"Th-that's impossible!"
"How could Grand Sage Idris ever be interested in me?"
Zubayr had only tossed the line as a joke, but Nilou's ears went pink the instant it landed. Clutching the Music Walkman, she felt it heat in her palms as if the thing had a heartbeat. The troupe leaders traded looks—uh oh. They'd meant to tease, not… hit the bullseye. Still, romance that begins in enmity and ends in devotion? Not unheard of—in books, at least.
Either way, the Bazaar would remember the Grand Sage's instructions and prep like their lives depended on it.
—
Near dawn, Idris strolled back into his quarters, rubbing the fatigue from his brow. He glanced at his bed—and paused. The quilt was… puffed up.
"I cannot be that tired," he muttered, stepping closer. He hadn't stuffed a pillow in there before leaving.
He patted the bulge.
His palm sank into something soft. A tiny, startled sound—like a cicada—fluttered out from inside.
Idris blinked. "Nahida?"
No honorifics this time—just pure surprise. A small white head popped out of the covers, cheeks blazing. Four eyes met; she gave the tiniest nod.
…Which meant the spot he'd just patted was—
Wonderful. He'd just become, quite possibly, the first person in history to swat the God of Wisdom's butt.
He recovered quickly. "Little Lord Kusanali, why are you in my bed?"
Huddling deeper, Nahida mumbled through the quilt, face still crimson. "B-because of you."
"You said you wouldn't rest properly unless someone warmed the bed for you. So… I did. Now you have to take care of yourself… even with a Vision, you'll collapse if you don't."
She scooted lower until only her hair tuft showed—embarrassment incarnate. Yes, she knew he'd been joking. Yes, she did it anyway. So, no—the Grand Sage wasn't the problem here.
Idris, for his part, was impressed… and not about to waste the opportunity. He lifted a hand to peel the quilt back—and at that instant her eyes flashed green. The blanket phased straight through her like mist; in this mode her consciousness-body allowed nothing to touch.
"Huh. Aren't you a manifestation? Then how did I manage to pat you—and how did you warm the bed?"
"Mind your own business!"
She puffed up, floated off the mattress, and glared at him—still red as a berry. His amused look only deepened, which made her flush harder.
With a flustered huff she ghosted straight through the wall. "The bed is warm. If you still don't rest, I'll be mad!"
Her anger wouldn't scare a hilichurl, but Idris was bone-tired. He pressed a hand to the comforter—still warm, threaded with the faint scent of fresh grass—and slid beneath it.
The fragrance, the softness, the warmth—sleep hit him like a tide. He was out in seconds.
He overslept—blissfully—until noon.
And somewhere beyond the wall, Nahida smiled, delighted that he'd finally, finally rested.
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