn’t so high-pitched. “I’m not so vain as to force the populace to celebrate my birthday when I’ve barely even done anything worthy of praise.”

The words tumble out a little faster than she would’ve liked — and though the Wanderer opens his mouth to comment, Nahida doesn’t let him. “And last year, the Sages enacted their dream-harvesting samsara during the festival.”

The silence is deafening. Nahida keeps her eyes trained on her hands as she lets the Wanderer come to his own conclusions — she doesn’t want to act openly accusatory towards him, for she’s seen his regret and atonement firsthand — but it’s an undeniable truth that the samsara only happened to power the god project. His god project. Even if his hands weren’t solely responsible for the samsara itself.

“...I see,” he says finally, all traces of sarcasm unusually absent from his voice. “You’re worried it’ll bring back bad memories.”

Nahida squeezes her hands together. “Not… exactly. Though there were a few close calls, there was no lasting damage done to any of the unwilling participants. Those who retained any memory of it at all saw it only as a strange and long dream, and at the time people were too ashamed of their dreams to talk about it and realize they’d all shared the same experience. By this point, I doubt anyone’s thought about it in a long time.”

She glances up at the Wanderer just in time to see some tension ease from his shoulders. The reaction strikes Nahida as a bit odd, for though he’s made efforts to atone, the Wanderer has always accepted his past transgressions with remarkable stoicism — until she considers that perhaps this relief is on her behalf. He’d never admit it if she asked, so it’ll never be more than conjecture, but the thought makes her heart swell nonetheless.

“So what’s the problem, then?” Some of the bite has returned to the Wanderer’s tone, almost prompting a smile to Nahida’s face. He doesn’t stay down long.

Nahida sighs. “It’s me. I’m the problem.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not hostile or condescending as one would expect from the Wanderer; merely a statement of fact.

“I’m scared,” Nahida agrees, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as she admits it. “I’m scared something bad will happen again, as irrational as that fear is. I’m scared no one will care, or worse, they’ll care so much that they’ll think less of me when I inevitably let them down. So, no. I’m not going to set anyone up for disappointment by forcing them to participate in a celebration of myself.”

“Hmph.” Nahida’s gaze is downcast, but she can see the movement of the Wanderer’s sleeves from her peripheral vision as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Alright, alright. It’s your choice. But those old guys at the Grand Bazaar don’t get excited over much, and I think I might’ve actually seen a few smiles when they were making bets about how amazing the first Sabzeruz Festival after Kusanali’s official ascendancy would be. So keep that in mind the next time you’re worrying yourself over disappointing people.”

Under his breath, almost as an afterthought, he adds, “But what the hell do I care?”

Nahida thinks, then, of last year’s Sabzeruz Festival, the final one of her imprisonment: how full of genuine love and devotion Nilou’s dream was, how beautiful her performance. How that festival, and many others before it, had been so joyously celebrated by the few who cared, even when the Akademiya’s crackdowns were at their harshest. How, no matter how small their scale, the traditions had continued to be practiced for generation upon generation, for no incentive other than the happiness they’d bring.

When she looks back up, the Wanderer is halfway out of the temporary office. (He’s left his opened bottle of Fonta on her desk, Nahida notices.)

She wonders if anyone’s ever really needed a grand excuse to celebrate.

“Wanderer,” she says just before he closes the door. He turns with a quizzical look. “Clear your schedule, if you could, and track down anyone not assigned to Jnagarbha Day preparations. We’ve only got one week to plan the greatest Sabzeruz Festival this city’s ever seen.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk. He gives her a quick, two-fingered salute, a clear mockery of the young Matra from earlier. “You’ve got it, Lord Kusanali, sir.”

After he speeds off, leaving traces of Anemo in his wake, Nahida sighs once more and drops her head into her hands.

She hopes she hasn’t just made the worst mistake of her short-lived career.

The advisors had not been lying when they told the little bird they’d get her later. They had meant it at the time, and the rest of the flock believed it, too.

But then the advisors took the throne in the little bird’s stead, and they found they quite liked the taste of power. They began to dread the day the princess would return and they’d be forced back into their lower stations.

They started telling lies and spreading rumors about the little bird. They said she was progressing at a much slower rate than expected in her education and wasn’t yet ready to rule. They said she was still too young, too immature. The years passed and they always responded to questions about her with those words: “Not ready.”

Talk of the princess began to fade away as the flock lost interest in her. Why did they need a princess, anyway? The previous queen had been so intelligent and wise, she’d left behind vast knowledge and a legacy that would serve future generations to come. They didn’t need progress, and they especially didn’t need the ideas of a princess who could never live up to her predecessor’s success.

When the advisors stopped promoting official celebrations of the little bird’s birthday, few even batted an eye. After all, what was the point of celebrating a useless ruler, one none of the birds had even seen?

A sheet of notebook paper, pinned to the wall in Lesser Lord Kusanali’s temporary office.

Sabzeruz To-Do

- Inform the Corps of Thirty
(A note following this entry is written in thin, swooping handwriting.) Will be present. Met General Mahamatra, promised to provide extra security

- Promote event
(A note following this entry is written in stout, rounded handwriting.) have we decided what the festival will include? how do we promote something when we, the organizers, don’t know the shape of it yet?
(This note is succeeded by another in thin, swooping handwriting.) Worry later. Locations and date for now. People will come

- Send invitations to cultural institutions of other nations
(A note following this entry is written in stout, rounded handwriting.) make sure to contact aaru village and the temple of silence. we should take advantage of every chance to strengthen sumeru’s unity.
(This note is succeeded by another in thin, swooping handwriting.) I’m not dealing with Inazuma
(This note is succeeded by another in stout, rounded handwriting.) of course. i will write to the yashiro commission personally.

- Contact possible vendors
(A note following this entry is written in stout, rounded handwriting.) invite desert merchants and those who operate outside the city as well. this is a good opportunity to introduce them to a larger clientbase.

- Find entertainment
(A note following this entry is written in thin, swooping handwriting.) Asked Nilou from Zubayr Theater. News travels fast. Whole Bazaar interested
(This note is succeeded by another in stout, rounded handwriting.) please make sure to vet all potential entertainers and be on the lookout for scammers and thieves.

- Organize parade
(A note following this entry is written in thin, swooping handwriting.) I’ll handle this one on my own
(This note is succeeded by another in stout, rounded handwriting.) if you insist.

“And… done.”

Nahida finishes writing the last entry in her daily planner with a flourish.

(“Do you need to do all that?” the Wanderer had asked her the first time he’d seen her morning ritual. “You’re the Archon. Can’t you just get a servant to remember your appointments for you?”

“I don’t have servants, I have assistants,” Nahida corrected. “And I don’t do it because I need to, but because I want to! Look how pretty the Sumeruan alphabet is” — she lifted her planner to show him, a finger pointing at a particularly elegant word — “with all its swooshes and swirls! It’s such a shame physical writing and books were out of fashion for so long. It’s so fun!”)

She looks over her completed work: first she’s meeting Nilou and Sheikh Zubayr over coffee to discuss showings for the Sabzeruz Festival, and then her morning consists of meetings with Akademiya officials about plans for Jnagarbha Day. Her lunch will be spent with representatives from the Matra and Corps of Thirty to discuss security measures for both events. Her afternoon hasn’t changed much for festival season; holidays or not, Sumeru still needs to be governed, and Nahida knows better than to cast the more mundane tasks aside. She’s having dinner with a few foreign diplomats, as usual, and after that she plans to spend the whole evening working on Sabzeruz tasks alone in the Sanctuary until she passes out.

“What a wonderful and perfectly manageable day!” Nahida says out loud in her empty office, forced optimism oozing from every fiber of her being. This is her life, every day until the Sabzeruz Festival and Jnagarbha Day are over. She can’t afford to break down this early.

“It’s like eating a Sumpter Beast,” she continues under her breath, “just one bite at a time. You can do this, Nahida!”

She gives her cheeks a good slap with both hands to spur herself into action, puts her planner in her desk drawer, and heads down to Puspa Café.

She turns a few heads and earns a few whispers as she strolls through the city unaccompanied, but far less than she would have a year ago. Humans adapt to change remarkably quickly, and Nahida hates being cooped up inside (nothing like a lifetime in a cage to give one a case of claustrophobia!), so it didn’t take long for sightings of the Dendro Archon to go from major life events, to rare but not unheard of occurrences, to relatively benign affairs. Not that people don’t take note — she knows the owners of merchant stalls she pauses by will use her name in advertisements for the rest of time (or until a Matra gets on their case), and she’s heard Akademiya students consider seeing her to be an auspicious sign, a good luck charm for whatever deadline is looming — but some days, she can reach her destination without a single disturbance.

Today is not one of those days.

“Lesser Lord Kusanali!”

Nahida turns to see a woman, panting as though she’s run across the city to reach her — and knowing how some students get, she probably has. This woman doesn’t seem to be a student, though. She’s young, the angles of her face still a bit obscured by remnants of baby fat, and her outfit is not an Akademiya-issued uniform but the athletic style worn by Sumeru’s growing population of artists and performers.

“…yes?” Nahida asks after the woman’s caught her breath. “May I help you?”

The young woman clasps her hand together in supplication, bending practically in half. “O Blessed One of Wisdom, it’s such an honor to finally get the chance to meet you!”

Nahida cringes at the title. She can feel the eyes of the few people occupying the street at this early hour, watching to see how the Dendro Lord responds to those in need. “Please, rise, be at ease.”

“Oh, Lord Kusanali, you’re even kinder than the stories say!” The woman straightens. Nahida can almost see the stars dancing in her eyes. “Is it true? You’re organizing the city’s first official Sabzeruz Festival in years?”

“News certainly doesn’t stay secret for long, does it?” Nahida muses with the faintest of sighs in her voice. At this rate, the whole nation will be whispering about it by this time tomorrow. At least it saves her the trouble of marketing. “Yes, we’re working on putting something together, but our Jnagarbha preparations take precedent —”

“I heard you’re hiring the Zubayr Theater troupe, yes? Oh, I’m such a huge fan of their work,” the woman interrupts, “that I moved here from Vimara Village just a week ago to study under them and — well, they haven’t accepted me into the troupe yet, but it’s only a matter of time, and — I was wondering, do you think you’d need extra dancers for the festival? I’ve been a devout follower of yours since I was a child, you see, Lord Kusanali, and it’s always been my dream to perform during a Sabzeruz Festival, so if you could put in a good word for me I would really really really appreciate it, of course you don’t have to and I understand you’ve got bigger things to worry about, but I’ll pray really extra hard, and —”

Nahida returns the favor by cutting the young woman off. “We’re still in the early stages, but I’ll see what I can do. And please, don’t worry about it — if you work hard and put your mind to it, I’m sure you can find success on your own without any help from me!” She flashes her most encouraging smile and complements it with a double thumbs-up.

“Thank you, Lord Kusanali, thank you!” The woman bows again, once more out of breath. “I won’t forget this kindness!”

Without another word, the aspiring dancer runs clear to the other side of the street and out of view before Nahida can process what, exactly, just happened.

“Who was that?” comes a familiar voice from above. Nahida glances up to see the Wanderer perched on a rooftop, watching her with a smirk.

“I have… no idea,” Nahida realizes. “I never even caught her name.”

The Wanderer lets out a bark of laughter before jumping off the roof and landing on the street beside her with a practiced grace. “The supplicants just flock to you, don’t they? Must be nice.”

“Not really,” Nahida responds, noticing the sarcasm too late. She shakes her head. “I wish I could answer everyone’s prayers, but I’m not a god of miracles. I could ask Mr. Zubayr to let her perform, but even if I knew who she was, I don’t want to step on any toes by telling him how to run his troupe…”

“Then don’t.” The Wanderer shrugs and begins to walk towards the café, leaving Nahida to hurry after him. Curse these short legs. “If you don’t want to do something, just don’t do it. Or, tell Zubayr he has to follow your orders whether he likes it or not.”

Nahida glares up at him. “That’s not very kind.”

“Who cares? It’s your birthday party. You get to call the shots.”

“It’s not —” Nahida frowns, trying to gather her thoughts. They’ve been rather difficult to wrangle recently, buzzing around like an angry swarm of bees. “I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing this for them.”

“Them?”

“All of them.” She spreads her arms in a wide gesture. “The people of Sumeru. The ones who are about the Festival, who have fond memories to revisit and hopes to realize.”

The Wanderer is quiet. When Nahida looks at him, she sees a strange expression on his face, one that doesn’t seem particularly convinced by her words. “So what? That’s not your responsibility.”

“But it is. I’m their god,” she insists.

The Wanderer scoffs at that. Sensing an argument coming on — the topic of godhood and the responsibilities thereof has always been a touchy one for him, and while she’d love to have that conversation and pick his brain about it, right now isn’t the time — Nahida very subtly changes the subject. “Are you joining the Zubayr troupe and me for breakfast this morning?”

“Of course,” he says as though it’s a stupid question. “If you’re going into a negotiation, you need someone who is willing to step on a few toes.”

Nahida smiles a bit at that, nudging the Wanderer lightly. “This isn’t that serious.”

The Wanderer shrugs again, the bells on his clothing jingling with the movement. “You never know when a sharp tongue will come in handy.”

She’s not convinced that Nilou and Sheikh will be so uncooperative — they more or less volunteered to participate in the Sabzeruz festival — but there’s a certain security in knowing the Wanderer will be by her side. Like she’s not going into these preparations alone, at least.

(And she knows she isn’t, knows he offered his help from the beginning, but promises spoken in words only offer so much comfort.)

They traverse the short remaining distance to Puspa Café in a matter of minutes. When they enter the building, Nilou and Sheikh are already sitting at the table Nahida reserved. It’s the most private spot in the house, far from enclosed but still tucked far enough into a corner that few would bother to look twice.

“I’m sorry we kept you waiting,” Nahida says as she slides into the empty booth seat, the Wanderer following close behind. “I got a bit distracted on the way.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all!” Nilou says with her characteristic infectious enthusiasm. “We haven’t even ordered yet, actually.”

As she speaks, the manager herself approaches their table. “Lord Kusanali and associates,” she greets, bowing slightly at each of them in turn, “it’s an honor to be chosen as your meeting spot this morning. May I interest you in some of our house specialties?”

They place their orders without incident: Nilou orders a pastry and a drink that sounds so sugary, even Nahida blanches at the thought; Nahida gets a sweetly spiced latte and some baklava; Wanderer and Mr. Zubayr both order a simple cup of black coffee. (Nahida notes the nod of respect the two of them exchange.)

Once they’ve been served — which doesn’t take long at all, seeing as the Dendro Archon is considered a priority customer, much to Nahida’s chagrin — Nahida clears her throat and gets to business. “Miss Nilou, Mr. Zubayr, thank you for taking the time to meet with me today. If you haven’t made his acquaintance, this” — she throws her arms to the side to present the Wanderer, who looks only a little bit mortified — “is my personal assistant, Hat Guy. He’ll be joining us this morning.”

Nilou smiles, so bright and earnest it’s almost blinding. “Yes! We met when he asked us about the Sabzeruz Festival.” She turns to the man beside her and says quickly, “He was the Vahumana representative in the Interdarshan Championship last year, you know.”

Mr. Zubayr nods, though if he’s particularly impressed by that achievement, he doesn’t show it. “Yes, yes, it’s a pleasure. Now, if you’ll forgive me,” he begins, leaning forward, elbows on the table, “let’s talk business, shall we?”

“Yes, of course.” Nahida pulls out a sheet of parchment paper, unrolling it between the four of them. It’s a contract, detailing the expectations of third parties commissioned to do work for the Akademiya. “The Zubayr Theater would be expected to provide entertainment throughout the day of the festival, culminating in the Dance of Sabzeruz in the evening. You have the creative freedom to do as you please for the other performances, including hiring performers outside of the troupe, so long as you allow the Matra to conduct background checks on all individuals involved and review the planned performances. Is that alright with you?”

Nilou and Sheikh glance at each other, the latter giving a slight nod before turning back to the Dendro Archon and her Sage. “The terms sound reasonable enough. What would our compensation be?”

Nahida taps her chin thoughtfully. “For each performer and crew member, hmm… is eight hundred thousand mora enough?”

The Wanderer nearly chokes on his coffee. Nilou does choke, coughing over her sweet pastry. Zubayr’s jaw has nearly dropped to the ground — he looks a lot like a fish, Nahida thinks in the back of her mind.

“What Lord Kusanali means to say,” the Wanderer interjects after he’s recovered enough to speak, “is that eight hundred is our starting point. For the entire troupe.” He gives Nahida a pointed look out of the corner of his eye.

“Ah, yes, yes!” Sheikh lets out a forced chuckle of relief. “Yes, that — that makes more sense. Your generosity is much appreciated.”

Nahida frowns. That’s not what she had in mind at all, but — well, the Wanderer has spent more time among humans than she has. He likely knows more about the value of goods and services than she does, but, still. “On second thought, since this is such a momentous occasion, I’d like to raise our offer. One million mora for you to distribute equally among your troupe.”

The reaction isn’t quite as pronounced as before, but Zubayr’s eyebrows shoot up nonetheless. “I-I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Lord Kusanali.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. I’ve always enjoyed your troupe’s performances. This is the least I could do.” Nahida can feel the Wanderer’s eyes boring into her head. She ignores him. “If we’re in agreement, could you please sign —”

But she speaks too late, for Zubayr’s already signing the contract, Nilou not far behind him.

And just like that, entertainment for the festival is secured.

Sheikh and Nilou stand, their breakfast finished. “Thank you, Lord Kusanali, Mr. Hat Guy,” Zubayr says, shaking their hands in turn. “We will begin rehearsals today and will keep in contact on our progress.”

“I’m very grateful you agreed. I don’t know how I’d survive a year without one of Nilou’s Dances of Sabzeruz,” Nahida says with a smile.

Nilou holds her hand out for what Nahida assumes will be another handshake, but then the red-haired girl clasps both hands around the Archon’s smaller one. “I’m so so so honored to be a part of the greatest Sabzeruz Festival ever.” Her face is alight with glee. “I’ll do my absolute best not to get too nervous and die of stage fright!”

Nahida blinks. “What?”

But Nilou has already run off, dragging Mr. Zubayr behind her. She glances behind to give Nahida a final wave, which Nahida returns, a bit confused and a bit elated and a bit something else entirely.

“Eight hundred thousand mora? Per person? For one day?” the Wanderer exclaims once they’re out of earshot, throwing his hands in the air incredulously. “Are you trying to put the country in debt?”

“...is it really that much?” Nahida asks somewhat sheepishly. She usually leaves the financial decisions to other people.

“‘Is it really that much?’ she says,” the Wanderer repeats in a mocking tone. “Signora wasn’t exaggerating when she said you gods don’t have the faintest clue about how money works. Apparently ‘wisdom’ doesn’t include financial wisdom.”

“Well, that’s what I have you for, isn’t it?” She elbows him gently as he scoffs. “But really, how much is it?”

“The Grand Sage’s monthly salary is five hundred thousand.”

Nahida feels her mouth open. Now it’s her turn to play the fish. “Oh. That is a bit more than I thought… but I do appreciate their work. What if I wanted to give them that much? As a bonus?”

“Do what you want. It’s no skin off my back if Sumeru goes into debt. But you might want to consider what all your taxpayers would think about you squandering all their hard-earned money like that.” The Wanderer snorts. “And imagine if word got out about how Lesser Lord Kusanali’s just throwing money at anyone who catches her interest. You’d be swarmed with scammers trying to take advantage of that.”

“...oh.”

Nahida falls silent as they exit the café. Sumeru City has woken up in earnest now, the streets far more crowded than they were earlier — not that it matters for the Archon and her assistant, around whom the sea of people parts. Some bow as they pass by while others simply wave, some shout praises and prayers.

Nahida hates all the attention on her, hates how they all look at her with glistening expectation. It’s why she only leaves the Akademiya during dusk, dawn, and the hours in between if she can help it.

“Hat Guy?” she asks once they’ve entered the hallowed halls of the Akademiya where her presence is less of a novelty.

“Hm?”

“What if it doesn’t work out? The Sabzeruz Festival, I mean. So many people are looking forward to it… the people at the Bazaar, Nilou and Mr. Zubayr, even that woman from this morning…” Her fingers play at the hem of her skirt, a nervous habit she hasn’t gotten around to breaking yet. “What if I let them down?”

“Who cares what a bunch of humans think?” The Wanderer shrugs. “If they want to complain, put them in their place. They can put on their own festival next year if their ideas are so great.”

“That’s not…” Nahida sighs. “Never mind. I have a full morning of meetings to get to.”

“Don’t go offering more fortunes without me,” the Wanderer says. Nahida can’t quite tell if he’s being sarcastic or genuinely giving her words of caution, but it doesn’t particularly matter, because in a moment he’s disappeared off to whatever it is he does.

In the silence left by his absence, Nahida takes a breath. In, out. She pinches the bridge of her nose and slaps her face once more.

“Alright, Nahida,” she mutters to herself. “You’ve got this.”

The little bird was lonely in her cage. From her vantage point, she could see the goings-on of the forest, but she was hidden far from sight of the kingdom. Sometimes, she would sing songs for herself, or for the other birds, whom she loved dearly, despite their actions. And sometimes, other birds would hear her.

These birds protested the advisors’ behavior. “Let the princess go free,” they implored, “for surely someone with such a beautiful voice does not deserve to be in a cage.”

But the advisors did not listen. “Not ready.”

The other birds, whom the little princess was beginning to grow rather fond of, were not satisfied with this answer. They tried to bring back the old traditions of commemorating her birth, and they honed their arts in her honor.

The advisors did not like this. They did all they could to discourage the birds from participating. “Such activities are frivolous,” they announced, “and have no relevance to our studies in the tradition of the previous queen.”

Outlawing positive expressions of the birds’ love for their princess seemed to work, for a time. Some were scared of retribution and stopped altogether; others continued their traditions, albeit more quietly and with less public support.

But even then, faith does not die so easily.

A map of Sumeru City covers every inch of the desk in the General Mahamatra’s office. Its edges are well-worn with use, its surface marked by notes written in an efficient hand. Currently, it is the object of much scrutiny from Cyno, the Dendro Archon, and her Second Sage.

“These are all problem spots,” Cyno’s saying, fingers sweeping the map. “We’ve already got added security throughout the whole city for Jnagarbha season, so we’re lacking the manpower to adequately secure the Grand Bazaar and Treasures Street for Sabzeruz without relaxing the guard in other areas, like the Akademiya and the Bimarstan area.”

The Wanderer nods, chin in his hand pensively. At least he seems to know what he’s doing. Nahida, on the other hand, feels wildly out of her depth.

The Sabzeruz Festival is in five days. That’s five days in which to finalize plans, promote the festivities, and actually put on the event without a hitch. All while also putting time into preparations for the other rapidly-approaching holiday and continuing to govern the country.

It had been going well — remarkably well, in fact — until the practicalities of security were brought up by the General Mahamatra. Despite his willingness to help Nahida make the Sabzeruz Festival a success, there’s only so much he can do about manpower shortages and the less-than-ideal defensibility of the city itself. He’d asked Nahida for her input, and while she’s happy to help, she doesn’t know how she should advise someone who’s far more knowledgeable about every factor involved in the planning. She’s in the dark on ideal security measures, and she’s less familiar than Cyno is with even the layout of the city, regardless of her past forays into the bodies of her subjects to explore.

She is trying with all her might to play close attention to the security specifics being discussed by Cyno and the Wanderer, she truly is, but her mind keeps wandering from the risks of terrorist activity (unlikely, thanks to the strides made in the past year to reunite the peoples of the rainforest and desert, but still a risk), to the recent petition to improve infrastructure in rural villages, to the promotional work she still needs to do, to the travel arrangements for foreign delegations, to the research projects she needs to review and the prizes she needs to award for Jnagarbha Day, to the loose floorboard outside Cyno’s office that squeaks whenever someone walks past, to —

“Lesser Lord Kusanali?”

Cyno’s concerned tone snaps Nahida out of her increasingly-frenetic musings. The Mahamatra and Hat Guy are staring expectantly at her. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if you thought this arrangement would be suitable.” Cyno gestures a hand at the map, which has gained several new markings over the course of the meeting. “The celebrations will be largely contained and the rest of the city should be fairly well-defended, so we’re thinking of recruiting a few highly-skilled Vision holders to discourage any would-be troublemakers. Present company included, of course.”

“Um…” Nahida places her palms on the table and leans over to get a closer look before responding sheepishly, “Yes, it seems fine to me. If you two think so.”

Cyno nods. “There’s always the risk of pickpockets and thieves in crowded areas, but we’re hoping large-scale disruptions will be prevented with the amount of security we’ve already got.”

“If you’re confident, then I am, too. I leave it in your capable hands, Cyno.” Nahida glances at the Wanderer, but he doesn’t add anything, instead opting to stare at Nahida with a scrutinizing gaze that makes her feel a bit like a first-year Amurta student’s homework.

“Thank you, Lord Kusanali.” Cyno gives her a quick bow of the head before rolling up the map and clearing his office. “If there’s anything else you need help with, please, let me know.”

“I will.” The grateful smile Nahida offers him before sliding off the chair and into the hallway is more genuine than many of her expressions nowadays; ever since the attempted coup by the Grand Sage a year ago, he’s been one of her most trustworthy and reliable companions.

Nonetheless, she finds her body doesn’t fully relax until she and the Wanderer have walked out of sight of the Mahamatra’s office and into the more private regions of the Akademiya, off-limits to all but the highest-ranking officials. Friend though he may be, Cyno is still one of her subjects, and a mortal one at that; there will always be an impassable distance of five centuries between the god and all her people, no matter how closely Nahida values them. Humans place their faith in gods — who is she to shatter that by giving them her burdens?

“Hate military operations that much, huh?” the Wanderer says, clearly having noticed her change in demeanor. “You’ve wilted.”

Despite his words, Nahida’s spirits do flutter a bit upon receiving the reminder that she does, at least, have someone who’s just as old as she is — well, almost — by her side. “It’s interesting,” she protests, “but it’s really not my area of expertise. I can’t say I understand why Cyno wanted my aid, when yours would have been more than enough.”

The Wanderer snorts. “Because you’re the Archon? Obviously everyone wants your stamp of approval.”

“Why, though? Shouldn’t it be enough that the General Mahamatra came up with the plan?” She worries the end of her ponytail. “He earned that title. I was born into mine. There’s a big difference.”

“Hm,” is all the Wanderer gives in response.

Nahida feels the simmering tension in the air between them — why it’s there, she doesn’t know — so she’s grateful when they reach the doors to the Sanctuary of Surasthana in short order. The evening light shines through the windows and plays along the colored glass. It may have been her prison for five hundred years, but Nahida can’t help but marvel at the beauty human hands are capable of every time she sees it.

“Well, Hat Guy, thank you for your hard work today. Get a good night’s rest and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Nahida says, knowing full well that neither of them are going to sleep — the Wanderer because he pathologically avoids the activity, even for pleasure; and Nahida because she has too many things to do to waste a single hour.

The Wanderer seems to pick up on this bit of irony, for he smirks before waving and turning on his heel to go wherever it is he spends his evenings.

Nahida, on the other hand, enters the Sanctuary and prepares for a long night of paperwork.

The advisors had taken all the little bird’s power, but it was still not enough to satisfy them. So when a monster clad in fox fur from the icy kingdom to the north offered them a bargain, they couldn’t refuse.

They had all the confidence in the world that things would go according to plan. After all, no one bothered to remember the little princess anymore. If she was deposed, replaced with someone new, someone better, would anyone even raise a fuss? The advisors certainly didn’t think so.

The advisors, of course, were wrong.

For in the forest there still remained those who were loyal to the little bird, those who had heard her singing in times of great distress. There were those who did not know the princess, but who loved her forest all the same, and could not sit idly by while their homeland was ruined by corrupt rulers.

(There were those with more selfish reasons for their loyalty, as well, but their motives mattered less than their actions. The little bird valued them all equally.)

These brave few came from all walks of life: some were members of the advisors’ government, witness to their misrule firsthand; some were ordinary citizens, tired of oppression. Some were natives of the forest, while others hailed from the golden sands on the fringes of the empire the little bird had inherited from her predecessor. One, the most unexpected of all, was but a glowing fragment of starlight, a traveler from faraway lands that even the princess, with all her accumulated knowledge, had never even heard of.

Despite their differences, all were devoted to saving the princess.

It was not an easy task, and the little bird was sorry to put her new friends (her first friends) through such tribulations. She began to suffer under the weight of self-doubt. Did these brave few represent the people, or were they but a minority in a kingdom that saw the princess the same way the advisors did — weak, useless, unnecessary? Was she worthy of the sacrifices they were making — had already made — for her sake? If she did claim her rightful throne, would she even be a better leader than the advisor-regents?

Alone in her cage, the little bird succumbed to the darkness.

A sheet of notebook paper, pinned to the wall in Lesser Lord Kusanali’s temporary office. New additions have been hastily scribbled since your last visit.

Sabzeruz To-Do

- Inform the Corps of Thirty
(A note following this entry and the previous notes is written in stout, rounded handwriting.) security plans have been settled. help cyno where possible. people who may be able to assist: dehya, tighnari, traveler.
(This note is succeeded by another in thin, swooping handwriting.) Mahamatra’s got it covered

- Promote event
(A note following this entry and the previous notes is written in stout, rounded handwriting, and a childishly-drawn image in the same ink.) here’s my draft for the poster. what do you think?
(This note is succeeded by another in thin, swooping handwriting.) I think I’ll commission an artist

- Send invitations to cultural institutions of other nations
(A note following this entry and the previous notes is written in thin, swooping handwriting.) Desert reps will be present. Pyro Archon sends regards but cannot attend. Liyuean, Fontainian, and Mondstadtian embassies to participate. No response from Snezhnaya
(This note is succeeded by another in stout, rounded handwriting.) the yashiro commission sends their condolences that they are unable to attend the festival but sent along a few congratulatory gifts. they might be of interest to you.
(This note is succeeded by another in thin, swooping handwriting.) Keep them

- Contact possible vendors
(A note following this entry and the previous notes is written in stout, rounded handwriting.) many enthusiastic responses. may need to turn some down for lack of space. final review necessary

- Find entertainment
(A note following this entry and the previous notes is written in thin, swooping handwriting.) Rehearsals apparently going smoothly. Ready for final review

- Organize parade
(A note following this entry and the previous notes is written in thin, swooping handwriting.) Working on it
(This note is succeeded by another in stout, rounded handwriting.) are you sure you don’t want any help?

Technically, gods don’t need to sleep, so technically, the fact Nahida hasn’t rested in some fifty hours is absolutely fine and nothing to be concerned about.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, really. This is the city of scholars — dozens, if not hundreds, of other people are doing exactly what she’s doing now. Working oneself to exhaustion before a deadline is a cultural staple of Sumeru.

(Never mind the efforts Nahida herself has made in an attempt to do away with this unhealthy habit of her people.)

The Sabzeruz Festival is tomorrow. She can rest after she’s made sure everything’s gone perfectly according to plan.

(She knows this is a lie.)

She pulls herself away from her desk as the first rays of sunrise pierce through her temporary office’s window, illuminating the dust motes that float into the air as she grabs her notes from her desk. Being the God of Wisdom and all, she doesn’t particularly need to write down all her thoughts with pen and paper, but — like with her old-fashioned planner — she enjoys the way the letters feel under her fingers.

This does mean that she’s often overburdened by stacks of binders and notebooks heavier than she is, but she usually can recruit some help in that department —

And speak of the devil, the Wanderer is waiting for her outside the office door, leaning against the wall with arms crossed and foot propped up.

“Good morning, Hat Guy,” Nahida says, affecting a cheerful expression and not doing a very good job of it.

“Morning,” he responds in monotone, which is an improvement, as far as Nahida is concerned — he used to ignore her greetings altogether.

“Are you ready to go review some performances?” Although she feels a bit like she might fall over on the way to the theater, she is genuinely excited for the morning’s work. It’ll be a nice departure from days spent in conference rooms and nights hunched over a desk.

Despite his reluctance to show it, she knows the Wanderer is looking forward to it, too — as much as he does look forward to things, anyhow. He’s always had a soft spot for the arts. Maybe she can convince him to perform an Inazuman sword dance at some future cultural festival…

“Nahida?”

The little Archon blinks herself back to reality to find the Wanderer leaning over her with a look of almost-concern on his face. She must’ve zoned out harder than she realized.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was just thinking.” She shakes her head to clear it of the fog (it doesn’t work). “Were you saying something?”

The Wanderer straightens, though there’s a glint in his eyes and an edge to his mouth that make Nahida feel as though he’s trying to steal her powers to read minds. “Nothing important.” He jerks his head towards the end of the hallway. “We should get going.”

The clouds gather in the time it takes them to reach the streets outside. The seasons are turning, and though Sumeru stays roughly the same temperature year-round, there’s a slight chill in the air that always appears around this time. It’s not as cold as Snezhnaya or Dragonspine, by any means, but the change is enough to prompt the residents of the city to keep their windows closed for the season. The sky is often overcast, sometimes opening up to rain down cold pellets; harvests are less bountiful as the plants conserve their energy in the reduced sunlight.

It’s a silly notion, she knows, but Nahida can’t help but feel as if her birth was some bad omen, its anniversary marked by gloom and musk.

She shivers in the cool early-morning air. The Wanderer glances down at her briefly before returning his gaze forwards, leaving his comments to a simple “You’ll have to start putting on extra layers before you leave.”

They arrive at a mostly-empty Grand Bazaar, where they’re greeted warmly by Mr. Zubayr and his troupe members. They’re guided to a pair of seats that have been set up for the occasion, front and center, before the performers rush backstage, giggling and whispering in hushed tones.

Nahida lets the Wanderer do most of the talking, for the heightened activity around her has only thickened the haze of sleep deprivation. The colors of the performers’ costumes blur past her vision; their voices hum against her ears, words never quite making it past her skull to her brain.

Huh. Maybe goddesses do need to rest.

The performers begin their final rehearsal. The troupe has really outdone themselves this time, especially considering the limited time frame — the choreography is intricate and fluid, the costumes higher quality than even the best from their previous shows (the ones Nahida’s managed to catch, anyway). Nahida’s done her best to alleviate the stigma in Sumeruan society against the arts, but watching this convinces her that the Akademiya ought to go a step further and sponsor troupes more often. She makes a quick note of that, hoping it won’t get lost among the dozens of scribbles taking up the page.

As beautiful as the performances are, though, Nahida can’t keep her mind from wandering to that meeting she has this afternoon, or the correspondence she needs to read and reply to before the courier services close for the holiday, or the mountainous load of final checks she has to complete before sunrise.

She doesn’t realize her stress is so visible until Zubayr pauses the rehearsal and approaches them cautiously. “Is there something not to your liking?” he asks, wringing his hands as though nervous she’ll smite him on the spot.

“Hm?” Nahida blinks, finally noticing that she’s chewed what’s left of her thumb nail to the quick. She takes a moment to breathe in and out, relaxing the muscles in her face so that her brow isn’t quite so scrunched together. “Oh, no, everything’s wonderful. Let your performers know they’re doing a fantastic job.”

Zubayr gives her a relieved smile before hurrying back.

Nahida feels a pair of eyes boring into her — she glances up at the Wanderer, whose indigo eyes are staring at her with an intensity that makes her squirm. “Spacing out again?”

Nahida forces a laugh. “I suppose so.”

The final performance of the rehearsal is, of course, Nilou’s Dance of Sabzeruz. Nahida takes a breath, readying herself for it — this is not an experience she wants to ruin for herself by dozing off in the middle — only to be surprised when Nilou walks sheepishly onto the stage, hands clasped behind her back.

“Um, if it’s alright,” the dancer begins, “I was hoping this would be a surprise for Lord Kusanali tomorrow. So, um…”

Nahida’s brain is, ironically for her title, slow to comprehend, but fortunately the Wanderer is quicker on the uptake. “Fine,” he shrugs. He nudges Nahida with his elbow. “Go. I’ll catch up with you.”

“Oh. Yes, I’ll just — I’ll be just outside, then.” Nahida slips out of her seat, feeling a bit awkward as she makes her way alone to the Bazaar’s exit, knowing everyone’s eyes must be on her, waiting for her to leave before they can finish the review.

Nahida understands Nilou’s wishes, but — well, she had really been looking forward to that performance, and she’s so worried something will go wrong tomorrow before she gets to see it, and even if everything is fine who knows if she’ll have time to watch with all her responsibilities —

“Ready to go?”

Nahida nearly jumps out of her skin. She glances back to meet the familiar gaze of her Second Sage. “Oh, it’s just you. You startled me.” She places a steadying hand on her chest with an attempt at a laugh that ends up sounding breathless and hollow, even to her ears.

There’s that look again — the furrowed brows and pursed lips that Nahida would mistake for concern if she didn’t know the Wanderer better than that. He’s quiet for a moment, during which Nahida can practically see the indecision behind his stormy eyes. He seems to make up his mind, beginning to walk back to the Akademiya and saying simply, “I gave them your notes, even though there wasn’t much to them. They seemed happy they wouldn’t have to change anything.”

Nahida has to break into a jog to catch up with him — seriously, his legs aren’t that much longer than hers, is he cheating with Anemo somehow? — even as guilt weighs her body down. “I’m sorry for not writing down more,” she apologizes earnestly. The troupe members put in so much work for her, and she couldn’t even be bothered to pay full attention during their showing. Some leader she is. “I’ve just been… tired, is all.”

The Wanderer just snorts. “Tell me about it.”

That comment just serves as yet another blow to Nahida’s confidence. Of course the Wanderer is struggling, too. How much work has she delegated to him? Things she could be doing herself? If she’s a full god and is this exhausted, she can only imagine how he feels right now. And he’s got his own life outside of running errands for her. Has he fallen behind in his studies? She’s sure she could get him a pardon from the professors, but whether he’d be willing to accept her help is a different story entirely… To think, she was the one who pushed him into joining Vahumana, and now she’s impeding his progress.

She barely even notices that they’ve reached the Akademiya until they’re in her temporary office itself. By Celestia, she needs to stop spacing out so much. She’s spending too much time in her own head, even for the God of Wisdom.

“Thank you for your help, as always,” Nahida says, turning to the Wanderer. “Keep up the good work. We’ll regroup this evening.”

This is the part where the Wanderer makes a snide comment and flies from her office to his relative freedom elsewhere. Except he doesn’t. To Nahida’s surprise, he closes the door and locks it, trapping them both inside with no chance of interference.

(Trapped, trapped, her mind sings. Little bird, your cage may have gotten bigger, but it is still a cage.)

“Hat Guy…?” Nahida hazards.

“Alright, cut the shit,” he says, his tone sharp. Anyone other than Nahida might think it par for the course, but the Archon’s heard enough halfhearted attempts at cruelty to know he’s not joking around. “What is wrong with you?”

Nahida’s mouth falls open in shock, leaving her gaping like a fish out of water. “I beg your pardon?”

“What, you think I wouldn’t notice how weird you’ve been acting lately?” he snaps, crossing his arms. “You look like you’re going to pass out, you can’t hold a conversation for five minutes without forgetting where you are, and you’re otherwise acting like a nervous wreck. So, I repeat: what is wrong with you?”

“I’m — I told you, I’m just tired,” Nahida protests, though her voice sounds weak and small after the Wanderer’s harsh criticisms. Her mind unhelpfully supplies the voices of the previous Grand Sage.

“Lesser Lord Kusanali… what can she even do?”

“Is that truly what true wisdom is supposed to look like?”

“And I’m not buying that. If you’re so tired, why don’t you just give more work to me? Or the dozens of other people more than willing to do your bidding?” Nahida can see the Wanderer’s fingers tightening around his arms, fingernails digging into the fabric of his clothes. “I’ve been stuck with you for the past year. I’ve seen you tired before. This is something different.”

“It’s none of your concern —”

“Oh, don’t you dare,” the Wanderer growls. “How many times have I said that to you, only for you to butt into my business anyway?” His voice softens, almost imperceptibly. “Does it have to do with this festival we’ve been working on?”

Something in Nahida’s face must betray her, for he sighs. “That’s it, then. Alright, spit it out. We need to deal with it in the next, oh…” His eyes flicker to the Fontainian import clock on the wall. “Fifteen hours.”

Nahida shakes her head. “It’s not — it’s — I don’t think it’s anything I can fix.”

“After I went through all the effort of saying ‘we.’” The Wanderer rolls his eyes. “Look, preparations on my end are basically finished. I have time to pick up your slack.”

“That’s not it,” Nahida says quietly. Her vision blurs.

“Then what is?” The Wanderer’s voice is drenched in exasperation. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was the one who got this whole project in your head in the first place. I would like for it not to be a dismal failure if I can help it. So get your head out of your —”

His tirade ends abruptly, which shocks Nahida until she realizes why. She feels the fat, warm tears rolling down her cheeks, dripping onto the floor. She sniffles.

The Wanderer’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. Through her tears, Nahida wonders — that’s not an expression she sees very often on him. The surprise is familiar, but there’s something else to the curve of his mouth, the slight parting of his lips, something like panic. She takes a picture of it to store away in her mind for another day’s contemplation.

“Do you think I want everything to go horribly wrong? That you’re the only one who cares?” Her voice starts out low and wavering, but grows in pitch as she continues, “As if it’s not my reputation on the line here, my status as Archon and rightful ruler of Sumeru hanging in the balance?”

The Wanderer recovers himself enough to say, “It’s just a festival —”

“It’s a festival about me, as if I’m anything worth celebrating!” Nahida cries. “Maybe I’m the Archon, but what have I done to deserve that title?”

“Are you forgetting how mortals look at you?” the Wanderer scoffs. “How they speak to you? They practically worship the ground you walk on.”

“Why? Because I’m a god? Because Celestia decreed it so?” Nahida’s hands ball into fists at her sides. “They look at me like I’m their savior. They speak to me like I can answer all their prayers. They worship the God of Wisdom that exists in their minds. And no matter how hard I try, I’m wise enough to know that I will never be that.”

Her chest heaves like she’s just run up the winding platforms to the Akademiya, her eyes sting with tears clamoring to fall. She can barely see the Wanderer’s face through them, but she makes out enough to see the line of his mouth harden.

“At least you get the chance to try.”

He whirls out of the office, slamming the door behind him and leaving Nahida to finish crying alone.

(Like always.)

All was not lost, though, for the little bird’s friends refused to abandon her. With the help of the starlight from far beyond the forest, the little bird defeated the puppet leader the advisors had tried to replace her with. Their crimes exposed to the public, the advisors hung their heads in shame and gave their power to its rightful owner, the princess.

But even though they’d taken so much from her, the little princess was not cruel. She sought out the puppet leader, who was in truth but a small cat, and offered it a second chance.

Her new friends warned the little bird that the cat was her natural enemy and would cause no end of trouble for her. But the little bird understood what it was like to be deemed weak and useless, to have your power stolen from you, and so she did not take their advice.

Few were as shocked as the small cat himself, who had been so long without kindness, he’d forgotten what it was. The cat did not see the little bird’s mercy for what it was, and so for a long time, he was distrustful of it.

But as her friends didn’t abandon her in her darkest hour, so too did the little bird lead the small cat back into the light. The two of them had forged a strong, if unlikely, bond, and the small cat pledged himself to the court of the little princess, forevermore — or at least until the winds of time blew them their separate ways.

Nahida only lets herself cry for five minutes. She has too many things to do, even if it feels a little bit like her world is falling to pieces around her.

(They were doing so well. So well. And now she’s gone and blown it all open again. So much for a year’s progress.)

There’s no time to dwell on what the Wanderer said, or how she feels about it for that matter, though. She needs to make sure everything’s in order for tomorrow. Fortunately, the day is still young.

She’s not sure she wants to leave her office and face the public right now, so instead she pulls out the rough map she’s sketched of Treasures Street, where the parade is set to go past and where merchants will be selling festival-themed goods. She spends a few minutes looking it over, double- and triple-checking that the assigned locations are all in order and all the background checks have been completed, before signing her name at the bottom in approval. The work goes surprisingly well, considering the state she’s been in today. Miraculously, her emotional outburst has left her feeling almost refreshed, though the shame puts a damper on it all.

Since her usual courier is… unavailable at the moment, Nahida opts to take the paperwork to the Vizier herself. A walk would do her some good, she thinks. Clear her head.

She’s immediately accosted upon exiting the Akademiya by a fair number of students, citizens, and reporters alike.

“Lesser Lord Kusanali! I’m a correspondent for the Steambird. This is the first Sabzeruz Festival to be held after you took control. Do you have any thoughts you’d like to share with the public?” asks a man dressed in Fontanian attire. He sticks a Kamera in her face, the flash nearly blinding her.

“Um, well — ”

“Lord Kusanali, my son wants to study at the Akademiya,” cuts in a woman Nahida can’t even see over the heads of the others. “Could you please give him your blessing?”

“I don’t —”

“Our crops are failing!” yells an older man, red in the face from anger. “Dendro Archon, why haven’t you done anything?”

The crowd pushes in closer, forcing Nahida to take a step back. “Please, just —”

“That’s enough,” calls a familiar voice as a blast of cool Anemo rushes through the assembled people. Uncharacteristically, it isn’t strong enough to do any real damage, only startle and tousle hair.

The Wanderer floats a few inches off the ground, one hand stretched protectively in front of Nahida and the other holding a swirling, intimidating ball of condensed Anemo energy. “The Dendro Archon is busy. Get lost.”

Nahida recovers herself enough to poke her head around his body and add, “If you have urgent business, or any business at all, please make an appointment through the proper authorities!”

Her cheery tone doesn’t seem to make much difference in the face of the Wanderer’s biting words — based on the expressions of the crowd, she can very well imagine what kind of face he’s making and it’s not one people generally enjoy being on the receiving end of — but they disperse all the same, the reporter snapping one more quick photo before scurrying off.

“Hat Guy,” Nahida breathes once the plaza has returned to some semblance of normalcy, “I’m sorry about before, I didn’t mean it — or, well, I did mean it, but not in the way I think you thought I meant it —”

She interrupts her own words with a yelp as the Wanderer scoops her into his arms. She clings to the fabric of his shirt for dear life as he levitates higher until they’re above any obstacles and then, without warning, speeds towards the northeast.

“What are you doing?” she asks, alarmed. Wind tickles her toes as they rush past the blurred rooftops of the city.

“Getting you out of here,” he says, as if it’s obvious. He glances down at her and must see he hasn’t answered her question satisfactorily, so he sighs and adds, “Whatever’s going on, I don’t think being surrounded on all sides by people is going to help. I know a spot. Now be quiet and hold on.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“I said be quiet.”

“But I have papers to deliver,” Nahida protests, letting go of the Wanderer long enough to pat the rolled-up maps where they rest in the folds of her dress. She doesn’t miss how he squeezes her closer to his chest, as though falling could hurt her in any meaningful way.

The Wanderer gives her an exasperated — and Nahida thinks exaggerated — sigh. “I’ll take care of that later.”

They alight among towering stalks of leaves. Despite it being early afternoon, the sky is tinged pink, a small number of streetlights emitting a welcoming glow.

Nahida knows where they are well — Vanarana, home of the Aranara. It’s not a place one just stumbles upon. She’s curious, so she asks upfront. “How did you find this place?”

The Wanderer shrugs, eyes glancing toward the massive plants. “Luck, I guess. It’s quiet. A good spot to escape to when those humans are pestering me.”

Nahida knows he’s not telling the truth, for Vanarana can only be found by those the forest spirits love, and not just anyone is allowed to see its true state, but she’ll let him have this secret.

(The Aranara will probably tell her without her probing anyway.)

She won’t give him the same mercy for the latter statement. “‘Pestering?’ I was under the impression you enjoyed their attention.”

The Wanderer’s face turns a shade of pink so light anyone but Nahida would fail to notice. “Wha —” He shoves her, but it’s a light, playful thing with no malice behind it. “No, of course not. The last thing I want is to be followed around by a bunch of idiots trying to get me to do their homework for them.”

Nahida taps her chin thoughtfully. “Even the courier from the desert?”

“Especially him.”

Nahida suppresses a giggle. She wonders if his opinion would change if he knew Sethos’ true identity — though she knows it’s unlikely, considering the Wanderer’s general disdain for authority figures.

“If you’re feeling so much better, you can go back to the city,” the Wanderer grumbles from under the cover of his hat.

Nahida is feeling a bit better — teasing the Wanderer never fails to lighten her mood, for his pout, calling to mind the image of a grumpy, bedraggled cat, always brings a smile — but the thought of returning to her desk in the Akademiya sends a shudder of dread through her body. “You never answered my question.”

The Wanderer’s already begun walking towards a small patch of Viparya flowers. He pauses. “What question?”

“You know what question.” Nahida fiddles with the hem of her dress. “About earlier. I thought you’d, be, well…”

“What, you want me to throw a tantrum?” He scoffs. “As if I’d hold a grudge over something like that.”

Nahida thinks a few restless spirits in Inazuma might attest otherwise, but the Wanderer’s words leave her assured, albeit confused. “You just seemed…” She sighs. “I’m sorry for how I acted. A leader should always consider their words carefully.”

“Not this again,” the Wanderer grumbles. In a swift, graceful motion, he sits cross-legged among the Viparyas. “I was…” He makes a strangled noise, waving a hand.

Nahida stifles a grin as she joins him in the grass. It’s rare that she gets to see her Second Sage stumble over his words like this. “You were…?” she prompts.

“I overreacted, okay?” he snaps. He pulls a Viparya out of the ground with a bit more force than was probably necessary. “I thought about it, and I realized that when I was young and naïve and stupid, I acted kind of like you.”

“Are you calling me stupid?” Nahida says teasingly as she plucks a few flowers and begins twisting their stems together. This sort of self-reflection is unlike the Wanderer. It reminds Nahida of their early days together, when she spent hours observing him, picking apart his every action to find out what made him tick. He hadn’t been fond of her probing questions then, but it seems he thought more deeply about them than she thought.

He snorts. “Yes. You’re surrounded by people who adore you, but instead of accepting that adoration, you keep questioning it. That’s stupid. Who cares if you think you deserve it? All that matters is that you have their approval.”

“You know it’s more than that,” Nahida insists. “I haven’t actually done anything. I don’t even remember any of the great feats attributed to my name. The Dendro Lord of the Archon War may as well be a different person.”

She twists a flower stem too far and it breaks, leaking sticky residue onto her fingers. She sighs.

“You defended Sumeru from a Fatui invasion. Did a better job of it than Her Excellency of Sitting on Her Ass did over in Inazuma, I might add.”

Nahida shoves him lightly with a grin. “What was that about grudges?”

“And you actually bother to govern, which is more than some can say,” the Wanderer continues, pointedly ignoring her comment. “And there was whatever you and the Traveler ran off into the desert to do.”

Nahida’s hands pause in their movement. “How did you know about that?” She never told anyone about Apep, and the Traveler’s the silent type… did Paimon go around sharing her secrets?

“What, you mean the massive uptick in elemental energy on the same day you go missing from the Akademiya?” The Wanderer raises an eyebrow at her before he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the stalk of a plant, lowering his hat over his eyes. “Anyone this side of Teyvat with any Dendro affinity at all would’ve noticed that. What was up with that, anyway? Had me thinking you’d exploded or something.”

She lets out a breath of relief — at least Paimon isn’t blabbering state secrets all over the country. The Wanderer is definitely exaggerating; few humans are so finely-tuned to the elements that they’d sense her confrontation with Apep from hundreds of miles away. It’s more likely a holdover from his time with the Dendro — her — Gnosis.

“Oh, just…” She fumbles over her words, trying to pick the right ones. “We were dealing with the, um… the Dendro Dragon. That energy burst you felt was probably our attempt to purify it.”

The Wanderer tries to conceal his shock, but that doesn’t keep his hat from nearly sliding off his head as he sits up abruptly. “You fought a Sovereign? And didn’t bother to tell me? Gods damn it, you really could’ve died.”

Nahida shrugs sheepishly. “I didn’t, but only thanks to the sacrifice of some friends…” And there it is again: everything she does, every accomplishment, on the back of someone else’s suffering. “Anyway, it’s all in the past now.”

The Wanderer scoffs as he readjusts his hat. “Alright, I don’t want to hear any more complaining from you. You nearly died; the least people can do is throw a birthday party for you. Besides, I’m pretty sure they’re going to, whether you want it or not.”

Nahida opens her mouth to protest, but the look on his face shuts it quickly. His eyes are downcast, cloudy and contemplative in a way he rarely lets her see, a crease in his brow and a firmness in his lips. She wonders if he’s thinking of a forge in the mountains of Inazuma, of a sacrifice tainted by betrayal and never once acknowledged.

She wonders if he’s thinking of a young boy he wasn’t able to save, if history repeats itself in his memory.

She wonders how many decades worth of walls he had to break down to even consider bringing her here, to her element, to tell her in his own way that he’s worried about her.

She wonders when they went from jailer and prisoner, scientist and experiment, leader and subordinate, to — well, whatever it is one would call this.

Safe, her mind supplies. Understood.

Or better yet, nothing at all. She’s tired of having to define things with words; what a limited thing for one made of dreams.

And so she opts for action instead, lunging for the Wanderer and casting his hat aside.

“What —” he begins to exclaim, pushing her off — but not before she manages to crown him with her newly-finished wreath of flowers. It hangs lopsided, not quite the right size for his head, but the cool tones of the flowers complement his stormy eyes well.

Nahida claps her hands in delight. “You look dashing, my Knight of Flowers.”

“I am not going to be part of any of your parades,” he grumbles. He doesn’t take the flower crown off, though. Small victories.

“You won’t?” Nahida fakes a frown. “The children will be so disappointed. Who will give them candy now?”

“Didn’t we already hire someone for that role?”

Nahida just shrugs. She plucks a few more flowers from the clearing and begins a second string of flowers, this one for herself.

(And if she happens to doze off, flowers forgotten on her lap, body leaned against the Wanderer’s side — well, only the forest would know.)

A sheet of notebook paper, pinned to the wall in Lesser Lord Kusanali’s temporary office. It has been updated since your last visit.

Sabzeruz To-Do

- Inform the Corps of Thirty
(A note following this entry and the previous notes is written in thin, swooping handwriting.) All personnel are briefed and ready to go
(This note is succeeded by another in stout, rounded handwriting.) so glad to hear it! thank you for all your hard work — i hope you guys have time to enjoy the festival.

- Promote event
(A note following this entry and the previous notes is written in thin, swooping handwriting.) Word-of-mouth worked better than expected. Whole city talking about it
(This note is succeeded by another in stout, rounded handwriting.) i hope this translates to many successes for the artists and merchants who are participating!

- Send invitations to cultural institutions of other nations
(A note following this entry and the previous notes is written in stout, rounded handwriting.) all embassies and delegations have been sent itineraries and lodging has been arranged. look forward to many polite greetings and handshakes.
(This note is succeeded by another in thin, swooping handwriting.) That is not my problem

- Contact possible vendors
(A note following this entry and the previous notes is written in thin, swooping handwriting.) Got the paperwork to the Vizier

- Find entertainment
(A note following this entry and the previous notes is written in stout, rounded handwriting.) i can’t wait to see nilou perform!

- Organize parade
(A note following this entry and the previous notes is written in thin, swooping handwriting.) Parade is ready
(This note is succeeded by another in stout, rounded handwriting.) do i need to prepare anything for it?
(This note is succeeded by another in thin, swooping handwriting.) No. Just show up

Nahida’s birthday begins with a radiant sunrise over Sumeru City, bathing the buildings in a warm pink glow. There’s nary a cloud in the sky, and the only wind is a gentle breeze that flutters through her bangs when she exits the Sanctuary.

Hello, Barbatos. Maybe next year she’ll go as far as inviting the other Archons to the festival — she doesn’t know them at all, but she’ll have to start somewhere.

(She’s heard from the Traveler that the Anemo Archon has a penchant for hiding among his people in human disguise, so who knows — maybe he really is here, blowing away any storms that might ruin her day.

Probably not. It’s far more likely just a coincidence, and besides, she already has an Anemo godling of her own to keep foul weather at bay.)

The sight of the streets, bedecked in garlands of flowers of every color under the sun, does little to lessen the weight of worry bogging her down.

The appearance of the Wanderer, on the other hand, does help. Just a bit.

“Happy Sabzeruz,” she greets.

He nods in acknowledgement. “Happy Sabzeruz.”

“So what’s first on our agenda?” Nahida asks. She’s uncharacteristically empty-handed today, having been encouraged by practically all her friends and staff to simply enjoy the day without worrying about work. She can’t promise not to worry, but she can at least leave the paperwork in the office.

The Wanderer’s eyes drift to Treasures Street. From their vantage point, they can see the hustle and bustle of the parade preparations in full swing. “That.”

“Are you going to be in the parade?” Nahida nudges the Wanderer playfully. To her disappointment, he doesn’t budge.

“No,” he says with a scoff. “I’m running security. You’re the one who’s in the parade.”

Nahida’s eyes widen at that. “Wait, really?”

“Obviously? Isn’t that the whole point?”

“Well…” Nahida reaches her fingers to where her ponytail usually is in order to fidget with the end of her hair, only to come up empty. Right, she’d done it up in an elaborate braided… thing for the occasion. She settles for the hem of her skirt instead. “I guess so. The flower carriage is supposed to be where Lord Kusanali sits, but… I’ve never actually gotten to celebrate a Sabzeruz Festival in person before.”

“First time for everything,” is all the Wanderer says before reaching out a hand. Nahida must look puzzled, because he adds, “Well? Or do you want to take the long way down?”

Nahida giggles as she accepts his hand. After a running start, the Wanderer launches them both off the ledge, free-falling for just a moment before a burst of Anemo softens their landing right in the center of the hubbub.

“I’d better get going,” the Wanderer says with a quick salute before disappearing into the throng of people.

Before Nahida can get too overwhelmed, a familiar voice squeaks out at a higher decibel than the crowd’s noise. “Nahida!”

The Archon turns around to see a certain blonde-haired Traveler and their floating companion pushing towards her. Nahida can’t help smiling at the sight of them. “Traveler, Paimon. I’m so happy you could make it!”

“Of course, we wouldn’t miss it for the world!” says Paimon, at the same time as the Traveler answers in their strangely-accented voice, “We couldn’t leave the princess without her knight.”

Nahida stares, eyes darting between the two of them, then to the flower-bedecked cap in the Traveler’s hands. “You mean…”

The Traveler nods as Paimon exclaims, “Yep! Are you surprised? We wanted to keep it a secret!”

Nahida laughs. “Today’s been full of surprises, and it’s only just begun.”

With a mischievous wink, the Traveler bows forward dramatically, reaching their hand out with a flourish. “Your carriage awaits, Your Majesty.”

On any other day the theatrics might make her uncomfortable, but Nahida’s determined to enjoy the festival to the fullest — and besides, she knows the Traveler means nothing by it. She accepts their hand, covering a giggle behind her hand.

The Traveler leads her through the crowds — they’re so thick, it seems no one has even noticed her, miraculously — until they’re face to face with this year’s flower carriage.

Nahida feels the breath leave her lungs as she admires it: big, but not ostentatiously so, with a fairytale frame draped in white gossamer. Like everything in the Sabzeruz Festival, it’s decorated with elegant vines of flowers, all native species to Sumeru. Bits of stained glass, so common in the city’s architecture, adorn the carriage’s body, swinging gently and catching the light.

And in the center of it all is a luxuriously-cushioned seat, just her size.

“Do you like it?” Paimon asks, floating into Nahida’s frame of vision.

Nahida clasps her hands together. “Oh, yes — I love it, Paimon. It’s beautiful.”

Her first flower carriage, the only one to ever be designed with her actual, physical presence in mind. She can hardly wait to sit in its center, riding through the streets of her city and beaming her gratitude down upon the people she loves so dearly.

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” Paimon urges. “The parade’s about to start!”

The Traveler nods their assent. In a moment, Nahida’s rushed up the temporary steps and launched herself into the seat.

It smells like a little piece of the rainforest in the city. A dangling vine brushes against her cheek, tufts of grass caress her toes (which actually touch the floor, instead of dangling several inches above like they do in most chairs — when did they get her precise measurements? It’s the Wanderer’s doing, surely).

She does not have time to muse for long, for in a moment the carriage lurches forward into its position at the end of the parade. The Traveler and Paimon take their places in front of it — the parade’s pace is that of an easy walk — and they’re off down the streets of Sumeru City.

The streets are packed with people smiling and cheering. Their cries get louder as her procession approaches. That inner voice tugs at Nahida again — you’re not worth it, they’re celebrating a fraud — but it’s easier than ever to clamp down on it when she sees a family, desert-dwellers by the look of their clothes, smiling in delight at the parade. Nahida waves at the youngest child, whose eyes brighten with the light of a thousand suns.

She sees, now, that her self-pity was a bit excessive; today may be a celebration of her birth, but it’s not all about her. The joy on the children’s faces, the warmth of a day spent with loved ones — is that not why she agreed to host the festival in the first place? To give her people this gift, to tell them it’s okay, you may celebrate freely now. Your traditions will not be suppressed.

And if she celebrates along with them, shares her gratitude with the people who helped her get here, well — is that really so bad?

Her eyes catch on a flash of blue in the corner of the crowd. Her mouth softens into a gentle smile and her arms wave big and high so her petulant Second Sage has no excuse to not see her. It was he who talked her into this festival, after all, so she’s not letting him miss out.

She watches as he lifts his hand in acknowledgement before ducking away behind a building — working hard, as always, despite his claims to indifference.

The parade ends eventually, the Traveler giving Nahida a hand to help her step delicately down from the carriage. She feels as though she is glowing with the light and love of her people, their energy infectious and dizzying in all the right ways.

“What’s next?” she asks, breathless. “The Dance of Sabzeruz, right?”

To Nahida’s delight, the Traveler nods. The sea of people parts for their little group as they enter the Grand Bazaar, where an elevated seat of honor — more of a throne, really — has been prepared at the best spot in the house. It’s a simple wooden thing, not nearly as elaborate as the carriage, but it’s clearly been carved with an expert hand. That, and it’s hardly inconspicuous, towering in the center of the theater like that.

Nahida feels her smile falter. “This is a bit… much, don’t you think?” she whispers to the Traveler, who bends down to her height.

They shake their head. “The people of the Bazaar all pitched in to have it made. They don’t want anything in return,” they add (leaving Nahida to wonder if she’s not the only person with mind-reading capabilities in the theater). “I think they just wanted to contribute to the festival.”

“Still…” She sighs, relenting. Maybe she should just accept gifts without worrying whether she deserves them or not. “Alright, fine. It is a very beautiful chair.”

The Traveler smiles, and despite herself, Nahida returns the gesture. She climbs into the VIP seat, relishing the soft satin cushion.

She leans over to the Traveler, who has just finished handing out some candy to an expectant flock of children, but her thoughts are interrupted by the dimming lights. A hush settles over the theater.

With the exception of the final, crowning piece of the show, Nahida has seen all the performances. She enjoys them all anyway — she wasn’t exactly in top form the first time, and now, though she does feel awkward in her throne and flinches every time the performers make a point to bow to her, she can fully appreciate them. She notes a familiar face in one of the earlier shows: the young woman from Vimara Village who’d stopped her on the street, what feels like ages ago. Nahida applauds extra hard for her. You don’t need prayers, she thinks, you have everything you need.

Still, the shine in the woman’s eyes when she looks up at Nahida after her bows makes the Archon’s heart swell a bit with pride.

Nahida will never not be proud of Sumeru, she thinks. And maybe that’s what she wants the Sabzeruz Festival to be — a celebration of the nation she loves. She’ll have to keep that in mind for next time.

The performances fly by, and before Nahida knows it, it’s time for the Dance of Sabzeruz. The theater had been a bit raucous before — audience members cheered the dancers on, laughed in the right places, were generally having the sort of good time the Akademiya of old would’ve frowned upon — but now it’s so silent you could hear a pin drop as everyone collectively moves to the edge of their seats.

Nilou comes onto the stage, graceful as always, each step perfectly placed. There’s a quiver in her arms — nerves, perhaps, though Nahida’s never seen Nilou anything but composed and professional at any of her other performances. Then again, Nahida was typically borrowing someone else’s body at those. Her stomach drops. Is it because of me?

If it is, though, Nilou clearly recovers the moment the music begins: energy visibly courses through her body with each movement, a strength behind each ripple of the arm and flick of the feet. Her shoulders relax, her face settles into a natural expression of joy, and this is Nilou at her best, putting her all into this dance as though her life depends on it.

When the music ends, and Nilou is in her final pose, chest rising and falling with exertion, the audience is quiet for a moment longer. Then the theater explodes into applause, stomps, whistles, and flowers thrown onto the stage at Nilou’s feet.

No one cheers harder than Nahida, who delivers a standing ovation. Her eyes meet Nilou’s, the dancer’s smile growing even brighter as she folds in a reverent bow.

“Enjoy the show?” comes the Wanderer’s voice from beside her after the theater’s quieted down and guests have begun to filter out. He’s perched on the arm of her chair, a slight smirk on his face.

“Oh, it was wonderful.” Nahida raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you have work to be doing, security guard? And where’s the Traveler and Paimon?”

The Wanderer shrugs. “We traded shifts. It’s been unexciting, anyway. Seems like everyone’s decided to be on their best behavior today.” He drums his fingernails on the wooden chair. “So? Is this the best seat in the house?”

“The only seat would be more accurate.” Nahida pauses in her dismounting of said chair. “I’ve just had a wonderful idea! At the next budget meeting, we should propose donating to the Zubayr Theater so they can build more seating. It would be such a shame if people are missing out on these beautiful performances because they can’t stand that long.”

“Are you seriously still thinking about work?” the Wanderer scoffs, but there’s no malice in it. Nahida knows he’s on good terms with Sumeru City’s elderly population, just the target demographic of her plans.

The sun is well on its journey across the sky when the pair exits the Bazaar, but the streets are still lined thick with people enjoying the festivities. Every person they pass has a big, genuine smile on their face as they greet Nahida and wish her a happy Sabzeruz. She briefly entertains the idea of having festivals every day before banishing the thought — the planning would be far too much to keep up with.

The crowds taper down in size the farther they get from Treasures Street until they’re alone at the entrance to the Sanctuary of Sabzeruz. Nahida looks down from the high platform at the city below, still alive with activity in the golden glow of early evening. “All that work, just for the day to fly by so quickly,” she sighs.

“Who said it’s over?” the Wanderer says slyly. “Are you forgetting your own traditions?”

“The Haft-Mewa Feast, you mean? But I didn’t have time to prepare anything…” Nahida trails off as the Wanderer pushes open the Sanctuary’s doors.

The cold interior of Nahida’s former-prison-turned-home has been enlivened by the same candles and flowery garlands that adorn the whole city today. A table has been erected near the entryway, laden with the seven traditional foods of the feast. More important than that, though, are the familiar faces standing around the table — the Traveler and Paimon, Cyno, Alhatiham, Dehya, even Nilou.

“Happy Sabzeruz, Lord Kusanali!”

“Thank you — Did you do all this?” Nahida gasps in awe, turning to the Wanderer. “When did you find the time?”

“It wasn’t that much work,” he says, voice a bit rough as he tips his hat down over his eyes. “Besides, they helped.”

“We weren’t gonna leave you all alone on your birthday,” Dehya says with a smile.

“Come on!” adds Paimon, the hint of a whine in her tone. “The food’s getting cold!”

None of them were obligated to be here, Nahida thinks — they all have their own friends and family to celebrate the holiday with, and yet they’ve chosen to spend it with her, despite the… unique personality of the one who invited them. Someone she’d never thought would do more than she expected of him, especially not for her sake, but the past week has turned that on its head.

She looks up to said individual, her vision going a bit blurry. “Thank you, Hat Guy.”

“What? Are you actually going to cry? Again?” The Wanderer sounds incredulous, almost disgusted.

Nahida laughs, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Maybe a little, but only because I really am so very lucky.”

Ignoring his protests, she takes his hand in hers, and they enter into the warmth together.