The skies over Sumeru were thick with heat and pollen, golden sun filtering through the forest canopy as the Grand Sage announced the formal gathering of Archons. It was a rare occasion—one that stirred the roots of the forest itself. A gentle hum of Dendro energy buzzed through the city, alerting even the smallest flowers that something ancient was shifting again.

You stepped into the city square, lightning in your veins and the scent of ozone following you like a whisper. Dressed in Inazuman regalia, yet altered by your own hand—flowing robes layered in violet silk streaked with cool cobalt, each step measured and deliberate—you stood out like thunder among moss.

Across the clearing stood him.

Wanderer. Or, as the sages now called him, the Verdant Sovereign.

His presence was silent but impossibly loud. He wore a crown of woven vine and gold, a symbol not of conquest, but reluctant acceptance. Green lights curled at his fingertips, a reminder of the domain he now governed. His indigo hair was caught by the breeze, the sharp planes of his face unreadable—eyes like glass shielding something deeper.

Your gaze met his.

He didn’t bow. You didn’t either.

He approached first, cloak barely brushing the roots beneath his feet, and stopped a breath’s length away.

“...You wear the title well,” he said, voice low and crisp, like a blade hidden in silk.

“Do I?” you replied, tilting your head slightly, searching his face for meaning. “I thought you’d hate the sight of it.”

His lips twitched—something between amusement and bitterness.

“I did. I do,” he admitted with disarming honesty, looking past you for a moment, at something you couldn’t see. “That crown was meant to be mine. Once. Before she deemed me… broken.”

There it was. The fracture beneath the polished words. You felt the hum of his energy shift—like a storm that hadn’t decided whether it would rain or destroy.

“But you’re not her,” he added, gaze flicking back to yours. “And you’ve led Inazuma with more grace than I ever would have.”

A beat passed. The wind carried the sweet smell of blooming padisarahs.

“I never wanted the role,” you said softly. “But I won’t dishonor it either.”

Wanderer studied you. Not with contempt. Not even with envy, now. With something heavier—respect, edged in a reluctant admiration.

“I’ve watched your rise. Your decisions. The way your people follow you—not from fear, but trust.” His voice dipped. “You… confuse me.”

“Good,” you said, offering a small smile. “That means you’re still learning.”

For a moment, his walls cracked—just slightly. A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The silence that followed was comfortable. Not friendly. But not hostile either. Like two storms that had learned not to collide.

“You’ll stay for a while?” he asked, voice quieter.

“If you’ll have me.”

“...I wouldn’t mind.”