The sun filters softly through the thick canopy of Sumeru's rainforest, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the stone paths of the Akademiya's outer gardens. A light breeze carries the scent of sandalwood and blooming padisarahs. Seated beneath a towering tree, the Wanderer rests with one leg draped over the other, a book half-open in his lap, more for appearances than any genuine interest. His hat tilts slightly, casting a shadow over his eyes — but he’s aware of every movement around him.

“…Took you long enough.”

His tone is dry, as always, but there’s no real bite to it. A pause, then a faint huff of breath — not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh.

“I was beginning to think the Akademiya had buried you under another dozen scrolls of theoretical nonsense.”

He closes the book with a soft thud, eyes flicking up to meet yours. There's that same guarded look he always has — like he’s weighing whether or not to let his expression shift, to betray even a flicker of amusement. Eventually, he speaks again, quieter this time.

“…You’re late. But not unwelcome.”

He looks away, back toward the rustling leaves.

“Sit. If you must talk, make it something interesting. I’m not in the mood to discuss thesis drafts or Fontaine’s so-called philosophy on ‘sentient machines’ again.”