Meanwhile, outside one of King Deshret's desert ruins…
Lumine watched the sand-swallowed entrance with worried eyes, then glanced at Jeht, the desert girl sitting beside her. The longer they waited, the calmer Jeht seemed—but that forced calm was carved from exhaustion and grief.
Anyone could see it:
The more time passed, the smaller Jebrael's chances became.
The Traveler and Paimon had run out of comforting words. There was nothing left to say except pray that the scholar who'd left earlier might somehow return with help.
…Though realistically, that was almost impossible.
He wasn't influential. Not even popular. Just a plain Akademiya scholar with few connections. Expecting him to find powerful help—let alone summon Grand Sage Idris—might as well be a fantasy.
Still, they had to try.
And they couldn't let Jeht drown in despair. Paimon and Lumine exchanged a look, then tried to strike up conversation.
"Ehem… Jeht, after this… if you have to live alone for a while, where would you go?"
Jeht lowered her head, voice hoarse.
"I don't know. My father's old tribe refused to accept the new era… so the Forest Rangers disbanded them."
"So even if I wanted to settle somewhere—there's nowhere left."
"There are survivors, yes… but rebuilding a full tribe? Impossible."
Lumine and Paimon fell silent. They understood.
Idris, as a ruler, wasn't wrong.
If a tribe openly resisted Sumeru's new order, Idris would never show mercy.
The desert's organized forces had already been crushed—either subdued or captured. Only scattered fugitives and wandering mercenaries remained, hiding like lone wolves in the endless dunes.
But lone wolves could still bite.
And it was one such fugitive—one of those surviving desert thieves—who had triggered the mechanism of King Deshret's ruin and trapped Jeht's father inside the Golden Dream.
But none of this mattered now.
Not to Jeht.
Not as she stared at the ruin, her last hope buried beneath the sand.
Minutes passed. Then hours.
Even Paimon had stopped speaking.
Lumine squeezed her hands, helpless. A small mechanical device nearby—Benben—also stayed silent.
Jeht exhaled shakily and finally stood up, ready to tell them they should stop waiting—
—when suddenly, a whooshing wind swept through the sky.
A soft, amused voice followed:
"Traveler, Paimon—heh, you two really do show up in the strangest places."
All three looked up sharply.
A streak of emerald light sliced across the golden sky.
Wings of Dendro formed behind Idris as he descended from above, one arm wrapped around a small, white-haired Archon.
Nahida.
The two landed gracefully before the stunned group.
Lumine blinked.
"Grand Sage Idris?! Why are you here?"
Even Jeht, her eyes dim behind the sand goggles, could still see him clearly. The moment she saw Idris step through the air, her expression cracked—despair replaced by trembling hope.
Idris brushed off Lumine's surprise.
"I saw a distress request on the Akasha Terminal. I wasn't planning to come, but I had business in the desert anyway."
"Then I heard something… interesting. Something about King Deshret's Golden Dream."
"So I decided to stop by."
Of course, he didn't mention the real reason:
—his lingering soul mark inside the Return-to-Life Pill.
Some truths were better left unsaid.
Paimon nearly burst into tears of relief.
"You're really here…!"
Jeht didn't hesitate. She stumbled forward and bowed deeply.
"Grand Sage Idris—please, please save my father! He's all I have left!"
"If you bring him back alive… I'm willing to do anything. Even become your servant—your slave—for life!"
Idris glanced at her. Desert mercenaries truly were bold—and striking in their aesthetics. King Deshret's taste was certainly… unique.
But now wasn't the time.
"Don't overthink it," Idris said casually. "Saving your father is only a small matter."
"My real interest is studying the Golden Dream itself."
"Stand back. All of you."
He set Nahida down gently.
"Nahida, you stay outside and maintain stability."
The little Archon nodded obediently.
"Yes, I'll hold the shifting space in place. You focus on the inside."
Hearing Idris' calm assurance, Jeht nearly collapsed from relief, tears welling in her eyes.
Lumine sighed softly.
"…We owe him again."
Paimon whispered,
"Ahahaha… Think of it like Zhongli owing Mora! If he can shamelessly owe money every day… maybe we can shamelessly owe favors too!"
"Paimon—!" Lumine covered her mouth quickly.
Better not say that where Idris could hear.
Everyone moved back. Jeht clutched her hands, praying silently.
Idris walked to the sealed ruin, raised his arm—
—and smashed the entrance apart in one blow.
From the darkness beyond, enormous black walls—shifting like the tide—began pouring outward.
But Nahida lifted her hand. Gentle life energy surged forward, halting the creeping shadow.
"Leave the moving barrier to me," she said. "It'll save you strength."
"You're getting good at being a secretary," Idris murmured, satisfied.
Then—
SHWAA—
Dendro wings unfurled.
Idris pierced into the Golden Dream like an emerald meteor.
Inside, darkness spiraled like a void, pulsing with chaotic mental shockwaves.
To anyone else, these psychic storms would shatter the mind.
But Idris—blessed by the World Tree—walked through unbothered, his perception cutting through the dark like a blade.
After all—
A Grand Sage with the World Tree's sight had nothing to fear from petty illusions.
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